Clearly the message hadn’t gotten through. Worse, Trish had aroused the suspicions of her captors. Restless stirring around her. A pent-up explosion in the air.
The gray-eyed man made an angry cutting motion: Wrap it up.
“Anyway,” Trish said, her heart beating faster, “we’d like to go code seven now.”
“Hey, your watch just started. What gives Pete taking a nap”
“You know it.” A long nap, Trish thought, wondering if it was about to be nap time for her, too.
“Request granted.” Lou signed off. “Twenty twenty-eight.”
The radio was withdrawn. Trish waited, afraid she had pressed her luck too far. She hoped Ally wouldn’t pay the price. Please, not her.
“What was that all about, Trish” the gray-eyed man said with cold amiability.
“Nothing. Lou wanted to talk, that’s all.”
“L.A. Someone named Ed. Where’d that come from”
“I was just, you know, making conversation. Ed’s a guy who works at the station. He used to live in L.A., still talks about it a lot. It didn’t mean anything.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I don’t trust you, Trish.”
“I did what you wanted.”
“You tried to mess with me.”
“No.”
He turned to the woman at his side. “How about it Can you sound like her”
“Easy.” She lisped the word.
Then her breathy voice altered its pitch, climbing an octave higher, and the lisp was magically gone, her delivery clear and sharp.
“Four-Adam-eight-one. We’re clear of the detail. We’ll be going code seven.”
The mimicry was more than adequate.
Her boss nodded, then looked at Trish again. “My associate can pass for you. I’ll feed her the codes and phrases.”
The implication wasn’t subtle. Trish’s wrists twisted uselessly behind her back.
“Won’t work,” she whispered. “Lou knows me. We talk all the time.”
“If we keep the transmission short, we can pull it off. These rover radios are crap anyway. All the voices sound pretty much alike.” He said it then, said what everyone was thinking. “I don’t need you, Patricia Annette Robinson.”
No more words. Rigid, she waited for the bullet.
The man watched her a moment longer. Then his gaze shifted, focusing on the killer to her right.
Some silent message passed between them, instantaneous as a spark, and the butt of a pistol clipped her hard behind the ear.
Coldcocked.
Trish had time to think it was better than getting shot. Then pain washed over her in a stinging wave, its undertow dragging her away.
Her last thought was a question: Will I ever wake up
Then no questions, no fear, only a humming void and a wordless sense of peace.
16
Cain watched Trish Robinson drop to the carpet in a graceless sprawl. A spasm ran briefly through her body, and she made a low retching noise, coughing up spittle, then lay still.
“You should have iced her.” Agitation brought back Lilith’s lisp, making her sound like a petulant child. “I wanted to see that.”
“Bad idea.” Cain kept his voice low.
“I don’t see why.”
Ordinarily she didn’t need things spelled out, but blood made her slow-witted. It was like catnip to her.
He nodded toward the dining area. “I’d rather not get our friends any more worked up than they already are. We pop the rookie right in front of everybody, and things could get out of control.”
“So what do we do with her” Tyler wiped blood off the handle of his gun. “Lock her up”
“No.”
Cain hated cops, all cops, even pretty little lady cops who’d barely gotten their feet wet in the field. Cops were bugs, meant to be squashed.
“She disappears,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on Tyler. “Her and the other one and the car they came in. No muss, no fuss. You know that old Bobby Darin number Splish splash, Trish was takin’ a bath….” His hand made a downward sliding motion. “You and Blair make it happen.”
Tyler’s heavy-lidded eyes shut briefly in acknowledgment. Blair giggled.
“Take off their belts first,” Cain added. “No point wasting the gear. And give Lilith the radio so she can monitor the traffic.”
He stepped into the foyer and crouched by the dead man named Wald. The mingled smells of blood and urine reached his nostrils through the mask. He barely noticed. The stink of death was as familiar to him as the fragrance of honeysuckle to a gardener.
Rolling Wald on his side, Cain removed the cop’s handcuffs from a case on his belt, then found his key holder and detached it. The cuffs and the ring of keys went into Cain’s side pocket.
He had an idea how to use those items. Not part of the plan, probably a mistake, but maybe … just maybe …
From the closet he retrieved his duffel, stashed there before the cops arrived. He slung the bag over his shoulder and returned to the living room.
Lilith was clipping the police radio to her belt. “Look at me,” she said gaily. “I’m Officer Robinson.” She leaned close to Trish, still out cold, and added, “You’re under arrest.”
Tyler was amused. “What’s the charge”
“Impersonating a cop,” Lilith said archly, and Tyler and Blair laughed.
Even Cain had to smile. His Lilith was such a child.
“Hey, boss,” Tyler said. “The Porsche is blocking the driveway. Got to move it if we’re gonna take the squad car out the rear gate.”
Cain chuckled. “You’ve been itching to drive that hot little number since you saw it.” He turned toward the dining area. “Keys to the Porsche. Now.”
Philip Danforth produced a key chain. Gage tossed it across the room, and Cain snagged it in a gloved fist.
“No joyriding,” he warned Tyler as he passed along the keys. “We got work to do.”
“You sound like my father.”
I’m old enough, Cain thought, but didn’t say it.
Tyler left. Blair busied himself with Wald. Cain and Lilith escorted Charles Kent away from the fireplace, to the dining area, and sat him down. He was as pale and listless as a lobotomy patient.
Cain clapped his hands, and Ally jerked as if shot. “Valuables on the table.”
Silently the Kents and Danforths removed their jewelry and wristwatches. Two Rolexes, two smaller gold watches, a gold wrist bangle, diamond-studded cuff links, a gold herringbone choker, a sapphire-tipped tie clasp, sterling silver earrings, a gold brooch with a red silk flower, even Judy’s silver crucifix.
Outside, the Porsche’s motor turned over. Headlights rippled over the lawn.
“Wallets, too.”
They complied.
“Wedding rings.”
Judy started to say something, then changed her mind.
“Now, on your feet.”
Chairs were pushed back. The five prisoners stood, mute terror in their eyes. Cain thought of dogs waiting to be kicked.
He nodded curtly to Gage and Lilith. Their guns swung up, and Barbara moaned.
“March,” Gage said.
For a moment there was no reaction. The word might have been a relic of some long-dead language, meaningless to modern ears.
“Side hall,” Gage snapped. “That way.”
Judy started moving obediently. Philip stood his ground. “Where are you taking us”
Gage struck him across the face with his gun. Philip’s head snapped sideways, a gash torn in his lower lip.
“Move!” Gage screamed.
Screaming was bad, Cain knew. It showed a lack of discipline, an absence of control. The kid was raw, unseasoned. All wrong for this job.
Philip offered no more resistance. He shambled after Judy, followed by Charles. Barbara and Ally, holding hands, were last to go.