“We’ve got to get them to another phone.”
“Very good. How?”
“Just tell him to go down to the shopping center and use a pay phone. They can’t tap it that fast.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Merle, but how do we tell him what number to call? Or do you happen to know the number of the pay phone offhand?”
“No. I could call him at a friend’s house …”
“And involve another friend in this? Think again.”
“Suppose I ask him to drive over to the studio. I could call him there.”
“It’s a bit clumsy—and you’d be talking through the studio’s switchboard. No, I think the simplest method is to give him a phone number where he can reach us. And do it in such a way that eavesdroppers won’t understand it.”
“How?”
“Do you know anything of the rudiments of codes and ciphers? All it requires is a key.”
Mathieson made the turn into the county road. A hot wind sawed in through the windows. Piercing reflections of sunlight shot back from mica particles in the rocks. Mirages wavered in the road surface, retreating before them.
Vasquez took out a notebook and his pencil. “There must be a fairly close friend the two of you had in common. Pick one whose phone number you remember. Someone whom you can identify to Gilfillan without mentioning a name.”
“All right.”
“What is the friend’s phone number.”
“Well say it’s Charlie Dern. It’s two-seven-five five-three-oh-three.”
“That’s fine. Now all we need do is copy down the number of the public phone in town and do a bit of subtraction.
4
In the booth he wrote down the number of the pay phone immediately above Charlie Dern’s number. Then he made the computation:
714-895-8214
— 213-275-5303
501-620-2911
He dialed Roger’s home and got Billy on the line. “Get your dad on the phone, will you, Billy?”
“Sure, Mr. Mathieson. Just a minute.”
He glanced through the glass doors. Vasquez was standing beside the car alertly watching everything at once.
“Hey, old horse, how’re they hanging?”
“Roger, I want you to do something for me. It’s important and it’s urgent. Get a pencil and paper.”
“What? Hell, hang on a sec … OK, shoot.”
“I want you to write down a number at the top of the sheet. Ready?”
“Go ahead.”
“Five-oh-one, six-two-oh, two-nine-one-one.”
“Got it.”
“Read it back to me, will you?”
“Five-zero-one, six-two-zero, two-nine-one-one. Area code and phone number, right?”
“In a way. Now here’s what you do. Don’t mention a name but we have a friend who has ulcers. You know who I mean.”
“Sure. What about him.”
“Write down his phone number. Including area code. Right beneath the number I just gave you. Don’t repeat the number on this phone.”
“You think I’m being bugged for Christ’s sake?”
“I’m pretty sure you are.”
“Jesus … Hold on, I’m writin’ it down.”
“Now add up the two numbers. Don’t do it out loud.”
“I get you … OK. Now what?”
“Get to a pay phone and call me. You’ve got my number there.”
“Hey that’s damn smart, old horse. OK, take me five, ten minutes to get down there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He stepped out of the stifling booth and left its door open; he crossed the curb to the car. Vasquez said, “All right?”
“He’ll call back in a few minutes.”
“When he does, don’t soft-pedal it.”
“It’s hard knowing how to break it to him.”
“Tell him the complete truth.”
“He’ll have every right to tear me limb from limb.”
“It can’t be helped.”
“He’s probably in the middle of shooting that special. He can’t just walk out on it.”
“He’ll have to.”
“How? He’s under contract.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll have to do it—you’ll have to convince him.”
“Roger can be a stubborn guy.”
“So can you, Mr. Merle. Just bear in mind that several lives may depend on it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Long Island Sound: 14 September
1
OUT ON THE SOUND A FLOTILLA OF SAILBOATS MADE BUTTERFLY patterns. Anna sat lotioned and lazy in her bikini on the transom of the Sandora, her face thrown back to the sun. She watched Sandy on the flying bridge guiding the cruiser under Frank’s watchful instruction. In the sport-fishing chair Nora was pretending she had a whale on her line.
The twin diesels made a guttural mutter in the water beneath the stern. Sandora curled slowly toward the forested banks of the inlet they’d chosen.
Frank shouted something and Nora bounded out of the fishing chair. Smiling, Anna watched her drop the anchor. The engines were throttled right down; she felt it when the cable brought her up; then Sandy switched everything off and there was no sound except the lapping of the water against the hull.
Frank came down the ladder. “You girls want to eat first or swim first?”
Sandy was still up top. She was shading her eyes, looking out toward the Sound. “Isn’t that our outboard?”
Frank went halfway up the ladder and squinted into the dazzle. “Jesus God. Can’t a man have a little privacy with his own family even on a Sunday afternoon?”
Anna stood up. “What is it?”
“The pest. Ezio.”
She made a face. Frank came back down onto the deck. “You kids better have your swim first.”
Nora pouted. “Is he going to stay for the picnic, Daddy?”
“Not if I can help it.”
The motor boat came slapping into the inlet leaving a shallow white vee of a wake; Ezio throttled back and brought it smoothly alongside.
Ezio was in a mood. “Why the hell don’t you ever turn on your ship-to-shore? I been trying to reach you for an hour.”
“I go on this boat to get away from telephones, Ezio.”
“You can’t just do that, Frank. What if something important comes up?”
“Then you’ll get in the outboard and come after me the way you just did. I left word where we’d be, didn’t I?”
“Took me half the afternoon to find this place. Suppose it was really urgent?”
Frank showed his exasperation. “You kids go for a swim, OK?”
Nora said, “I’m hungry. You make it short.”
“Damn right I will.”
Anna watched the two of them go off into the water like dolphins. They went cleaving toward shore, racing each other. It wasn’t much of a contest. Sandy’s crawl was smooth enough for an Olympic; Nora splashed great thuds and geysers.
Ezio said, “Maybe Mrs. Pastor wants a swim too.”
“What’s it about, Ezio? This Merle business?”
“Yeah.”
“Then she stays if she wants to.”
She nodded and stayed where she was. Ezio showed his resentment in a brief pinching of his lips. Then he sat down and retied the laces of his plimsolls. “Gilfillan took off.”
“Took off?”
“The whole family. Right into thin air.”
2
“We had two cars and a phone tap on those people, Ezio. Now what do you mean telling me they ‘took off’?”
“They had help, Frank.”
“Whose help? This Bradleigh?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Suppose you tell it from the top. And try not to blow my whole Sunday afternoon, all right?”
“I know you’re sore being disturbed like this, Frank, but we’ve got to decide how to handle this and the trail’s already getting colder while we sit here talking.”
“Then hurry up.”
“Well yesterday morning—Saturday—Mrs. Merle called the Gilfillans again the way she said she would last week. We had a tap on it. The call came in from a pay phone in San Diego county. No telling if it was the same pay phone she used last time. We’d played it the way you figured, we let Gilfillan know he had a tail Friday afternoon, so they told Mrs. Merle.”