She felt weak all of a sudden and had to sit down. She practically slid down Meehan's body and sat down on the curb. She tried to understand what had happened and could only conclude that Karch must have shot Ray and Connie because he didn't have a fake driver's license with the name Lankford on it. He knew there was no way he could leave a record with his real name on it. Not with what he had planned to do with her.
"Cassie, you all right?"
"I just can't believe – are they dead?"
"Yeah, both of them. I looked in there before the police came. It wasn't a pretty picture."
Cassie leaned forward and vomited into the gutter. It was one deep heave that seemed to empty her totally. She wiped her mouth with her hand.
"Cassie!" Meehan cried as he watched. "I'll go get one of the paramedics."
"No, don't. I'm fine. I just… poor Ray. All he wanted to do was help."
"What do you mean?"
She realized she had made a mistake giving her thoughts voice.
"I mean he was just a nice guy. Connie, too. They would have given up the keys or the money. Why'd he have to shoot them?"
"I know. It makes no sense. By the way, did you see someone?"
"No, why?"
"I noticed you said 'he' when you were talking about it."
"No, I've been gone. I was just saying it was a he because I just think it probably was. I can't think straight right now."
"I know what you mean. I can't believe this is happening."
She sat on the curb with her face in her hands, the guilt of the world weighing down on her. The words I did this, I did this, I did this kept running through her head. She knew she had to get away from this place and never look back.
She found her strength and stood up, grabbing Meehan's arm one time to steady herself.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
"Yes, fine. I'm fine. Thanks, Billy."
"You should probably let the police know you're okay and you're here."
"Okay, I will. Actually, could you tell them for me? I'm not sure I want to go in there."
"Sure, Cassie, I'll go tell them right now."
Cassie waited a few moments after Meehan walked away, then walked down the sidewalk to the alley that ran behind the dealership. She followed the alley behind the service center to the other side of the dealership and walked into the sales lot. The silver Boxster that Ray had been letting her use was there. She always parked it in the sales lot in case a customer was interested.
The car was unlocked but her key was in her backpack in her office. She opened the door and pulled the front trunk release. She came around and opened the lid and took out the leather-bound owner's manual, then closed the trunk and got into the car. Behind one of the folds of the booklet was a plastic key for the eventual owner to put in a wallet as an emergency backup. She took it out, started the car and drove out of the lot into the alley. She kept a slow, deliberate speed until she had covered two blocks in the alley. She then cut up to Sunset and took a right, in a direction away from the dealership and toward the 101 Freeway.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she drove. What had happened at the dealership changed everything. Leo's death was awful and hurt her deeply. But Leo had been in the circle and knew the risks. Ray Morales and Connie Leto, the finance manager, were innocents. Their deaths signaled the lengths to which Karch was willing to go to recover the money. It meant there were no bounds anymore. To Karch, to her guilt, to anything.
33
KARCH watched through the window of the taxi as it went by the Porsche dealership. He didn't care about the assemblage of police and television news vehicles surrounding the glass walls of the showroom. His eyes scanned the numerous people standing on the sidewalks. He was hoping to see Cassie Black but knew he was too late. His cell phone had failed to get a signal up in the hills. He'd had to hike up to Mulholland and then over to the Hollywood overlook, where he'd remembered seeing a pay phone earlier. It took him nearly an hour to cover the ground. Then it was another twenty minutes waiting for the taxi he called for to show up.
The taxi driver said something in very bad English about what had happened at the dealership but Karch paid no attention. The taxi continued another few blocks and turned onto Wilcox. Karch had him stop in front of a Hollywood memorabilia store. He paid and got out. After the taxi took off and had turned back onto Sunset he crossed the street to his Lincoln, which was parked at the curb. On its bumpers were a set of fresh plates he had picked up that morning in a long-term lot at LAX.
Karch got in and fired the car up. But before pulling out of the space he looked up Selma in the map book. He saw he was in luck. He was less than five minutes away.
There were no cars parked in front or on the driveway of the bungalow on Selma where Cassie Black's driver's license said she lived. The house was on a dead end and Karch decided on a direct approach. He pulled right into the driveway and parked. Breaking and entering in daylight was not his idea of a wise move but he had to get into the house to see if Cassie Black had been there yet. He decided the safest way to go was straight in. He pulled into the drive, honked the Lincoln's horn twice and waited. Finally, he killed the engine, got out and went right up the front steps, spinning his key chain on his finger. When he got close to the door he bent over and raised his lock picks. He quickly went to work on the deadbolt, acting as though he were a man having trouble with his keys. He had no idea if he was being watched but he was putting on a good show.
He picked the lock in about forty seconds. He then turned the knob and walked in.
"Hey, Cassie?" he called loudly and for the benefit of any neighbor who might have been watching. "Come on, I'm waitin' out here!"
He closed the door, pulled out his gun and quickly attached the silencer. He began a quick room-to-room check of the house.
It was empty. He began a second and slower sweep, looking around to try to determine if Cassie Black had been to the house in the time since she had escaped from him up on the hill. The home, though sparely furnished, seemed to be in neat order. He became convinced that she had not been there yet. He sat down on the couch in the living room and thought about what this could mean. Did she already have the money or did she not have the money? Had it been at Leo Renfro's and he had somehow missed it during his all-night search? Worse yet was another possibility that poked through: that Renfro had been telling the truth when he claimed to have already given the money to his Chicago contacts.
Karch felt something lumpy beneath the spot where he was sitting. He moved down the couch and then pulled up the cushion. He picked up a clothes hanger with seven padlocks attached to it. It served to remind him of how formidable Cassidy Black had turned out to be. He decided in that moment that if he found out she had the money and was gone, he would chase her to the ends of the earth. Not for Grimaldi and definitely not for the faceless group that pulled strings from Miami. He would do it for himself.
He left the hanger on the coffee table and got up to start his third sweep of the house. This one would take the longest.
The bedroom was the logical place to start. Karch knew people liked to sleep with the things dear to them close by. The white-walled room was furnished with the basics, a four-poster bed, two bed tables, a bureau and a mirror. A framed poster of a beach scene from Tahiti was taped to a wall. He studied it for a moment and quickly realized it was a duplicate of the poster he had seen in Cassidy Black's office when he had stepped in while looking for her in the showroom. He had been looking at the poster when the manager had stuck his head in and asked if he could help.
Karch stepped over to the wall and studied the poster, wondering if it had any significance for his mission. The woman on the beach did not look like Cassidy Black. He finally decided he would have to worry about it later and turned to the nearby bed table and opened the top drawer.