“Evidently not,” Molly said, ignoring the look her father gave her.
O’Connor said, “Someone could have rigged the bomb in the car, but not turned it on until they were sure who would be in the car. Unless, of course, Gunther told anyone who he was bringing the car around for. You must realize, Mr. Lord, that someone on the estate must have been involved.”
There, it was said out in the open.
Mason Lord said in his mildest voice, “That is one opinion, Detective O’Connor. Now, there is, of course, the man who works here to take care of my cars. I have a fleet of six. He also lives on the premises. But I know you’ve already spoken to him. It’s possible that Gunther would have said something to him, I suppose. I’ll send him to see you, Detective.”
“I would appreciate some cooperation from your people, Mr. Lord.”
Mason Lord just looked at him, one eyebrow arched. Then he rose and left the living room, saying nothing more.
“Judge Hunt, can you think of anything else?”
Ramsey said slowly, “I remember vividly when the car blew up. For an instant you just don’t register that it’s really happening. Your brain doesn’t want to accept it as real. It’s like this special effect in a movie. Then it hits. It becomes real and terrifying.
“As to whether there was anyone else, no, I saw only Louey rush out of the bushes and yank the car door open. I remember he was wearing a blue shirt, short sleeves, no jacket. He looked frantic.”
O’Connor said to Ramsey, “Of course we’ve searched those bushes. We’ll look again. Anything else?”
Ramsey shook his head. “I asked Mason about Rule Shaker, but he refused to say anything much about him.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to, Ramsey,” Molly said. He suddenly remembered that kiss on his shoulder blade in the night. He wished now it had been his mouth. He’d told Savich what Molly had told him about her little brother, Teddy. And Savich had looked off into the distance, thinking his own private thoughts, and finally nodded.
“Yeah, whichever way you want to translate that,” Detective O’Connor said. “The point is, though, that Mr. Shaker wouldn’t ever let a trail, particularly a murder trail, lead anywhere near him. If he was responsible for Louey Santera’s death, we don’t have what I’d call a very good chance of connecting him personally to it.
“We’ve got court orders to take a narrow look at his financial records, to see if there’s anything to indicate that he had dealings with Louey Santera, and if he did, what they were. The cops in Las Vegas told us he goes out of his way to keep his nose clean. Even the IRS is happy with him at the moment.”
Detective O’Connor rose. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Santera, but we’re no closer to finding out who took your little girl and abused her. It really bums me out.”
Molly nodded as she rose to face him. “If we’re right about what happened, the danger’s over simply because Louey’s dead. I don’t want to live with that, but I guess I’ll have to learn how to. Emma’s safe now, thank God. But I want that monster who abused her, raped her, and beat her. I want him. I want him to burn for what he did.”
“I promise, Mrs. Santera,” Detective O’Connor said, taking her hand, “we’re just getting started with this.” Molly thought there wasn’t much hope in his voice.
After Detective O’Connor left, Molly looked around and said, “I’ve got to get things together for a small memorial service for Louey. I owe it to Emma. He was her father.” She and Sherlock left the living room, speaking quietly to each other.
“It’s just down to us two,” Ramsey said. “I’m depressed.”
Savich said, “Miles never brought any coffee.” He leaned his head back against the sofa. “How’s your back, Ramsey?”
“What? Oh, it’s fine. I only took two aspirin yesterday.”
“I didn’t want to tell Molly, but we really don’t have much,” Savich said. “MAXINE agreed with Detective O’Connor, indicates there’s a high probability that Rule Shaker in Las Vegas is behind all of it. But MAXINE needs facts, and we’re short on them.”