cheap motel across the street from a bar called the Blue Life Lounge.
Two different bartenders at the lounge gave the Kansas City Police a
description of the man she left with. Sounds like Alfie.”
Oslett had perceived a bond of class and experience between himself and
Peter Waxhill. He had even entertained the prospect of friendship.
Now he had the uneasy feeling that Waxhill was taking pleasure from
being the bearer of all this bad news.
Waxhill said, “One of our contacts managed to get us a sample of the
sperm that the Kansas City Police Scientific Investigation Division
recovered from the prostitute’s vagina. It’s being flown to our New
York lab now. If it’s Alfie’s sperm, we’ll know.”
“He can’t produce sperm. He was engineered–”
“Well, if it’s his, we’ll know. We have his genetic structure mapped,
we know it better than Rand McNally knows the world. And it’s unique.
More individual than fingerprints.”
Yale men. They were all alike. Smug, self-satisfied bastards.
Clocker picked up a plump hot-house strawberry between thumb and
forefinger. Examining it closely, as if he had excruciatingly high
standards for comestibles and would not eat anything that failed to pass
his demanding inspection, he said, “If Alfie’s drawn to Martin
Stillwater, then what we need to know is where we can find Stillwater
now.” He popped the entire berry, half as large as a lemon, onto his
tongue and into his mouth, in the manner of a toad taking a fly.
“Last night we sent a man into their house for a look around,” Waxhill
said. “Indications are, they packed in a hurry. Bureau drawers left
open, clothes scattered around, a few empty suitcases left out after
they decided not to use them. Judging by appearances, they don’t intend
to return home within the next few days, but we’re having the place
watched just in case.”
“And you have no idea in hell where to find them,” Oslett said, taking
perverse pleasure in putting Waxhill on the defensive.
Unruffled, Waxhill said, “We can’t say where they are at this moment,
no–”
“Ah.”
“–but we think we can predict one place we can get a lead on them.
Stillwater’s parents live in Mammoth Lakes. He has no other relatives
on the West Coast, and unless there’s a close friend we don’t know
about, he’s almost certain to call his father and mother, if not go
there.”
“What about the wife’s parents?”
“When she was sixteen, her father shot her mother in the face and then
killed himself.”
“Interesting.” What Oslett meant was that the tawdriness of the average
person’s life never ceased to amaze him.
“It is interesting, actually,” Waxhill said, perhaps meaning some thing
different from what Oslett meant. “Paige came home from school and
found their bodies. For a few months, she was under the guardianship of
an aunt. But she didn’t like the woman, and she filed a petition with
the court to have herself declared a legal adult.”
“At sixteen?”
“The judge was sufficiently impressed with her to rule in her favor.
It’s rare but it does happen.”
“She must’ve had one hell of an attorney.”
“I suppose she did. She studied the applicable statutes and precedents,
then represented herself.”
The situation was bleaker all the time. Even if he’d been lucky, Martin
Stillwater had gotten the better of Alfie, which meant he was a more
formidable man than the jerk in People. Now it was beginning to seem as
if his wife had more than a common measure of fortitude, as well, and
would make a worthy adversary.
Oslett said, “To push Stillwater to get in touch with his folks, we
should use Network affiliates in the media to hype the incidents at his
house last night onto the front page.”
“We are,” Peter Waxhill said infuriatingly. He framed imaginary
headlines with his hands,”
“Best selling Author Shoots Intruder.
Hoax or Real Threat? Author and Family Missing. Hiding from Killer or
Avoiding Police Scrutiny?” That sort of thing. When Stillwater sees a
newspaper or TV news program, he’s going to call his parents right then
because he’ll know they’ve seen the news and they’re worried.”
“We’ve tapped their phone?”
“Yes. We have caller-ID equipment on the line. The moment the