Solberg, a former associate of Leben’ s, and later they had spent a
couple of hours on stakeout in front of Shadway Realty’s main office in
Tustin.
“They spotted our team and set up their own surveillance half a block
back,” Cringer said, “where they could watch both us and the realty
office.”
“Must’ ve thought they were real cute,” Sharp said, “when all the time
we were watching them while they watched us.”
“Then they followed one of the real-estate agents home, a woman named
Theodora Bertlesman.”
“We already interviewed her about Shadway, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, everyone who works with him in that office.
And this Bertlesman woman wasn’t any more cooperative than the rest of
them, maybe less.”
“How long were Verdad and Hagerstrom at her place?”
“More than twenty minutes.”
“Sounds like she might’ve been more open with them.
Have any idea what she told them?”
“No,” Cringer said. “She lives on a hillside, so it was hard to get a
clear angle on any of the windows with a directional microphone. By the
time we could’ve set it up, Verdad and Hagerstrom were leaving anyway.
They went straight from her place to the airport.”
“What?” Sharp said, surprised. “LAX?”
“No. John Wayne Airport here in Orange County.
That’s where they are now, waiting for a flight out.”
“What flight? To where?”
“Vegas. They bought tickets on the first available flight to Vegas.
It leaves at eight o’clock.”
“Why Vegas?” Sharp said, more to himself than to Cringer.
“Maybe they finally decided to give up on the case like they were told.
Maybe they’re going off for a little holiday.”
“You don’t go off on a holiday without packing suitcases. You said they
went straight to the airport, which I suppose means they didn’t make a
quick stop home to grab a change of clothes.”
“Straight to the airport,” Cringer confirmed.
“All right, good,” Sharp said, suddenly excited. “Then they’re probably
trying to get to Shadway and Mrs. Leben before we do, and they’ve reason
to believe the place to look is somewhere in Las Vegas.”
There was a chance he would get his hands on Shadway, after all. And
this time, the bastard would not slip away. “If there’re any seats left
on that eight o’clock flight, I want you to put two of your men aboard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have men here in Palm Springs, and we’ll head to Vegas, too, just as
soon as we can. I want to be in place at the airport there and ready to
track Verdad and Hagerstrom the moment they arrive.”
Sharp hung up and immediately called Jerry Peake’s room.
Outside, thunder roared in the north and faded to a soft rumble as it
moved south through the Coachella Valley.
Peake sounded groggy when he answered.
“It’s almost seven-thirty,” Sharp told him. “Be ready to roll in
fifteen minutes.”
“What’s happening?”
“We’re going to Vegas after Shadway, and this time luck’s on our side.”
One of the many problems of driving a stolen car is that you can’t be
sure of its mechanical condition. You can’t very well ask for a
guarantee of reliability and a service history from the owner before you
make off with his wheels.
The stolen Merkur failed Ben forty miles east of Baker.
It began coughing, wheezing, and shuddering as it had done on the
entrance ramp to the interstate a while ago, but this time it did not
cease coughing until the engine died. He steered onto the berm and
tried to restart the car, but it would not respond. All he was doing
was draining the battery, so he sat for a moment, despairing, as the
rain fell by the pound and by the hundred-weight upon the car.
But surrender to despair was not his style. After only a few seconds,
he formulated a plan and put it into action, inadequate though it might
be.
He tucked the .357 Combat Magnum under his belt, against the small of
his back, and pulled his shirt out of his jeans to cover the gun. He
would not be able to take the shotgun, and he deeply regretted the loss
of it.
He switched on the Merkur’ s emergency flashers and got out into the