‘Ours,’ Earl said.
‘Paladin agents?’
‘Yeah. I called the office a while ago, after I decided the van was a surveillance operation, asked them to send some guys to check it out ’cause I didn’t want to go over there myself and leave you two alone.’
The two men who got out of the Chevy went to opposite sides of the van.
‘Better go see about Melanie,’ Earl repeated.
‘She’s okay.’
‘Then at least step back from the window.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m paid to take risks, and you aren’t. And I warned you at the start you’d have to do what I told you to do.’
She retreated from the window, but she didn’t move completely away from it. She wanted to see what was happening at the phone-company van.
One of the Paladin agents was still at the driver’s door. The other man had gone around to the rear of the van.
‘If they’re federal agents, there won’t be any shooting,’ she said. ‘Not even if they want Melanie.’
‘That’s right,’ Earl agreed. ‘We’d have to give her up.’
‘No,’ she said, alarmed.
‘Yes, I’m afraid we wouldn’t have a choice. They’re the law. But then at least we’d know who had her, and we could fight to get her back through the courts. But like I said, these guys might not be feds.’
‘And if they’re … someone else?’ she asked, unable to bring herself to say ‘Russians.’
‘Then it might get nasty.’
His large, strong hand curled tightly around the revolver.
Laura looked past him, out the window, which was streaked and spotted from the previous night’s rain.
The late-afternoon sunlight painted the street in shades of brass and copper.
Squinting, she saw one of the rear doors swing open on the phone-company van.
19
Dan left the pathology department but took only a few steps along the hall before a thought stopped him. He went back, opened the door, and leaned into the office as Luther looked up from the microscope again.
‘Thought you had to pee,’ the pathologist said. ‘You’ve only been gone ten seconds.’
‘Peed right here in the hall,’ Dan said.
‘Typical homicide detective.’
‘Listen, Luther, you’re a libertarian?’
‘Well, yeah, but there’s all kinds of libertarians. You’ve got your libertarian conservatives, your libertarian anarchists, and your basic orthodox libertarians. You’ve got libertarians who believe that we should—’
‘Luther, look at me, and you’ll see the definition of “boredom.”‘
‘Then why’d you ask—’
‘I just wanted to know if you’d ever heard of a libertarian group called Freedom Now.’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘It’s a political-action committee.’
‘Means nothing to me.’
‘You’re pretty active in libertarian circles, aren’t you? You would have heard of Freedom Now if they were really a bunch of movers and shakers, wouldn’t you?’
‘Probably.’
‘Ernest Andrew Cooper.’
‘One of the three stiffs from Studio City,’ Luther said.
‘Yeah. Ever hear of him before this?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He’s supposed to be a big wheel in libertarian circles.’
‘Where?’
‘Here in L.A.
‘Well, he’s not. Never heard of him before this.’
‘You sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Why’re you acting like a homicide dick with me?’
‘I am a homicide dick.’
‘You’re a dick, that’s for sure,’ Luther said, grinning. ‘All the people you work with say so. Some of ’em use different words, but they all mean “dick.”‘
‘Dick, dick, dick … are you fixated on that word or something? What’s wrong with you, Luther? Are you lonely, maybe need a new boyfriend?’
The pathologist laughed. He had a hearty laugh and a smile that made you want to smile back at him. Dan couldn’t figure why such a good-natured, vital, optimistic, energetic man as Luther Williams had chosen to spend his working life with corpses.
* * *
Dr. Irmatrude Gelkenshettle, chairperson of the Department of Psychology at UCLA, had a corner office with lots of windows and a view of the campus. Now, at 4:45 in the afternoon, the short winter day was already fading, casting a muddy orange light like that of a fire settling into embers. Outside, the shadows were growing longer by the minute, and students were hurrying in deference to the evening chill, which was creeping in ahead of the darkness.