Judy said: "This may seem like an odd question, Mr. Sparrow, but why do you need to know what Mrs. Gorky sees when she looks out the window?"
"I don't," Simon said. "That question generally elicits a response of about the length I need to analyze the voice. By the time she's finished, I know whether she's the woman I'm looking for."
"And who's that?"
"The one who called the John Truth show, of course." He tapped the ring binder on his desk. "The Bureau, the police, and the radio stations that syndicate the show have so far received a total of one thousand two hundred and twenty-nine calls telling us who she is."
Judy picked up the file and leafed through it. Could the vital clue be in here somewhere? Simon had got his secretary to collate the tip-off calls. In most cases there was a name, address, and phone number for the tipster and the same for the suspect. In some cases there was a quote from the caller:
I've always suspected she had Mob connections.
She's one of those subversive types. I'm not surprised she's involved in something like this.
She seems like a regular mom, but it's her voice--I'd swear on the Bible.
One particularly useless tip gave no name but said:
I know I've heard her voice on the radio or something. It was so sexy, I remembered it. But it was a long time ago. Maybe I heard it on a record album.
It was a sexy voice, Judy recalled. She had noticed that at the time. The woman could make a fortune as a telephone salesperson, getting male executives to buy advertising space they did not need.
Simon said: "So far today I've eliminated one hundred of them. I think I'm going to need some assistance."
Judy continued leafing through the file. "I'd help you if I could, but I've been warned off the case."
"Gee, thanks, that sure makes me feel better."
"Do you hear how it's going?"
"Marvin's team are calling everyone on the mailing list of the Green California Campaign. He and Brian just left for Sacramento, but I can't imagine what they're going to tell the famous Mr. Honeymoon."
"It's not the goddamn Greens, we all know that."
"He doesn't have any other ideas, though."
Judy frowned, looking at the file. She had come across another call that mentioned a record. As before, there was no name for the suspect, but the caller had said:
I've heard the voice on an album, I'm darn sure. Something from way back, like the sixties.
Judy asked Simon: "Did you notice that two of the tip-offs mention a record album?"
"They do? I missed that!"
"They think they've heard her voice on an old record."
"Is that right?" Simon was instantly animated. "It must be a speech album--bedtime stories, or Shakespeare, or something. A person's speaking voice is quite different from their singing voice."
Raja Khan passed the door and caught her eye. "Oh, Judy, your father called, I thought you were at lunch."
Suddenly Judy felt breathless. She left Simon without a word and rushed back to her desk. Without sitting down, she picked up the phone and dialed Bo's number.
He picked up right away. "Lieutenant Maddox here."
"What have you got?"
"A suspect."
"Jesus--that's great!"
"Get this. A seismic vibrator went missing two weeks ago somewhere between Shiloh, Texas, and Clovis, New Mexico. The regular driver disappeared at the same time, and his burned-out car was found at the local dump, containing what appear to be his ashes."
"He was murdered for his damn truck? These people don't take prisoners, do they?"
"The prime suspect is one Richard Granger, aged forty-eight. They called him Ricky, and they thought he was Hispanic, but with a name like that he could be a Caucasian with a tan. And--wait for it--he has a record."
"You're a genius, Bo!"
"A copy should be coming out of your fax machine about now. He was a big-time hoodlum in L.A. around the late sixties, early seventies, in there. Convictions for assault, burglary, grand theft auto. Questioned about three murders, also drug dealing. But he disappeared from the scene in 1972. The LAPD thought he must have been whacked by the Mob--he owed them money--but they never found a body, so they didn't close the file."
"I get it. Ricky ran from the Mob, got religion, and started a cult."
"Unfortunately, we don't know where."
"Except that it's not in Silver River Valley."
"The LAPD can check out his last known address. It's probably a waste of time, but I'll ask them anyway. Guy in Homicide there owes me a favor."
"Do we have a picture of Ricky?"
"There's one in the file, but it's a photo of a nineteen-year-old. He's pushing fifty now, he probably looks completely different. Luckily, the sheriff in Shiloh prepared an E-fit likeness." E-fit was the computer program that had replaced the old-style police artist. "He promised to fax it to me, but it hasn't arrived yet."
"Refax it to me as soon as you get it, would you?"
"Sure. What'll you do?"
"I'm going to Sacramento."
*
It was four-fifteen when Judy stepped through the door that had GOVERNOR carved in it.
The same secretary sat behind the big desk. She recognized Judy and registered surprise. "You're one of the FBI people, aren't you? The meeting with Mr. Honeymoon started ten minutes ago."
"That's okay," Judy said. "I've brought some important information that came in at the last moment. But before I go into the meeting, did a fax arrive here for me within the last few minutes?" Having left her office before the E-fit picture of Ricky Granger came through, she had called Bo from the car and asked him to fax it to the governor's office.
"I'll check." She spoke into the phone. "Yes, your fax is here." A moment later a young woman appeared from a side door with a sheet of paper.
Judy stared at the face on the fax. This was the man who might kill thousands. Her enemy.
She saw a handsome man who had gone to some trouble to hide the true shape of his face, as if perhaps he had anticipated this moment. His head was covered by a cowboy hat. That suggested that the witnesses who had helped the sheriff create the computer picture had never seen the suspect without a hat. Consequently there was no indication of what his hair was like. If he was bald, or grizzled, or curly, or long haired, he would look different from this picture. And the bottom half of his face was equally well concealed by a bushy beard and mustache. There could be any kind of jaw under there. By now, she guessed, he was clean shaven.
The man had deep-set eyes that stared hypnotically out of the picture. But to the general public, all criminals had staring eyes.
All the same, the picture told her some things. Ricky Granger did not habitually wear spectacles, he was evidently not African American or Asian, and since his beard was dark and luxuriant, he probably had dark hair. From the attached description she learned that he was about six feet tall, slim built, and fit looking, with no noticeable accent. It was not much, but it was better than nothing.
And nothing was what Brian and Marvin had.
Honeymoon's assistant appeared and ushered Judy into the Horseshoe, where the governor and his staff had their offices.
Judy bit her lip. She was about to break the first rule of bureaucracy and make her boss look a fool. It would probably be the end of her career.
Screw it.
All she wanted now was to make her boss get serious about the Hammer of Eden before they killed people. As long as he did that, he could fire her.
They passed the entrance to the governor's personal suite, then the assistant opened the door to Honeymoon's office.
Judy stepped inside.
For a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the shock and dismay on the faces of Brian Kincaid and Marvin Hayes.
Then she looked at Honeymoon.
The cabinet secretary was wearing a pale gray shirt with a subdued black-and-white-dotted tie and dark gray patterned suspenders. He looked at Judy
with raised eyebrows and said: "Agent Maddox! Mr. Kincaid just got through telling me he took you off the case because you're a ditz."
Judy was floored. She was supposed to be in control of this scene; she was the one causing consternation. Honeymoon had outdone her. He was not going to be upstaged in his own office.
She recovered fast. Okay, Mr. Honeymoon, if you want to play hardball, I'll go in to bat.
She said to him: "Brian's full of shit."
Kincaid scowled, but Honeymoon just raised his eyebrows slightly.
Judy added: "I'm the best agent he has, and I just proved it."
"You did?" Honeymoon said.
"While Marvin has been sitting around with his thumb up his ass pretending there's nothing to worry about, I've solved this case."
Kincaid stood up, his face flushed. He said angrily: "Maddox, just what the hell do you think you're doing here?"
She ignored him. "I know who's sending terrorist threats to Governor Robson," she said to Honeymoon. "Marvin and Brian don't. You can make your own decision about who's the ditz."
Hayes was bright red. He burst out: "What the hell are you talking about?"
Honeymoon said: "Let's all sit down. Now that Ms. Maddox has interrupted us, we may as well hear what she has to say." He nodded to his assistant. "Close the door, John. Now, Agent Maddox, did I hear you say you know who's making the threats?"
"Correct." She put a fax picture on Honeymoon's desk. "This is Richard Granger, a hoodlum from Los Angeles who was believed, wrongly, to have been killed by the Mob in 1972."
"And what makes you think he's the culprit?"
"Look at this." She handed him another piece of paper. "Here's the seismograph of a typical earthquake. Look at the vibrations that precede the tremor. There's a haphazard series of different magnitudes. These are typical foreshocks." She showed him a second sheet. "This is the Owens valley earthquake. Nothing haphazard here. Instead of a natural-looking mess, there is a neat series of regular vibrations."
Hayes interrupted. "No one can figure out what those vibrations are."
Judy turned to him. "You couldn't figure it out, but I did." She put another sheet on Honeymoon's desk. "Look at this chart."
Honeymoon studied the third chart, comparing it with the second. "Regular, just like the Owens valley graph. What makes vibrations like these?"
"A machine called a seismic vibrator."
Hayes sniggered, but Honeymoon did not crack a smile. "What's that?"
"One of these." She handed him the picture sent to her by the manufacturers. "It's used in oil exploration."
Honeymoon looked skeptical. "Are you saying the earthquake was man-made?"
"I'm not theorizing, I'm giving you the facts. A seismic vibrator was used in that location immediately before the earthquake. You can make your own judgment about cause and effect."
He gave her a hard, appraising look. He was asking himself whether she was a bullshitter or not. She stared right back at him. Finally he said: "Okay. How does that lead you to the guy with the beard?"
"A seismic vibrator was stolen a week ago in Shiloh, Texas."
She heard Hayes say: "Oh, shit."
Honeymoon said: "And the guy in the picture ...?"
"Richard Granger is the prime suspect in the theft--and in the murder of the truck's regular driver. Granger was working for the oil exploration team that was using the vibrator. The E-fit picture is based on the recollections of his co-workers."
Honeymoon nodded. "Is that it?"
"Isn't it enough?" she expostulated.
Honeymoon did not respond to that. He turned to Kincaid. "What have you got to say about all this?"
Kincaid gave him a shit-eating grin. "I don't think we should bother you with internal disciplinary matters--"
"Oh, I want to be bothered," Honeymoon said. There was a dangerous note in his voice, and the temperature in the room seemed to fall. "Look at it from my angle. You come here and tell me the earthquake definitely was not man-made." His voice became louder. "Now it appears, from this evidence, that it very likely was. So we have a group out there that could cause a major disaster." Judy felt a surge of triumph as it became clear Honeymoon had bought her story. He was furious with Kincaid. He stood up and pointed a finger at Brian. "You tell me you can't find the perpetrators, then in walks Agent Maddox with a name, a police record, and a fucking picture."
"I think I should say--"
"I feel like you've been dicking me around, Special Agent Kincaid," said Honeymoon, overriding Kincaid. His face was dark with anger. "And when people dick me around I get kind of tetchy."
Judy sat silent, watching Honeymoon destroy Kincaid. If this is what you're like when you're tetchy, Al, I'd hate to see you when you're real mad.
Kincaid tried again. "I'm sorry if--"
"I also hate people who apologize," Honeymoon said. "An apology is designed to make the offender feel okay so that he can do it again. Don't be sorry."
Kincaid tried to gather the shreds of his dignity. "What do you want me to say?"
"That you're putting Agent Maddox in charge of this case."
Judy stared at him. This was even better than she had hoped.
Kincaid looked as if he had been asked to strip naked in Union Square. He swallowed.
Honeymoon said: "If you have a problem with that, just say so, and I'll have Governor Robson call the director of the FBI in Washington. The governor could then explain to the director the reasons why we're making this request."
"That won't be necessary," Kincaid said.
"So put Maddox in charge."
"Okay."
"No, not 'okay.' I want you to say it to her, right here, right now."
Brian refused to look at Judy, but he said: "Agent Maddox, you are now in charge of the Hammer of Eden investigation."
"Thank you," Judy said.
Saved!
"Now get out of here," Honeymoon said.
They all got up.
Honeymoon said: "Maddox."
She turned at the door. "Yes."
"Call me once a day."
That meant he would continue to support her. She could talk to Honeymoon any time she liked. And Kincaid knew it. "You got it," she said.
They went out.
As they were leaving the Horseshoe, Judy gave Kincaid a sweet smile and repeated the words he had said to her the last time they were in this building, four days ago. "You did just fine in there, Brian. Don't you worry about a thing."
13
Dusty was sick all day Monday.
Melanie drove into Silver City to pick up more of the allergy drug he needed. She left Dusty being cared for by Flower, who was going through a sudden maternal phase.
She came back in a panic.
Priest was in the barn with Dale. Dale had asked him to taste the blend of last year's wine. It was going to be a nutty vintage, slow to mature but long-lived. Priest suggested using more of the lighter pressing from the lower, shadier slopes of the valley, to make the wine more immediately appealing; but Dale resisted. "This is a connoisseur's wine now," he said. "We don't have to pander to supermarket buyers. Our customers like to keep the wine in their cellars for a few years before drinking it."
Priest knew this was not the real reason Dale wanted to talk to him, but he argued anyway. "Don't knock the supermarket buyers--they saved our lives in the early days."
"Well, they can't save our lives now," Dale said. "Priest, why the fuck are we doing this? We have to be off this land by next Sunday."
Priest suppressed a sigh of frustration. For Christ's sake, give me a chance! I've almost done it--the governor can't ignore earthquakes indefinitely. I just need a little more time. Why can't you have faith?
He knew that Dale could not be won over by bullying, cajoling, or bullshit. Only logic would work with him. He forced himself to speak calmly, the epitome of sweet reason. "You could be right," he said magnanimously. Then he could not resist adding a gibe. "Pessimists often are."
>
"So?"
"All I'm saying to you is, give it those six days. Don't quit now. Leave time for a miracle. Maybe it won't happen. But maybe it will."
"I don't know," Dale said.
Then Melanie burst in with a newspaper in her hand. "I have to talk to you," she said breathlessly.
Priest's heart missed a beat. What had happened? It must be about the earthquakes--and Dale was not in on the secret. Priest gave him a grin that said Ain't women peculiar? and led Melanie out of the barn.
"Dale doesn't know!" he said as soon as they were out of earshot. "What the hell--"
"Look at this!" she said, waving the paper in front of his eyes.
He was shocked to see a photograph of a seismic vibrator.
He hastily scanned the yard and the nearby buildings, but no one was around. All the same, he did not want to have this conversation with Melanie out in the open. "Not here!" he said fiercely. "Put the damn paper under your arm and let's go to my cabin."
She got a grip on herself.
They walked through the little settlement to his cabin. As soon as they were inside, he took the newspaper from her and looked at the picture again. There was no doubt about it. He could not read the caption or the accompanying story, of course, but the photo was of a truck just like the one he had stolen.
"Shit," he said, and threw the newspaper on the table.
"Read it!" Melanie said.
"It's too dim in here," he replied. "Tell me what it says."
"The police are looking for a stolen seismic vibrator."
"The hell they are."
"It doesn't say anything about earthquakes," Melanie went on. "It's just, like, a funny story--who'd want to steal one of these damn things?"
"I don't buy that," Priest said. "This can't be a coincidence. The story is about us, even if they don't mention us. They know how we made the earthquake happen, but they haven't told the press yet. They're scared of creating a panic."
"So why have they released this picture?"
"To make things hard for us. That picture makes it impossible to drive the truck on the open road. Every Highway Patrol officer in California is on the lookout." He hit the table with his fist in frustration. "Fuck it, I can't let them stop me this easily!"
"What if we drive at night?"
He had thought of that. He shook his head. "Still too risky. There are cops on the road at night."