Goodbye California

  ‘Call them what you want.’ Ryder took the sheet, and examined it more in hope than expectation. He said in complaint: ‘Can’t pronounce half of them, far less understand them.’

  ‘This is a very cosmopolitan State, Sergeant Ryder.’ Ryder looked at him in suspicion but Leroy’s face was perfectly straight.

  ‘Borundians,’ Ryder went on. ‘Corinthians. The Judges. The Knights of Calvary. The Blue Cross. The Blue Cross?’

  ‘Not the hospital insurance people, Sergeant.’

  ‘The Seekers?’

  ‘Not the singing group.’

  ‘Nineteen-ninety-nine?’

  ‘That’s the day the world ends.’

  ‘Ararat?’

  ‘Splinter group of nineteen-ninety-nine. Where Noah’s ark fetched up. Working with a group called the Revelations, high up in the Sierras. Building a boat for the next flood.’

  ‘They could be right. According to Professor Benson of CalTech a large chunk of California is going to disappear into the Pacific. They may have to wait a bit though – million years, give or take. Ah, now. This is more like it. Group over a hundred strong. Established only eight months. The Temple of Allah.’

  ‘Muslims. Also operating out of Sierra Nevada, but not quite so high up. Forget them. They’ve been checked out too.’

  ‘Still. Carlton’s a religious nut –’

  ‘You call a Muslim a nut, you have to call a Christian one too.’

  ‘Carltom’s landlady’s phrase. She probably thinks anyone who crosses a church door a nut. Morro could come from Beirut. Muslims there.’

  ‘And Christians. Spent nineteen-seventy-six wiping each other out. I’ve been up that blind alley, Sergeant. Morro could be Indian. Carlton’s been in New Delhi. Hindu, not Muslim. Or Morro could be south-east Asia. So Carlton’s been to Singapore, Hong Kong and Manila. First two – if anything – are Buddhist, third is Catholic. Or Japan – Carlton’s been there, Morro may have been. Shintoism. You can’t just pick the religion that fits your theory – and there’s no record of Carlton ever having been in Beirut. I told you, this place has been checked out. Chief of Police swears by them –’

  ‘That’s enough for an immediate arrest warrant.’

  ‘Not every police chief is a Donahure. This man – Curragh – is widely respected. The Governor of California is their patron. They’ve given two million – I repeat, two million – to charity. Open to the public –’

  Ryder held up a hand. ‘All right, all right. Point taken. Where does this bunch of paragons hang out?’

  ‘Some kind of castle. Adlerheim, it’s called.’

  ‘I know it. Been there, in fact. Brainchild of some wealthy crank called Von Streicher.’ He paused. ‘Muslim or not anybody who lives there has to be a nut.’ He paused again, longer this time, made as if to speak then clearly changed his mind.

  Leroy said: ‘Sorry I can’t help you more.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll take those lists if I may. Along with my earthquake studies – they’re bound to lead me to point zero.’

  Parker led the way to the car. In a quiet voice Jeff said to Ryder: ‘Come on, out with it. What were you about to say in there that you didn’t?’

  ‘When you consider the size of this State the Adlerheim is only a stone’s throw from Bakersfield. That’s where LeWinter’s mysterious phone call came from.’

  ‘Could mean something?’

  ‘Could mean that I’m still in a far-fetched mood tonight. Be interesting to find out whether there’s a direct line from the castle to Bakersfield.’

  On the way out to the suburbs Ryder briefed Parker as exhaustively as he could.

  South Maple was short, straight, tree-lined, pleasant and quiet, all the houses of the pseudo-Spanish-Moroccan architectural design so popular in the south. Two hundred yards short of his destination Ryder pulled up behind a black unmarked car, got out and walked forward. The man sitting behind the wheel glanced interrogatively at Ryder.

  Ryder said: ‘You must be George Green.’

  ‘And you must be Sergeant Ryder. Office called me.’

  ‘Listen in to her phone all the time?’

  ‘Don’t have to. Very educated little bug.’ He tapped the square base of his telephone. ‘When she lifts her phone this little box goes tinkle-tinkle. Automatic recorder, too.’

  ‘We’re going to have a word with her and going to find an excuse to leave her for a minute. She may put a panic call through in our absence.’

  ‘I’ll have it for you.’

  Bettina Ivanhoe lived in a surprisingly nice house, small, not on the scale of Donahure’s or LeWinter’s homes, but large enough to provoke the thought that for a twenty-one-year-old secretary she was doing surprisingly well for herself – or someone was doing surprisingly well for her. She answered the door bell and looked apprehensively at the three men.

  ‘Police officers,’ Parker said. ‘Could we have a word with you?’

  ‘Police officers? Yes, I suppose so. I mean, of course.’

  She led the way to a small sitting-room and tucked her legs under her while the three men took an armchair apiece. She looked sweet and demure and proper, but that wasn’t anything much to go by; she’d looked sweet and demure if hardly proper when she’d been lying chained to LeWinter in his bed.

  ‘Am I – am I in any kind of trouble?’

  ‘We hope not.’ Parker had a deep booming voice, one of those rare voices that could sound hearty, reassuring and ominous all at the same time. ‘We’re just looking for any information that will help us. We’re investigating allegations – they’re more than that, I’m afraid – of widespread and illegal bribery involving foreigners and several high-placed individuals in public services in this State. A year or two back the South Koreans were giving away millions, seemingly out of the goodness of their hearts.’ He sighed. ‘And now the Russians are at it. You will understand that I can’t be more specific’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’ Clearly she didn’t understand at all.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ The hearty reassurance in his voice had gone all diminuendo.

  ‘Five months.’ The apprehension was still there but it had been joined by a certain wariness. ‘Why?’

  ‘Asking questions is my job.’ Parker looked around leisurely. ‘Very nice place you have here. What’s your job, Miss Ivanhoe?’

  ‘I’m a secretary.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘Before that?’

  ‘School. San Diego.’

  ‘University of California?’ A nod. ‘You left?’ Another nod.

  ‘Why did you leave?’ She hesitated. ‘Don’t forget, we can check all this out. Failed grades?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t afford to –’

  ‘You couldn’t afford to?’ Parker looked around again. ‘Yet in two years, a secretary, a beginner, really, you can afford to live here? Your average secretary has to make do with a single room in the beginning. Or live with her parents.’ He tapped his forehead lightly. ‘Of course. Your parents. Must be very understanding folk. Not to say generous.’

  ‘My parents are dead.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry. ‘Then somebody must have been very generous.’

  ‘I haven’t been charged with anything.’ She compressed her lips and swung her feet to the floor. ‘I’ll not answer another question until I’ve talked to my lawyer.’

  ‘Judge LeWinter is not answering the phone today. He’s got lumbago.’ This got to her. She sunk back against the cushions, looking oddly vulnerable and defenceless. She could have been acting but probably was not. If Parker felt a twinge of pity he didn’t show it. ‘You’re Russian, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. No. No.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. Where were you born?’

  ‘Vladivostok.’ She’d given up.

  ‘Where are your parents buried?’

  ‘They’re alive. They went back to Moscow.’

  ‘When?’

>   ‘Four years ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think they were called back.’

  ‘They were naturalized?’

  ‘Yes. A long time.’

  ‘Where did your father work?’

  ‘Burbank.’

  ‘Lockheed, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you get your job?’

  ‘Box number ad. For an American secretary who could speak Russian and Chinese.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be many of those around?’

  ‘Only me.’

  ‘Judge LeWinter has private clients, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Including Russian and Chinese?’

  ‘Yes. Sometimes they need a translator in court.’

  ‘Does he require any translation done for him out of court?’

  She hesitated. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Military stuff. Russian, of course. In code.’

  Her voice was low now, barely above a whisper. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anything about weather at any time?’

  Her eyes were wide. ‘How do you know –’

  ‘Don’t you know it’s wrong? Don’t you know it’s treason? Don’t you know the penalty for treason?’

  She put her forearm on the side of the couch and laid her blonde head on it. She made no reply.

  Ryder said: ‘You like LeWinter?’ His voice didn’t seem to register with her as the one she’d heard the previous night.

  ‘I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!’ The voice was shaking but the vehemence left no room for disbelief.

  Ryder stood and jerked his head to the door. Parker said: ‘We’re going to the car to call the station. Back in a minute or two.’ The three men went outside.

  Ryder said: ‘She hates LeWinter and I, Dave, hate you.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  ‘Jeff, go see if the FBI man is intercepting a phone call. I know I’m just wasting your time.’ Jeff left.

  ‘Poor bloody kid.’ Parker shook his head. ‘Imagine if that were Peggy.’

  ‘Just what I am meaning. Old man a spy, probably an industrial one. Called back to Russia to report and now being held over her head – along with her mother, probably. Being blackmailed to hell and back. One thing: we can probably tell our super-spies in Geneva what they can do with themselves. She’s intelligent. I’ll bet she has total recall about this Russian weather report or whatever.’

  ‘Hasn’t she had enough, John? And what will happen to her parents?’

  ‘Nothing, I should imagine. Not if the report leaks out that she has been arrested or disappeared or held incommunicado. That’s the way they’d act themselves.’

  ‘Not the way we act in our great American democracy.’

  ‘They don’t believe in our great American democracy.’

  They waited until Jeff returned. He looked at them and shook his head.

  ‘It figures,’ Ryder said. ‘Our poor little Bettina has no place left to go.’

  They went back inside. She was sitting straight again, looking at them without expectation. Her brown eyes were dulled and there were tear stains on her cheeks. The men didn’t bother to sit down. She looked at Ryder.

  ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘You have the advantage over me. I’ve never seen you before in my life. We are going to take you into protective custody, that’s all.’

  ‘I know what that means. Protective custody. Spying, treason, a morals charge. Protective custody.’

  Ryder caught her wrist, pulled her to her feet, and held her by the shoulders. ‘You’re in California, not Siberia. Protective custody means that we’re going to take you in and keep you safe and unharmed until this blows over. There will be no charges preferred against you because there are none to prefer. We promise that no harm will come to you, not now, nor later.’ He led her towards the door and opened it. ‘If you want to, you can go. Pack some things, take them to your car and drive off. But it’s cold out there and dark and you’ll be alone. You’re too young to be alone.’

  She looked through the doorway, turned back, made a movement of the shoulders that could have been a shrug or a shiver and looked at Ryder uncertainly. He said: ‘We know of a safe place. We’ll send a policewoman with you, not a battle-axe to guard you but a young and pretty girl like yourself to keep you company.’ He nodded to Jeff. ‘I know my son here will take the greatest care, not to say pleasure, in picking out just the girl for you.’ Jeff grinned and it was probably his smile more than anything else that convinced her. ‘You will, of course, have an armed guard outside. Two or three days, no more. Just pack enough for that. Don’t be a dope; we just want to look after you.’

  She smiled for the first time, nodded and left the room. Jeff grinned again. ‘I’ve often wondered how you managed to trap Susan, but now I’m beginning to –’

  Ryder gave him a cold look. ‘Green’s all through here. Go and explain to him why.’

  Jeff left, still smiling.

  Healey, Bramwell and Schmidt had foregathered in Burnett’s sitting-room after dinner, excellent as was all the food in the Adlerheim. It had been a sombre meal, as most meals were, and the atmosphere had not been lightened by the absence of Susan who had been eating with her injured daughter. Carlton had not been there either, but this had hardly been remarked upon, because the deputy chief of security had become a highly unsociable creature – gloomy, withdrawn, almost secretive: it was widely assumed that he was brooding over his own defects and failures in the field of security. After a meal eaten quickly and in funereal silence all had left as soon as they decently could. And now Burnett was dispensing his post-prandial hospitality – in this case an excellent Martell – with his customary heavy hand.

  ‘Woman’s not normal,’ Burnett was speaking and, as usual, he wasn’t saying something, he was announcing it.

  Bramwell said cautiously: ‘Which one?’

  ‘Which woman is?’ Burnett would have gone over big with the women’s lib. ‘But I was referring to Mrs Ryder, of course.’

  Healey steepled judicious fingers. ‘Charming, I thought.’

  ‘Charming? To be sure, to be sure. Charming. Quite beautiful. But deranged.’ He waved a vague arm around. ‘All this, I suppose. Women can’t take it. Went along to see her after dinner, pay respects, commiserate with injured daughter, you know. Damn pretty young girl that. Lying there, all shot up.’ To listen to Burnett, one would have assumed that the patient had been riddled with machine-gun fire. ‘Well, I’m a pretty even-tempered fellow’ – he seemed to be genuinely unaware of his own reputation – ‘but I must say I rather lost my temper. Said that Morro was at worst a cold-blooded monster that should be destroyed, at best a raving lunatic that should be locked up. Would you believe it, she didn’t agree at all.’ He briefly contemplated the enormity of her error in character assessment, then shook his head at its being beyond normal comprehension. ‘Admitted that he should be brought to justice, but said he was kind, considerate and even thoughtful of others at times. An intelligent, I had thought highly intelligent, woman.’ Burnett shook his head again, whether in self-reproach at his own character assessment or because he was sadly figuring out what the rest of womankind might be like it was hard to say. He drank his brandy, clearly not savouring it at all. ‘I ask you, gentlemen. I simply ask you.’

  ‘He’s a maniac, all right. That I grant you.’ Bramwell was being cautious again. ‘But not amoral as a madman should be. If he really wanted an impressive debut for this atom bomb of his – assuming he has one, and none of us here doubts it – he’d detonate it without warning in the Wilshire Boulevard instead of with warning out in the desert.’

  ‘Balderdash. The extreme cunning of extreme madness. Wants to convince people that they’re dealing with a rational human being.’ Burnett examined his empty glass, rose and made for the bar. ‘Well, he’ll never convince me of that. I detest clichés but, gentlemen – mark my words.’

  They marked his words in sil
ence and were still sitting in silence when Morro and Dubois entered. He was either oblivious of or ignored the thunder on Burnett’s face, the gloom on that of the others.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but the evenings are a bit dull here and I thought you might care to see something to titillate your scientific curiosity. I do not want to sound like a showman in a circus, but I’m sure you will be astonished – dumb-founded, I might almost say – by what Abraham and I are about to show you. Would you care to accompany me, gentlemen?’