Cut and Thrust

43

Morales and Croft got back to their hotel, cleaned up, then went back to the Huntington Hotel bar and settled down with drinks. Five minutes later, two very attractive young women who appeared to be in their early thirties came in and took the only two stools vacant, which happened to be right next to Croft.

“Evening,” Croft said. “Can I get you two ladies a drink?”

The two looked him up and down, then one of them said, “Why not? Two Tito’s martinis, straight up, with a fistful of olives.”

The drinks arrived, and everyone toasted and drank. “I’m Stockton Croft, and this is my partner, Chico Morales.”

“I’m Pam Hale, and this is Sherry Tate,” the blonder of the two said. “What are you two partners in?”

“Crime fighting,” Croft said. “We’re LAPD detectives.”

“Ah,” Pam said, “and what brings you all the way to San Francisco?”

“The investigation of an attempted murder and an inadvertent suicide,” Croft replied. “What do you two do?”

“I do news features on the six o’clock news at WSFO,” Pam said, “and Sherry is the weather girl.”

“The meteorologist,” Sherry said.

“Sorry, Sherry. Tell me about your crime, Stockton — what was it again?”

“Attempted murder and inadvertent suicide.”

“That sounds fascinating. Tell me everything.”

“Well, this guy who works at a movie studio got hired to kill a lawyer who is a pilot, so he went out to Santa Monica Airport and packed half a pound of plastic explosives into the nosewheel well of a Citation and attached the detonator to a cell phone.”

“So the guy could call the number and the bomb would go off?”

“Exactly, except the guy got unlucky. Somebody called the number of the cell phone — probably a misdial — and the bomb went off while the guy was installing it.”

“And what did that do to the guy?”

“Blew off his head and one arm, and badly damaged his dignity.”

The girls winced and laughed. “And thus,” Pam said, “attempted murder and inadvertent suicide!”

“Right you are.”

“I love it, but how did it get you to San Francisco?”

“We came up to question a suspect.”

“But the suspect is dead.”

“The person who hired the suspect is not dead.”

“Ah, and who is he?”

“She.”

“Who?”

“No names,” Morales said suddenly, speaking for the first time. “She’s only a suspect at this point.”

“A woman hired this guy?”

“We’re pretty sure she did,” Croft said, “but we don’t have enough evidence to nail her — yet.”

“Wow! So this is an ongoing investigation!”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You know, this is exactly the kind of story I cover,” Pam said. “I’d love to interview this lady.”

“Oh, I don’t think she wants any publicity,” Croft said. “She’s a prominent person in your city — serves on a bunch of charity and arts boards, gives away millions.”

“Oh, come on, Stockton...”

“Call me Stock — everybody does.”

“Stock, tell me all the details, and I’m buying dinner. There’s a very good restaurant right over there.” She pointed across the bar.

Croft looked at Morales. “That’s a pretty good offer, Chico. What do you think?”

“Sounds great, but no names.”

“We’ll see about that after a bottle of good wine,” Pam said, waving at the headwaiter and holding up four fingers.

Billy waited until the last vestiges of the sunset had gone, then started his car. Then he turned it off again. A car’s headlights were turning into the Grosvenors’ driveway, and a moment later two other cars arrived. The front door of the house was opened, and half a dozen people were admitted.

Billy switched on the ignition and brought up the car’s navigator. He pressed the button that showed him his position, then cranked the zoom knob until he had a large-scale map of the immediate area. It took only a moment to find what he was looking for. To his left, another road turned off the main highway, then intersected with yet another road that ran behind the Grosvenor property. He started the car again and pulled into the main road, then took two rights, keeping the house on his right. As he made the second right, he turned off the headlights and stopped at a wide place in the road.

Billy got out of the car, took off his tan windbreaker, and turned it inside out, making it black. He put on a black knitted cap, as well, then checked his little 9mm semiautomatic and returned it to its holster, then he closed the car door, climbed over a fence, and began walking toward the house.

As he did, he screwed a silencer into the barrel of his weapon.