Dead Ringer (24 page)

Gordon was the best friend she’d ever had, but she was beginning to wonder just how well she knew him.

“
Police,” Gordon said. A black-and-white was just ahead, coming toward them on the other side of the street. “Scoot over here. Act like we’re lovers.”

Maggie moved over next to Gordon, draped an arm over his shoulder, snuggled her head against him. She felt him turn toward the cruiser as they passed.

“
It’s okay now.”

“
What was that all about?”

“
I got a beat up looking car. They expect that here, but if they see Joe Whitebread, they might wonder what he’s doing in this neighborhood so late.” Gordon had his eye on the mirror. “When they looked over and saw an old guy like me smile back with an obviously younger girl clinging to his neck, they assumed you were a hooker.”

“
How can you be so sure?”

“
I told you, I was in the FBI. I know this kind of stuff. Besides, that’s the kind of smile I gave them.”

“
That’s so degrading.”

“
Uh oh,” he said.

“
What?”

“
We have a tail.”

“
How?” Maggie turned around, saw headlights behind. Then the blue and red lights on the cop car came on.

“
Turned his headlights on when he saw the black-and-white.” Gordon slowed.

“
What are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here.”

“
I want to see how it goes.” Gordon killed the lights, stopped in front of a two story white house, reversed and parallel parked between a pickup and a VW bus. He did it fast, like a pro, like a cop.

“
I don’t think this is a good idea.” Maggie thought the house looked like it was once the proud home of an upper middle class family, but the ghetto had expanded, chasing the affluent out of the area. Now the house seemed to be falling apart.

“
He must’ve been waiting outside my place,” Gordon said.

“
Let’s go,” Maggie said.

“
I checked in the rearview when I was busting all those stop signs and didn’t see anything. He was running without his headlights, otherwise I’d have spotted him.”

“
Should we be waiting here like this?”

“
The cop let him go,” Gordon said, ignoring her. “That was fast.” Then, “Down!”

They ducked.

Gordon popped his head up as soon as the car passed. “Black BMW.”

“
What?” Maggie was up now, too.

“
Your friend from earlier this evening.”

“
How can that be?”

“
Good question.” Gordon started the car, pulled away from the curb without turning on his lights.

“
What are you going to do?”

“
Do you have to ask?”

“
I guess not.” Maggie settled back, eyes on the Beemer’s tail lights. “He’s getting on the freeway?”

“
Yeah.” Gordon slowed, waited till the BMW was around the on ramp and out of sight before turning on his headlights. Then he accelerated through the ramp.

“
This car really goes,” Maggie said.

“
A hot rod in disguise,” Gordon said. “Four hundred twenty-seven cubic inches tuned to perfection under the hood. Holly four barrel carb. This old girl can do a hundred and fifty all day long and go from zero to sixty in six flat.”

“
So can a lot of cars these days, that BMW for instance.”

“
Yeah, but who’d expect it of a twenty-something year old Ford? Mechanically she’s new, but she’s ordinary looking, an old man’s car.”

“
Gordon, nobody drives cars like this anymore.”

“
That car up there is a product of precision engineering, like the space shuttle. It’s fast, it’s flashy, it screams money. Ricky had a BMW when we met. I hated it, all that computer crap under the hood. Give me an old American car any day, something a human can understand. Besides, there’s nothing like the feeling of four hundred cubic inches rumbling under the hood.”

“
You surprise me.”

“
What? I can’t be macho?”

Maggie laughed as the BMW moved into the fast lane. Gordon did too. It felt good, laughing, but it was serious business they were about, the laughter was short.

“
That bastard drove me into the bay.” Maggie didn’t want to forget that.

“
Maybe not,” Gordon said.

“
What do you mean?”

“
He followed you, sure. But that doesn’t mean he meant you ill will.”

“
Sure he did, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.”

“
You said you noticed him right after you left the police station. How do you know he’s not a cop? Maybe he was shadowing you for your own protection.”

“
In a BMW?”

“
Coulda been a cop, you never know. I used a 450SL on a stake out once.”

“
Gordon, he chased me.”

“
Sounds more like you might’ve run. Why’d you do that?”

“
I don’t know.” Maggie clenched her fists. “I just did.”

“
You could’ve driven back to the police station, or into a gas station, someplace with people.”

“
I didn’t think of that.”

“
You will next time.”

“
So, you think it was a cop?”

“
In a BMW? Get serious.”

“
Gordon!”

“
I said it coulda been, I didn’t say it was. I was trying to make a point. You ran without thinking and now you don’t have a car. You had other options.”

“
So, you don’t think it was a cop?”

“
No.”

They followed the BMW as it got off the Long Beach Freeway at Lakewood Boulevard and they stayed a safe distance behind when it took the Traffic Circle onto Pacific Coast Highway. It stopped at an office building where PCH intersected Anaheim. Gordon drove on by.

“
Now what?” Maggie said.

“
We go back.” Gordon turned, parked around the corner. He opened his door.

“
You’re not going in that building?”

“
I’ll be right back.”

“
I’m coming.” Maggie reached over the seat, seeking the grip in back.

“
Leave the gun.”

“
No.” She pulled it out, got out of the car. She stuffed the gun between her Levi’s and the small of her back, pulled the sweatshirt down over it just like she’d seen Thomas Magnum do so many times on TV reruns when she was in high school. “Alright, let’s go.”

Gordon led her around to the front of the building, tried the door. “Didn’t lock up after himself.” He pushed through the glass doors.

“
Don’t these buildings have a security guard or something?” Maggie whispered.

“
Five story office building, four or five offices to a floor—I don’t think so. Custodian probably locks it around six, it would lock automatically after anyone leaving late, but if someone opened it with a key—”

“
And forgot to lock it after himself—”

“
Exactly,” Gordon said.

Inside, they were in a lobby, high ceiling, marble floor. A reception desk to the right of the double glass doors was empty now. Light from streetlights outside gave the lobby an eerie feeling, like walking through a horror movie. Tingles rippled up Maggie’s spine, turned to ice at the back of her neck.

“
Look there.” Gordon was pointing to a legend on the wall between double elevators.

“
Long Beach City Bank, so what?” Maggie said. There was the bank, a travel agency and an Italian restaurant on the first floor.

“
Third floor, Hightower, Private Investigators.” He turned to her. “I need to know you’re safe in the car.”

“
I’m coming with you.”

“
No argument. If you don’t go to the car right now, we’re leaving. Then we’ll never know what the guy in the BMW was all about.”

“
Gordon.”

“
No, it was stupid of me to even let you get this far.”

“
I’m coming.”

“
No!” He was whispering, but he was firm. “I’ve been trained for this, you haven’t. You’d be in the way.”

“
You sure?”

“
Absolutely.”

Maggie backed through the doors as Gordon entered a stairwell next to the elevators. She didn’t want to go back to the car, but a part of her was secretly relieved. She’d had enough of guns and shooting to last a lifetime. It was good Gordon was taking over.

She got in the car.

Safe.

Thank God for Gordon.

She pulled the gun from its place behind her back and put it in the glove box. A car went past, lights splitting the dark. Only now did she realize how late it was. She looked at the dashboard clock. Midnight. How long had Gordon been up there? Maybe she should check on him.

But he’d said to stay in the car.

Ten minutes later she couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d been gone too long. She got out of the car, walked to the office building, opened the door and stepped into the lobby. She looked up at the legend. The private investigator Gordon wanted to check out was on the third floor. She looked for the office number, but she saw something else. She took two steps forward, stood between the elevators, stared up and read.

The District Office of the 35th Congressional District

5th Floor, Room 500.

Now she knew where the man in the black BMW had gone and it wasn’t to any private investigator on the third floor.

The elevator on the right started to move. She looked to the numbers above it. It was coming down from the fifth floor. She stood transfixed as it descended to the fourth floor, then the third. Any second it was going to open and she was going to be caught. She cast her eyes around the lobby, saw the reception desk and ran toward it.

She heard a bell tingle as she dove behind the desk. The floor was cold and hard. She took baby breaths that sounded jack-hammer loud to her ears, but she knew nobody else could hear.

A whoosh of sound hit her as the doors opened. Not loud, she told herself, not really.

“
Everything is on track, except for your loose end.” It was a radio voice, smooth and cultured.

“
I’m gonna take care of it.” A hard voice. Maggie wished she could see their faces, but no way was she going to risk popping her head up for a quick look.

“
Soon, I trust.” The radio voice again. Maggie shivered, because all of a sudden she recognized it, knew who it belonged to.

“
You can count on me—” The hard voice was swallowed up with the sound of the front doors opening and a car passing by outside.

The doors closed, a sonic boom to her heart, then silence. She breathed a sigh of relief, cut it short when she heard someone charging down the stairwell behind her. Horrified, she reached behind herself for the gun. It wasn’t there. She’d left it in the car and any second someone was going to come bursting out of the stairwell and she’d be the first thing he saw, because although she’d been hidden from the elevators, she was in clear sight of the stairwell.

Nowhere to go. No time.

The door burst open.

He stopped, breathing hard, caught her with a hard glare.

“
What are you doing here?” It was Gordon.

“
I was worried?” Maggie pushed herself to her feet.

“
You should have stayed in the car.”

“
You took so long.”

“
I was waiting outside that PI’s office. After a few minutes I figured out I made a mistake.”

“
A few minutes, more like fifteen.” Maggie was whispering, but frantic.

“
Not so loud. I heard the elevator, thought I could catch them,” Gordon said. Then, “Did you get a look at them?”

“
No.”

“
Damn!” Now Gordon was loud.

“
But I know who it was, not the guy in the BMW, but the one he came to see.”

“
How?” Gordon said.

“
Fifth floor.” Maggie pointed up at the legend.

“
What?” Gordon followed her finger. “The Congressional Office?”

“
Yeah,” Maggie said, “the Congressional Office. You know, where the Honorable J.L. Nishikawa works when he’s in the district.”

“
Johnny Nishikawa got the medal of honor in Vietnam,” Gordon said. “ He’s honest to a fault, beyond reproach. You’ve gotta be mistaken, that can’t be where the BMW guy went.”

“
He was talking to someone when he went out. I heard his voice. It was him, I know, I’ve heard him enough times on television.”

“
The only thing that proves is the congressman was in his office tonight. The guy in the BMW could still be up there.”

“
No, the other guy sounded like the man who followed me into the liquor store.”

“
You sure?”

“
I bet the Beemer’s gone,” Maggie said.

“
Let’s see.” Gordon crossed the lobby, pushed his way through the double doors, looked down the street. The BMW was gone.

“
I forgot to tell you something.” Maggie passed him, got in his Ford.