The Frumious Bandersnatch (30 page)

Carella and Hawes did not walk around the corner to the building in which Bison Records had its offices. Nor did either of the men connect the proximity of Lorelei Records to the company not a hundred yards away on Monroe Street.

Instead, while the caravan made its way south through the last of the evening's rush hour traffic, the detectives drove in the opposite direction toward 8412 Winston Road, which was the last address the manager of Lorelei Records had for Avery Hanes.

It was beginning to get dark.

THE CELL PHONE
in Barney Loomis' Lincoln Town car rang at precisely seven-fifteen
P.M.
By that time he and Corcoran were on the River Dix Drive heading downtown in thinning traffic. Loomis picked up at once.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Avery asked.

“On the Drive. Approaching the Headley Building. Exit 12.”

“Get off at Exit 5, park in the little parking area there. I'll call you again in ten minutes. Any tricks and the girl dies,” Avery said, and hung up.

“What?” Corcoran asked.

“Exit 5 parking area. He'll call again when we're there.”

Corcoran was on his own phone at once.

“He said any tricks…”

“Yeah, well, we have a few tricks of our own,” Corcoran said.

“Endicott.”

“He's taking us to Exit 5. The parking area there. Why don't one of you get there before us? Keep circling, low profile.”

“Will do,” Endicott said.

“He said he'd kill Tamar if we tried any tricks,” Loomis said.

“What he considers tricks is not what we consider tricks,” Corcoran said. “Do you want the girl back, or don't you?”

“That's
all
I want.”

“Well, the only way to get her is to get these guys first.”

“That's not my view.”

“We tried your way already, Mr. Loomis. And you got double-crossed. Leave this to people who know what they're doing, okay?”

“Tamar is with a confederate, you know that. If we try anything funny…”

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Loomis, okay? Tamar Valparaiso…”

“I don't want to hear…”

“…may already be dead.”

 

“
OH JESUS
,” Kellie said.

She had just entered the room, and the first thing she saw was blood.

She closed the door behind her, went swiftly to where Tamar lay huddled near the radiator, her hand still cuffed to it, her wrist torn and caked with blood where she had tried to pull the hand free. Her nose was crusted with blood as well, her lips swollen, her eyes puffed and discolored. There was blood on her thighs and higher up on her legs.

“Oh, baby, what did he do to you?” Kellie asked, and put the rifle down on the floor, and took Tamar's free hand in her own.

 

“
YOU GONNA
not talk to me forever?” Cal asked.

“Just shut up, you freak,” Avery told him. “Soon as we get this money, you're history.”

“She asked for it,” Cal said. “Wasn't my fault what happened.”

“I said shut up. You jeopardized this whole deal. This whole deal was we send her back safe. You wrecked her looks, you fucked up the whole deal, you fuckin moron.”

“He'll bring the money, anyway. He don't know what she looks like, all he knows is we got her. He don't know nothin happened to her. He'll bring the seven-fifty, you'll see, and we're on our way.”

“Just keep quiet, I'm not interested in anything you have to say.”

Avery looked at his watch.

It was seventeen minutes past seven.

 

THE SUPERINTENDENT
of the building at 8412 Winston Road told them his name was Ralph Hedrings. Hawes thought he'd said “Ralph Headrinse.” That was okay because Hedrings thought Hawes had said “Detective Horse.” When they got there at seven-twenty, the super was still at dinner. He didn't particularly enjoy being interrupted by a pair of detectives looking for someone who'd moved out last month. Particularly someone who Hedrings considered had a superior attitude. But he asked his wife to keep his “supper” warm, was what he called it, and then stepped outside the building with them and lit a cigarette.

“She doesn't know I still smoke,” he explained, letting out a self-satisfied poisonous cloud. “Her brother had his larynx removed last month, she thinks everybody in the world's gonna get throat cancer now. I been smoking since I was sixteen, I don't even cough. Why are you looking for Avery Hanes?”

“Few questions we need to ask him,” Carella said. “Would you know where…?”

“Him and his girlfriend were living here for almost a year. All of a sudden, he tells me he's moving when the lease expired.”

“When was that, Mr. Hedrings?”

“April one,” Hedrings said.

“Any idea where he went?”

“None at all.”

“And you say he was living here with his girlfriend?”

“Redheaded girl.”

“Would you know her name?”

“Kellie. With an
i.e.
”

“Kellie what?”

“Don't know. He was the one signed the lease.”

So now they had three names.

Or, more accurately, two and a half names.

 

JUST AS LOOMIS
pulled the town car off Exit 5, he spotted the blue Mercury with Endicott and Lonigan in it driving past the parking lot as though looking for an address somewhere on the street, cruising slowly, stop-and-go-ing. He pulled the car into the lot, and sat there, looking out over the wheel at the headlights zipping by on the Drive. Sitting beside him, Corcoran said into his phone, “We're here. See anything yet?”

“Nothing,” Endicott said.

The car's cell phone rang a moment later.

It was seven-twenty-six
P.M.
on the dashboard clock.

 

“
WHERE
are you?” Avery asked.

“Off Exit 5,” Loomis said.

“Take a left onto Fairlane. Drive downtown to the Grace Wagner School of Design on Cronley. Park in front of the statue there. No tricks.”

There was a click on the line.

“What'd he say?”

“The Wagner School of Design on Cronley. Wants us to park in front of the statue there.”

Corcoran tapped a button on the face of his cell phone.

“Endicott.”

“Heading downtown to Cronley, Wagner School of Design. He wants us to park there. Check out the building. Careful, they may be watching, same as before.”

“Moving,” Endicott said.

“He told me no tricks,” Loomis said.

Corcoran merely nodded.

 

“
IS THIS PICTURE
a mystery or something?” Ollie asked.

“No, not at all,” Patricia said. “It's Shakespeare, I told you.”

“Because it's called
Looking for Richard,
you know,” Ollie said, “which sounds like a sort of mystery, doesn't it?”

“Maybe so.”

“Like a missing person or something, you know?”

They were sitting watching commercials on the screen, eating popcorn and waiting for the movie to start. Ollie had bought two big cartons of popcorn with extra butter, and two Diet Pepsis because a person couldn't be too careful, and two big bars of Hershey's chocolate with almonds in case Patricia was still hungry after she finished her popcorn. It bothered him that he had to sit here and watch commercials for restaurants and clothing stores, as if he hadn't paid for the tickets and was getting something free.

It also bothered him that he didn't know
exactly
what this movie was about. If it was about a missing person, he'd had some experience along those lines, you know, and could relate to the movie more easily. But if it was about Shakespeare, the way Patricia said it was, then why had they named it
Looking for Richard,
which made it sound as if somebody had been kidnapped or something?

“Are you sure this is going to be Shakespeare?” he asked her.

“Oh yes,” she said. “It's about doing
Richard the Third.
”

“Ah-
ha!
” he said. “It
is
a mystery!”

“It is?”

“You just said it's about doing Richard the Third.”

“Oh. I didn't mean ‘doing' in that sense. I meant performing the play. Doing
Richard the Third.
”

“So why are they calling it
Looking for Richard
if there's no ticking clock?” he asked. Reminded, he looked at his watch. It was seven-forty-three and the movie was scheduled to start at seven-forty-five. So where was it? Why did they have to sit here watching a commercial for an antiques store, as if anyone would want to buy old used furniture and stuff?

“I'm really excited about seeing this again,” Patricia said, and suddenly reached over for his hand and squeezed it.

“Me, too,” Ollie said dubiously.

His hand was sticky with butter.

Which was okay because her hand was, too.

 

THE GRACE WAGNER
School of Design had once been called William Howard Taft High School, after the twenty-seventh President of the United States. Back then, it was a so-called academic high school, which meant that its students took subjects to qualify them for college entrance. But that was the good old days.

Nowadays, it was a vocational high school for kids looking for easy entrée to the world of high fashion. If you could maintain a C-average and draw a straight line, you were admitted to Grace Wagner, which incidentally had been named after a woman who'd served on the Board of Education and played flute.

A bronze statue that looked like a huge bolt of lightning striking an oversized soccer ball stood on the patchy front lawn of the school. By the time Loomis pulled the Lincoln up in front of the statue, Endicott and Lonigan had already driven twice around the school's surrounding blocks. They had seen no one suspicious lurking about, but there was a light burning in one of the school's top-floor windows, and they thought they'd seen shadows moving past.

Endicott reported this to Corcoran now.

“May be using the same M.O. they did in The Wasteland,” Corcoran suggested. “Take the high ground, cover the area through binocs.”

“I'll wait for the second car to show,” Endicott said. “We'll go in the back way, try to surprise them up there.”

“Don't do anything to jeopardize the girl's safety,” Corcoran warned.

Loomis figured this was for his benefit.

Besides, his phone was ringing.

 

“
HELLO?
” he said.

“We see you,” Avery said. “Get out of the car, both of you. Leave the money on the back seat. Leave the car unlocked with the keys in the ignition. Walk toward the school entrance. Now! Do it
now!
” he said, and hung up.

“He wants us to leave the money and get out of the car. He wants us to walk toward the school. Wants it unlocked with the keys in it.”

Corcoran stabbed at his cell phone.

“Endicott.”

“They're trying an end run,” he shouted. “Get around to the front of the school!
Quick!
”

“What?” Endicott said.

The car phone rang again.

Loomis picked up.

“Yes?” he said.

“I said
now!
” Avery said, and hung up.

“Let's go!” Loomis said.
“Please!”

Both men got out of the car. Corcoran looked up the street, to where he could see a green SUV moving swiftly toward the parked Lincoln.

“Here they come!” he said, and reached under his jacket into his shoulder holster.

“Don't!”
Loomis shouted.

 

IT ALL HAPPENED
so fast that later none of the agents or detectives could reconstruct it in proper sequence. It was rather like one of those movies directed by someone fresh out of film school, with jump cuts and flash forwards and four or five stories unreeling at the same time.

The first story was Barney Loomis wetting his pants the moment all those guns opened fire. Actually, there was only one gun at first, and it was in the right hand of Detective-Lieutenant Charles Farley Corcoran and he opened fire the moment the two men got out of what he now could see was a green Montana, and climbed into the black town car waiting at the curb in front of Grace Wagner. The Lincoln's engine roared into life an instant later, and the car pulled away from the curb just as its rear window slid down and a second gun opened up, a rifle this time spewing automatic fire, which is when Loomis wet his pants because he could actually hear bullets whizzing past his right ear.