Dead Eyes

by Stuart Woods

He helped her out of the car. “It’s nice of you to throw a party for the people who worked on the house.”

  “Nothing nice about it,” she said, taking his arm. “I wanted the house finished on time, so I just invited all the workers to come and bring their wives. Mike tells me they’ve been working harder ever since.”

  “Good plan,” Larsen said. He opened the new front door and they walked into bedlam. Workmen of every kind were running about the house, hammering, sawing, painting. They walked into the living room in time to watch two young men with crowbars start to rip out the picture window. One of them was Moscowitz’s son, Lenny.

  Mike Moscowitz came to greet them. “Hi, I’m sorry you had to show up just as we’re correcting a mistake.”

  “What’s the problem?” Chris asked.

  “The window is six inches off center, and I’m embarrassed I didn’t know it until now. I’ve had to get the framers back in to rip it out and reinstall it, and then the drywallers are standing by to redo the walls, and then the painters will be here to get it painted in time for the party. Don’t worry, this isn’t costing you; it’s my fault.”

  Lenny and the other man looked up at them.

  “You remember my boy, Lenny, Jon; and this is Bud Carson,” Moscowitz shouted over the din. “Bud’s the framing subcontractor, and he’s here, himself, covering our mistake.”

  Jon offered his hand, but Carson just gave a little wave and turned back to the job.

  “A little surly, isn’t he?” Larsen asked as they walked away.

  “He’s not in a very good mood this morning,” Moscowitz said. “He finished his work weeks ago, and now I’ve had to pull him off another job to come back and fix this.”

  Larsen pulled the builder to one side. “Have you heard anything from Mel Parker?”

  “Not since I talked to him last week, to invite him to the party,” Moscowitz said.

  “Did he say he was coming?”

  “Yeah, he was pretty enthusiastic about it. He said he was going upstate somewhere to see his mother, but he’d be back in time for the party.”

  “Thanks,” Larsen said. “If you hear that, for any reason, he’s not coming, will you let me know?”

  “Sure.”

  Chris tugged at his elbow. “We’ll take a look around, Mike, and leave you to get on with it. Come on, Jon, let’s see where I’m going to live.”

  They walked through the house, and it seemed far from finished. “It’s always like this near the end of a building job,” Larsen said. “You’d never believe they’ll be finished in time for you to move in the day after tomorrow, but it looks like they’re getting it done. And you’d better expect to have builders in and out of the house for a few weeks, because you’ll have a lot of fine-tuning to do.”

  They entered the master suite and Larsen stopped to admire the rooms. “This is going to be very nice,” he said. “I didn’t realize on my last visit that you had two bathrooms and dressing rooms.”

  “I designed it for two,” Chris replied, “on the off chance that I wouldn’t be spending the rest of my life alone. What would you think about moving in here with me?”

  “Is that some sort of proposal?” he asked, surprised.

  “It’s more of a proposition,” she replied. “I’m perfectly serious; I’ve gotten used to having you around, and I like it. One of these days I might well propose to you, but I think it might be nice if we lived together for a while first.”

  “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” Larsen said, “and it certainly is an attractive idea. I’d like to think about it.”

  “You do that,” she said, “and then you make the right decision. Come on, let’s go outside.”

  They walked back into the main hallway, then out onto the deck overlooking the Pacific. They stood with their elbows on the railing, staring out to sea.

  “Jon,” she said, “I can see the horizon.”

  He turned to look at her. “You mean those eyes do something besides look beautiful?”

  “I mean, I can actually see that ship out there, clear and sharp.” She pointed to a tanker creeping along the coast.

  “That’s wonderful, Chris.”

  “The only problem is that I still can’t see the beach or you properly. But I’m looking forward to it.” She put her hand on his face and kissed him.

  Suddenly, from behind them, came an enormous crash, and they both turned.

  Lenny Moscowitz was shouting at Bud Carson. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Ah, keep your shirt on,” Carson shouted back.

  “What happened?” Chris asked.

  “Looks like they’ve had a little accident with your living-room window. There’s a crowbar sticking through it.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Lenny yelled. “That was the stupidest move I ever saw!”

  “Shut your face, kid,” Carson shouted back.

  Chris laughed. “Oh, God, let’s get out of here; I don’t want to hear the explosion when Mike finds out.”

  On the way back, driving the Mercedes, it suddenly became real to him that he could soon be living with a movie actress on Malibu Beach, and that he could get used to driving this car. The thought scared the hell out of him.

  CHAPTER

  56

  That afternoon, Danny came to stay with Chris, and Larsen went to his office. He found Martinez in Homicide and pulled a chair up to his desk.

  “I’ve heard that Parker has gone upstate to see his mother for a few days,” he said. “It’s not true, of course, at least for the times we know he’s been here, but it’s worth checking to see if he does have a mother.”

  Martinez turned to his computer and summoned up the criminal record of James Melvin Potter. “Here it is; the mother lives in Oakland. I could ask for some surveillance help up there.”

  “Probably not worth it. Parker told somebody he’d be back in town tomorrow, and I think he’ll show.”

  “Just in time for your get-together?”

  “Just in time.”

  “What, exactly, are you planning?”

  “He’s coming to a party for the people who built a house; he did the alarm system.”

  “Is that Chris Callaway’s house?”

  “You get around, don’t you, Al?”

  “I do; I think I’d better have some men around that place tomorrow evening.”

  “No, no, no. He’d smell them a mile away, and I don’t want him nervous when he comes to that party.”

  “Jon, if this goes wrong, Herrera is going to have your badge.”

  “If this goes wrong, I’ll give it to him,” Larsen replied.

  Back at the house he found Chris taking a nap and Danny stretched out on the living-room sofa reading a magazine. He pulled up a chair.

  “We’d better talk while Chris is asleep,” Larsen said.

  “Okay,” Danny replied.

  “This is what I want to do tomorrow evening: we’ll take two cars to the party, Chris’s and my MG. It starts at six, so I’ll stay there until the party begins to thin out a little, then I’ll say I have to work that evening, and I’ll leave the party and drive away.

  “I’ll go just far enough to be out of sight of the house, then I’ll park the car and make my way back up the beach. What I want you to do is, late in the party, go out onto the deck and let down the folding ladder to the beach; then turn off the deck lights and close the sliding doors to discourage anybody from coming out there. Then I want you to leave.”

  “You mean leave her there all alone?”

  “Wait until there’s only a couple or two, then go. Make some excuse about having to buy groceries or booze or something. Get into Chris’s car and drive toward Malibu. On the left-hand side of the dash and underneath, very near where the hood release is located, there’s a little black switch. Switch it to the opposite position.”

  “What’s that for?”

  “Parker has placed a bug on Chris’s car, my two cars, and probably your car.”
/>   “What?”

  “It lets him know where we are. The switch will interfere with the bug, and that will keep him from knowing how far you go, if he’s watching.”

  “What if when I go, one of the few people left is Mel Parker?”

  “That’s the tricky part; you’re just going to have to go. Don’t go far; do the same thing I’m going to do—come back to the house along the beach, and stay out on the deck with me. There’s a little shed out there for storing deck furniture; meet me behind the shed. We won’t be seen from the house, even if somebody should come onto the deck.”

  “What then?”

  “I’m going out to the house tonight and plant some small transmitters there. A friend of mine has given me a little receiver that will let us hear what’s happening inside the house. Chris will have a code word; when she uses that, we bust in.”

  Danny listened closely, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. “You mean you’re going to use Chris for bait? Is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I don’t like it, Jon.”

  “I don’t like it either, but I’m at the end of my rope.”

  “Isn’t there some other way?”

  “Yes, there is; we can wait for Parker to kill again, and hope to catch him, but…”

  “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

  Larsen got up, walked to the bedroom door, and looked in on Chris; she was curled up tight, fast asleep. He came back and took his chair again. “A couple of nights ago Parker killed a young woman named Helen Mendelssohn. She had been a case of mine a few months ago, but the contacts had petered out. I think Parker became angry that I was interfering with his harassment of Chris, and he wanted to show me that he could rattle my cage.”

  “I don’t get it; how would this murder affect you?”

  “The woman’s head was found the day before yesterday in Beverly Hills. When you dropped us off after dinner last night, the rest of her body was propped up in that chair over there.”

  “Without a head?”

  “Without a head.”

  “Jesus Christ! That must have scared Chris.”

  “Chris doesn’t know about it; it’s the only time since I’ve known her that I was glad she’s blind. It scared me pretty good, though.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t come in for coffee,” Danny said. “I would have screamed bloody murder.”

  “That would have been appropriate,” Larsen said.

  “I can’t believe he bugged our cars,” Danny said, shaking his head.

  “That’s how he knew we were at the Pritikin place.”

  “He knew we were there?”

  “After you left Chris and me there the other night, he came into the suite and left a message on the living-room mirror in Chris’s lipstick; said she’d never get away from him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t know he was there until he was gone.”

  “Why didn’t he do something, if he was in the suite?”

  “I don’t know; probably he didn’t realize that my pistol was in the living room, where we’d left our clothes.”

  “There’s something to be said for taking your clothes with you wherever you go.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Jon, what if this plan of yours doesn’t work tomorrow evening?”

  “I don’t know, Danny; I honestly don’t. Maybe I’ll let you kill Parker.”

  “That would be my pleasure,” Danny said.

  That evening Larsen met his friend Jim, the electronics expert, at the Malibu house. Jim walked around the house looking at the ceiling. “How many rooms you want to bug?” he asked.

  “Living room, dining room, kitchen, master suite, study,” Larsen said.

  “How many voices you want to listen to? A whole roomful?”

  “Not necessary; one or two.”

  “That makes it simpler and cheaper; I don’t have to use very high-tech stuff.” He opened his toolbox and went to work.

  Two hours later Larsen stood on the beach a hundred yards away, listening to a small handheld receiver.

  “One, two, three, four,” Jim was saying. “That’s the kitchen; now I’m going to the living room.”

  The test was successfully repeated in each room of the house, then Larsen climbed the stairs to the deck and met Jim.

  “Worked like a charm,” he said.

  “Why do you sound surprised?” Jim asked.

  CHAPTER

  57

  They gathered in Larsen’s living room, ready to travel to Malibu. Larsen sat Chris and Danny down on the sofa and drew up a chair; it was time to explain to Chris what she was in for.

  He took her hand. “Chris, Danny and I are both going to leave the party toward the end.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to wait until the crowd has started to thin out, and then we’re going to drive in opposite directions down the beach, then walk back to the house and go up the steps to the deck.”

  “Does that mean I’m going to be alone with Parker?”

  “Not quite; I want you to hold at least one couple there until we’ve had time to get into place.”

  “How will I do that?”

  “Offer them another drink; take them on a tour of the house; anything, just to keep them there a little longer. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to hear everything that goes on in the house over this.” He held up the little receiver. “We’ve got to make Parker believe that you’re going to be alone for a few minutes.”

  “I have to be alone with him?”

  “You won’t be; he just has to believe it. Danny and I will be on the deck, listening; if you say the words ‘You must be crazy,’ then we’ll be all over you. But we’ll wait for that signal.”

  “You must be crazy,” Chris said.

  “That’s right.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “You have your pistol?”

  She patted the pocket of her silk slacks. “Right here, and it’s probably ruining the line of my pants.”

  “Just let your jacket drape over it.”

  “If I’m alone with him, what do I do?”

  “Get him to talk, and keep him talking. If you can get him to talk about what he’s been doing, Danny and I will hear it, and he will have incriminated himself. We have plenty to charge him with, if we can get probable cause. Then we can get search warrants for his home and business, and we’ll probably find physical evidence that will connect him with the crimes. When that happens, he’s out of your life, I promise you.”

  “Then it’s worth going through this,” Chris said resolutely.

  Larsen drove the MG and followed the Mercedes out the Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu. The wind in his face evaporated his nervous sweat, and he took deep breaths to get his pulse down to normal. He took a hand off the steering wheel, and it was trembling.

  They arrived at the house as the caterers were unloading food and champagne, and Larsen took the head woman aside. “As soon as you’ve set everything up, you can leave,” he said.

  “Don’t you want us to serve?” the woman asked.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Just set it all up on the tables, and the guests will help themselves.”

  “Whatever you say,” the woman replied, then went about her work.

  Larsen walked around the house, checking to see that the bugs were still in place. They were visible, but just barely, since there was no wiring; each transmitter operated on batteries. He walked out onto the deck and checked the reception with his receiver; it was perfect. The sun was sinking slowly toward the horizon, but they had another two hours of daylight. He turned back into the house; it was time to socialize.

  The first subcontractor to arrive was Jimmy, the plumber, with his wife and teenage daughter; right after him came Mike Moscowitz and his wife and Bud Carson, the framer, then the electrical man and a flood of laborers, most with their wives or girlfriends. Then Lenny Moscowitz arrived and found himself a beer.
They were a good hour into the party before Mel Parker appeared at the door.

  Larsen was standing nearby, but he ignored Parker and left it to Mike Moscowitz to greet him.

  “Glad you made it back in time,” the builder said.

  “Me, too,” Parker said. “I had to come from Oakland, but the traffic wasn’t too bad. You got finished, huh?”

  “Well, as finished as you can get before the owner moves in. And there she is; come and say hello.”

  “Sure.”

  Chris was talking with a young couple about the intricacies of electrical wiring when she saw two shapes approach and heard Mike’s voice.

  “Chris, you remember Mel Parker; he did your security system.”

  “Of course,” Chris said brightly, sticking out her hand in Parker’s direction. When he took it she worked hard not to cringe.

  “The place is looking beautiful,” Parker said. “Mike has done a terrific job.”

  “He tells me you’ve done a good job, too,” Chris said. “I’ll feel a lot safer knowing your equipment is at work and your people are listening for my call,” she lied.

  “That’s our job,” Parker said. “You making any new movies these days?”

  Bastard, she thought; you know I can’t see to do my work, and you’re rubbing it in. “I have a new project in development right now, as a matter of fact.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I can’t talk about it until we’ve signed contracts, but if all goes well, I expect we’ll start shooting early next year.”

  “Can’t wait to see it,” Parker said. “Excuse me, I think I’ll get some champagne.” He moved off toward the bar table.

  Danny approached Larsen and handed him a fresh glass of champagne. “I’ve let down the stairs from the deck. When do we move?” he asked.

  “Not yet; still too many people here.” The party was an hour and a half old now, and he saw a few people approach Chris to thank her before leaving. “Soon, from the look of it.”

  “Yeah, once a few people leave everybody will get the idea.

  They watched, and Danny was right; the rush to leave was on. Soon only a dozen or so people were left, including Moscowitz and Mel Parker.