‘That’s what they thought about me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. This tall, unkempt-looking man was beginning to make her feel uneasy. He was quite handsome, and he looked normal, but you could never tell. There were so many rapes these days, and who knew what the Hillside Strangler looked like?
‘Can I buy you a cup of coffee?’ he asked her. ‘There’s a good place open across the street. My friend’s there.’ She said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr—’
‘Cullen, John Cullen.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Cullen, but I’m afraid I have to get home. I’ve had a terrible day, and all I want to do is rest. If you’ll excuse me.’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ John said. ‘My father and my girlfriend were both killed this week, in the same kind of way that Father Zaparelli was killed. For no apparent reason at all, except maybe a political one. I’ve been trying to—’
He paused. He was feeling exhausted. Perri Shaw was standing there looking at him, waiting for him to come up with answers, and he didn’t really know any. Maybe Professor Swectman had been right, and his ideas were nothing more than trumped-up fantasies. After all, grief affected different people in different ways. Perhaps his grief had given him delusions of political conspiracies.
He added, in a defeated voice, ‘I’ve been trying to find out who killed them. So far, without much success.’
‘Are you telling me the truth? Was your father really killed? And your girlfriend?’
He nodded. ‘My father was shot on the freeway. My girlfriend Vicki died when my house was burned.’
‘What makes you think there’s any possible connection with Father Leonard’s death?’
‘A crazy kind of inspiration. That’s all. I don’t have any concrete proof. The only thing that makes me sure that I’m on the right track is that the same man who killed my father has been hunting me down all week.’ This morning, he chased me all the way down to San Diego.’
Perri didn’t know what to say. When the policewoman had first told her about Father Leonard’s death, she had found it impossible to believe that anyone should have wanted him out of the way badly enough to kill him. All he’d done, after all, was speak out against a woman’s liberation leader. She knew that Hilary Nestor Hunter was determined and ambitious, but Perri didn’t think it conceivable that she could have been involved in a political murder.
The only trouble was, she couldn’t think of any other reason why Father Leonard might have been killed, and from what witnesses had told the police, it was plain that his crushing was deliberate. Even if Hilary Nestor Hunter hadn’t killed him, someone had, and that was what she had told the press.
‘Just let me tell you this.’ John said. ‘I believe that a whole lot of deaths all over the United States have been arranged for someone’s political benefit. I’m not entirely sure whose, or why, but from what I’ve discovered so far, it seems as if Senator Carl X. Chapman might be connected with it.’
‘Are you suggesting that people are being murdered for some kind of political reason?’ Perri asked with disbelief.
‘I can explain it in detail later. But the reason I came to see you tonight was because Senator Chapman and Hilary Nestor Hunter are great political buddies, and from what you said on the radio, it sounded like you were pointing the finger Ms Hunter’s way.’
Perri glanced down the corridor. A black janitor in a green shirt was laboriously polishing the plastic tiles. At least she wasn’t entirely alone. She said, ‘Is this some kind of a hoax? You’re not a nut, are you?’
John took his wallet out of his back pocket. He showed her his driver’s license, and his press card, and then he showed her a clipping from the Los Angeles Times which read: ‘New Jersey Teacher Dies In Freeway Shooting.’
She looked at his evidence, and then she said, ‘All right. Let’s go have that coffee.’
They left the mortuary building and walked across the street to the Coronado Coffee Lounge. Inside, amid dusty palm trees and crudely-painted murals of Mexican jungles, Mel was eating tomato soup with crackers, and getting crumbs in his beard.
‘This is Perri Shaw,’ John said as they sat down. ‘She was the women’s liberation delegate that all that fuss was about.’
Mel said, ‘How do you do, Ms. Shaw. I’m sorry to hear about your troubles,’ and he warmly shook her hand.
They ordered coffee. Somehow, for all three of them, sitting here was the first normal thing they had done for days, and they all relaxed. Briefly, John explained about the Sweetman Curve, and everything they had either discovered or guessed.
‘Well, there it is,’ John finished. ‘We’re not sure if we’re crazy or brilliant. I guess it all depends on whether there could actually be someone around who’s ruthless enough to do it.’
‘You really think it could have been Hilary Nestor Hunter and Carl Chapman?’ asked Perri. ‘I didn’t know they were that close.’
‘I guess common interests bring all kinds of people together,’ said Mel. ‘And those two have common interests. Power, power, and more power.’
‘You know Hilary Nestor Hunter better than we do,’ John said to Perri. ‘Do you think she’d really team up with a guy like Chapman? That’s one part I find pretty hard to swallow. He’s such a chauvinist.’
‘Hilary’s a Pied Piper,’ Perri told John. ‘Only the difference is that when she reaches the Promised Land, all the people who danced behind her will be shut out. Only Hilary will get inside.
‘So it’s quite feasible they’re in this together? Like, if Hilary wanted someone out of the way, it would be in Senator Chapman’s interests to fix it for her?’
Perri looked from John to Mel, and gave a small shrug. ‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘That’s if this whole idea of yours isn’t – well, that’s if it isn’t mistaken.’
John sat back. ‘I don’t know any more. I don’t think I care any more. But trying to track down something is better than sitting in some hotel room staring at the wall.’
‘I’d like to help you.’
‘You’ve helped already.’
‘No,’ she insisted, ‘I’d like to go along with you, and help you hunt these people down.’
‘I’m sorry, Perri, that’s out of the question,’ Mel said. ‘This is so damned dangerous. I guess the only reason that we’re doing it is because now we want to get them before they get us.’
‘I’m not afraid of danger. Father Leonard wasn’t.’
‘Perri,’ John said, ‘you’ve given us all the information we need to look into Hilary Nestor Hunter’s involvement with Carl Chapman. We don’t need any more. The best thing you can do now is try to forget that any of this ever happened.’
Perri shook her head. ‘You forget you’re dealing with a feminist,’ she said. ‘And feminists don’t just sit meekly at home knotting macramé planters while the men go out and do all the dirty work. I want to help you, and I think you could do with some help. Look at you, you’re both exhausted. You need a fresh mind to think things out for you.’
She added firmly, ‘You need to eat properly, for starters. Why don’t you order yourself a steak and salad, and we’ll talk about this whole thing while you’re eat-in? You can’t live on coffee.’
John looked at Mel and Mel looked at John. Then John turned back to Perri.
‘Okay,’ he smiled. ‘Anything you’ve got to say will be welcome. And if you really want to come along, you’re welcome to do that, too. But don’t ever say that we didn’t warn you.’
John ordered a steak and a green salad, and while he was eating, Perri talked about Hilary Nestor Hunter and the Women’s Liberation League, and about Father Leonard, and about her ideas on the Sweetman Curve.
‘From what you’ve said,’ she told them, ‘it seems like Professor Sweetman knows more than he’s telling you. Why did he get so upset when you asked him about his clients? I think he does have a political client, and if there’s any truth at all in what you’re saying, then it’s probabl
y Carl Chapman.’
Mel said, ‘The only thing that worries me about that conclusion is that if it is Carl Chapman, then his security is shit. If we can work out that he’s behind all these killings, then why haven’t the cops and the FBI worked out the same thing?’
‘Because they’re obsessed with lone psychopaths, that’s why,’ said Perri.
‘Do you think it would be a good idea to go see Professor Sweetman again?’ John asked her.
‘Certainly,’ said Perri. ‘Could we go tomorrow morning?’
John shook his head. ‘It’s my father’s funeral, but if you want to go directly afterwards, I’ll be glad of the break.’
She touched his arm. He looked at her.
‘Would you mind if I came along, too? To the funeral?’ she asked.
‘I’d be glad to have you there. You’re the first person we’ve met in a week who’s believed us.’
Fifteen
Beside the pool at Palm Springs, Adele and Ken sat on sun-loungers while the stars came out, sipping martinis and watching Holman and Mark and some hired Mexicans string lights between the trees for tomorrow night’s party. Adele was wearing a white gown with a low square-cut décolletage and puffy shoulders, medieval-style. She was smoking a cigarette in a ridiculously long holder. Ken wore red swim shorts and an open red shirt.
‘I’m still wondering how you ever got yourself involved in guns, and things like that,’ Adele said.
Ken didn’t answer. He was still feeling embarrassed from last night. He had never failed to satisfy any of his girlfriends at any time, and to lose his erection in the middle of trying to prove his virility to a woman like Adele Corliss was more humiliating than anything that had ever happened to him. It made him feel inadequate in everything. As a man, as a lover, and worst of all, in an insidious way, as a killer. He knew that T.F. was pretty kinky in his tastes, but he would have bet fifty bucks that T.F. never had any hard-on problems.
‘You don’t seem the type, somehow,’ she went on. ‘You seem too gentle by half. Too soft. A muscular exterior and a marshmallow interior.’
‘I’m hard enough,’ growled Ken. He didn’t like being teased.
‘For some,’ retorted Adele.
He shot her an irritated look. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
She smiled beatifically. ‘A stud should never have to ask what anything means. A stud should be beautiful, stupid, and permanently stiff.’
‘I was worried. You took the gun. You know what happens when a guy gets worried.’
‘You were worried? How do you think I felt?’ Adele leaned towards him. ‘I think it’s time I had some answers, Ken. You planted yourself on me. You knew I was coming up the road from Laguna Beach. You knew that I would take you in. And for some reason, and in some way, you’ve brought a rifle into my house.’
She stood up, and stepped to the brink of the pool. ‘I haven’t asked you to explain who you are and what you’re doing here before because I’m not that kind of a person. If I want to have you around, then I’ll have you around, and both of us are entitled to our privacy. But I sense that something terrible is going to happen, and I want to know what it is.’
‘I told you, Adele. The gun is for self-defence.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why don’t we go inside, and talk about it there?’
‘No,’ Adele told him. ‘I want an answer now. It’s time, Ken. I want you to tell me what the gun’s for.’
‘Adele, I have some personal enemies, that’s all. People who want to see me hurt. That’s the only reason I’ve got it.’
‘Where did it come from? You didn’t have it when I picked you up.’
‘A friend brought it. I met him in town one morning, and he brought it to me.’
‘You’re lying,’ snapped Adele. ‘I’m sick of your lies, and I’m growing sick of you.’
‘That wasn’t what you said last night.’
‘Since last night, my dear little boy, I’ve had a lot of time to think. And one of the things I’ve been thinking about is how weak and dangerous you are. If you could have managed to rape me last night, it might have been different. You might have proved you were a complete man, all the way through, no matter which way they sliced you. But you’re not. You’re not much more than a worm, and you’ve burrowed your way into this particular apple for some damned good reason.’
Ken swung his legs off the sun-bed, and stood up. He stood close to Adele. ‘Are you going to keep on pushing me?’
He said it blandly, but somehow that made the words all the more threatening. Adele refused to be intimidated, though. She looked up at him with frosty disdain, and said, ‘I’ll push you as much as I damned well choose. This is my house, and you’re my creature.’
Ken stared at her for a long time. His eyes were steady and expressionless. There was something about him which was disturbingly sub-normal, as if he had a history of mental sickness. He looked like a grown-up version of those children who sit in institutions, beaten by their fathers, tortured by their brothers, seduced by their mothers, betrayed by life before they’ve even lived it.
He said, ‘All right. I’m here for a reason. I’m a security agent.’
Adele gave a high, ringing laugh. ‘A security agent?’ Ken looked dull and serious. ‘I’m here because we’ve heard that somebody might threaten Senator Chapman’s life when he comes here tomorrow for your party. I’m here to protect him.’
‘I still don’t believe you,’ Adele insisted.
Mark had come around the pool and was standing beside them. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes glittered in the twilight. He said, slowly, ‘If you’re a security agent, Mr Irwin, sir, then I think we’re entitled to see your badge.’
‘I, uh, don’t have it with me,’ said Ken, keeping his eyes on Adele.
There was a pause. Then Mark said, ‘Okay, Mr Irwin. In that case, I think I’ll go call the Palm Springs police.’
Ken raised his hand. He still kept his eyes on Adele. He warned, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
‘Oh, no? You going to stop me?’
Ken turned to Mark at last. In a slow, tightly-controlled voice, he said, ‘Have you heard of the Hillside Strangler?’
‘Who hasn’t?’
‘Well,’ said Ken, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, ‘how would it sound if Adele Corliss, the famous movie actress, was found guilty of harbouring him? Even sleeping with him?’
Again, there was a silence. Then Mark said, ‘Are you trying to tell us you are the Hillside Strangler?’
Adele glanced at her chauffeur, and then turned back to Ken and laughed. ‘You’re nuts,’ she said. ‘I do believe you’re absolutely nuts. I should have seen it sooner. You’re as nuts as a jarful of pecans. Mark, go call the police.’
‘I am the Hillside strangler,’ Ken repeated, in a high-pitched voice. ‘I can name the names and I can tell you the places. And if you go for that phone, then I’m going to take great pleasure in telling the cops just how Adele Corliss knew what I was and what I was doing, and always let me come back to her place to hole up.’
Mark looked at Adele. But Adele simply nodded and said, ‘Go on, Mark. The police.’
Mark moved towards the house, but Ken was quicker. He caught Mark by the shoulder, and smacked him a fierce karate chop on the bridge of the nose. There was a sharp krakk! as Mark’s nose was broken, and the chauffeur dropped to his knees and fell over on his side. Ken pulled him up by his shirt, and punched him viciously in the mouth. Then he kicked him back against the concrete pool deck, and Adele heard his head bang against the ground.
Ken turned over the chauffeur, breathing heavily, and then he turned back to Adele. Across, on the other side of the pool, Holman and the Mexicans, with strings of coloured lights in their hands, were staring at them, but they did not move any closer.
‘You listen,’ Ken said to Adele, his voice low and threatening. ‘You’re going to go on with what you’re
doing, you’re going to give this party, and you’re not going to say nothing to nobody. Especially the cops.’ Adele was pale, but she kept her head raised, and when she spoke she sounded calm and collected.
‘What are you going to do? Cut off my telephones? The second that happens, the police will be here. You’re in a hopeless position, dear Ken, and you really ought to realise it. Hillside Strangler, indeed! The only thing you’ve ever strangled is your own intelligence, what small intelligence you ever had.’
‘Adele,’ said Ken, ‘you’re going to hold this party and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Of course I’m going to hold my party. It’s too late to put people off, in any case. But I can assure you that you won’t be there. Neither you, nor your rifle. I’m going to go call the police right now, and have you put where you belong, whether you’re a security agent or a hitchhiker or the Hillside Strangler.’
Ken yelled, ‘T.F.!’
Adele blinked at him. She said, ‘What? What did you say?’
Ken, his face active with fear, screamed, ‘T.F.! For Christ’s sake! Come down here!’
Adele took a step towards him, but he backed away. ‘You’re being very stupid, you know,’ she said. ‘Whatever you’re trying to do here, you’ll never get away with it. I’m telling you right now.’
‘T.F.!’ yelled Ken. ‘T.F.!’
‘Will you stop shouting?’
But he didn’t have to shout any more. The door from the house opened, and a tall man in a black shirt and black corduroy jeans appeared, with mirror sunglasses and greased-back hair. He looked Slavic, and he walked with a long, easy stride. In the crook of his arm he carried the same rifle that Holman had discovered in Ken’s closet.
T.F. walked up to them and looked around. He saw Mark lying stunned on the concrete pool deck, and briefly prodded him with the muzzle of his rifle. Then he glanced across at the silent, mystified servants, and finally at Adele.
‘Well,’ he said dryly, ‘it looks like you’ve got yourself some problems here, Ken.’
The Sweetman Curve Page 30
