Double Image

by David Morrell

  Coltrane nodded, self-conscious.

  She touched his hand. “Show me what’s in the other boxes.”

  12

  Y OU KEEP EMPHASIZING THIS ROCK FORMATION . Why do you think it’s important?” Tash asked.

  “Because it reminds me of a cat arching its back,” Coltrane said.

  “So?”

  “The estate Packard gave you in his will is located near a town south of Acapulco called—”

  “Espalda del Gato. I know. The name was in the documents Packard’s attorney sent me.”

  “How’s your Spanish?”

  “I see what you mean. ‘Spine of the cat.’ But that doesn’t prove the rock formation we’re looking at has anything to do with the village. It’s more likely a coincidence and this cliff along the ocean isn’t anywhere near the estate I inherited. For all we know, this cliff is in Southern California.”

  “But it isn’t,” Coltrane said. “The other night I saw a movie Rebecca Chance was in. It’s called Jamaica Wind, and some parts of it were filmed on what is recognizably the Santa Monica beach, with the cliff behind it. But then all of a sudden, the location switches to a lush semitropical cliff-rimmed area along an ocean.”

  “That description fits Acapulco,” Tash said.

  “The movie has several cliff scenes that show the same rock formation: a cat arching its back.”

  “You’re not exaggerating?”

  “I swear they’re the same. A friend of mine who has access to Jamaica Wind is arranging to have a videotape made for me. When you see that tape, you’ll understand why I’m so sure. Other photographs in this box show Rebecca Chance in semitropical gardens similar to the ones in the movie.”

  “Let me understand this. You’re saying that these photographs were taken in the same area where the movie was shot and possibly at the same time.”

  “More than that. I’m saying I think the movie was shot at Espalda del Gato, on the estate Packard gave to you.”

  “But why would . . . In the early thirties, it wasn’t common for movies to be shot on remote locations, was it?”

  “Not at all,” Coltrane said. “The production companies liked to stay close to Los Angeles. Taking a movie crew to Acapulco would have been prohibitively expensive.”

  “Then why . . .”

  “Packard was an immensely wealthy man from a fortune he inherited at sixteen, when his parents died. These photographs make it obvious how fixated he was on Rebecca Chance. His total devotion to her can’t be mistaken. Suppose he became impatient with the limited ambitions of a movie she was being featured in.”

  “Jamaica Wind.”

  “Yes. Suppose he decided to become a secret financier for it. What if he hoped that an expensively mounted picture would attract more attention and boost her chances of becoming a star? Let’s assume he paid to transport a film crew to his Mexican estate.”

  “And while he and Rebecca Chance were there, Packard took some of these photographs? I don’t know. That’s a lot of ‘what ifs.’”

  “But it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me,” Coltrane said.

  “It’s a tempting theory, I’ll give you that. Plus, it has the appeal of being romantic.” Tash rubbed the back of her neck, exhausted. “But it still doesn’t give me the answers I want. Why do Rebecca Chance and I . . .”

  “There’s another name I haven’t mentioned. He’s connected to this in a way I haven’t been able to figure out. He produced Rebecca Chance’s final two movies. Then he disappeared not long after she did. Have you ever heard of anyone named Winston Case?”

  Tash’s mouth opened in shock.

  “You know the name?” Coltrane asked.

  The dark of her eyes widened. “Winston Case?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was my grandfather!”

  13

  C OLTRANE WAS SO STUNNED THAT HE WAS SURE HE HADN ’ T heard correctly. “Your grandfather?”

  “That’s the name my mother told me. I never met him, so I have to take her word for it.”

  “The name?”

  “When I was a child, I noticed that a lot of my friends had grandparents, but I didn’t know what that meant. I asked my mother if I had grandparents, and she said, yes, everybody had grandparents but that mine weren’t with us any longer. Naturally, I wondered what she meant, and she finally found a way to explain to me, without disturbing me, that they were dead.”

  “Winston Case.”

  Tash nodded. “I memorized the name so I could tell it to my friends. To prove to them I once had grandparents, too.”

  “But maybe you misremembered.”

  “No, as I got older, I asked my mother what he was like. The name she referred to was always the same: Winston Case.”

  “And who was your grandmother?”

  “Esmeralda Gutiérrez.”

  “Did your mother ever describe Winston Case as having been a film producer?”

  “According to her, he was a carpenter. She remembered the family moving around a lot as he went from job to job, although I guess the word family makes it sound bigger than it was. There were only the three of them.”

  “Where did this happen?” Coltrane asked.

  “In Mexico.”

  “An American working as an itinerant carpenter in Mexico?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for starters, as an American citizen, he could have brought his wife and daughter into the United States without any immigration problems. Given the difference in the standard of living, he could have taken better care of them here.”

  “In the Depression?”

  “You’ve got a point,” Coltrane said. “But surely if Winston Case had the money to produce films, he could have managed to hang on to enough resources to be comfortable during the Depression. He wouldn’t have had to go to Mexico and become a manual laborer.”

  “Then maybe we’re not talking about the same Winston Case.”

  “The coincidence is too much for me to accept. There’s got to be a connection between . . . Does your mother live in Los Angeles? I need to ask her about—”

  “My mother’s dead.”

  “. . . Oh.”

  “She died from lung cancer three years ago.”

  Coltrane didn’t speak for a moment. “I’m very sorry.” He felt as if a door in his mind had been shut. He struggled to open another one. “Yes.” Abruptly he reached for the box of nude photographs.

  “What are you doing?” Tash asked.

  He hurriedly opened the box and sorted through the naked images until he came to the first waist-up shot. Rebecca Chance’s breasts were prominent.

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” Tash said.

  “Does she look pregnant to you? I have a friend who’s convinced that . . .” He glanced at Tash and saw embarrassment and confusion in her eyes. “I know this is awkward. We’ve just barely met, and . . . I promise I’m doing this for a reason. Please, trust me. My friend pointed out that Rebecca Chance’s breasts aren’t the same in every photograph. They get fuller. The nipples get larger. That made my friend think that Rebecca Chance was pregnant when some of these pictures were taken. She was in great shape to begin with and she watched her weight, and she was far enough along for the hormones to be kicking in, but not far enough along for her to be demonstrably pregnant in other ways. Maybe that’s true. Hell, my friend’s a woman, but she isn’t a doctor. What do I know about this sort of thing? But suppose it’s true. What if . . . Could the reason you look so much like Rebecca Chance be . . .”

  “That I’m her granddaughter?” Tash’s voice was a strained whisper.

  “Look at the pictures again. Can you think of another explanation?”

  “I don’t know what to . . .” Tash hugged herself. “Take me out of here.”

  Before Coltrane knew what he was doing, he put an arm around her. “Yes, you’ve been through a lot. Let’s get you upstairs where it’s warm.”

  14

  C OLTRANE
’ S NEED TO HELP WAS SO GREAT THAT , unusual for him, he didn’t take the time to put the photographs back into the chamber and secure its entrance. His arm still around her, feeling her shiver, he walked with her from the vault. Immediately, as they stepped outside, a jangling sound startled them.

  From Tash’s purse.

  Coltrane had picked it up as they started across the vault. Tash was so preoccupied that she didn’t at first seem to recognize the shrill insistence of her cellular telephone.

  “Don’t tell me he found out this number,” Tash said.

  The phone rang again.

  “Would you like me to answer it for you?” Coltrane asked.

  The phone rang a third time.

  “No,” Tash said. “If he hears a man’s voice, it might make him do something more extreme.”

  The phone persisted.

  “Then don’t answer it at all,” Coltrane said.

  “But what if it’s . . .” Apprehensive, Tash reached for the bag, fumbled inside it, pulled out the phone, opened it with an unsteady hand, and pressed the talk button.

  “Hello?” Her voice was tentative, but as she listened, she visibly relaxed. “Walt? Thank heaven. I was afraid it’d be . . . No, I’m fine . . . I went out. Mitch had something he needed to show me about the estate I inherited. We drove into Los Angeles. . . . You’ve been trying to call me for the past hour? But I had the phone with me all the time. It never rang. I don’t know why it . . .” Her dark eyes focused on the open door to the vault. “Wait a minute. I was in a storage area that had a lot of concrete around it. It must have shut out the signal. . . . Slow down, Walt. What’s wrong? You sound . . . Jesus.” Tensing again, she listened harder. “He did what? Were you hurt? Was anybody . . .” She stared at the wall across from her, but her eyes seemed so black with despair that Coltrane had the sense she wasn’t seeing anything except nightmarish visions in her mind. “I don’t know what to do. . . . That’s kind of you to offer, but I can’t go back there tonight. I didn’t bring my car. Mitch would have to drive me all the way to your place, and rather than have him do it, I’ll check into a hotel around here. . . . Yes, I’m sure. . . . Of course I feel safe with him.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Coltrane said.

  “I don’t know the address here. I wasn’t looking when . . .”

  “I need to ask him something.” Coltrane held out his hand.

  “Just a second, Walt.” Tash gave him the phone.

  Coltrane felt the heat from her hand on it. He smelled her lingering fragrance. “It’s Mitch Coltrane.”

  A dead silence was followed by Walt’s husky voice saying, “The son of a bitch poured gasoline through the metal bars in front of Tash’s house and set fire to the garden.”

  Coltrane tensed.

  “The fumes were everywhere. If I hadn’t stopped by to see if everything was okay, the house would have been destroyed,” Walt said. “I phoned the fire department and used a garden hose to wet down the house until help arrived. It was damned close for a while.”

  “Gasoline?”

  “That tells you something?” Walt asked.

  “I once helped put a stalker in jail by taking his photograph while he poured gasoline on a woman’s lawn.”

  “Well, too bad you didn’t stay here instead of driving to Los Angeles. You might have gotten his picture,” Walt said sarcastically.

  Coltrane ignored it.

  “What’s your address?” Walt asked. “I’ll come get Tash and make sure she spends the night somewhere safe.”

  “Are you using a cellular phone?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. What difference does it—”

  “A couple of years ago, in Beirut, a man who knows about these things told me never to say anything important on cellular phones. It’s too easy to eavesdrop on conversations over them. I’ll bring Tash back tomorrow morning. But thinking of Ilkovic reminds me of something else. Did you ever have Tash’s house checked for hidden microphones?”

  “What?”

  “Ilkovic specialized in planting bugs. That was how he anticipated my movements, by overhearing my conversations,” Coltrane said. “Do you suppose this jerk knows all about Tash’s movements because he planted bugs in her house? That would be one way for him to learn her new telephone numbers—when the service person told her what they were, she wasn’t the only one listening.”

  More dead silence. “Christ.”

  “You didn’t check for bugs?” Coltrane asked.

  “I’m sure as hell going to.”

  “And after that, I’ll bring Tash back.” He gave the phone to her.

  But Tash didn’t raise it to her ear. She just kept staring at Coltrane. “Microphones? You honestly think there might be . . .”

  “Tash? Are you there?” Walt asked faintly from the phone.

  Slowly, she raised it. “Walt, I don’t feel up to talking right now. But thanks for everything. I’m really grateful. . . . No, stay there. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She pressed a button on the phone and put the phone back into her bag.

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  “Microphones in my house?”

  “It’s a possibility. It has to be checked.”

  “But the house has an alarm system. How would he get in to plant the microphones?”

  “Before this started, did you have any maintenance work done around the house?”

  “The carpeting was put in recently. You don’t suppose . . .”

  Coltrane spread his hands.

  “Jesus, I feel so . . . violated.”

  “I’ve been there. I know what you mean.”

  “Do you think he set the fire to pay me back for trying to trap him today? Or did he figure out I drove away with you and he was jealous?”

  “I was sure he couldn’t have known you were in the car,” Coltrane said. “But . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m a little late wondering about the possibility of hidden microphones. If your house is bugged, he would have overheard us planning how to hide you in the car. I’m sorry. I might have made a mistake.”

  “I’m not into blaming people. You did your best.” Tash controlled a shudder. “On the positive side, he couldn’t have followed us and at the same time have started the fire. So we know I’m safe for now.” She looked at him. “Can you recommend a hotel in the area?”

  “One.”

  She waited for the name.

  “Right here,” Coltrane said. “There’s a guest bedroom. I’ve got plenty of spare toothbrushes. If I can fit into one of your robes, I know you can fit into one of mine.”

  “I couldn’t impose.”

  “Why not? Because you barely know me?”

  Tash shrugged.

  “In the last few hours, I’d say we’d gotten to know each other fairly well.” Coltrane locked the door to the vault.

  “After going through those photographs? I suppose you’re right.”

  They started up the stairs.

  “Look, I made a killer marinara sauce last night,” Coltrane said. “There was plenty left over. I can cook up more pasta and—”

  Another shrill noise startled them. They froze at the top of the stairs into the living room.

  But this time the sound wasn’t from the phone in Tash’s purse. It came from the doorbell.

  Coltrane frowned. “Who would that be?”

  “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No. Sometimes Randolph Packard’s assistant drops by, but he has a key, and he usually just lets himself in. Maybe he’s decided to be polite and ring the doorbell.”

  With the second jangle of the doorbell, Tash looked more uneasy.

  “It’ll be fine. No one knows you’re here,” Coltrane said.

  But he himself did not feel assured. He went to the door, looked through its peephole, and felt something inside him contract when he saw who it was.

  Oh no, he thought.

  He was tempted not to open it, but he couldn
’t be certain that his and Tash’s voice hadn’t carried faintly to the person on the other side. Preparing himself, he gripped the dead bolt’s knob, turned it, opened the door, and tried not to look self-conscious when he smiled at Jennifer.

  15

  H EY , WHAT A SURPRISE ,” Coltrane said.

  “Surprise?” Jennifer looked confused. She still wore her black Armani dress. The same pearl earrings and necklace highlighted it, glinting from the outdoor lights. “You didn’t get the message I left on your answering machine?”

  “I just came in awhile ago. I haven’t had a chance to listen to my messages.” Coltrane remained at the partially opened door. “What have you got there?”

  She held a cardboard box that contained several Tupperware bowls, each covered with a plastic lid. “New Year’s dinner. There was plenty of food left over at my parents’ house, and I wasn’t sure how much you would have gotten to eat when you visited Greg’s widow this afternoon. So I thought I’d bring you a care package.”

  “That was really thoughtful.”

  “But it’s getting heavy. You’d better move out of the way so I can bring it in.”

  “Ah . . . sure. I’m so surprised to . . . Here, let me help.”

  Coltrane reached to take the box from her. His movement opened the door wider, causing Jennifer’s previous look of confusion to become one of concern as she glanced past him.

  “Oh . . . I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Tash had remained standing at the top of the living room stairs.

  “Well, a couple of things happened today, and . . .” Coltrane didn’t know how to get out of the sentence. “Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Tash Adler.”

  “Hello.” Jennifer had trouble saying the word.

  “Tash, this is my friend Jennifer Lane.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Smiling, Tash came down the stairs.

  By then, Coltrane had overcome his awkwardness enough to finish taking the box from Jennifer. Her hands were free, but she waited a moment before she gripped the hand Tash offered.

  “You look awfully familiar,” Jennifer said, then frowned toward Coltrane. “I don’t understand.”