Kevin put down his spoon and drained the rest of the milk from his glass. “Okay,” he said.
“I’ll be back in time to pick up Jake at school.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll take him home on my bike. He likes to ride on the buddy seat.”
“No, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Okay.”
Kevin was staring at his empty soup bowl. Without raising his eyes he reached out and took a fresh peach from a fruit dish on the counter. He climbed off the stool. “See you,” he said. “I mean, it was good to see you again, Mr Drake.” He pecked his mother on the cheek and then ran out of the room. Moments later the sound of the roaring bike came again.
“Kids!” Carole said. “You never know what they’re thinking. Were we ever like that, Simon?”
“I’m afraid so,” Simon said. “I had a white Harley-Davidson that was second or third hand. Whenever I was worried about something all I wanted to do was ride. Shall we go?”
Carole hesitated. “I feel like a soldier deserting his post. What if Barney should call while I’m out?”
“He’ll call again,” Simon said.
On the drive to the airport Simon asked Carole about Captain Reardon. He told her what Mary Sutton had told him and that the subject had come up when he wanted to know if Barney had been worried about anything.
“The only thing she could think of was Kevin,” he said.
He could see that Carole didn’t want to talk about it.
“It doesn’t seem relevant,” she said.
“At this point anything could be relevant. Severe strain could bring on a blackout.”
“Amnesia?”
“It’s possible. How was Barney’s health?”
“The best. A man in his position has to have regular check-ups. About six months ago he had to take a physical for a two-hundred-thousand-dollar policy the company took out on his life.”
“Is Eric Larson his doctor?”
“Not any more. Eric started as a GP. For some years now he’s specialized as a paediatrician. Please, don’t get any false impressions about Kevin. He’s a wonderful boy. He got into a little scrape last year. Marijuana. It’s everywhere, Simon. Even in Jake’s school. Being a parent isn’t easy these days.”
“It wasn’t any more than marijuana, was it?”
“No. But Barney had it out with Kevin. The boy wants to be an athlete like his father. When he realized what he was risking he straightened up.”
“And that’s all?”
“No. There was something else a few months ago. Some boys from Kevin’s school took a car. I don’t think they even realized it was a felony offence. They were high and took a car somebody had left standing on the street with the keys in it. Later they picked up Kevin and started out to go to a football game. Kevin thought the car was borrowed. There was an accident. One of the boys was hurt.”
“Kevin wasn’t driving, was he?”
“No, he doesn’t even have a licence. But because of the accident the police found out the car was stolen and there was quite a mess. If it hadn’t been for Knox—Captain Reardon—Kevin might have been in real trouble.”
“If he was innocent?”
“Simon, Kevin is the son of a well-to-do man. To some people the wealthy are never innocent. Luckily, the man who owned the stolen car was reasonable. He dropped the charges when the boys in the car all chipped in and paid the damages. Afterwards, Barney asked me not to invite Knox to the house again.”
“Why? If he helped—?”
“I don’t understand all of it. Barney said Kevin was at a rebellious age and having a policeman around would only encourage him. He talked it over with Knox, I guess. That’s why I haven’t called him about Barney. Because of what Barney said.”
“How long have you known Captain Reardon?”
“Years. I think Barney knew him before I did. He and Knox belong to the same club. They play golf together quite a bit.”
“What about Mrs Reardon?”
“There is no Mrs Reardon. Knox is a bachelor—a man dedicated to his work, I understand. Maybe that’s why he used to come to the house so much—because of the children. Bachelors get a kind of home-and-family fever when they reach middle age, I think.”
Simon grinned. “I didn’t wait that long.”
“I know. And I’m so happy for you. You have a lovely wife. But maybe Mary Sutton was right. I suppose I should call Knox now. He would know what to do and I don’t think Barney would mind as long as it’s nothing concerning Kevin.”
But Carole Amling never called Captain Reardon. She didn’t have the opportunity.
• • •
They reached the airport in good time. Simon followed the traffic pattern to the Pan-Am area and turned in. He was receiving his time-dated claim check from the automatic dispenser when he noticed an unusual activity at the far end of the lane. He proceeded slowly and found a parking space about twenty yards from the place where a black and white prowl car with flashing lights was blocking the passage. Taking Carole by the arm, he hurried down to see what was causing the activity. The police car was parked near a silver-grey Continental sedan. Even before Carole told him it was Barney’s car, he saw the chrome initials BA on the door. As they approached, a tow car swung in behind the sedan and a man leaped out to attach a chain to the rear bumper of the Continental.
Carole ran forward, keys in hand. “What are you doing?” she cried. “This is my car!”
A stocky plainclothesman in a wrinkled, tan raincoat crawled out from behind the steering wheel of the prowl car and looked at Carole Amling as if she had just walked into the men’s room. He had the enigmatic face of a seasoned cop who didn’t really like anybody.
“Are you Bernard Amling, lady?” he asked.
“I’m his wife.”
“Where’s Bernard Amling?”
Carole started to reply but Simon pulled back on her arm and stepped forward.
“You’re confiscating private property,” Simon said.
“Yeah, I know.” The officer turned and yelled back to the man in the tow truck. “That’s okay. You’re in good position. Hook her up.”
“By what authority are you confiscating private property?” Simon demanded.
The man hauled a badge and identity card out of his pocket. He was Lieutenant Albert Wabash and he didn’t like Simon, either. “I got my orders,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m a lawyer,” Simon said.
“Great! That’s all we need here—a legal brain. Have you got a court order or something?”
“Not yet. We just arrived.”
“Good. Go ahead with that tow chain. Let’s get outa here. My sinuses are killing me.”
Simon nudged Carole’s arm. “Unlock the door. I want a look inside,” he said.
She ran forward and had the door open before Wabash could do any more than yell. Simon slipped inside and ran a probing hand over the top of the instrument panel, the seat and behind the sun shade. The parking ticket wasn’t there.
“I’ve got my orders,” Wabash screamed and Simon took the keys from Carole and opened the glove compartment. The parking ticket was on top of the registration card. He pulled it out and stuffed it into his pocket before Wabash could see what he was doing. He relocked the compartment and settled back behind the steering wheel. There was no object in starting the motor. The tow truck and the prowl car had the lane thoroughly blocked. While Wabash exchanged verbal blows with a couple of honking motorists looking for a place to park he scanned the rear seat. Nothing. He looked at the odometer. It was a new car. It had exactly 6,582 miles on it. When he crawled out of the car his knee rubbed against a lubrication sticker that had been carelessly applied so that one corner was loose. It was from Lew Morely’s Chevron Service dated 10 November 1972 and the mileage at time of service was 6,508 miles.
He got out of the car and found Wabash, arms akimbo, glaring at him. “Are you all through, legal beagle,” Wabash
said, “or do you want a free ride into the police garage?”
“Who gave your orders?” Simon asked.
“Who gave me? Who always gives me? I got my orders from my superior officer, Captain Reardon. And if you want to know something else, he got his orders from the FBI.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WALL THAT had been falling on Carole Amling for a week and four days crumbled like Jericho before nightfall. When Simon drove her back to the house in Palos Verdes two shiny black Cadillac sedans were parked beside the red VW wagon. They were identical in every way except that one bore a medical shield on the licence plate holder. They found Eric Larson on the patio shivering in the cold wind that whipped in off the sea. Carole opened the sliding glass doors and let him in.
“Reardon’s here,” he said. “The garage was unlocked. He’s inside using the telephone.”
“Did he say anything?” Carole asked.
“Only that he had to see you on an urgent matter. Where have you been? You look pale.”
“She’s probably weak from hunger,” Simon said. “I wanted to take her to lunch but we ran into some trouble. We went down to the airport to take a look at Barney’s car. The police came and hauled it off.”
“The police? My God, why? Who called them?”
“Reardon. Did you find out anything at the other airlines?”
“Not a thing. Nobody had Bernard Amling listed as a passenger on any flight on Friday night or Saturday morning, so far as I could learn. Carole, are you all right?”
The wall was hitting hard. She walked aimlessly about the room, a stranger in her own house, until Eric forced her to sit down. She looked at her watch.
“I have to pick up Jake at school,” she said. “It’s three o’clock.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Where is the school?”
“Off there—” She waved her hand in a circular direction.
“Look in Jake’s room,” Simon suggested. “He’s probably got some school papers lying about somewhere. I’ll get Carole a drink. Where does Barney keep his brandy?”
For the bar one only had to look. Simon found it in the den. When he returned with the brandy Carole was no longer alone. A man who had to be Captain Reardon had let himself in through the patio door and stood awkwardly like a second groom at a wedding. He didn’t look like a policeman. He was too well dressed, for one thing. He wore a cashmere coat thrown over his shoulders and a well-tailored suit with a yellow checked vest. His shoes were shined and he had taken off his hat in deference to Mrs Amling. His brown hair was thinning on top, not as noticeably as Dr Larson’s, and he compensated for that with a luxurious moustache that was carefully trimmed. He was a big man—tall and a little overweight, but not flabby. He might be 45.
“Go ahead and drink the brandy,” he told Carole. “It’s good for you.”
She drank half of it and stopped trembling. “Knox,” she said, remembering her manners, “this is a friend of mine, Simon Drake.”
“You have talented friends,” Reardon said. “I’ve heard about Simon Drake.”
“And now you’re going to hear from him,” Simon said. “What’s the idea of confiscating Barney Amling’s car?”
“Do you know where he is?” Reardon asked.
“He’s on a business trip. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“No, not if he’s really on a business trip. What about you, Carole? Do you know where Barney is?”
She caught Simon’s eyes and said: “He flew to Mexico City for a business conference.”
“That’s what they told me at his office but nobody seems to know where he’s staying or when he’s coming back. When I called the hotels in Mexico City they told me he wasn’t registered, hadn’t been registered, and that Mrs Amling had already called and asked for the same information. Carole, what’s going on here? If you’ve been looking for Barney, why didn’t you call me?”
She sipped the brandy slowly. It was as if she remembered that her mother had told her not to speak with anything in her mouth. Eric came back from Jake’s room waving a text book. “I’ve got it,” he said. “I’ll go and pick up Jake for you, Carole. You sit and relax—oh, hello, Reardon. Did you complete your call?”
“Maybe he bugged the phone,” Simon said. “There seems to be an uncommon amount of interest over a family situation.”
“Family situation!” Reardon roared. “A man makes a last-minute flight to Mexico City—only he doesn’t go to Mexico City. He’s supposed to return in two or three days—only he hasn’t returned in eleven. He always calls home when he goes away but he hasn’t called home.”
“A family situation,” Simon repeated. “How do you know Barney Amling didn’t have a spat with his wife? Is that any reason to call out every law-enforcement agency? Don’t you think Carole would have called the police if she thought anything had happened to Barney? Do you think she wants her private life spread over every front page in the area?”
Captain Reardon let him talk because that was what lawyers were for and then it was his turn.
“I didn’t come here to pry into anybody’s private life,” he said. “I came because Carole and Barney have been my friends for years and I wanted to clue her in before the bad news comes from a higher source.
“I was called to the Pacific Guaranty building about half an hour after you left it this morning, Drake. There are more people than his wife looking for Barney Amling now. There’s the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Securities Exchange Commission at the moment. They’ve been working on an audit for several days and for several days they’ve been running into trouble. Now it’s official. When I left the office the figure stood at a little more than four hundred thousand dollars of the association’s money that’s missing, and they’re only half through the audit. That makes Barney Amling about the most sought-after man in the west coast area about now.”
Everyone looked at Carole Amling. She sat small in the chair twisting an empty brandy glass in her hands. She didn’t make any sound at all.
Barney Amling. That’s what they were all thinking. There was nothing new about a man taking off with company funds—even if the sum was large. But not Barney Amling. Three people had listened to Captain Reardon, and three people were too stunned to speak. Even Reardon was shaken.
“God, Carole,” he said. “I wish you had called me sooner. I might have gotten a line on Barney before the government moved in.”
“Larson checked out all the other airlines at LAX,” Simon said. “Nobody had Barney on the passenger list for any Friday night flight.”
“Then he’s using another name. We’ll check it out again with a photo for identification.”
Carole stirred in the chair. She looked at her wristwatch. “Eric, it’s after three,” she said. “Jake—”
“God, I almost forgot. I hate to leave you now.”
“Go ahead,” Simon said. “Jake knows you. He won’t be frightened if you pick him up. I’ll stay here until you get back.”
Eric went for Jake and everybody sat around picking through the mental débris left by Reardon’s bombshell. In a sense it was a relief to have something to work on no matter how ugly.
“It could be a coincidence,” Simon said at last. “Just because Barney’s gone off on a trip it doesn’t necessarily follow that he’s responsible for the shortage. There must be others at Pacific Guaranty who had access to the funds.”
“That’s being investigated too,” Reardon said. “But the one positive thing we have to work on is that the president of the association is missing.”
“But Barney wouldn’t steal,” Carole said. “Why would he? We have enough.”
“That’s the peculiar thing about embezzlement,” Reardon answered. “The people who do it usually do have enough—more than most of us, anyway. They get used to a life-style and if something goes wrong they can’t climb down from the ladder.”
“But nothing’s gone wrong.”
“We’ll know more abou
t that when we get Barney’s financial statement.”
And Simon sat quietly with his own bombshell because, in addition to knowing how to talk, a good lawyer had to know when to keep his mouth shut. This was no time to tell Carole Amling about her husband’s property trust. In due time Eric Larson returned with Little Jake, who had been properly named. He resembled Carole’s side of the family: dark hair, small boned. Being a small boy he was hungry and the kitchen was his destination. Reardon slipped into the sleeves of his coat and prepared to leave and Simon decided to go with him.
“Do you have anyone who could stay with you?” Simon asked Carole at the door.
“I don’t need anyone. But I think I’ll take a raincheck on Kevin’s offer to sleep in my room tonight.”
“Do that. It will do him as much good as it does you.”
Outside in the courtyard Knox Reardon hunched his big shoulders against the wind and moved towards the black Cadillac that carried no medical shield. He stopped and looked back at the house and back at Simon who was following him. A plaintive sound came from one of the upstairs windows. An off-key clarinet being played by a ten-year-old boy with cookie crumbs in his mouth. Reardon shook his head helplessly.
“I guess I’ve known Barney Amling about twelve years,” he said. “Personally, that is. I even remember being on a guard detail at the Ambassador Hotel when they gave a banquet to honour pro’ football players and Barney was player of the year. I thought I’d learned to expect anything in my job.”
“I heard you and Barney had some trouble,” Simon said.
“Trouble? Oh, you mean about Kevin. I wouldn’t call that trouble, exactly. I gave Kevin a break, in fact. Some people think this juvenile delinquency problem only plagues the low economic classes. They have a rough time when it hits them. I told Barney to crack down on the boy and maybe he didn’t like it. Just the same, Kevin hasn’t been back in court again.” Reardon opened the door of the big car and slid in under the steering wheel. “Any way you look at it, Drake,” he added, “there’s one thing for sure. If there was any way to predict what any human being was going to do next, both of us would be looking for work.”
The Brink of Murder Page 5
