When they leave the cave the Santa Ana winds have just begun to blow again. They move greatly against John's face as he leads Valerie into the formidable sunlight. John notes the high desert smell, the dryness of the breeze, the clean outlines of the hillsides against the sky. He has Valerie by the hand. Time passing by, he thinks, the future marching backwards to meet us.
Back at the cottage, John has an e-mail asking him to call Adam Sexton. He e-mails back that he can't-no phone handy. A few moments later, Sexton's reply appears on his screen:
SENSE CHANGES IN VANN. PURELY A HUNCH. IF YOUR NOSE IS TO THE WIND, PICKING THINGS UP, WOULD MUCH LIKE TO COMPARE NOTES. ANY LITTLE BIT HELPS. VAL LIKES YOU. LUCKY GUY A. SEX
That night, late, Holt summons John to the Big House. John crosses the meadow in the building wind, his dogs bouncing out ahead of him, hunting birds in the moonlight.
He waits for his host in the living room, looking into the red-orange glow of the fire. When Holt finally comes down he has got a tumbler full of ice and Scotch in each hand. He gives one to John but says nothing, simply motions with his head and leads John down into the basement, the Trophy Room.
When the lights go on, John acts surprised by the wildlife dioramas around him. Even this, his second viewing, fills him with awe, almost a child's sense of wonder. Animals from all over the world-the biggest, the best and the most beautiful. Animals he could never even identify.
'I've never seen anything like this, Mr. Holt.'
'You won't. Half of them are illegal to take anymore.'
Holt guides him. He tells him about the hunts, the circumstances, the weather, the guides, the shots. He seems most proud of the Kodiak bear. It towers above them, ten feet tall, at least, with a gleam in its eyes that is utterly convincing.
'Biggest flesh eater on land,' Holt says. 'Fifteen hundred forty-seven pounds. Took me three weeks on the island to find this one. Another three days to get a shot at him. Thought I was going to lose some toes to frostbite. Didn't care. One shot knocked him ass-over-teakettle. Broke the backbone, clean. Should have heard him. Kind of sound that stays in your dreams for years.'
Holt leads the tour. Asia. India. North America. Africa. Central America.
'Talked to Baum?'
'She said Sunday noon would be her best time. Day after tomorrow. Does that fit your schedule?'
Holt ignores John's question, as he often does. Instead of answering he takes a slow drink of his Scotch and continues his tour through the exhibits.
'Where will she meet you?' he asks.
'Newport Harbor Art Museum. She's going to a fundraiser that starts at one o'clock. She said she'd fit me in before.'
'Can you get her here with minimal drama?'
'I thought I'd meet her in the parking lot, when she's heading in. It's a good-sized lot, off to the side of the building. I've been there.'
Holt nods, perhaps pleased that John has given this errand some forethought. He looks up at the bull elephant, then moves toward Australia. John remains beside him. He notes that Holt's brow furrows briefly then relaxes, as if some problem has been raised and solved.
'Good, John. When you come back in with her, the guard at the gate will wave you through. You won't have to stop. Don't stop at the Big House, either. Just head up past the groves into the hills. Bring her to Top of the World. I'll be there.'
'Why Top of the World?'
They arrive back on Kodiak Island. Holt looks up at the bear. 'We'll have lunch there, Baum and I. Plan on joining us Great view of everything. Nice place to talk. Don't you think?'
What John thinks is: a nice place to off someone. No one around to see or hear.
'It's perfect for that.'
Holt finishes his drink, still examining the towering bear 'Lane took off the right inside handle of your truck door. If she gets antsy once you two are on the road, too bad.'
'Thank you. I gave some thought to her appointment calendar, though. I mean, she probably wrote me in somewhere. It's possible she'll tell her husband or her bosses she's meeting me before the function.'
'Don't worry about that-you didn't get to the museum after all. Truck crapped out, starter. You've got me for an alibi. Lane, too. And Val. Getting her here is the important thing. Nobody's going to look for you here because nobody knows where you are.'
'That's what I came up with.'
Will he kill me when he's done with Baum?, John thinks. Half of him feels gratitude that he and Baum will be miles away from Top of the World when Joshua and his Federales take down Holt. The other half of him wishes he could be there to see it, to see this animal face his hunter.
'So, do I tell her we're coming to see you?'
'I wouldn't. But tell her anything you want. Just get her here.'
'Consider it done.'
Holt turns and stares at John with his cool gray eyes. A little smile creeps to his mouth. 'You're a good man.'
John says nothing, returning the stare, hoping he really looks as stupid as he's trying to seem.
'I want you to see something now,' Holt says. 'I want you to look at it. I don't want you to say a word. I want you to think about it after we leave here. Tomorrow night, if you've changed your mind about this arrangement, you'll have a chance to tell me. Agreed?'
'Agreed.'
Holt presses a button on the railing in front of the diorama and the scene in Kodiak gives way to a parking lot. No animals. No rocks. Just asphalt, and one eucalyptus tree with a thick white trunk that rises from a planter filled with Iceland poppies. A new Lincoln Town Car is parked in a space marked 'Baum.' The backdrop is a blown-up photograph of the Journal building.
John feels his breath catch, hears it catch. He stares at the tableau. The way it feels to see it now takes him back to the way it felt to be there. He brings in a deep breath and exhales. John wonders if his knees might buckle. And he knows for sure that whatever information his face reveals is being easily recorded by the man in front of him. Holt's expression is so ordinary that John can't infer the tiniest meaning from it.
'We'll talk tomorrow night, John. If you feel the need Big dinner. Lots of big doings. Got to have everybody whistle the same tune.'
'Okay. Sure. All right.'
CHAPTER 35
As John Menden watched a young woman wash a stained dress in a spring, Joshua Weinstein stared briefly at Sharon Dumars in the muted light of the County Crime Lab Audio-Visual room. He silently shook his head and resumed his pacing. He could not stop the pacing, only interrupt it for brief, anguished moments of worry. He worried that the Sheriff-Coroner's deputy who had lost Snakey in the county's paperwork would change his mind and blow Joshua's operation to smithereens. He worried that Walker Frazee had found out about Snakey, and was ready to fire him. He worried that everyone knew he had slept with Sharon Dumars. No image of her tanned, strong, beautiful body was enough to dispel the fear that he was about to be exposed as a traitor to Rebecca. It is hell being me, he thought, looking at his watch and shaking his head again, his big Adam's apple traveling up and down his throat like an elevator as he swallowed.
Kenwick, the Bureau's crack AV man, sat stooped beside Sharon, looking into a Fuji editing machine through which was running the VHS format tape of Rebecca Harris meeting her end in the Journal parking lot. He was running the frames one-by- one and Joshua had heard nothing but Kenwick's steady, deep breathing for the last five minutes. Kenwick wore headphones to listen to the soundtrack. Cute, thought Joshua, considering there was no goddamned soundtrack. Kenwick had been flown in from Washington, accompanied by Walker Frazee. Joshua had
