Instead of answering, he opened his window. She had the air-conditioning on, of course, and now the humid air billowed in, and with it a faint distant sound of sirens. She said, ‘Police?’
He laughed, a sound like a bark. ‘Fire engine,’ he said. ‘I told you they were gaudy. They aren’t going in from the sea after all, they’re going in from the land, in a fire engine.’
‘But there isn’t any fire,’ she said.
‘With them? There’s a fire. It’s along here now.’
He meant Mr Roderick’s house, or whoever Mr Roderick really was. As he closed his window, she said, ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
‘No. You go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘What if you don’t?’
‘Then I don’t,’ he said. ‘Stop here.’
She rolled to a stop near the Roderick house, and he paused, his hand on the door handle. ‘The question is, how do they get back out? Tuxes under the fire coats?’
She said, ‘To mingle with the guests, you mean? Could they do that?’
‘They think they can do anything,’ he said, and opened the door. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
At the Fritz house, more fire engines had arrived, blocked by the milling crowd and the still-screaming first fire engine that none of the later firefighters recognized. ‘Whose is this? Is this from West Palm? What the hell’s it doing here?’
In the ballroom, Melander and Carlson and Ross finished loading the jewelry into their waist bags. They put the air canisters back on, put on the divers’ face masks and the mouthpieces and the headlamps. From hooks inside their turnout coats they brought out pairs of black flippers.
Lesley found a place to park, locked the Lexus, and walked back down the road toward Mr Roderick’s house.
Firemen hurried through the mansion and found the ballroom doors wedged shut. They had their axes and used them, splintering the doors.
Melander and Carlson and Ross heard the thuds of the axes. Melander shoved a display case out of the way and they went through the terrace doors and ran across the terrace, invisible in their black wet suits, holding their flippers in their hands. A little apart from one another, so they wouldn’t collide underwater, they dove into the sea.
Firemen smashed their way into the ballroom. Police followed. As the rockets fizzled out and the fires began to fade, they looked around at the emptiness.
All gone.
FOUR
1
If he didn’t exert himself, the pains in his chest were just a small irritation, a low grumbling, like far-off thunder. But when he had to move, even to do simple things like pull on pants, the pain punched him all over again, like brand-new, like the bullet thudding into him right now instead of a week ago. Still, he didn’t mind the pain as much as the weakness, especially in his legs. He wasn’t used to being dialed down like this; he kept expecting the strength, and it wasn’t there.
The worst part of getting into the house was the climb over the windowsill. He found the suction-cup handles where he’d left them, attached them to the pane of glass he’d scored, removed the glass, and reached in to unlock and open the window. Then he put the glass pane through the opening and stretched to rest it on the floor inside, leaning against the wall.
That was the first punch. His breathing was constricted anyway, because of the bandages around his ribs, and the punch constricted it even more, so that he inhaled with hoarse sounds that he’d have to control later, in the house.
He hoisted himself over the windowsill, gritting his teeth, not blacking out, but lying on his back on the floor until the pain receded and his breath was closer to normal. Then he stood, shut the window, dropped the suction- cup handles through the open pane into the shrubbery outside, and fitted the piece of glass back into place.
He had time to search the house, but not long. There were two changes in the garage: the white Bronco was there, the same one they’d used after the bank robbery, and the trunk where he’d found their weapons was open and empty. Did they have the guns with them, on the job?
No. All six were on the dining room table, the three automatics and the three shotguns. The Sentinel was still under the table. He left it there; what he needed to do would be done differently.
In the living room, the alarm system had been switched on. Its warning light gleamed red, though Parker had seen to it that it would not respond to breakins. And in the kitchen, the refrigerator was now full of food, as were the shelves. So they planned to spend a few days here, until things calmed down, which was smart.
Parker made his way through the house, slowly, noting the changes, pausing to lean against a wall when the weakness got to be too much. He came last to the big empty room with the piano in the corner and the glass wall facing the sea, and out there lights now moved back and forth, police boats with searchlights, roving this way and that, like dogs who’ve lost a scent. So the trio had gone to the robbery by land, in a fire engine or some other official vehicle, but they’d left by sea.
Soon they’d be back here. In a boat? Or were they diving? Probably diving.
He didn’t have much time to find a hiding place. He had to be secure, but somewhere that would make it possible to move around. He went up to the second floor, tried all the shut doors up there, and found a staircase leading up to the attic. It was covered with black industrial carpet and didn’t make a sound.
The attic area at the top of the stairs had been converted into a screening room, probably by the movie star couple, and then later all the projection equipment had been taken out again, leaving two dozen plush swivel chairs facing a screen attached to the wall. The screening room had been meant to look like a thirties movie house, with art deco lighting sconces and dark red fabric on the walls. There was no reason for the three to come up here, so this was where Parker would wait until he could get at them.
He went back down to the second floor and out one of the bedrooms to the upstairs terrace. Lights still moved back and forth in the thick darkness, but Parker knew the police boats were searching too far out, probably
