It was ten o'clock, and there was a difference in the atmosphere of the Spa. Many of the bungalows were already dark, and Elizabeth wondered how many people had actually checked out. The talk-show host was gone; the Countess and her friends must have left before dinner; the tennis player and his girlfriend had not been in the dining room.
Evening fog had settled in, heavy, penetrating, enveloping. Even the Japanese lanterns along the path seemed hooded.
She dropped her robe by the side of the pool and looked carefully into the water. It was absolutely still. There was no one here yet.
She felt for the whistle around her neck. All she would need was to be able to put her lips to it. A blast from this whistle would bring help.
She dived in. The water felt clammy tonight. Or was it because she was afraid? I can outswim anyone, she reassured herself. I had to take this chance. It's the only way. Would the bait be taken?
She'd reached the north end of the pool; she flipped over and began to backstroke.
The night Leila died, Craig had claimed to be in his apartment watching a television show when Ted tried to call him. No one had questioned that
Craig wanted Ted to be convicted. Ted was about to turn over the running of Winters Enterprises to him.
When she asked Craig about changing the message on his recorder, had she frightened him enough to force him into an overt attack?
Elizabeth began a freestyle breaststroke. From beneath her, arms encircled her, pinning her own arms to her sides. Her startled gasp caused her to swallow a mouthful of water. Choking furiously, she felt herself being dragged to the bottom of the pool. She began to beat with her heels, but they slipped off the heavy rubber wet suit of her assailant. With a desperate burst of strength, she dug her elbows deep into the ribs of her captor. For an instant the grip relaxed, and she began to rise to the surface. Just as her face emerged, as she managed to gulp one breath of air and fumble for the whistle, the arms enclosed her again, and she slipped downward, through the dark waters of the pool.
Eleven
'After Kathy and Teddy died, I went to pieces.' It was as if Ted were talking to himself, not Scott. The car raced past the gate to Pebble Beach without stopping. The roaring siren shattered the peace of the surroundings; the headlights opened only a few feet of visibility in the deepening fog.
'Craig took over running the whole business. He liked it. There were times when he'd answer and say he was me. Imitate my voice. I finally told him to cut it out. Then he met Leila first. I took her away. The reason I was so busy those months before Leila died, I was starting to reorganize. I intended to de-emphasize his job; split his responsibilities with two other men. He knew what was happening.
'And he's the one who hired the detective to follow that first witness; the detective who was so conveniently there to make sure the new witness didn't get away.'
They were on the grounds of the Spa. Scott drove the car across the lawn and stopped in front of Elizabeth 's bungalow. The maid rushed from her station. Ted was banging on the door. 'Where is Elizabeth?'
'I don't know,' the maid said, her voice faltering. 'She gave me a letter. She didn't say she was going out.'
'Let me see the letter.'
'I don't think-'
'Give me the letter.'
Scott read the note to Vicky, ripped open the letter addressed to him and began to read.
'Where is she?' Ted demanded.
'Oh, God, that crazy kid… The pool,' Scott snapped, 'the pool.'
The car smashed through hedges and flower beds and roared toward the north end of the property. Inside the bungalows, lights began to go on.
They reached the patio. The fender of the car caught the edge of an umbrella table, knocking it over. The car stopped at the edge of the pool. Scott left the headlights on, and they shone over the water. Waves of the gathering fog shimmered in the lights.
They peered down into the pool. 'There's no one here,' Scott said. A terrible fear grabbed at him. Were they too late?
Ted was pointing at bubbles floating to the surface. 'She's down there.' Kicking off his shoes, he dived into the pool. He touched bottom and came up. 'Get help,' he yelled. He went down again and again.
Scott scrabbled in the glove compartment for his flashlight, grabbed it and saw a figure in a scuba-diving outfit begin to climb the ladder out of the pool. Drawing his pistol, he rushed toward the ladder. In a swift, violent gesture, the scuba diver lunged forward and butted him. The gun fell from Scott's hand as he slammed backward onto the patio.
Ted resurfaced. He was holding a limp figure in his arms. He began to swim toward the ladder, and as Scott dazedly pulled himself to a sitting position, the scuba diver fell backward onto Ted, dragging him and Elizabeth under the surface.
Gasping for breath, Scott reached out a groping hand. His numbed fingers closed around his gun. Pointing it upward, he fired two shots, and was rewarded by the insistent sound of sirens racing toward him.
Ted desperately tried to hold on to Elizabeth with one arm as he pummeled his attacker with the other. His lungs were bursting; he was still groggy from the effects of the sodium pentothal; he felt himself losing consciousness. Futilely he tried to punch the thick rubber suit. His blows fell harmlessly on the solid, massive chest.
The oxygen mask. He had to pull it off. He let go of Elizabeth, trying with all his strength to push her toward the surface. For a moment, the grip on him relaxed. A hand stretched past him, reaching to drag Elizabeth back. It gave him the chance to grab at the face mask. But before he could pull it off, a vicious shove sent him reeling backward.
She had held her breath, forcing herself to resist inhaling. She made herself go limp. There was no way she could get away from him. Her only hope was that he would think she was unconscious and leave her. Even from the feel of the arms that pinned her she knew it was Craig. She had forced him into the open-but now he would
