'He was killed,' Chee guessed.
Berger shook that off. 'Big shot,' he said. 'Rich.' That exhausted Berger's supply of words. His mouth twisted. His face turned pink. He pounded at the walker.
The red-faced young man had caught the woman's wheelchair and was pushing her toward the porch. She sat, eyes closed, face blank. So her son was rich and important, Chee thought. What was Berger trying to tell him with that. Her son had been in the navy forty years ago, now he was rich and important, and that was related to something causing her to be excited yesterday.
'Hey!' Chee shouted, suddenly understanding. 'Yesterday. Yesterday morning she saw a sailor, is that it?'
Berger nodded, delighted at the breakthrough.
'Maybe she saw a sailor,' Chee told Berger. 'Maybe she saw Margaret Sosi in her pea jacket. What's that woman's name?'
Berger got it out the first try. 'Ellis.'
'Mrs. Ellis,' Chee shouted. 'Did you see a sailor yesterday? At the apartments?'
'I saw him,' Mrs. Ellis said.
'He looked like your son. In a blue pea coat?'
'I don't have a son,' Mrs. Ellis said.
Chapter 15
The man mcnair called henry brought Vaggan his water in a crystal glass. Vaggan had said, 'No ice, please,' but the man named Henry hadn't listened, or hadn't cared. Henry's expression had suggested that he found bringing Vaggan a glass of water distasteful. He was a plump, soft man, with a soft voice and shrewd eyes that he allowed to give him an expression of haughty contempt. Vaggan placed the glass on the coffee table, aware of the two ice cubes floating in it but not looking at it.
'You're a day late,' McNair said. 'I called you yesterday morning, and I said there was a hurry for this.' McNair opened a black onyx box on his desk, extracted a cigaret, and tapped it against his thumbnail. 'I don't like people who work for me to be late.'
Vaggan was feeling fine. He'd gotten home from the Leonard business before dawn, showered, done his relaxing exercises, and slept for six hours. Then he'd exercised again, weighed, and had a breakfast of wheat germ, alfalfa sprouts, and cheese while he watched the noon TV news. The NBC channel had led with Leonard being rushed through the emergency room doors and propelled away with one bloody ear visible. He switched quickly to ABC-TV and caught the tag end of his own voice, recorded from his final telephone call, explaining about the welshed debt. The Man could hardly ask more. Perfect. He'd switched off the set then and called the McNair number. He'd told the man who answered—probably Henry—to tell McNair he'd be there at 2 p.m.
It was an easy hour's drive. He killed the remaining time reading through his new copies of
He left at 1 p.m., giving himself a bit more time than he needed to drive into the Flinthills district, where the McNair family had bought itself a hill and built itself an estate and raised its offspring. And now he sat in the McNair office, or study, or library, or whatever such rooms were called in such houses, and here across the desk was McNair himself. McNair interested him. Very few men did.
'I am never late,' Vaggan said. 'Maybe Henry didn't tell you.' He glanced over his shoulder at Henry, who was standing stiffly beside the doorway. 'Henry,' he said. 'Come here.'
Henry hesitated, looking past Vaggan at McNair. But he came.
'Here,' Vaggan said. He extracted the two ice cubes from the glass and held them out to Henry. 'You can have these,' he said. 'I said no ice.'
Henry's face flushed. He took the cubes and stalked out of the room.
Vaggan took out his handkerchief and dried his fingers.
'Hard to get reliable help,' he said to McNair.
McNair had understood the subtlety of the point Vaggan was making, appreciating how the threat had been made without ever being spoken. He made a wry face and nodded.
'Henry,' he called.
Henry reappeared at the door.
'Bring Mr. Vaggan a glass of water, please.'
'Yes, sir,' Henry said.
'So what needs doing?' Vaggan said.
'More Navajo business,' McNair said. He had a heavy, rawboned face, pale and marked with the liver marks common with lightly pigmented people when they age. His eyes were an odd color, something near green, sunken under heavy, bristling gray brows. His expression was sour. 'More trouble from the Gorman screw-up,' he added. 'A young woman named'—McNair looked down at a note pad on his desk—'named Margaret Sosi came to Los Angeles from Shiprock. She had a photograph of Leroy Gorman, and she came to Albert's place in West Hollywood looking for him. I want you to find her.'
'Just find her,' Vaggan said.
McNair grinned, more or less, showing white, even teeth. Henry had not had even teeth. It seemed to Vaggan
