months before she came, you see, and then she built her house, and we were neighbors, and she admired my needlework and weaving and helped me with the colors and the designs and—she was my friend, you know? And I thought he was jealous, though he never said anything. I thought it was funny, cute in a way, that he'd be jealous, but I didn't want to bother him, so mostly I'd see her when he was away, or when I was up working in the garden. She let me use her sunny hillside for vegetables, you know, so we could use our open space for the ponies. Tony was never nasty about her, he'd just quietly go out the back if she came to the house, or look away if we met her on the Road. Nothing obvious or rude, you understand. I thought he was just being nice to me, not wanting to break up my friendship with her, but if what Paul says is true, if he is this Andy Lewis, then I suppose he wanted to avoid being recognized by her.' Her voice dragged to a halt, and her face looked drawn and haggard.
'But he transported some paintings for her.'
'Yes, four or five times. She knew he had a truck, and she asked him once about a year and a half ago when Tyler's was broken down and she was desperate to get them off to some show.'
'Did he pack them up for her, too?'
'No, Vaun had Tommy Chesler help her. They built these big crates, one for each painting, and Tommy'd help Tony load them. A couple of times Tommy went with him to the airport, but Tommy doesn't much like cities.'
'Did Vaun go?'
'No.'
'Tell me about when Tony was away. Did he go regularly? What was he doing? Do you know where he went?'
'Earning money, doing odd jobs in town or over the hill. Never anything regular, just a day here and there or overnight. Never more than four days in a row. It worked out to about two or three days a week, I suppose, just to keep us in spending money. It wasn't regular. Sometimes his friends would leave a message with Tyler telling him there'd be work on a certain day, other times he'd just go.'
'Do you know the names of any of those friends?'
'There was a Tim who left messages sometimes, and another guy in San Jose named Carl, but I don't remember ever hearing their last names. Tyler or Anna might know.'
'I'll ask them. You can't think of anywhere he might go, any favorite places?'
'San Jose, I guess. We went there, once. He took me to a bar. I don't like bars, but he thought I might enjoy it. It had a funny name, like a joke. Gold something. Gold girl? No, that's right, Golden Grill. Stupid pun. On one wall they have an enormous painting of a naked blond woman tied to a barbecue. Disgusting, really.' She suddenly noticed the identical expression on the faces of her three listeners, the sort of expression an Olympic archer makes when he hits the bull's-eye in the final round. 'Did that help any?'
'My dear Angie, you have given us much food for thought, almost as nourishing as your onion soup. I thank you, profoundly.'
The matchbook found near the body of Samantha Donaldson had come from a bar in San Jose called the Golden Grill.
Angie could tell them little more. She did not know what he'd been wearing, how much money he had, or whether or not he'd taken a gun, but she said he was a good shot with both rifle and pistol. A quick check showed his truck in the shed and no other vehicles missing. Hawkin sent Trujillo up with Angie to try to find out what her husband had taken with him, and told him to have the nurse, Terry Allen, stay with Angie for a while and then to go and pick what brains he could find in Tommy Chesler's head for any possible leads. Tyler he sent out front, requesting that he obfuscate matters as much as possible in the eyes of the media while Hawkin and Kate made their escape.
The uniformed policewoman in Vaun's room was tall and formidable and blocked the doorway most effectively until she was satisfied with their credentials. She left them alone in the room.
It was the first time Kate had seen Vaun since early Saturday. Her face was slack, her lips were slightly parted, her skin was almost as white as her pillow but for the red mouth and the dark smudges under her eyes. The intense contrasts of white and black and red gave her the aloof, other-worldly beauty of a geisha. Kate would have thought her dead but for the monitor.
Hawkin grunted and left after a minute, but Kate lingered. She was struck with the irrational wish to see Vaun's hands, but they were under the covers and she hesitated to touch her. Finally she left, and the policewoman returned to the room.
Dr. Tanaka's office held five people. Hawkin stood at the window looking down at the entrance parking lot. Kate sat with a notebook. Dr. Tanaka himself wore a neat blue suit and spoke with great precision. The other two doctors wore white jackets over their clothing, and the woman, whose name was Gardner, had a stethoscope in her pocket, an obvious sign of low status, Kate thought in amusement. Hawkin turned back to the room.
'So, to put it in English,' he said, 'it's too early to know what's going on.'
'That is an oversimplification, but in essence, true. Her symptoms and her brain waves are neither those of a coma nor of catatonia, but they have characteristics of both. Until we know more, all we can do is continue to support the bodily functions.'
'Then, Dr. Tanaka, I do not envy you and your hospital the next few days. The press has arrived.'
An undignified scramble for the window ensued, the telephone rang, and Hawkin stalked off with Kate close behind. He sent her off to warn Vaun's guard and call in the hospital security for reinforcements while he went to close himself in with a telephone. Within hours the world would know that Eva Vaughn lay in this small hospital. He no longer had any time to wait. When Kate returned he handed her a slip of paper.
'You will meet this plane tonight.'
'He's coming, then? Dr. Bruckner?'
'I gave him no choice. You go home now and sleep for a few hours. It's going to be a long night.'
22
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The plane from Chicago was late. Kate spent the time in an all-night cafeteria at San Francisco International's north terminal, drinking bad coffee and fighting her way into an introduction to the theory of art that she had taken from Lee's shelves at midnight. At two o'clock she went for a walk through the other-worldly halls, and found herself in a display of the work of local artists. She long contemplated two pieces, one a battered briefcase that was actually made out of clay, the other a massive and highly realistic section of adobe wall formed entirely out of styrofoam and leather. She finally decided that any intended symbolism was beyond her ability to decipher, thrust the book into her shoulder bag, and retreated into the cafeteria for more coffee (Was it actually made of hot stewed twigs? Was the artificial creamer formed entirely of styrofoam?) and the evening paper. Eva Vaughn was on the front page, and Kate tortured herself by reading every word.
The plane touched down at 3:15, and a few minutes later Kate planted herself firmly in the flow of dazed passengers, watching for the self-described 'little fellow with a brown briefcase.' (Presumably made of actual leather.) A likely candidate appeared, and she spoke vaguely in the direction of the short, foreign-looking man with the gray goatee, spotless white shirt, and bow tie.
'Dr. Bruckner?'
But it was the surprisingly young-looking man next to him who stopped in front of her and held out his hand.
'Yes I know I don't look like a psychiatrist,' he said rapidly, 'and yes I know you didn't expect me to be so young, but then if you're 'one of our inspectors name of Martinelli' I wasn't expecting you either, so we're even.'
He had an unidentifiably eastern nasal voice and a crooked grin, and his hair was too long and he needed a shave, and he was indeed a little man, barely taller than Kate, and she laughed and took his hand, which surprised her with the calluses of a laborer.
'Casey Martinelli, and Al may have forgotten to tell you I was a she or he may have been aiming at the truly liberated attitude of not noticing or he may have had some obscure reason of his own. At any rate, I'm glad to meet you, and thank you for coming.'
'I would have come tomorrow even if you people hadn't called, as soon as I read the morning paper. No, no luggage, just this. I hope you haven't been up all night to meet me.'
'Oh, no, I set my alarm clock for midnight. That's my car, over there.' She had to scurry to keep up with him,
