Bannerman's Law Read Online Free PDF Page B

she heard him ask. Some thing about his voice. Muffled. A trace of an accent. Ger man, maybe.
    “ They were in her apartment ,” the jogger answered.
    “ All this, too.'' He gestured toward the many papers. “ Even a map of our security system .”
    A snort.
    “ We caught her, didn ' t we ?” came the icy reply, petulant.
    A wave of the hand. Dismissive. “ Who is she ?”
    ”A film student, or so it seems. Apparently doing some sort of thesis .”
    The larger man straightened. ”A student? That's all she is ?”
    “ If she's anything more, she'll tell me. I'll especially find out what she wanted with pictures of you and your wife .”
    The man known as Weinberg was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was very quietly. “ Why ,” he asked, “ did you not simply take her t o a room and ques tion her, threaten her with arrest, as you would any other intruder ?”
    “ Because she spoke to Nellie. More to the point, I think Nellie spoke to her .”
    “ Nellie does not speak. I would know it if she could .”
    Du nv ille shifted some of the papers on Lisa's stomach, uncovering a pocket-size notepad, left open. He jabbed his finger, jarring her, at several lines written in her hand.
    D'Arconte?
    Dunville?
    Daughter / b. 1 93 1 -2/stra w ber r y birthmark
    Who are “ those people ” in the house?
    “ Where ,” asked Henry Dunville, “ would she have got ten that information if not from the old woman ?’'
    The man called Weinberg closed his one eye. The band aged head shook slowly, wearily . His hands reached for the papers and photographs that covered Lisa's body. He gathered them all, then stepped to a cabinet where he found a supply of linens. He shook out a light cotton blanket and covered her with it.
    Next, taking a full five minutes, he scanned the notes and photographs, including those that D u nville had dis carded into a separate pile. This, he noticed, seemed to make Dunville ill at ease. He soon discovered why. There, before him, was a shot of Henry Dunville, mouth forming a silent curse, his middle finger extended at the backs of Weinberg and his wife. He smiled beneath his bandages. The photograph, he sensed, was taken to no purpose other than a conviction that cowardice should not go unrecorded. He was beginning, he decided, to like this girl.
    “ Has it occurred to you ,” he spoke at last, tapping a finger against the open notepad, “ that this is not information at all? That these are simply questions based on rumors, legend , which she came here hoping to have answered ?”
    It was Dunville ’ s turn to snort. “ Why, then, would she have taken your picture ?”
    “ Because she had a camera ,” he answered patiently, his voice pained. “ And because I was there. She photo graphed everything she saw, Henry, from the main gate, to old Mr. Bella r m i ne's red seascape, to your rude little gesture .”
    Dunville ’s jaw tightened but the chin came up, defi antly. “ Well ,” he sniffed, “ we'll know soon enough .”
    “ What have you given her ?”
    “Heroin. Scopolam i ne .''
    “ How long until her head clears ?”
    “ Two hours. Maybe less .”
    “ I'll question her then .” He raised a hand to stay any objection. “ Why is she naked, by the way ?”
    The other man shrugged ,
    “ Is it because you've been playing with her, Henry? Or does that come later ?”
    His tan deepened but he said nothing.
    Weinberg reached an arm around the smaller man's shoulder. He stiffened but did not pull away. Weinberg guided him toward the door. “ Henry ,” he said, shaking his head, “ I'm going to try to explain what you've done here . . .”
    Lisa listened to the fading voice. The man who had covered her. She did not want him to leave.
    “ By the way . . .” The man called Weinberg paused in the corridor outside the surgery, ' ‘ when your little assis tant asked me who I think I am, she wasn't speaking for you, was she ?”
    No answer.
    “ Because if she was, I'll tell you.