Philip Kerr - Gridiron Страница 21

'They did. But they let him go again.'

'There's nothing wrong with those elevators. They're the most sophisticated elevators anywhere in California.'

'That's what I told this cop. They're working just fine. Aidan Kenny and I checked them ourselves. But he still wants Otis to come and take a look at them.'

'And where's this guy now? The one they arrested.'

'Free, I guess.'

'Free to stand outside my building and hand out more leaflets?'

'I suppose so, yes.'

'Dumb bastards.' Richardson picked up the telephone and called his secretary. 'Dumb fucking… Shannon. Get me Morgan Phillips, will you?'

He grimaced and shook his head. 'At his home? Yeah, where else? It's Sunday.' He replaced the receiver and nodded. 'I'll fix this in five minutes.'

'You're calling the deputy mayor? On a Sunday? What are you going to do, Ray?'

'Don't worry, I'll be at my most diplomatic.'

Mitch raised an eyebrow.

'Relax, Morgan's a friend of mine. We play tennis together. And believe me, he owes me more favours… I'm going to get those bastards moved off the piazza. Out of your hair. I was going to have to do it anyway: the last thing we want is them outside again when YK turns up for the PCI.'

'Why bother?' shrugged Mitch. 'They're just a bunch of kids.'

'Why bother? Mitch, one of them broke your windshield, for

Chrissakes. You could have been killed.'

'I wasn't actually in the car at the time, Ray.'

'That's not the point. Besides, one of them is a suspect in a murder inquiry. Once they've seen there's nothing wrong with those fucking elevators the cops will have to bring him back in. You can bet on it.'

'Alison? It's Allen.'

Alison Bryan sighed impatiently. 'Allen who?'

'Allen Grabel.'

She took a big bite of the apple she was holding and said: 'And?'

'I work with Mitch. At Richardsons.'

'Oh.' Alison's tone turned cooler. 'Well, that's nice for you. What do you want?'

'Is Mitch there?'

'No,' she said flatly.

'Do you know where he is?'

'Of course I know where he is. What do you think, I don't know where my own husband is? What kind of a wife do you think I am?'

'No, I didn't mean… Look, Alison, I need to get in touch with him. It's really very urgent.'

'Sure it is. It's always urgent with you people. He's at Richardson's house. Seems like they had some business to discuss. As if they don't see enough of each other during the week. You could call him there, I guess. Who knows? Maybe they're in bed together.'

'No. No, I'd rather not call him there. Look, could you ask him to call me? The minute he gets home?'

'Is it anything to do with that stupid Gridiron building?'

She always made a point of referring to smart buildings as stupid, just to irritate Mitch.

'Kind of, yes.'

'Today's Sunday. That's the day of rest in case you'd forgotten. Can't it wait until tomorrow?'

'I don't think so. And I'd rather not speak to him at the studio. It would be better if he could call me. Tell him… Tell him…'

'Tell him what? That you love him?' She laughed at her own wit. 'That you're leaving on a jet plane? What?'

Grabel gave a profound sigh. 'Look, please make sure that he gets this message. OK?'

'Well surely.'

But Grabel had already hung up.

'Shithead,' said Alison and took another bite of her apple. She picked up a pen and held it momentarily over a notepad. Then she thought better of it. It was bad enough that Mitch was working on a Sunday. He spoke to his colleagues every day at the studio. She tossed the pen aside.

It was a couple of days before Mitch could bring himself to face Jenny Bao with his awkward mission. It would not be easy to persuade her to come round to Richardson's idea. He knew that she loved him, but that did not mean she was in his pocket. He left home early, bought some flowers at a service station on the Freeway, and was at the grey wooden bungalow before eight-fifteen. For another ten minutes he sat in the car justifying to himself what he was about to do. After all, it was only a temporary certificate. Just a few days. Not much harm in that. The morning was a fine one. Jenny's house looked neat and wellmaintained. Two orange trees in terracotta pots flanked the steps up to the mahogany front door. Mitch wondered what another feng shui consultant would have had to say about the auspices for his morning's errand.

He got out of the car, rang the bell and found Jenny already dressed, wearing a sweatshirt and pants. She was pleased to see him but he could tell she was suspicious about the flowers. He never brought flowers.

'Would you like some tea?' she asked. 'Or something else?'

Normally the 'something else' remark would have led to them making love. But Mitch felt that going to bed would be inappropriate in the circumstances. So he said yes to the tea and watched her as she made it in her own peculiar Chinese way. As soon as he had the little porcelain cup in his hands he came to the point, apologizing for having to ask, recognizing that he was putting her in a difficult position, but emphasizing the fact that the lie would only remain in existence for two or three days at the most. Jenny heard him out, raising her teacup to her lips with both hands, almost ceremonially, and then when he had finished, nodded without saying a word.

'Is that a yes?' said Mitch, surprised.

'No,' she sighed. 'Out of deference to you, I'm thinking about it.'

Well, that was something he thought. He had expected her to say no outright. It was two or three minutes before she spoke again.

'Kanyu, or feng shui to you, is a religious thing. It's part of the Tao. The cardinal concept in Taoism is the Absolute. To possess the fullness of the Tao means to be in perfect harmony with one's original nature. What you're asking me to do would disrupt that harmony.'

'I understand,' he said. 'I'm asking a lot, I know.'

'Is this completion inspection really so important?'

'Very,' he said.

She was silent for another minute. Then she put her arms around him.

'On the face of it, I'm inclined to say no, for the reasons I mentioned. But because it's you, and because I love you, I don't want to let you down. Give me twenty-four hours. You'll have my answer then.'

'Thanks,' he said. 'I understand how difficult this must be.'

Jenny smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

'No, Mitch, I don't think you do understand. If you did, then you would never have asked.'

'But you're not giving up now,' said the Japanese. 'Surely…'

'You bet I'm giving up,' said Cheng Peng Fei.

'Why? You were just beginning to get the idea.'

'Someone tried to frame me for murder of a security guard at the Yu Corp.'

They were back in the Mon Kee Restaurant on North Spring Street with the Japanese working his way through another tableful of food, and Cheng Peng Fei nursing a solitary beer.

'Frame you?' The Japanese laughed. 'You sound like Jimmy Cagney.'

'Believe me, I was lucky to get away. I thought the police were going to charge me. I'm still not sure they've entirely given up on me. I had to surrender my passport.'

'Who would want to frame you, Cheng?'

'I don't know,' shrugged Cheng. 'Maybe someone from the Yu

Corporation. Maybe you. Yes, maybe you did it.'

'Me?' The Japanese sounded amused by the idea. 'Why me?'

'Maybe you killed that security guard.'

'I sincerely hope you didn't present this theory of yours to the police.'

'I didn't mention you. How could I? I don't even know your name. You've been careful that way.'

'Maybe you're wearing a wire as we speak.'

'Maybe.' But as he said it Cheng unbuttoned his shirt to show that there was nothing taped to his chest. 'Anyway,' he added, 'the demo's ended. Someone in City Hall got on to Immigration and had us all checked out. One or two were in violation of their visas. They were supposed to be studying English, not making money working in restaurants.'

The Japanese shook his head sadly.

'That's too bad,' he said. 'I guess now I'll have to get involved myself. Score something off my own bat.'

'Like what?'

'Oh, I don't know. Maybe a little sabotage. You wouldn't believe what I'm capable of.'

'You're wrong about that. I think you're probably capable of just about anything.'

The Japanese stood up.

'You know, if I were you, Cheng, I'd make sure I'd got myself a good alibi.'

'When for?'

The Japanese threw some bills on to the table.

'For as long as it takes.'

Allen Grabel telephoned Richardson Associates and asked to speak to Mitch.

The receptionist was called Dominique. 'Who shall I say is calling?'

Grabel had an idea that Dominique did not like him much, so he restricted himself to his Christian name. Mitch probably knew two or three people called Allen. He waited for a few moments. Then

Dominique said, 'I'm sorry. There's no reply. Can I take a message.'

'Ask him to give me a call.' Grabel left his number. She was hardly likely to recognize that. 'As soon as he gets back.'

Grabel replaced the phone and glanced at his watch. He had fifteen minutes to go until his next drink.

Why had Mitch not called him back? There could only be one reason: his witch of a wife had not passed on the message. No wonder Mitch was having an affair with that woman he had seen outside the Gridiron building. Then it came to him that the Gridiron was probably where he would find Mitch. He was hardly thinking straight since that night. But Mitch would understand, he would know what to do.

Grabel picked up the phone and punched out the number. As soon as it started to ring he replaced the receiver. With the telephone system they had at the Gridiron you never knew who might have been listening in. He glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes to go. But he couldn't very well go back there. He was afraid, scared of what might happen to him. Suppose he had imagined it all? What would they do to him then? It was almost as scary as the alternative.

Kay Killen spent the day before Ray Richardson's pre-PCI inspection in the boardroom on the twenty-first level checking through the twodimensional plans and three-dimensional models of the Gridiron on computer. She also looked at the visual record of the project on Photo CD, just in case Richardson wanted to analyse any part of the scheme in detail, or demonstrate the evolution of the design. She had even arranged to have the main model of the building transported from Richardson Associates' offices on Sunset to the Gridiron boardroom, not to mention full-sized mock-ups of some of the components used in its construction. Where Ray Richardson was involved it was always best to be prepared for any eventuality.

It was late when she finished, leaving Mitch still working out an inspection schedule with Tony Levine, Helen Hussey and Aidan Kenny. She was glad to be getting out of the place. Although she was used to working late in empty office buildings, there was something about being in the Gridiron at night that she did not care for. She had always been sensitive to atmosphere, which she attributed to her Celtic ancestry and, unlike the rest of the project team, she was more than ready to believe in feng shui. Kay saw nothing wrong with trying to build something that was in harmony with the natural environment and in tapping the goodness of nature to benefit man. That the spirit of the land must be respected was, she thought, just another kind of environmentalism. Her privately held belief was that the place would feel better when the criticisms made by the feng shui consultant had been fully accommodated.

By the time she reached the cavernous garage her heart was beating quickly and she was beginning to feel a little nauseous. Public spaces, especially at night, made her nervous. Living in LA, she told herself, she was hardly unusual in this respect. But this was more than just urban paranoia. Kay suffered from a mild form of agoraphobia. Knowing she sometimes felt this way did not make it any easier to deal with. Nor did the fact that her car, a new Audi, refused to start.

Anger displaced nervousness for a few crucial minutes. Kay cursed and got out of the car to call the AAA from the security guard's office upstairs. She had the sensation that she was being watched, and performed a couple of walking pirouettes as she headed back across the garage, her heels echoing on the non-slip floor like the ticking of a metronome. Who else could be down here? Now that Sam Gleig was dead Abraham handled night-time security. Apart from her colleagues on the twenty-first level there was no one else in the building. Kay felt relieved when she re-entered the brightly lit elevator car and rode up to the atrium-

When the elevator doors opened the floor was in darkness, with only the light from the car behind her and emanating from some of the upper levels to let her see where she was going. The floor lights were often turned down at night. Since people who were working late usually exited the building from the garage, Abraham was saving energy. But his infrared sensors and cameras were supposed to note her arrival and switch the lights back on.

She was trying to work out why this had not happened when the elevator doors closed behind her and most of the available light disappeared.

Kay suppressed her panic. It was not as if she needed much light to know her way around the Gridiron. Her memory of the building's plan on every level was almost photographic. She had only to imagine herself seated in front of a work-station, using the CAD and steering her mouse to know exactly where she was going. Even before it had been built Kay had known her way around the Gridiron. When finally she went on-site and walked round the finished envelope she had experienced a sensation of odd familiarity.

But as she started to walk towards the security guard's office, she heard a voice she seemed to recognize.

'Can I help you, Miss?'

She felt her hair rising on her head.

'Is there anything the matter?'

Sam Gleig was standing in his familiar position at the front desk, his big hand resting on the gun he kept bolstered on his hip. And, althought it was dark, Kay realized that she could see him perfectly, in every detail, almost as if he had been standing in his own personal zone of artificial light.

'They say what happened to Mr Yojo yet?'

'What — what do you want, Sam?' Kay started to back away towards the elevator. 'Who are you?'

Sam laughed his big slow laugh. 'I don't mean to bother you at all,' he said. 'So who's working late tonight?'

'You're dead, Sam,' she whispered.

'Figured as much,' said Sam. 'Poor guy. Kind of a waste. How old was he?'

Kay felt the elevator behind her. She touched it with her hand. And yet the car did not arrive.