Росс Макдональд - The Instant Enemy

I waited for Sebastian to shift gears. It took a while. He had to shift from the world of money, where being bought out by a millionaire was the finest thing you could hope for, back to his difficult private world. I liked Sebastian better since I learned that he had tears inside his curly head.

“I’ve seen your daughter within the last few hours.”

“Really? Is she okay?”

“She seemed to be all right physically. Mentally, I don’t know.”

“Where did you see her?”

“She was with her friend in his apartment. I’m afraid she was in no mood to come home. Sandy seems to have quite a grudge against you and your wife.”

I meant this to be a question. Sebastian picked up his daughter’s photograph and studied it as if he could find the answer there.

“She always used to be crazy about me,” he said. “We were real pals. Until last summer.”

“What happened last summer?”

“She turned against me, against both of us. She practically stopped talking entirely, except when she flared up and called us bad things.”

“I’ve heard she had a love affair last summer.”

“A love affair? That’s impossible at her age.”

“It wasn’t a happy love affiair,” I said.

“Who was the man?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

His face underwent another change. His mouth and jaw went slack. His eyes were intent on something behind them, in his head.

“Where did you hear this?” he said.

“From a friend of hers.”

“Are you talking about actual sexual relations?”

“There isn’t much doubt that she’s been having them, beginning last summer. Don’t let it throw you.”

But something had. Sebastian had a hang-dog look, and real fear in his eyes. He turned Sandy’s picture face down on the desk as if to prevent it from seeing him.

I got out the amateurish map I’d found in Davy’s desk and spread it out on top of Sebastian’s desk. “Take a good look at this, will you? First of all, do you recognize the handwriting?”

“It looks like Sandy’s writing.” He picked up the map and studied it more closely. “Yes, I’m sure it’s Sandy’s. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Do you recognize the place with the artificial lake?”

Sebastian scratched his head, with the result that one large curly lock fell down over one eye. It made him look furtive and a little shabby. He pushed the hair back carefully, but the shabbiness stayed on him.

“It looks like Mr. Hackett’s place,” he said.

“Where is it?”

“In the hills above Malibu. It’s quite a showplace. But I don’t know why Sandy would be drawing a map of it. Do you have any idea?”

“I have one. Before we talk about it I want you to see something. I got your shotgun back, or parts of it.”

“What do you mean, parts of it?”

“Come down to the parking lot and I’ll show you. I didn’t want to bring it into the building.”

We went down in the elevator and out to my car. I opened the trunk and unwrapped the sad amputated stock and barrels.

Sebastian picked them up. “Who did this?” He sounded shocked and furious. “Did Sandy do this?”

“More likely it was Davy.”

“What kind of a vandal is he? That shotgun cost me a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I don’t think this was vandalism. But it may lead to something worse. It almost certainly means that Davy’s carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Put that together with Sandy’s map of the Hackett place–”

“Good Lord, do you think they’re planning to hold him up?”

“I think he should be warned of the possibility.”

Sebastian made an abortive movement toward the building, then turned back toward me. He was full of anxiety, and some of it spilled. “We can’t do that. You can’t expect me to tell him my own daughter–”

“She drew the map. Does she know the place well?”

“Very well. The Hacketts have been very good to Sandy.”

“Don’t you think you owe them a warning?”

“Certainly not at this stage.” He tossed the pieces of shotgun into the trunk, where they made a clanking noise. “We don’t know for sure that they’re planning anything. In fact, the more I think about it, the less likely it sounds. You can’t expect me to go out there and ruin myself with the Hacketts – not to mention Sandy–”

“She’ll really be ruined if her friend pulls a heist on the Hacketts. And so will you.”

He went into deep thought, looking down at the asphalt between his feet. I watched the traffic go by on Wilshire. It usually made me feel better to watch traffic and not be in it. Not today.

“Does Hackett keep money and jewels in the house?”

“He wouldn’t keep much money there. But his wife has diamonds. And they have a valuable art collection. Mr. Hackett has spent a lot of time in Europe buying pictures.” Sebastian paused. “What would you say to Hackett if you told him about this? I mean, could you keep Sandy out of it?”

“That’s the whole point of what I’m trying to do.”

“Why didn’t you bring her home when you saw her?”

“She didn’t want to come. I couldn’t force her. I can’t force you to go to Hackett with this information, either. But I think you should. Or else take it to the police.”

“And get her thrown in jail?”

“They won’t put her in jail if she hasn’t done anything. Anyway, there are worse places than jail.”

He looked at me with dislike. “You don’t seem to realize, you’re talking about my daughter.”

“She’s the only thing on my mind. You seem to have quite a few other things on yours. So here we stand while the whole thing slips away.”

Sebastian bit his lip. He looked up at the metal and glass building as if for inspiration. But it was just a monument to money. He came closer to me and palpated my upper arm. He squeezed the muscle as if to compliment me and at the same time estimate my strength, in case we might come to blows.

“Look here, Archer, I don’t see why you can’t go out and talk to Mr. Hackett. Without telling him who’s involved. You wouldn’t have to mention my name or Sandy’s.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“It’s the only sensible course. I can’t believe that they’re really planning anything drastic. Sandy’s not a criminal.”

“A young girl is whatever she runs with, usually.”

“Not my daughter. She’s never been in any kind of trouble.”

I was tired of arguing with Sebastian. He was a man who believed whatever made him feel better at the moment.

“Have it your way. Was Hackett on his way home when he left you?”

“Yes, I think he was. You will go and see him then?”

“If you insist.”

“And keep us out of it?”

“I may not be able to. Remember Hackett saw me in your office.”

“Give him a story. You stumbled across this information and brought it to me because I work for his company. You and I are old friends, nothing more.”

A good deal less. I made no promises. He told me how to find Hackett’s place, and gave me his unlisted telephone number.

I CALLED THE NUMBER from Malibu. A woman answered, and told me in a foreign accent that her husband wasn’t home but she expected him at any moment. When I mentioned Sebastian’s name she said she’d have someone meet me at the gate.

It was only a couple of miles from downtown Malibu. The gate was ten feet high, topped with barbed wire. On either side of it, a heavy wire fence plastered with “NO TRESPASSING” signs stretched off into the hills as far as I could see.

The man who was waiting for me at the gate was a lean Spanish type. His tight pants and loose haircut gave a youthful impression which his dark and ageless eyes repudiated. He made no attempt to conceal the heavy revolver in the belt holster under his jacket.