Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

Judy said: “This may seem like an odd question, Mr. Sparrow, but why do you need to know what Mrs. Gorky sees when she looks out the window?”

“I don’t,” Simon said. “That question generally elicits a response of about the length I need to analyze the voice. By the time she’s finished, I know whether she’s the woman I’m looking for.”

“And who’s that?”

“The one who called the John Truth show, of course.” He tapped the ring binder on his desk. “The Bureau, the police, and the radio stations that syndicate the show have so far received a total of one thousand two hundred and twenty-nine calls telling us who she is.”

Judy picked up the file and leafed through it. Could the vital clue be in here somewhere? Simon had got his secretary to collate the tip-off calls. In most cases there was a name, address, and phone number for the tipster and the same for the suspect. In some cases there was a quote from the caller:

I’ve always suspected she had Mob connections .

She’s one of those subversive types. I’m not surprised she’s involved in something like this .

She seems like a regular mom, but it’s her voice — I’d swear on the Bible .

One particularly useless tip gave no name but said:

I know I’ve heard her voice on the radio or something. It was so sexy, I remembered it. But it was a long time ago. Maybe I heard it on a record album .

It was a sexy voice, Judy recalled. She had noticed that at the time. The woman could make a fortune as a telephone salesperson, getting male executives to buy advertising space they did not need.

Simon said: “So far today I’ve eliminated one hundred of them. I think I’m going to need some assistance.”

Judy continued leafing through the file. “I’d help you if I could, but I’ve been warned off the case.”

“Gee, thanks, that sure makes me feel better.”

“Do you hear how it’s going?”

“Marvin’s team are calling everyone on the mailing list of the Green California Campaign. He and Brian just left for Sacramento, but I can’t imagine what they’re going to tell the famous Mr. Honeymoon.”

“It’s not the goddamn Greens, we all know that.”

“He doesn’t have any other ideas, though.”

Judy frowned, looking at the file. She had come across another call that mentioned a record. As before, there was no name for the suspect, but the caller had said:

I’ve heard the voice on an album, I’m darn sure. Something from way back, like the sixties .

Judy asked Simon: “Did you notice that two of the tip-offs mention a record album?”

“They do? I missed that!”

“They think they’ve heard her voice on an old record.”

“Is that right?” Simon was instantly animated. “It must be a speech album — bedtime stories, or Shakespeare, or something. A person’s speaking voice is quite different from their singing voice.”

Raja Khan passed the door and caught her eye. “Oh, Judy, your father called, I thought you were at lunch.”

Suddenly Judy felt breathless. She left Simon without a word and rushed back to her desk. Without sitting down, she picked up the phone and dialed Bo’s number.

He picked up right away. “Lieutenant Maddox here.”

“What have you got?”

“A suspect.”

“Jesus — that’s great!”

“Get this. A seismic vibrator went missing two weeks ago somewhere between Shiloh, Texas, and Clovis, New Mexico. The regular driver disappeared at the same time, and his burned-out car was found at the local dump, containing what appear to be his ashes.”

“He was murdered for his damn truck? These people don’t take prisoners, do they?”

“The prime suspect is one Richard Granger, aged forty-eight. They called him Ricky, and they thought he was Hispanic, but with a name like that he could be a Caucasian with a tan. And — wait for it — he has a record.”

“You’re a genius, Bo!”

“A copy should be coming out of your fax machine about now. He was a big-time hoodlum in L.A. around the late sixties, early seventies, in there. Convictions for assault, burglary, grand theft auto. Questioned about three murders, also drug dealing. But he disappeared from the scene in 1972. The LAPD thought he must have been whacked by the Mob — he owed them money — but they never found a body, so they didn’t close the file.”

“I get it. Ricky ran from the Mob, got religion, and started a cult.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know where.”

“Except that it’s not in Silver River Valley.”

“The LAPD can check out his last known address. It’s probably a waste of time, but I’ll ask them anyway. Guy in Homicide there owes me a favor.”

“Do we have a picture of Ricky?”

“There’s one in the file, but it’s a photo of a nineteen-year-old. He’s pushing fifty now, he probably looks completely different. Luckily, the sheriff in Shiloh prepared an E-fit likeness.” E-fit was the computer program that had replaced the old-style police artist. “He promised to fax it to me, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Refax it to me as soon as you get it, would you?”

“Sure. What’ll you do?”

“I’m going to Sacramento.”

It was four-fifteen when Judy stepped through the door that had GOVERNOR carved in it.

The same secretary sat behind the big desk. She recognized Judy and registered surprise. “You’re one of the FBI people, aren’t you? The meeting with Mr. Honeymoon started ten minutes ago.”

“That’s okay,” Judy said. “I’ve brought some important information that came in at the last moment. But before I go into the meeting, did a fax arrive here for me within the last few minutes?” Having left her office before the E-fit picture of Ricky Granger came through, she had called Bo from the car and asked him to fax it to the governor’s office.

“I’ll check.” She spoke into the phone. “Yes, your fax is here.” A moment later a young woman appeared from a side door with a sheet of paper.

Judy stared at the face on the fax. This was the man who might kill thousands. Her enemy.

She saw a handsome man who had gone to some trouble to hide the true shape of his face, as if perhaps he had anticipated this moment. His head was covered by a cowboy hat. That suggested that the witnesses who had helped the sheriff create the computer picture had never seen the suspect without a hat. Consequently there was no indication of what his hair was like. If he was bald, or grizzled, or curly, or long haired, he would look different from this picture. And the bottom half of his face was equally well concealed by a bushy beard and mustache. There could be any kind of jaw under there. By now, she guessed, he was clean shaven.

The man had deep-set eyes that stared hypnotically out of the picture. But to the general public, all criminals had staring eyes.

All the same, the picture told her some things. Ricky Granger did not habitually wear spectacles, he was evidently not African American or Asian, and since his beard was dark and luxuriant, he probably had dark hair. From the attached description she learned that he was about six feet tall, slim built, and fit looking, with no noticeable accent. It was not much, but it was better than nothing.

And nothing was what Brian and Marvin had.

Honeymoon’s assistant appeared and ushered Judy into the Horseshoe, where the governor and his staff had their offices.

Judy bit her lip. She was about to break the first rule of bureaucracy and make her boss look a fool. It would probably be the end of her career.

Screw it .

All she wanted now was to make her boss get serious about the Hammer of Eden before they killed people. As long as he did that, he could fire her.