David Morrell - Double Image

“Winston Case.”

Tash nodded. “I memorized the name so I could tell it to my friends. To prove to them I once had grandparents, too.”

“But maybe you misremembered.”

“No, as I got older, I asked my mother what he was like. The name she referred to was always the same: Winston Case.”

“And who was your grandmother?”

“Esmeralda Gutiérrez.”

“Did your mother ever describe Winston Case as having been a film producer?”

“According to her, he was a carpenter. She remembered the family moving around a lot as he went from job to job, although I guess the word family makes it sound bigger than it was. There were only the three of them.”

“Where did this happen?” Coltrane asked.

“In Mexico.”

“An American working as an itinerant carpenter in Mexico?”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, as an American citizen, he could have brought his wife and daughter into the United States without any immigration problems. Given the difference in the standard of living, he could have taken better care of them here.”

“In the Depression?”

“You’ve got a point,” Coltrane said. “But surely if Winston Case had the money to produce films, he could have managed to hang on to enough resources to be comfortable during the Depression. He wouldn’t have had to go to Mexico and become a manual laborer.”

“Then maybe we’re not talking about the same Winston Case.”

“The coincidence is too much for me to accept. There’s got to be a connection between… Does your mother live in Los Angeles? I need to ask her about-”

“My mother’s dead.”

“… Oh.”

“She died from lung cancer three years ago.”

Coltrane didn’t speak for a moment. “I’m very sorry.” He felt as if a door in his mind had been shut. He struggled to open another one. “Yes.” Abruptly he reached for the box of nude photographs.

“ What are you doing ?” Tash asked.

He hurriedly opened the box and sorted through the naked images until he came to the first waist-up shot. Rebecca Chance’s breasts were prominent.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Tash said.

“Does she look pregnant to you? I have a friend who’s convinced that…” He glanced at Tash and saw embarrassment and confusion in her eyes. “I know this is awkward. We’ve just barely met, and… I promise I’m doing this for a reason. Please, trust me. My friend pointed out that Rebecca Chance’s breasts aren’t the same in every photograph. They get fuller. The nipples get larger. That made my friend think that Rebecca Chance was pregnant when some of these pictures were taken. She was in great shape to begin with and she watched her weight, and she was far enough along for the hormones to be kicking in, but not far enough along for her to be demonstrably pregnant in other ways. Maybe that’s true. Hell, my friend’s a woman, but she isn’t a doctor. What do I know about this sort of thing? But suppose it’s true. What if… Could the reason you look so much like Rebecca Chance be…”

“That I’m her granddaughter ?” Tash’s voice was a strained whisper.

“Look at the pictures again. Can you think of another explanation?”

“I don’t know what to…” Tash hugged herself. “Take me out of here.”

Before Coltrane knew what he was doing, he put an arm around her. “Yes, you’ve been through a lot. Let’s get you upstairs where it’s warm.”

COLTRANE’S NEED TO HELP WAS SO GREAT THAT, unusual for him, he didn’t take the time to put the photographs back into the chamber and secure its entrance. His arm still around her, feeling her shiver, he walked with her from the vault. Immediately, as they stepped outside, a jangling sound startled them.

From Tash’s purse.

Coltrane had picked it up as they started across the vault. Tash was so preoccupied that she didn’t at first seem to recognize the shrill insistence of her cellular telephone.

“Don’t tell me he found out this number,” Tash said.

The phone rang again.

“Would you like me to answer it for you?” Coltrane asked.

The phone rang a third time.

“No,” Tash said. “If he hears a man’s voice, it might make him do something more extreme.”

The phone persisted.

“Then don’t answer it at all,” Coltrane said.

“But what if it’s…” Apprehensive, Tash reached for the bag, fumbled inside it, pulled out the phone, opened it with an unsteady hand, and pressed the talk button.

“Hello?” Her voice was tentative, but as she listened, she visibly relaxed. “Walt? Thank heaven. I was afraid it’d be… No, I’m fine… I went out. Mitch had something he needed to show me about the estate I inherited. We drove into Los Angeles… You’ve been trying to call me for the past hour? But I had the phone with me all the time. It never rang. I don’t know why it…” Her dark eyes focused on the open door to the vault. “Wait a minute. I was in a storage area that had a lot of concrete around it. It must have shut out the signal… Slow down, Walt. What’s wrong? You sound… Jesus.” Tensing again, she listened harder. “He did what? Were you hurt? Was anybody …” She stared at the wall across from her, but her eyes seemed so black with despair that Coltrane had the sense she wasn’t seeing anything except nightmarish visions in her mind. “I don’t know what to do… That’s kind of you to offer, but I can’t go back there tonight. I didn’t bring my car. Mitch would have to drive me all the way to your place, and rather than have him do it, I’ll check into a hotel around here… Yes, I’m sure… Of course I feel safe with him.”

“Let me talk to him,” Coltrane said.

“I don’t know the address here. I wasn’t looking when…”

“I need to ask him something.” Coltrane held out his hand.

“Just a second, Walt.” Tash gave him the phone.

Coltrane felt the heat from her hand on it. He smelled her lingering fragrance. “It’s Mitch Coltrane.”

A dead silence was followed by Walt’s husky voice saying, “The son of a bitch poured gasoline through the metal bars in front of Tash’s house and set fire to the garden.”

Coltrane tensed.

“The fumes were everywhere. If I hadn’t stopped by to see if everything was okay, the house would have been destroyed,” Walt said. “I phoned the fire department and used a garden hose to wet down the house until help arrived. It was damned close for a while.”

“ Gasoline ?”

“That tells you something?” Walt asked.

“I once helped put a stalker in jail by taking his photograph while he poured gasoline on a woman’s lawn.”

“Well, too bad you didn’t stay here instead of driving to Los Angeles. You might have gotten his picture,” Walt said sarcastically.

Coltrane ignored it.

“What’s your address?” Walt asked. “I’ll come get Tash and make sure she spends the night somewhere safe.”

“Are you using a cellular phone?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. What difference does it-”

“A couple of years ago, in Beirut, a man who knows about these things told me never to say anything important on cellular phones. It’s too easy to eavesdrop on conversations over them. I’ll bring Tash back tomorrow morning. But thinking of Ilkovic reminds me of something else. Did you ever have Tash’s house checked for hidden microphones?”

“What?”

“Ilkovic specialized in planting bugs. That was how he anticipated my movements, by overhearing my conversations,” Coltrane said. “Do you suppose this jerk knows all about Tash’s movements because he planted bugs in her house? That would be one way for him to learn her new telephone numbers – when the service person told her what they were, she wasn’t the only one listening.”