David Morrell - Double Image

He changed position, heading to the right this time, to the store above the clothing store that she had entered. From that vantage point, he could look across the huge open space between levels. He could peer down toward the stores opposite the one that Tash had entered. He could see if anyone showed unusual interest in that store. Staying back from the railing so he wouldn’t be obvious, he made sure to change angles, getting as wide a variety of shots as possible.

Once more, he checked his watch. A half hour had passed. As he and Tash had planned, it was time for her to be coming out, so he shifted to the side opposite the door that she and her two bodyguards would be coming through. He caught photographs of the crowd on each side, of anyone who might be watching. Aware that she and her bodyguards would now head toward the down escalator, he reached a spot where he could take photographs of anyone watching from the first level as she and her escorts descended the escalator from the second level.

At the bottom, they moved out of his sight, heading along a corridor of stores toward an elevator that would take them to the parking garage. But by hurrying to the escalator and taking it three steps at a time down to the second level, Coltrane was able to get Tash in sight again and photograph the shoppers in the corridor below him. She entered the elevator. Its doors closed.

His camera clicked on the last exposure. As the rewind motor whirred, he lowered the camera. His back muscles slowly relaxed. But his tension was the result of exhilaration. Working a camera after so long had given him a rush, as had the clandestine nature of the photographs he was taking, the idea that he was trying to trap someone who wouldn’t know that he was being photographed. He wondered if that was the same kind of rush that the stalker got, the power of observing without being observed, of capturing someone’s soul without the target’s being aware that the theft had occurred. Suddenly chilled, he remembered the vulnerability and nakedness he had suffered when he found the photographs that Dragan Ilkovic had taken of him.

AS SOON AS THE CAMERA’S REWIND MOTOR FINISHED WHIRRING, he quickly removed the exposed film and put in a new roll. All the while, he calculated. He had to hurry to his car and get to Tash’s next destination, another clothing boutique, this one on the Third Street pedestrian shopping area in Santa Monica. After that, she would go to a similar store in Westwood and finally all the way down to yet another clothing boutique at the South Coast Plaza in Orange County. She owned all of them, he had learned. She also owned three more in San Diego and four in San Francisco.

“I have other investments, too,” she had said while they drove to the Malibu sheriff’s station that morning. “I try to stay out of their day-to-day affairs, but periodically I drop in just to let the managers know Big Sister is watching. In the case of the clothing boutiques, my interest is greater, so I pay visits more often. This afternoon and this evening would be a good time to make my rounds.”

“Do you ever phone your managers to alert them when you’re coming?”

“Always. Granted, it gives them a chance to hide anything that might be wrong, but it also makes me seem less adversarial than if I showed up unannounced, trying to catch them at something. I don’t want the managers to be afraid of me. I want them to work hard for me.”

“This morning, after you get back to your house, why don’t you use the phone to make appointments at the various stores for this afternoon? Add enough time between stops so I can get to each one ahead of you.”

“But what I say will be transmitted through the hidden microphone Walt left in the house. He’ll know my timetable.”

“Exactly,” Coltrane had said. “And we’ll know his.”

With the first phase completed, Coltrane got on the escalator down to the Beverly Center’s bottom level. The time was twenty-five to three. Depending on traffic, Tash needed only a half hour to get to the store in Santa Monica, but since the plan required him to arrive ahead of her, she had added another half hour to the timetable, making a 3:30 appointment with the manager. Tash’s stalker, who had presumably overheard the telephone conversation, wouldn’t expect her until then. Meanwhile, Coltrane would be able to arrive in time to start shooting various angles of the crowd. Of course, Tash’s stalker might decide not to show up at any of the-

A HAND SHOVED HIM FROM BEHIND, with such force that Coltrane lurched forward on the escalator and almost lost his balance. Startled, he grabbed the railing to keep from falling and spun toward the person who had shoved him. “Hey, watch where you’re-”

Twice as startled, he found himself face-to-face with Carl Nolan.

The sergeant and he were about the same height, six feet, but Nolan was on a step higher than Coltrane and seemed to tower, his weight lifter’s shoulders looking broader than usual.

Nolan jabbed him again, harder, jolting Coltrane’s right shoulder.

Almost falling, Coltrane gripped the railing harder. “What are you-”

“Keep your hands off her.”

People on the escalator couldn’t help noticing. As distracted as Coltrane was, he sensed their agitation.

“For God’s sake, have you lost your mind?”

Nolan jabbed him a third time. “Stay away from her.”

“If you don’t stop-”

“You’re missing the point.” Nolan gripped Coltrane’s right arm with a force that made Coltrane wince. “This is about you stopping.”

Coltrane suddenly felt off balance, the escalator no longer moving. With equal abruptness, he realized that he’d reached the bottom. The people who’d gotten off ahead of him scattered.

Nolan tightened his grip on Coltrane’s arm. “You’re not going to make a fuss. We’re going to walk calmly over to that elevator. We’re going to find a nice quiet spot in the parking garage where we can chat.” Nolan squeezed so hard that he cut off the circulation in Coltrane’s arm.

“Whatever you want.”

“Right. That’s a good beginning. Whatever I want.”

Shoppers farther along hadn’t noticed what was happening. Moving Coltrane steadily through the crowd, Nolan reached the elevator and pushed a button. When the doors opened, Nolan shoved him inside. For a moment, they bumped together, and Coltrane felt Nolan’s handgun in its shoulder holster under his windbreaker. The doors rumbled shut, the elevator descending.

“Take it easy,” Coltrane said. “I don’t know what this is about, but-”

Nolan’s eyes were wide with fury. “I already told you what this is about: you stopping.”

An elderly couple in the elevator looked nervous.

The doors opened, and Nolan tugged Coltrane into the parking garage. Along a row of cars, Nolan glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, then shoved Coltrane between two minivans until Coltrane’s back was against a concrete wall. The minivans blocked them from view. “You’re never going near Tash again.”

“Carl, think about what you’re doing. You’re risking your job. You can’t assault me. You’ll lose your badge.”

“Who’s going to tell? You? That I did this ?” Nolan punched Coltrane in the stomach.

As air wheezed out of him, Coltrane doubled over and sank to his knees, his hands locked tightly to his stomach.

“Or that I did this ?” Nolan rocketed the heel of the palm of his hand against the side of Coltrane’s head. It knocked Coltrane to the floor. “Answer me. Who’s going to tell ?”

Sprawled on the concrete, Coltrane didn’t know which hurt worse, his stomach or his head.