ARCHER SAT IN THE OLDSMOBILE and stared at the Bonhams’ place. It was midnight and there was a light on. Danforth’s house was dark, the same for Lamb’s. But the light on at the Bonhams’ was like a heat lamp for Archer. It might lead him where he needed to go. The wind picked up, and a quilt of clouds covered up the dull glow of moonlight.
Earlier he had retrieved the developed photos he’d taken at the Bonhams’ house. The glossies were clear and looked good and were probably enough evidence to send the man away for life. He put them back in their folder and kept surveying the house.
Archer stiffened as he saw movement in the breezeway. Then a light came on in the garage. Next, he saw the garage door being lifted up. There was Bernadette Bonham doing the honors. Outlined in the glow, she looked like she was on a movie set getting ready for her big number under a hot spotlight. Then a car started up. She moved out of the way as the Bentley backed out. She turned off the light and closed the garage door. She got into the car and it pulled off down the road. As it passed by Archer, he couldn’t see who was driving, but he had a pretty good idea.
He waited until the car was out of sight, then he headed across the street and into the backyard. He reached the entrance to the bomb shelter and pulled out two items from his trench coat. Bolt cutters and a flashlight. He snipped the padlock with the cutters, tossed it away, and lifted the hatch. He grabbed his flashlight, looked around, and started his descent.
The steps were metal, and the entrance hatch was the most elevated part of the shelter. When he reached the bottom step he figured the shelter was about six feet underground with the dirt and grass covering it.
He didn’t think that would save you from an H-bomb blast, but he wasn’t a scientist, just a shamus. He shone his light around just about the time the stench hit him. It was so overpowering he almost gagged. He covered his nose and mouth with the fabric of his coat and stood there looking where the light was shining. Cheap sleeping bags were on the floor that was covered with trash and filthy clothes. There was a bucket used as a toilet. Half-eaten food and empty cigarette packs were lying around everywhere. There was a glass jug of dirty water. Benches were built into the walls and there were grimy blankets and sheets piled there.
He figured it would get pretty damn cold down here. There must be air vents and filtration somewhere so people wouldn’t suffocate, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy to breathe the foul atmosphere down here even with those devices.
He walked around and shone his light on the metal walls. He stopped when he saw the words that people had etched into the painted metal, maybe with fingernails, maybe with something else.
Ayúdame. Peligro. Muerte.
Archer knew enough Spanish to translate those words into “Help Me. Danger. Death.”
And then there were other things marked into the walls, but they were from another alphabet. Maybe Chinese or Japanese, he thought. Despite the language difference, he believed these messages said pretty much the same thing.
Help me. But no one had. And the Bonhams had a nice big house and drove a Bentley.
Sometimes Archer just wanted to shoot life right in the face.
He had been standing right above here with the gardener. Why hadn’t he heard anyone? Why hadn’t they cried out? Or pounded on the door above?
Then he saw the pile of chains under one bench and the large bolts inserted into the walls where those chains would go through. And he discovered a large bottle marked chloroform, along with a canvas bag filled with cloths formed into gags for the mouth.
That was why the folks down here had remained silent. And also why they had been stumbling the night Archer had seen them emerging from here. They must have been drugged during the day. At night there would be no one close enough to hear them.
He kept moving around until he reached the very back of the shelter. A bundle of blankets was on one of the benches. He moved closer and shone his light over it. He grabbed an edge of one blanket and pulled it away. And he did the same with another layer. Then he drew back.
Revealed was a pale hand, the veins underlying the skin waxy and still.
He knelt down and pulled away more coverings until a face was revealed. It was a mask of white and, like the hand, very much dead.
Well, somebody else had been driving the Bentley.
Because Peter Bonham was right here, in his own little chamber of horrors.
Archer pulled more of the blankets off him until the man’s fully clothed body was revealed. He had on a nice suit, the tie was blue, the shirt was white. And red.
Where the knife blade had gone in. Right into the heart, was Archer’s estimation. The hand wielding the blade knew just where to strike. Bonham’s death would have been pretty much immediate. A stopped heart halted everything else. Fast.
And Bernadette had gone off with her husband’s killer, Archer assumed. Of her own free will. Hell, she’d even gotten the garage door for the man. And it was a man, Archer knew. The knife wound was in the front. Bonham was a big, strong guy. Archer knew this; he’d fought the man on the beach. His wife hadn’t taken him like this. Archer knew one guy who could have.
And he had the scars to prove it.
He made his way out and over to the door into the house off the breezeway. He turned the knob and found it unlocked. He made a quick search and found that Bernadette’s closet had been largely emptied, as was a jewel case he found in a drawer.
He knew she had a valid passport because of the trip to France. Were they making for LA International right now?
He used the phone to call the LA County Sheriff’s Department and asked for Phil Oldham. Fortunately, he was on duty tonight. When he got on the phone Archer told him about finding the body.
“Jesus” was how Oldham broke the silence.
“Jesus isn’t going to help Peter Bonham. And I don’t care if you got pulled from the Bender case. You need to put out an all-points for the airport, train station, and bus depots, shipping ports, and all the highways. It’s Bernadette Bonham and Darren Paley you’re looking for.” He gave Oldham a description of them, the Bentley and the license plate. “I found out that they knew each other back in Reno. My take is that Paley hired Bender to find out if Bonham was cheating him on the dope supply spigot. Bender apparently did his job, only Bonham found out what he was up to and killed him. Paley then took his revenge on Bonham. Bonham’s wife showed her loyalties lay with Paley and not her dead hubby. Now they’re on the run together.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of all that, to hell with my pension.”
“You know Jake Nichols?”
“Yeah. He was a damn good PI. Real bad what happened to him.”
“He’s the reason Willie got on board this case. Jake and Willie are tight. And that SOB Darren Paley is really the guy who put Jake in that wheelchair.”
“That I didn’t know.”
“And Paley was the reason Willie almost died. So I want the guy real bad, Phil, real bad.”
“Okay, Archer, I hear you loud and clear. I can be there in about thirty minutes. You sit tight.”
“No, Phil. I can’t. I’ve got something else to check.”
“Archer, if you—”
“Now listen closely. On Bonham’s desk in his study I’m leaving a folder with pictures showing Bonham with the crates of dope and the hooded prisoners. Along with that is a lab report that analyzed some white powder I found in Bonham’s backyard. Turns out it was heroin. They probably dropped some of the stuff when they were bringing it in from the beach. Situated in the middle of the rear lawn is the bomb shelter. I left the hatch up so you can’t miss it. You’ll find more evidence down there along with Bonham’s body. And another thing—you need to do a raid on the Jade Lion in Chinatown.”
“That’s not my jurisdiction, Archer.”
“Which is why you need to get on the horn to LAPD, somebody you trust in narcotics and vice, and work with them. If the LA cops want some good ink in the dailies, this will do wonders. That truck was heading to the Jade. They sell dope out of there along with a lot of other rotten stuff that you boys in blue need to stop.”
“I can’t organize a raid tonight.”
“Then do it tomorrow night, but just do it. You’ll get a promotion and you can buy a new car and take the wife to Chasen’s all by yourself.”
He hung up before the detective could fire off another response.
Archer was in the Olds and down the canyon road in under three minutes.
He knew if he passed any prowlers they’d be looking for his Delahaye, not the dumpy Oldsmobile. Oldham would have assuredly told them that.
Sure enough, ten minutes later two county radio squad cars shot past him without even a look at the Olds as they headed to Las Flores.
Archer drove straight to the airport in LA, and was lucky enough to get a plane reservation that would deposit him in Reno around five in the morning. He made a call from an airport pay phone to Jake Nichols, who was fully awake, and told him about the latest developments. Then he filled the man in on exactly where he was going and why. He next called and woke up PI Jim Swinson in Reno and told him the same, and that he had booked a flight.
“Can you meet me at the airport?”
“I’ll be there,” said Swinson.
“What’s the word from your guy on the ground?”
“There’s activity, Archer. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
Archer made one more call to a number that a certain someone had given him.
That certain someone answered in a sleepy voice, “Hello?”
“Sam?”
“Who is this?” asked Samantha Lourdes.
“Archer.”
“Archer! Do you have any idea what time it is?”
He could envision her sitting up in bed, in a lacy, sheer negligee maybe, and being all indignant. For some reason that made him smile. And he needed to smile right now or else he might pull his .38 and start shooting people. “Yeah, actually, I do. I’m feeling every minute of it.”
“What do you want?”
“Don’t go back to the Jade.”
“Did you really call to lecture me in the middle of the night about that?” she snapped at him. “Of all the crazy things—”
“I’m not generalizing, Sam. I’m being real specific. The cops are going to raid the Jade probably tomorrow night, just in case you were thinking of going. I wanted to warn you to stay away.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I actually was going tomorrow night.”
“Then you can stay home and read a detective novel instead of getting booked by LAPD for real.”
“What’s happened, Archer? Tell me.”
“That gal you pointed out in the photo?”
“The one who hooked up with Darren while we were married?”
“Yeah. She and Paley just murdered her husband in Malibu, and are right now legging it out of here.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah, I hear his name a lot lately, only he doesn’t seem to be showing up to do his job anymore. So don’t go back to the Jade, ever, okay? Paley has too much going on to worry about you anymore. You are off his gravy train, Sam.”
“All right, I promise, I won’t. And…thank you for the heads-up. What are you going to do now?”
“What I always try and do. Catch the bad people.”
“Why is that so important to you, Archer?” she said breathlessly. It made his skin tingle all the way across the ether. He imagined her giving him the Samantha Lourdes classic movie look. That image actually calmed him.
“I guess it’s just my nature.”