The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [75]
Hamilton looked scornfully at him.
“What do I look like, fucking Google?”
Chapter 111
JACOB WENT BACK TO his car and made a phone call.
Carlos Rodríguez answered with the same crackling sí as he had at the gate of the Rudolphs’ mansion in Montecito.
“Jacob Kanon here,” Jacob said. “NYPD? We spoke yesterday.”
“Sí, señor. ¿Qué pasa? How can I help you, Detective?”
“Just one more question. It’s about Sandra Schulman. You said she was with them at the Mansion that last weekend before the auction? Is that correct?”
“Sí. Why?”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Sandra used to play here since she was a little chiquitita. Of course I recognized her. She and Malcolm were boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“How did Sylvia feel about her?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She liked having Malcolm to herself. They were very close, brother and sister.”
“Did you speak to Sandra that evening at the house?”
“Sí, claro! She kissed me on the cheek.”
Jacob pushed the hair from his forehead.
“You said the twins left in the middle of the night. Did you see them drive away?”
“Pero claro que sí. They woke me up. The gate can only be opened manually, from inside the lodge.”
“Did you notice if Sandra Schulman was in the car?”
There was silence at the other end.
“It was late at night,” he said. “You couldn’t see anything inside the car.”
“But you spoke to the Rudolphs?”
“With the señorita. She was driving.”
“But you didn’t actually see Sandra Schulman leave the property?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“She must have gone with them, because they didn’t leave her behind.”
Jacob covered his eyes with his hand.
“Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I needed to know.”
He ended the call and quickly made another.
Chapter 112
LYNDON CREBBS ANSWERED AFTER the first ring.
“How’s it going, you amateur? Are you getting anywhere?” Lyndon asked.
“Can you check on a Sandra Schulman? Last known address Wilshire Avenue, corner of Veteran Avenue.”
“Anything special about her?”
“She may have disappeared, permanently. Take this as a tip from an anonymous source: she could be buried in the hills above Montecito. Sylvia was jealous of her. Enough said.”
Jacob could hear the FBI agent’s pen scratch.
“What about William Hamilton?” Lyndon Crebbs asked as he wrote. “Is he still alive, I hope?”
“If the LAPD takes a look there, they’ll find a heap of snow in the bedroom. He’s alive. But he’s an obnoxious little prick.”
Lyndon chuckled.
“By the way,” he said, “I was reading the report on the search of the Rudolphs’ hotel room in Stockholm. What did that key belong to?”
“What key?” Jacob said.
“The little key that’s mentioned at the bottom of page three.”
“How the hell could you read that, Lyndon? It’s in Swedish.”
“Haven’t you ever used the site www.tyda.se?” Lyndon Crebbs said. “Just an old man wondering.”
The police in Stockholm must have checked it out, Jacob thought. “Christ, this is mad,” he said. “Do you know why the twins were thrown out of UCLA? They had sex with each other in public.”
“Ah, today’s youth,” the FBI agent said. “Something else occurred to me: what if there are other killers? What if the Rudolphs have inspired copycats?”
“The thought has occurred to me, too,” Jacob said. “But it doesn’t fit. The content of the postcards has never been made public, for instance. If there are more killers, they have to be working together.”
“Sicker things have been known to happen,” Lyndon Crebbs said. “When do you think you’ll be back at Citrus Avenue?”
Jacob grew serious. “I won’t be back this visit,” he said. “I’m heading off now.”
Lyndon Crebbs was silent, a silence that only grew. Jacob was treading water. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the only relevant question: exactly how bad was the prostate cancer?
Jacob spoke again. “Just one more thing. Could you pull a few strings and see if you can find out anything about Lucy? My ex? I should tell her about Kimmy.”
The old man let out a sigh.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Thanks for everything,” Jacob said.
“Well, adios, amigo, then,” Lyndon Crebbs replied.