life.’
Eight
I t was 9.07 that evening before Detective Willis came in to say, ‘It’s OK, Mr Flynn. You can leave now. And your ride’s arrived.’
‘Hallelujah! Are you sure you don’t want to ask me the same questions all over again? That’s all you’ve been doing since you brought me here.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. When it comes to homicide, we have to be thorough.’
Noah stood up wearily. ‘You’ll keep me in touch with any progress, won’t you? Especially if you find out who those two dead guys are.’
Detective Willis gave him a non-committal blink. ‘We’ll call you if we need to ask you any more questions, sir. Or if we need you to make any IDs.’
‘You catch those other two sons of bitches, that’s all I’m asking for. The blond one in particular. I want to be sitting there watching when they give him the needle.’
‘We’ll be doing our best, sir, believe me.’
Noah looked at him. Detective Willis was a short, pot-bellied man with a stringy comb-over and two double chins. He looked like Martin Balsam’s less successful brother. He had been interviewing Noah continuously since three that afternoon, joined from time to time by two other detectives from the San Luis Obispo Police Department and two officers from the California Highway Patrol.
Noah had told Detective Willis everything that had happened, six or seven times, in painstaking detail. How the blond-haired man had cut Jenna’s throat. The high-speed chase through the mountains. But in all of that he hadn’t mentioned the medallion. His visit to Jenna had been totally spontaneous, he had explained, simply to see how she was getting along.
He didn’t exactly understand why he hadn’t mentioned the medallion. After all, it could have helped Detective Willis to establish motive, and to identify their assailants. But his natural reticence told him that it was more prudent if he kept it to himself, at least for now.
First of all, he felt that he needed to find out what the medallion really was, and why those men had wanted it so badly. How had they known that he had it in his possession? He had told almost nobody about it, except for Silja and Mo and his friend Bob Fairman, a set designer for Dead Reckoning .
How had they known that he was taking the medallion to show Jenna? And why had they thought it necessary to kill them both? He had no idea what the medallion signified, if it signified anything at all. Jenna had told him that it was very old, probably Babylonian, but he still didn’t know where it had originally come from, or what any of the markings on it meant. Up until today, he hadn’t been particularly interested in finding out.
He knew from the photograph that Silja had shown him that there was a second medallion in existence, but that was all. Maybe that was the key to it. Maybe P R C H A L was the key to it. If he found out what P R C H A L meant, or who P R C H A L was, everything would click into place. Or maybe not.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Mr Flynn, when the Highway Patrol have finished with your vehicle,’ Detective Willis said, interrupting Noah’s ruminations.
‘OK.’
‘I know this hasn’t been easy, sir, and we’re very sorry for your loss, but if you do think of anything else, you will call me, won’t you? I’d really like to find out why those jokers attacked you.’
‘Just didn’t like our faces, I guess.’
‘That’s possible. Your common or garden variety sadism. But, usually, when somebody’s attacked the way you were, it’s for one of two reasons. Either it’s revenge for some insult or betrayal, real or imagined—’
He hesitated, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his nose.
‘Yes?’ Noah prompted. ‘What’s the second reason?’
‘The second reason is to keep the victims permanently quiet, because they know something the perpetrators don’t want anybody else to know, ever.’
There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence. At last Noah said, ‘Well,
Eight
I t was 9.07 that evening before Detective Willis came in to say, ‘It’s OK, Mr Flynn. You can leave now. And your ride’s arrived.’
‘Hallelujah! Are you sure you don’t want to ask me the same questions all over again? That’s all you’ve been doing since you brought me here.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. When it comes to homicide, we have to be thorough.’
Noah stood up wearily. ‘You’ll keep me in touch with any progress, won’t you? Especially if you find out who those two dead guys are.’
Detective Willis gave him a non-committal blink. ‘We’ll call you if we need to ask you any more questions, sir. Or if we need you to make any IDs.’
‘You catch those other two sons of bitches, that’s all I’m asking for. The blond one in particular. I want to be sitting there watching when they give him the needle.’
‘We’ll be doing our best, sir, believe me.’
Noah looked at him. Detective Willis was a short, pot-bellied man with a stringy comb-over and two double chins. He looked like Martin Balsam’s less successful brother. He had been interviewing Noah continuously since three that afternoon, joined from time to time by two other detectives from the San Luis Obispo Police Department and two officers from the California Highway Patrol.
Noah had told Detective Willis everything that had happened, six or seven times, in painstaking detail. How the blond-haired man had cut Jenna’s throat. The high-speed chase through the mountains. But in all of that he hadn’t mentioned the medallion. His visit to Jenna had been totally spontaneous, he had explained, simply to see how she was getting along.
He didn’t exactly understand why he hadn’t mentioned the medallion. After all, it could have helped Detective Willis to establish motive, and to identify their assailants. But his natural reticence told him that it was more prudent if he kept it to himself, at least for now.
First of all, he felt that he needed to find out what the medallion really was, and why those men had wanted it so badly. How had they known that he had it in his possession? He had told almost nobody about it, except for Silja and Mo and his friend Bob Fairman, a set designer for Dead Reckoning .
How had they known that he was taking the medallion to show Jenna? And why had they thought it necessary to kill them both? He had no idea what the medallion signified, if it signified anything at all. Jenna had told him that it was very old, probably Babylonian, but he still didn’t know where it had originally come from, or what any of the markings on it meant. Up until today, he hadn’t been particularly interested in finding out.
He knew from the photograph that Silja had shown him that there was a second medallion in existence, but that was all. Maybe that was the key to it. Maybe P R C H A L was the key to it. If he found out what P R C H A L meant, or who P R C H A L was, everything would click into place. Or maybe not.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Mr Flynn, when the Highway Patrol have finished with your vehicle,’ Detective Willis said, interrupting Noah’s ruminations.
‘OK.’
‘I know this hasn’t been easy, sir, and we’re very sorry for your loss, but if you do think of anything else, you will call me, won’t you? I’d really like to find out why those jokers attacked you.’
‘Just didn’t like our faces, I guess.’
‘That’s possible. Your common or garden variety sadism. But, usually, when somebody’s attacked the way you were, it’s for one of two reasons. Either it’s revenge for some insult or betrayal, real or imagined—’
He hesitated, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his nose.
‘Yes?’ Noah prompted. ‘What’s the second reason?’
‘The second reason is to keep the victims permanently quiet, because they know something the perpetrators don’t want anybody else to know, ever.’
There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence. At last Noah said, ‘Well,
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