Read Online Double Image by David Morrell - Free Book Online Page A

more than Falcon Lair would hold, but he managed to cram it all in there. In the end, he almost spent himself into bankruptcy. He worried about his career until he died at the age of thirty-one from a bleeding ulcer.”
     
2
     
    PACKARD’S MUCH- PRAISED PHOTOGRAPH OF FALCON LAIR had been taken from a neighboring hilltop. It showed the thirteen-room mansion tiny in the distance, surrounded by a high white wall, perched on a flattened ridge, looking so isolated that it bore an intriguing resemblance to a Spanish monastery. None of the many hills beyond it had any houses on it, but tentacle-like roads predicted the invasion about to take place. On the bottom left of the photograph, amid exposed earth on one of the slopes, a developer’s sign announced BEVERLY TERRACE. The implication was clear. Soon the area would be filled with comparable estates. The remoteness that made the location attractive would be destroyed. As if commenting on the impending invasion, Packard had managed to capture a bird of prey hovering in the foreground.
     
3
     
    NEAR THE TOP OF BENEDICT CANYON DRIVE, Coltrane chose a secluded street to the left and headed higher into the wooded hills. The neighborhood became increasingly deserted the more the houses looked expensive.
    “How do you know this is the way?” Jennifer asked.
    “I don’t. Monday, I bought a contour map and tried to orient it with Packard’s photo and a Beverly Hills street guide. Falcon Lair is on one of those bluffs to the right, so we have to go in the opposite direction to find the spot where Packard took the photograph.”
    Jennifer shook her head. “These streets weren’t here back then. There’s no way to tell which route Packard used.”
    “And all these trees cut off the view, so we don’t know where we are in relation to Falcon Lair.”
    Six hours later, dogged determination was all that kept them going. “This assignment needs an explorer, not a photographer,” Coltrane said as he steered onto yet another side street.
    Jennifer squirmed. “My rear end hurts. I feel as if I’ve driven to Vegas and back.” Empty coffee cups, along with scrunched-up junk-food wrappers, littered the floor of the passenger seat — from several bathroom trips to West Hollywood. “I bet I put on ten pounds.”
    “Maybe getting me to do this project was Packard’s idea of a practical joke.” Coltrane reached the crest of what seemed the hundredth side street and pointed toward a walled estate on the left. “Do you think
this
is where he took the photograph?”
    Jennifer glanced from the estate toward the barely glimpsed view to the right. “Let’s give it a try. Anything to get out and see if my legs still work.”
    A breeze smelled sweet. Despite the recent rain, Coltrane heard a lawn sprinkler.
    “Could be.” He studied the estate. It was higher than the street. In fact, it was on the highest spot around. “From inside, we might be able to see over the trees toward the opposite side of the canyon.”
    Jennifer checked her watch. “Ten after two. The light will soon be perfect.”
    “Yeah, maybe the day won’t be a total waste. Maybe I can still get some shots.”
    The rhododendron-lined driveway had a closed metal gate. A smaller closed gate had a sidewalk leading onto the property. An intercom was mounted on an ivy-covered wall.
    Coltrane pushed the button.
    “Hello?” A female voice, sounding tinny, came from the intercom.
    “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a photographer for—”
    “You’re early.”
    Coltrane exchanged a puzzled look with Jennifer.
    “Excuse me, ma’am?” he said to the intercom.
    “You’re not supposed to be here until Saturday.”
    “Saturday?”
    “For our daughter’s wedding.”
    “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “My God, don’t tell me you can’t be here for the wedding!” the woman said.
    “I don’t know anything about that. I work for
Southern California Magazine
and—”
    “Magazine?