She disconnected without further word and I slowly hung the phone back on the wall. My hand was still on the phone. I leaned forward until my forehead touched the wall. I was out of moves. I could only wait on Roulet to make the next one.

The phone’s ring startled me and I jumped back. The phone fell to the floor and I pulled it up by the cord. It was Valenzuela.

“You get my message? I just called.”

“No, I’ve been on the phone. What?”

“Glad I called back, then. He’s moving.”

“Where?”

I shouted it too loud into the phone. I was losing it.

“He’s heading south on Van Nuys. He called me and said he wanted to lose the bracelet. I told him I was already home and that he could call me tomorrow. I told him he had better juice the battery so he wouldn’t start beeping in the middle of the night.”

“Good thinking. Where’s he now?”

“Still on Van Nuys.”

I tried to build an image of Roulet driving. If he was going south on Van Nuys that meant he was heading directly toward Sherman Oaks and the neighborhood where Maggie and Hayley lived. But he could also be headed right through Sherman Oaks on his way south over the hill and to his home. I had to wait to be sure.

“How up to the moment is the GPS on that thing?” I asked.

“It’s real time, man. This is where he’s at. He just crossed under the one-oh-one. He might be just going home, Mick.”

“I know, I know. Just wait till he crosses Ventura. The next street is Dickens. If he turns there, then he’s not going home.”

I stood up and didn’t know what to do. I started pacing, the phone pressed tightly to my ear. I knew that even if Teddy Vogel had immediately put his men in motion they were still minutes away. They were no good to me now.

“What about the rain? Does it affect the GPS?”

“It’s not supposed to.”

“That’s comforting.”

“He stopped.”

“Where?”

“Must be a light. I think that’s Moorpark Avenue there.”

That was a block before Ventura and two before Dickens. I heard a beeping sound come over the phone.

“What’s that?”

“The ten-block alarm you asked me to set.”

The beeping sound stopped.

“I turned it off.”

“I’ll call you right back.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I hung up and called Maggie’s cell. She answered right away.

“Where are you?”

“You told me not to tell you.”

“You’re out of the apartment?”

“No, not yet. Hayley’s picking the crayons and coloring books she wants to take.”

“Goddamn it, get out of there! Now!”

“We’re going as fast as -”

“Just get out! I’ll call you back. Make sure you answer.”

I hung up and called Valenzuela back.

“Where is he?”

“He’s now at Ventura. Must’ve caught another light, because he’s not moving.”

“You’re sure he’s on the road and not just parked there?”

“No, I’m not sure. He could-never mind, he’s moving. Shit, he turned on Ventura.”

“Which way?”

I started pacing, the phone pressed so hard against my ear that it hurt.

“Right-uh, west. He’s going west.”

He was now driving parallel to Dickens, one block away, in the direction of my daughter’s apartment.

“He just stopped again,” Valenzuela announced. “It’s not an intersection. It looks like he’s in the middle of the block. I think he parked it.”

I ran my free hand through my hair like a desperate man.

“Fuck it, I’ve gotta go. My cell’s dead. Call Maggie and tell her he’s heading her way. Tell her to just get in the car and get out of there!”

I shouted Maggie’s number into the phone and dropped it as I headed out of the kitchen. I knew it would take me a minimum of twenty minutes to get to Dickens-and that was hitting the curves on Mulholland at sixty in the Lincoln -but I couldn’t stand around shouting orders on the phone while my family was in danger. I grabbed the gun off the table and went to the door. I was shoving it into the side pocket of my jacket as I opened the door.

Mary Windsor was standing there, her hair wet from the rain.

“Mary, what -”

She raised her hand. I looked down to see the metal glint of the gun in it just as she fired.

FORTY-SIX

The sound was loud and the flash as bright as a camera’s. The impact of the bullet tearing into me was like what I imagine a kick from a horse would feel like. In a split second I went from standing still to moving backwards. I hit the wood floor hard and was propelled into the wall next to the living room fireplace. I tried to reach both hands to the hole in my gut but my right hand was hung up in the pocket of my jacket. I held myself with the left and tried to sit up.

Mary Windsor stepped forward and into the house. I had to look up at her. Through the open door behind her I could see the rain coming down. She raised the weapon and pointed it at my forehead. In a flash moment my daughter’s face came to me and I knew I wasn’t going to let her go.

“You tried to take my son from me!” Windsor shouted. “Did you think I could allow you to do that and just walk away?”

And then I knew. Everything crystallized. I knew she had said similar words to Raul Levin before she had killed him. And I knew that there had been no rape in an empty house in Bel-Air. She was a mother doing what she had to do. Roulet’s words came back to me then. You’re right about one thing. I am a son of a bitch.

And I knew, too, that Raul Levin’s last gesture had not been to make the sign of the devil, but to make the letter M or W, depending on how you looked at it.

Windsor took another step toward me.

“You go to hell,” she said.

She steadied her hand to fire. I raised my right hand, still wrapped in my jacket. She must have thought it was a defensive gesture because she didn’t hurry. She was savoring the moment. I could tell. Until I fired.

Mary Windsor’s body jerked backwards with the impact and she landed on her back in the threshold of the door. Her gun clattered to the floor and I heard her make a high-pitched whining noise. Then I heard the sound of running feet on the steps up to the front deck.

“Police!” a woman shouted. “Put your weapons down!”

I looked through the door and didn’t see anyone.

“Put your weapons down and come out with your hands in full view!”

This time it was a man who had yelled and I recognized the voice.

I pulled the gun out of my jacket pocket and put it on the floor. I slid it away from me.

“The weapon’s down,” I called out, as loud as the hole in my stomach allowed me to. “But I’m shot. I can’t get up. We’re both shot.”

I first saw the barrel of a pistol come into view in the doorway. Then a hand and then a wet black raincoat containing Detective Lankford. He moved into the house and was quickly followed by his partner, Detective Sobel. Lankford kicked the gun away from Windsor as he came in. He kept his own weapon pointed at me.

“Anybody else in the house?” he asked loudly.

“No,” I said. “Listen to me.”

I tried to sit up but pain shot through my body and Lankford yelled.

“Don’t move! Just stay there!”

“Listen to me. My fam -”

Sobel yelled a command into a handheld radio, ordering paramedics and ambulance transport for two people with gunshot wounds.

“One transport,” Lankford corrected. “She’s gone.”

He pointed his gun at Windsor.

Sobel shoved the radio into her raincoat pocket and came to me. She knelt down and pulled my hand away from my wound. She pulled my shirt out of my pants so she could lift it and see the damage. She then pressed my hand back down on the bullet hole.

“Press down as hard as you can. It’s a bleeder. You hear me, hold your hand down tight.”

“Listen to me,” I said again. “My family’s in danger. You have to -”