Brewster's building was locked. I looked at my watch. Ten fifteen. It would be locked. I went around to the other side. No luck. I went down one of the muddy lawns that slanted down from the plaza and tried the parking garage. It was locked, covered with one of those vertical iron grates that swing up when you operate a push b.u.t.ton in your car. I had no push b.u.t.ton. I could get in, but the only means available would risk the cops. I didn't want the cops. Yet.

I went back and sat in my rented car and thought. There was no reason to rush. Candy was in no hurry. I didn't even know if Brewster was in there. If he was, he'd have to come out sometime. If he wasn't he'd have to go in sometime. I could wait.

The rain was steady now; the wind that had brought it seemed to have died, but the rain was steady. It formed smooth, clear sheets as it ran down the windshield, and it made a steady, pleasant rattle on the roof of the car. Women coming from the restaurant, or the Century Plaza Hotel across the street, clutched skirts in tight against their legs as they crouched under umbrellas while their escorts stood manfully in the rain, often hatless, and hailed cabs. People moved hurriedly along, close to the buildings, as they always did in the rain, as if staying close to the artifice of civilization would ward off the elemental rain.

Trouble with waiting here for Brewster was that I didn't know which way he'd come in. But there was no place where I could locate myself where I would know. I'd just have to wait till they opened up in the morning and go in and take a look.

By midnight there was no one walking around anymore in the rain at Century City. At a quarter past midnight a police cruiser pulled up beside me and one of the cops said through his rolled-down window, "You got a problem, sir?"

I said, "Yeah, my car stalled and I think I flooded it. I'm letting it rest a couple minutes."

The cop said, "Okay. We'll swing by in a few minutes. If you can't start it, we'll get you someone."

I said, "Thank you, Officer."

The patrol car pulled away. But they'd be back, and if I was still there, it could be aggravation. Some cops are dumb and some aren't but none of them is naive. They'd be back to check my flooded-engine story.

I started up the Ford and rolled down onto Santa Monica. I went east a little ways and pulled into the parking lot behind the Beverly Hilton Hotel. I parked under a sign that said GUESTS ONLY, put on my windbreaker, and walked hack up Santa Monica to Century City. I was standing in the shadow of the entry to the Oceania Building when the cruiser came back, slowed down near where I'd parked, and then moved on.

The rain stayed with me all night. And even though it was Southern California summer, my teeth were beginning to chatter by the time the morning arrived. It came with a large gray light in the east but no visible sun, and the rain kept coming as if it always would. My clothes were damp against me and my eyes had the grainy feel of sleeplessness when the first of the day's workers began drifting in. Restaurant workers, early, bleary-eyed, collars up, white pants showing beneath rainwear. Then office workers, secretaries looking fresh-made and smelling of perfume, arrived in time to start the coffee, then at a successful hour, the executives, newly shaved, their London Fogs just back from the cleaners', their briefcases snapped tight against the weather-so their lunches wouldn't get wet. I didn't see Brewster.

At nine I left my doorway and found a phone booth and called Oceania. I got through to the woman in Brewster's outer office, the one who looked like Nina Foch.

"Pete in?" I said in a deep wealthy voice.

"No, sir. Mr. Brewster hasn't come into the office yet."

I laughed. "The old fox has been out prowling all night, I'll bet. When'll he be in?"

"I expect him at nine thirty, sir." Nina sounded a little disapproving.

"Well, when he comes in, tell him Ed's in town, and I'll call him later. Tell him I plan to whip his tail in racquetball as soon as he's ready."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell him," Nina said. Her disapproval was sharp now.

I hung up and went back to my spot in the doorway. At nine forty-five I went into the Oceania Building, got in the elevator, and went up to Brewster's office at the top. Several people in the elevator looked at me covertly. I looked like a man who'd been standing around in the rain all night. I did not look like a man who should be an his way up to the executive floor. What they didn't know is that I never had.

Chapter27.

IN BREWSTER's OUTER office there were three men in expensive suits sitting near their real leather briefcases. There was also one woman in an expensive business suit with a real leather briefcase and a real leather purse. I headed for the door to Brewster's office.

Nina Foch was quick as a weasel. "May I help you, sir?" she asked and stepped from her desk to put herself between me and the door. Her eyes widened as she remembered me. I put one hand against her near shoulder and swept her away backhand. I was pumped up as high as I can get and I put more force into it than I needed. She sprawled across her desk and onto the thick carpeted floor beyond it in a swirl of beige slip and panty hose.

I slammed Brewster's door open and headed on through the small library. Silhouetted against the gray light from his full-wall window, Brewster was at his desk. The library was set up for some kind of conference with an easel near the inner door. My shoulder banged it as I went by, and it went over, spilling its charts across the floor.

Simms was in the office with Brewster. He stepped in front of me as I came in, his hand going to his hip, under his coat. I hit him a left hook and a right cross and he went over backward, the half-drawn gun bouncing out of his hand and across the carpeting. Simms. .h.i.t the couch, rolled half over, and landed on his right side on the floor. As I moved by him he grabbed at my ankle. I kicked loose of his hand and went for Brewster. Brewster was out of his chair and around the other side of the desk, trying to keep it between me and him. His eyes were wide and his face was very pale. His tan looked yellow. I went over the desk after him the way you dive into surf and got hold of his coat with my left hand. He yanked back, and the struggle pulled me over the desk. I landed and came up the way you do out of a slide. Brewster pulled out of the jacket and headed for the outer office.

Simms was on his hands and knees going for the gun. As I went after Brewster he reached it. I stomped on his hand with my left foot and swung my right knee against the side of his head. He went over and down and didn't move. Brewster was through the library and into the outer office. I caught him at the door. I got a handful of his hair, yanked him back toward me, swung him past, and sent him sprawling back into the reception room. Two of the men had left. The businesswoman and the third man stood uncertainly. Nina Foch was on the phone. I yanked the cord out of the phone as I went by. Brewster was in a kind of crab-walk posture trying to scuttle one way or the other past me. The remaining businessman said, "Hey."

I ignored him. I got hold of Brewster by the shirt front and picked him up and pulled him up against me and then slammed him against the wall by the door to the library. Then I pulled him away and slammed him up against it again. His breath came out in loud grunts. The third businessman tried to grab tne around the arms and pull me away. Without letting go of Brewster I said, "Get out of here. You don't know what you're into."

He tried to lock my arms down to my sides. Nina Foch had run out the door. I let go of Brewster and broke the businessman's grip, and turned and hit him as hard as I could in the middle of his stomach. He said "Uff" and stepped back and doubled over and leaned against the door. Biewster tried to slip past me toward the door while that was happening, but I yanked him back and slammed him against the wall again. He pushed at my face with his hands. He wasn't very strong. Again against the wall. Then I stepped away. He sagged a little when I let him go. I slapped him open-handed across the face with my left hand, then with my right. Then left again. Then right. He put his hands up and covered his head. I punched him in the stomach. He gasped and dropped his hands. I slapped him left and right again. Each time I hit him, there was a pop inside me like red flashbulbs, and the muscles in my arms and shoulders and chest seemed to take energy from the action. If I closed my fists, I knew I'd kill him. He tried to cover his head and belly at the same time, but it was too much area, and my next slap was so hard, it knocked him over. He doubled up on the ground. His knees to his chest. His hands over his head. I kicked him in the kidneys. He wriggled over, trying to get away and keep me from his kidneys, and he bellied up for a moment. I stomped him in the stomach. Simms appeared in the doorway behind Brewster. His right eye was beginning to shut, and there was a trace of blood at the base of his nose. But he had the gun out, and he was squinting at me. The businesswoman, who had been watching all this time without a word, said, "Jesus Christ," and dove behind Nina's desk.

Simms was still groggy, and it made him slow. I stepped sideways and hacked the gun out of his hand. It hit the carpet near Brewster, and I scooped it up and stuck it in my hip pocket. As I straightened, Simms. .h.i.t me a lunging, looping punch high on the head that jarred. I hit him twice with my left hand and one very hard right. He went back three steps. I went after him and knocked him backward into Brewster's office. He fell against Brewster's desk and slid down. I went back for Brewster. The businessman I had hit had some guts. He was still half doubled over but he hadn't left. He tried to grab my arm, and I threw him away from me. I reached down and brought Brewster back up against the wall again. Saliva drooled out of his mouth. His lip was cut and his nose was bleeding. I slapped him again.

Then something was behind me, and I hunched up and moved my head and something hit me hard on the top of my left shoulder. I let Brewster go and turned and saw a couple of Oceania security types in powder-blue uniforms. They had nightsticks. One of them had just hit me and was about to do it again. I caught his down-swinging right arm on my left forearm and hit him a right uppercut, and as he grunted and stepped back I slid my left hand along his arm and yanked the nightstick out of his hand. I hit him and then his buddy with the nightstick. One of them went down, the other one backed up, parrying with his stick. I hit him again, this time in the stomach and, when his guard came down, across the side of the head. He went down too. I grabbed hold of Brewster and pulled him up and walked him tippy-toe and backward into his private office and shut the door and locked it. I was seeing everything through a slightly reddish haze, but my head seemed as clear as mountain air, and all of the things that were happening seemed to have been happening at half speed, like a slow-motion movie, so that, despite the slight reddish haze, the whole sequence had gone forth with a wordless and almost stately clarity.

I took my gun out and pressed the barrel against his upper lip directly under his nose where there was a slight indentation. He was wavering so, I had to hold his shirt with my left hand to keep him upright. I pressed the gun barrel harder against his upper lip.

My voice came out very softly, and it seemed very far from me. I said, "Here's what I think happened, Peter. I think you arranged to meet Franco out there in the oil field and you had Simms, and maybe somebody else, set up there early, and then you brought Candy out there and, being an efficient executive, you had Simms, and whoever, kill both of them on the spot. Two birds with one stone, you might say. That took care of anyone who seemed to threaten you. And then you came back and had a nice evening and a good sleep and came in here bright-eyed and bushytailed to greet another business day."

As I spoke he was trying to shake his head, but the pressure of the gun barrel under his nose made it hard, and so his head trembled laterally a bit. It was as close as he could come. To my right Simms was sitting up, his back against the couch.

"There'll be a hundred cops here in a minute, buddy," Simms said. His voice sounded slightly warped.

"The better to take you to the pokey, bright eyes," I said. "You burned Franco and the girl, didn't you?" Simms just sat and looked at me.

"Didn't he?" I said to Brewster.

Brewster said "Un-uh" and tried again to shake his head. I banged him in the upper lip with the gun barrel.

"Didn't he," I said.

"Un-uh."

I banged his upper lip again. Tears began to slide down his cheeks. "I followed you out there," I said. "I know you killed her. I won't mind shooting you right through your upper teeth. I liked her."

"Simms shot her," Brewster said. "He was just there to protect us from Franco, but he went crazy and shot her."

"How about that, Rollie," I said.

Simms looked at Brewster with disgust. "You got it right the first time," he said.

Someone tried the door to Brewster's office and then knocked. A voice said, "This is the police. Open the door."

I raised my voice. "If anyone comes in here, I'll blow both of these lizards apart."

There was silence. Then another voice said, "My name is Sergeant Eugene Hall. I'm going to call you on the phone in there, and we can talk. There's nothing we can't work out."

I said, "No. Not yet. I have a call to make. After that I'll talk with you. Call here in five minutes."

"Sure," Hall said. "No hurry. Just be easy."

I picked up the phone and got Information and called KNBS, and got John Frederics, the news director

Chapter28.

WHEN I TOLD Frederics what I wanted, he said, "I'll come myself," and hung up. Maybe I had underrated him.

Brewster's lip was swelling, one eye was closing, blood still snuffled out of his hose. While I was talking, he had slid to the floor and now sat with his back against the window wall, his feet straight out in front of him. Simms had gone the other way. He was sitting on the couch now. There was a large bruise on his temple. He seemed to be missing a tooth. I noticed that there was a cut on the knuckles of my left hand.

Brewster said, "What are you going to do?" He had trouble speaking clearly.

I said, "You are going to confess on camera to the murder of Candy Sloan."

Brewster said, "What if I don't?"

I said, "I'll kill you."

"There's cops out there."

"Yeah, and how bad will they feel about you taking the jump when I tell them why?"

The phone rang. I picked it up and said, "Yeah?" A voice said, "This is Gene Hall. What kind of a deal can we make?"

I said, "You know a homicide cop named Samuelson?"

Hall said, "Sure."

"Get him," I said. "Tell him I've got the people who killed Sam Felton, and Candy Sloan, and Franco Montenegro. Tell him he can have them, but I want a little time to do something I have to do."

"Who you got in there? Secretary's so excited, I'm having trouble understanding her."

"I got Peter Brewster, who's the head of this company, and Rollie Simms, who's the chief of security."

"And what'd you say your name was?"

"Spenser."

"Okay. You want to stay by this phone so we can keep in touch?"

"Call anytime," I said and hung up.

Brewster and Simms sat as they had. I said to Brewster, "In a few minutes a guy from KNBS will be here with a cameraman. He's going to come in and interview you. You are going to give him a statement that I am going to type out for you right now."

I pulled an IBM Selectric typewriter over near me on its typing table, turned it on, and began to type with one finger while I held the gun toward Simms. Brewster had given up, but Simms was of sterner stuff.

The phone rang. I stopped typing and picked it up. "Gene Hall again, Spenser. Guy from KNBS-TV out here says you wanted him to come in?"

"Yeah," I said. "Send him in."

"Well, there's a problem. You got two hostages now, I'd rather not add to the total."

"I don't blame you. I'll swap you one of mine. I'll send Simms out if you let the TV people in."

"That's still three for one," Hall said.

"Yeah. They tell you what we have in mind?"

"They told me what you told them."

"You been in touch with Samuelson yet?" I asked.

"Yeah. He's on his way."

"Okay. Why don't we sit tight until he gets here, then I'll talk with him."

"Okay by me, Spenser," Hall said. "Anything we can get you in the meantime?"

"Why do I think you guys will be less pleasant once I turn over Brewster and Simms?"

"Hey, no problem. You've been straight with us. We'll be straight with you. All we want is everything to go smooth. You want any coffee or anything?"

"No, thank you, Eugene," I said. I hung up and typed some more. In about three minutes the phone rang. I said, "Yeah?"

A voice, not Eugene's, said, "Spenser, what the f.u.c.k are you doing?"

"Samuelson?"

"Who'd you expect it to be, Barbara Walters?"

"One always has one's hopes," I said.

"What's going on?"

"You find Candy Sloan and Franco?"

"Yeah."

"Brewster and Simms shot them. Brewster's connected. Franco was trying to shake him down, and Candy was still trying to solve the thing. So Brewster put them both away at the same time."

"And you got Brewster in there?"

"Yes, and Simms. Simms probably pulled the trigger. Brewster wouldn't have the b.a.l.l.s. But he called it."

"And you want the TV guys in there?"