CHAPTER 44.

I STARE INTO THE DRAWER. I'M LOOKING AT A SMALL-CALIBER handgun. O'Sullivan was killed with a small-caliber handgun. If this is the weapon, am I the best investigator in the world or the luckiest?

I take a pencil from the middle drawer and pick up the gun by lacing the pencil through the trigger guard. It's a .22-caliber minirevolver. A lady's gun.

What to do now? Call the cops?

How do I explain being here?

Leave it and risk Mrs. O'Sullivan getting rid of it at the first opportunity?

Leaving it isn't the best choice, but self-preservation is a strong motivator. I don't want to go to jail. On the other hand, if it's the murder weapon, I'm holding the only tangible link to the killer.

I look around the small, cramped room. There's no obvious place to hide the gun. Except- There's a stack of manila envelopes on the floor. I take one and slide the gun inside. Then I shove the envelope under the pile of bulging sc.r.a.pbooks and photo alb.u.ms against the far wall. Not bad. I doubt even Mrs. O'Sullivan would notice the new addition to that mess.

Now what?

My watch says it's 3:40 p.m. Time to go. I back out through the door. I can't relock it. The fact that someone has come into this room will be evident the first time Mrs. O'Sullivan tries the door.

It's so quiet in the house, my nerves start to tingle. Now that I've done what I set out to do, with remarkable results, getting out should be the focus of my attention. The nagging thought that this was too easy, that I'm missing something even more important makes me pause at the top of the stairs to consider what I should do next.

Two possibilities present themselves. Check out O'Sullivan's office downstairs.

Or check out Jason's bedroom.

I turn back to the hallway. I close my eyes and let my senses "taste" the air. This morning, Jason smelled of Safeguard soap, Redken shampoo and CK One deodorant. I follow the same scent trail to the third door on the left at the end of the hall.

The door is not locked. When I step inside, I step into every teen's dream room. An LCD wide-screen TV hangs on the wall opposite the bed. A Bang & Olufsen system connects computer and TV and every conceivable music source imaginable. There's a desk and a small love seat. The desktop is clear except for the computer monitor. No bookcase. Nothing personal on the walls, only what looks like LeRoy Neiman sports prints. I recognize the collection because David has them, too. It's the Football Suite and when I look closer, I realize these are probably the original lithographs.

I move to the desk, open drawers, carefully shuffle contents although I have no idea what I'm looking for or why I think I should be looking here at all.

In the bottom right-hand drawer, under a stack of Play-boy magazines, I find an engraved envelope addressed to Jason's dad. I know as soon as I touch it that it's important-it's the old spidey sense again. The same kind of intuition that tells you to slow down because there's a cop up ahead or not answer the phone because there's someone you don't want to talk to on the other end.

I lift it from the drawer and open it.

An invitation.

From a pharmaceutical group in France.

Inviting Jason's dad to a press party introducing the world's first cure for HIV.

Is this why O'Sullivan dropped the Benton Pharmaceuticals deal? Did another company find a formula to rival the one they had been developing and beat them to production?

I'm staring at the invitation, trying to figure if this could fit into O'Sullivan's murder when the sound of a car door shatters my concentration and brings me back to the moment with a jolt.

s.h.i.t.

I peek out Jason's window. I'm two stories up, facing the back of the house. The front door is already opening, and I can hear Jason and his stepmother in heated conversation. I don't wait to try and determine what they're fighting about. I quietly shut Jason's door, take another quick look at the invitation, memorizing the company name, and slip it back where I found it. Then I open his window, climb out onto a narrow ledge under it and slide the window closed again moments before Jason trudges into his room.

He goes into his bathroom and slams the door.

With an eye on the ground, I leap off the ledge.

CHAPTER 45.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS ABOUT BEING A VAMPIRE that I've begun to take for granted. For instance, I can leap off a two-story building with perfect confidence that I won't break anything major. It's hard to describe what being airborne feels like- something between hovering like a helicopter and gliding like a bird. Since I have neither rotors nor wings, I don't know how I'm able to defy the laws of gravity. I simply know that I can.

I land on my feet with barely a jolt. I glance up to see if Jason caught my aerodynamic display, but luckily, he's not at the window. I take to the bushes and work my way back to the gate. This time, I don't want to risk opening it so I follow the brick wall until I come to a place that I estimate is close to where I left the Hummer. There's a tree on this side that I shimmy up to survey the road.

The Hummer is a half block away. No security car in sight. It's a quick hop to the ground and I'm on my way.

I drive out of Fairbanks Ranch before I pull over to consider what I should do next. My first impulse, to call Detective Harris and tell him about the gun, is stifled by the questions he's bound to ask. Like where I found it, how I knew where to look for it and how I got into the O'Sullivan house in the first place. Questions I'm not willing to answer. I could tell Gloria's lawyer. He could go to the DA's office and ask them to issue a search warrant. Would they, though, with no other evidence except the word of a person who conducted an illegal search?

What if Gloria's fingerprints are on the gun?

What if this is a setup?

I have no answers so I head for town. I'll let Gloria's attorney figure it out.

I remember from his letterhead that his address is in the Darth Vader building. I debate stopping at the hospital to see how Gloria is doing, but logically, getting the gun to the police should be first priority. I have no idea how often Mrs. O'Sullivan goes into her office. She'll notice the broken lock as soon as she does.

It isn't until I'm downtown and stalled in holiday-shopping traffic that I remember. It's Sunday afternoon.

Great.

As soon as the opportunity presents itself, I disentangle myself and get off Harbor Drive, heading for Pacific Coast Highway. I'll stop at the office and leave a message for Gloria's lawyer to contact me as soon as possible.

My own telephone message light is blinking when I get to the office. There are two messages: One from David asking me to meet him at the hospital. The second is from my dad.

"Anna," he says. "Take a look at the business section of today's paper. I think you'll find something of interest. Call me if you have any questions."

The paper is still outside; I hadn't bothered to pick it up. Now I retrieve it and spread it open on the desk. I have to sort through all the junk ads and flyers before finding the business section.

Something of interest?

You betcha.

The lead story is about the late Rory O'Sullivan and his aborted foray into the pharmaceutical business.

And the suit being brought against his estate by the officers of Benton Pharmaceuticals, charging that O'Sullivan stole the formula for their HIV cure and sold it to a foreign country.

Stole the formula? I remember what my dad said about O'Sullivan being the financier behind Benton. If that was true, knowing how shrewd a businessman he was, wouldn't the contract have stipulated that the formula belonged to him? I can see how the officers of the company would be enraged by getting cut out of a deal, but would they have legal basis for a lawsuit? And what benefit would O'Sullivan gain by selling such a valuable formula to a foreign ent.i.ty instead of marketing it here in this country?

It also puts a new slant on what I found hidden in Jason's drawer. The name of the company on the invitation was Pharmaceutique Bouvier Compagnie de la France. Is this the foreign company O'Sullivan is suspected of selling the formula to? It's not named in the newspaper article. Maybe those bringing the suit don't yet know it.

Why would Jason hide that invitation? I'm beginning to suspect Jason's mom isn't the only one trying to steer the investigation in a certain direction. It makes me wonder if he was truthful about what he heard outside his father's den that morning. I need to talk to my own dad. A glance at my watch shows it's getting close to dinnertime. No way am I going to risk having to decline another of my mom's meal invitations. We parted on friendly terms this morning. I won't push my luck. What I will do is call Dad at his office tomorrow-or maybe drop by in person after seeing Gloria's lawyer.

Which leaves me nothing more to do except head for the hospital. Before I leave, I put that call through to Gloria's lawyer. An answering service picks up, and I leave my name and number.

DAVID IS STANDING OUTSIDE GLORIA'S HOSPITAL room door. He doesn't see me at first. He's leaning against the wall, head down, shoulders slumped. He looks sad and my heart jumps.

I rush up to him. "What's the matter? Is it Gloria?"

He straightens with a sudden jerk. "Where did you come from?"

"You told me to meet you here, remember? Why are you standing outside? Did something happen to Gloria?" I move to look through the window in the door. There are two people standing in my line of sight, their backs to me. A man I recognize dressed in an off-the-rack suit, Harris, and a woman I don't with smooth, shoulder-length black hair who's decked out in a red Versace power suit and Ferragamo pumps. "I can't see Gloria; Harris is in the way. Is she all right?"

David waves a hand. "Slow down. She's fine. She's with her lawyer. Harris arrived a minute ago."

The Versace suit is her lawyer? "That's Jamie Sutherland? Gloria never mentioned that her lawyer was a woman. I a.s.sumed-"

"That Jamie was a man. Happens all the time."

I turn away from the window and focus my attention on David. "I'm sorry for dragging you back here. You know I wouldn't have if I'd been able to come up with anyone else. I don't suppose Gloria told you what I've been doing?"

He nods. "She said you're working for her. Trying to prove her innocence. You helping Gloria. A surprising turn of events, wouldn't you say?"

But he's smiling, which makes me smile, too. With relief. "No kidding. When I started the investigation, I didn't really care how it turned out because Gloria and I made a pact. Did she tell you about that, as well?"

He nods, eyes serious once again. "She did. When this is over, she's gone. For good."

I'm not sure how to interpret his expression. Is it relief or sadness? I'm glad Gloria was honest with him for once. "You know, all that aside, I don't think Gloria killed O'Sullivan. I think she's being framed."

David looks past me into the room. "She didn't try to kill herself, either," he says quietly.

s.h.i.t. All the good feelings I had for the woman are swallowed up in a rush of anger. My first instincts had been right. "d.a.m.n it. You mean she really did fake it? Is that woman stupid or delusional?"

David stops me with an upturned hand. "No. I don't mean she faked it. I mean it wasn't suicide. Somebody tried to kill her."

CHAPTER 46.

"SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL GLORIA?" MY FEELINGS are boomeranging. I realize I'm more comfortable thinking it was a botched fake suicide than a murder attempt. I always thought I was the only one with motive enough to want her dead.

David either isn't paying any attention to the lack of concern in my voice for Gloria's plight, or he's too distracted to comment.

"She said someone came into her suite while she was asleep," he says. "A man in a hotel bellman's uniform wearing a mask. He chloroformed her and dragged her out of bed. He fed her pills and whiskey before he left. The next thing she knew, the paramedics were forcing a tube down her throat, and she was puking her guts out."

"Does she know who called the paramedics?"

David shakes his head. "No. Harris says it was an anonymous nine-one-one call from a pay phone in the hotel lobby."

"What about the bellman's uniform? Anyone report one missing?"

"The manager said the uniforms are picked up each Friday afternoon by a dry-cleaning company and returned on Sat.u.r.day.

They're left in an employee's lounge. Anyone could walk in and pick one up. It's a big hotel with a large staff. The people working day shift aren't familiar with people working the night shift and vice versa. No one claims to have seen anyone acting suspiciously."

"But how did he get into Gloria's suite? He must have had a pa.s.skey. Surely somebody keeps track of those."

David nods. "The manager is looking into that." He looks past me into Gloria's room. "It doesn't make sense. Why would someone hurt Gloria, then call for help."

I remember Harris' comment that he would have to tell the DA that Gloria attempted suicide. "Maybe because if people think Gloria tried to kill herself, it would make her look guilty." I'm thinking of Laura now, the jealous stepmother. Wanting Gloria to suffer the humiliation of a trial might be just her style.

"If they wanted her out of the way, why not kill her when they had the chance."

I shrug. David doesn't know about Jason or his suspicions about his stepmother. I want to speak with Gloria's lawyer before I voice my own opinions, so I add, "Maybe whoever is responsible didn't want Gloria dead. They wanted her in jail. Whatever the motive, it was a clumsy attempt." Or juvenile. Jason? How hard would it have been for him to buy over-the-counter drugs, take a bottle of liquor from home, steal a bellman's uniform? No, any smart kid could have done that. Now, getting his hands on a pa.s.skey is another story. That would have taken some ingenuity.

I give myself a mental thump on the head. It couldn't have been Jason. He was genuinely concerned about Gloria. He might have faked it when we met at Lestat's, but that display on the courthouse steps? He had no idea I was watching. He wouldn't risk hurting her or worse if the plan went wrong.

"Anna?"

David's voice pulls me back.

"What are you thinking?"

Nothing I want to share. I turn my attention to the room. It looks as if Harris and the lawyer are getting ready to leave. I gesture vaguely at the window. "Let's see what Harris has to say."

Harris comes to the door, then stands back to allow Jamie Sutherland through first. She looks at me with calm brown eyes and holds out her hand.

"Are you Anna Strong?"

I nod and return a brief handshake. Jamie Sutherland is thirtysomething, tall, lithe, possessed of great cheekbones and arresting but irregular features. Wide eyes, small, straight nose, a generous but rather thin-lipped mouth. Along with that sweep of black hair, I'm guessing Eurasian ancestry.

Harris greets me with a nod, too, as he closes his notebook and slips it into his jacket. "I've taken Ms. Estrella's statement. As soon as the doctor gives his okay, she's free to go. Bail conditions remain the same. She's not to leave the jurisdiction."

"What about the attempt on her life?"

David's tone is belligerent and confrontational. Obviously, he and Harris didn't mend any fences while I was gone.

Harris doesn't rise to the bait. Worse, he ignores David completely. He looks instead at Jamie Sutherland. "Counselor, we'll be in touch?"