"And did you?"

"Yes. We agreed on a property settlement; Peter got to keep all the money I'd loaned him for the gallery and the apartment. I got my freedom. I was upstairs signing the final papers a few minutes ago. I'm now a free woman."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sandy said. "Why the gun?"

"I haven't changed my will, yet. I think Peter may be capable of killing me for what's left of my money."

Sandy sat and thought. So Martindale had lied to him about everything. Helena hadn't been having an affair with Saul Winner, she hadn't been trying to take half the gallery-in fact, she'd given it all to him. And he still wanted her dead. Jesus Christ.

"Where is Peter now?" Sandy asked.

"In Tucson; he called from there while I was in the lawyer's office."

"Is it your lawyer who's upstairs, or Peter's?"

"Both. Different lawyers in the firm represent each of us."

"Here's what I want you to do: I want you to go back upstairs and make a new will right this minute, or at least, revoke the old one. Make sure that the lawyer lets Peter know immediately that it's been done; that should remove any possible motive for murder." He dug his hotel key out of his pocket. "Where have you been staying?"

"At Saul's house."

"Don't go back there, even to get your clothes, and don't call Saul. Who owns this car?"

"I do; it's registered in my name."

"Do you know of somewhere you could stare it for a while? Someplace where Peter won't find it?"

She thought for a moment. "I have some friends who are out of the country for a while, and I have a key to their house; there's a big garage."

"Good." He took the small pistol from her hand. "Where did you get this?"

"It was my father's."

"Do you have a permit for it?"

"No."

"I'll get rid of it; you certainly can't take it to New York with you on the plane."

She shook her head, took the pistol, and put it into the glove compartment. "It was my father's, and I don't want to lose it. I'll just leave it in the car."

"All right; call a cab from the house, then pick up enough new clothes and things to last you a couple of days." He handed her his key. "This is to my suite at the Ritz-Carlton; go there and wait for me, and don't answer the telephone."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to help you disappear," Sandy said. "And by the way, I'm going to keep calling you Cara; I've sort of gotten used to it."

She smiled. "I'd like that; it's what my parents always called me.

He reached over and kissed her. "Go on back to your lawyer's office; I'll see you at the Ritz as soon as I can get there." He got out of the car, and walked her to the elevator.

When she was on her way up, he went back to Martindale's Lincoln, put on the chauffeur's cap and the dark glasses, and drove out of the garage. He found his way to the gallery and parked at the lot across the street, as he had been instructed. He put the cap and sunglasses on the front seat, put the ignition key in the glove compartment and started to get out of the car, then he stopped. Leaving the car door open, he got out and looked around the garage. It was empty of people. He walked around the garage, looking for a soft surface, and he found it in a stack of cardboard boxes that had been broken down flat and left for pickup next to a garbage can. He took the pistol from his raincoat pocket, looked around to be sure he was still alone, then fired two quick shots into the cardboard boxes. He was surprised at how quiet the weapon was.

Walking back to the car, he dug out the handkerchief the pistol had been wrapped in, rewrapped it, and tucked it under the driver's seat. Then he locked the car and walked out to the street, looking for a wastebasket. He found one and got rid of his new raincoat and cap, then hailed a cab.

On the ride to the hotel, he went over his plan carefully.

Sandy got to the hotel first, quickly checked his messages and returned Sam Warren's call on one of his two lines.

"Hi, Sam; what's happened?"

"The sales agreement has been faxed to me, and I'm faxing it to you; we'll have the original on Monday"

"Great news! Sam, do you by any chance know the name of a law firm in this building in San Francisco?" He gave the address.

"Yes, we do some business now and then with Carter and Ellis; they're in that building."

"What's the name of a lawyer there?"

"I usually deal with Terry Ellis, why?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

"You need a lawyer out there?"

"No, Sam; it's for a kind of practical joke."

"You want me to call Terry for you?"

"No, really, I just needed a name."

"Whatever you say. By the way, a case of quite spectacular wine arrived in my office today. I don't know how to thank you."

"I'm thanking you, Sam, and I want you to enjoy every bottle."

The other phone line rang.

"Got a call coming in; better run; see you Monday." Sandy punched the button on the other line. "Hello?"

"It's Bart."

"Yes?"

"How did it go?"

"I've satisfied all my obligations to you," Sandy replied.

"Did you leave the building without hindrance?"

"I did. The package we discussed is in the trunk of the red car."

There was a brief silence, then, "And where is the car?"

"It's rather wet."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I told you to leave the package in the garage; I wanted it to be found."

"You told me no such thing, so I improvised. It's taken a dunking; and you won't be seeing it again. Nobody will."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"This is my end of the deal; I handled it as I saw fit. Don't worry, no one is ever going to be able to connect you with this transaction."

"But you can't prove to me that the package is in the car, can you?"

Sandy allowed himself a chuckle. "I guess you're just going to have to take my word for it, Bart."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Sandy?"

"I confess I am."

"So there's no chance I'll ever see the package again?"

"Not unless you're a superb swimmer."

"Then we're done."

"That's exactly it, Bart; we're done. Don't ever try to contact me again; don't phone, don't write, don't tap on my window. Because if you do, I promise you I'll terminate the relationship in the most prejudicial manner, and the hell with everything else. Do you understand me clearly?"

"I believe I do."

"Good. Now you can go fuck yourself." Sandy hung up the phone, and he was trembling. His next thought was to make sure that he and Cara didn't run into Peter Martindale at an airport. He found the yellow pages and looked through the a's, then dialed a number.

"Hayward Air Charters," a woman answered.

"I'd like to charter an airplane," he said.

"I'll connect you with Pete Harris."

"Pete Harris," a man's voice said.

"I'd like to charter a jet for a trip to New York, something that will get me there nonstop."

"When would you like to leave?"

Sandy glanced at his watch; just after four. "Around six o'clock," he replied.

"How many people?"

"Two."

"I've got a Hawker one-two-five that should do nicely; it's twelve hundred dollars an hour, including fuel. Way we do it is we take the clock time for the eastbound trip, double it, and add an hour for the headwinds on the trip back."

"How long will the trip take?"

"About four and a half hours."

"Fine."

"Your name?"

"Kinsolving." He gave the man a credit card number.

"Can we send a limo for you? It's included in the service."

"Thank you, yes; at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco at six."

"Got it, Mr. Kinsolving; our man will see you at six."

"By the way," Sandy said, "could you arrange a very good dinner and some champagne for the flight?"