mused. "That's all you have on that?"
"That's it."
"Okay, back to Item One. You think Winters was murdered, I take it. Is the niece a suspect?"
"Hell
no,
but Bolan is."
Braddock sighed. "Okay, let's have it."
"Let me background you a bit first. Winters had this beach-pad out near Del Mar. You know that area. Fifty percent of his property line fronts on a sheer cliff overlooking the ocean. The only way up from the beach is via an elevator which is controlled from above. In other words, no visitors from below without an invitation from above."
"I have the picture," Braddock said. "But isn't Del Mar out of your jurisdiction?"
"Technically, sure. But we got called in for routine consultation and ... well... look, Tim, if Bolan is operating anywhere between Tijuana and L.A., don't talk to me about police jurisdictions."
Braddock chuckled drily and said, "Well said, John. And welcome to the club."
The San Diego cop was becoming flustered. He growled, "Let me lay this out for you, will you? Now look, half the Winters property is secure from trespassers by the cliff. Okay. The other half is double-fenced and a pair of Doberman man-eaters roam a no-man's-land between those fence-rows. Those guys are mean as hell — a couple of very unhappy sheriffs deputies will attest to that — and there simply is no way past them without calling the house and getting an escort through the fang zone.
"Okay, this is getting interesting," Braddock commented.
"Yeah. Just wait. Miss Winters says that there were no callers last night. That is, no visitors. She doubles as a girl-Friday, housekeeper, chief-bottle-washer and all the rest for the general. She — "
"How much rest?" Braddock wanted to know.
"What? Oh, nothing like that, Tim. It was more like a father-daughter relationship. Winters raised the girl. Parents died when she was a tot. Army brat. He dragged her around the world with him. I checked her out thoroughly. She's clean."
"Okay. Go on. What about Bolan?"
"Where was I? Okay, no official visitors. She went to bed at eleven o'clock or thereabouts. The dogs were on station. The general was working in his study. At a little past midnight, she was awakened by a disturbance outside. The dogs were snarling and carrying on. There also may have been a gunshot. She's not sure on that point. She ran downstairs and found her uncle slumped in a chair near the fireplace, half of his head blown away. Claims that she fainted, doesn't know how long she was out. Her story comes confused along in here. When she came around again, she says, the dogs were still at it. Suddenly they got quiet. A minute later, this man walks into the study. Are you ready?"
Braddock growled, "I'm ready. Hit me."
'This was a tall man, well built, athletic. She says he walked in like a cat. He was wearing a black combat outfit. Hands and face smeared with some black cosmetic. She further describes him as quote, guns and things strapped all over him, unquote."
Braddock found himself leaning tensely forward in his chair. He said, "Now wait a minute, John."
"No, hear it all first. She — "
"This was
after
she'd found her uncle dead?"
"Like I said, it's confused. But that's what she says. The guy walks in, looks at the dead man, gathers up a sheaf of papers from the desk-memoirs, she says — puts them in the fireplace, and sets fire to them. Then he simply walks out."
"Bullshit," Braddock growled.
"That's her story, and we can't shake it."
"Did he leave a marksman's medal at the scene?"
"No."
"Then he didn't kill the man," Braddock declared.
"How can you leap to a conclusion like that?"
"Look, you called me as a Bolan expert, right? I'll leap to any damn conclusion I wish. When Bolan kills he leaves no doubt that he was there."
"Okay, forget that angle for a moment. Maybe Bolan didn't actually kill Winters. Maybe it was a suicide, just as all the evidence indicates. Other than that, Tim ... does this sound like Bolan?"
"Here and there," Braddock growled.
"That's it."
"Okay, back to Item One. You think Winters was murdered, I take it. Is the niece a suspect?"
"Hell
no,
but Bolan is."
Braddock sighed. "Okay, let's have it."
"Let me background you a bit first. Winters had this beach-pad out near Del Mar. You know that area. Fifty percent of his property line fronts on a sheer cliff overlooking the ocean. The only way up from the beach is via an elevator which is controlled from above. In other words, no visitors from below without an invitation from above."
"I have the picture," Braddock said. "But isn't Del Mar out of your jurisdiction?"
"Technically, sure. But we got called in for routine consultation and ... well... look, Tim, if Bolan is operating anywhere between Tijuana and L.A., don't talk to me about police jurisdictions."
Braddock chuckled drily and said, "Well said, John. And welcome to the club."
The San Diego cop was becoming flustered. He growled, "Let me lay this out for you, will you? Now look, half the Winters property is secure from trespassers by the cliff. Okay. The other half is double-fenced and a pair of Doberman man-eaters roam a no-man's-land between those fence-rows. Those guys are mean as hell — a couple of very unhappy sheriffs deputies will attest to that — and there simply is no way past them without calling the house and getting an escort through the fang zone.
"Okay, this is getting interesting," Braddock commented.
"Yeah. Just wait. Miss Winters says that there were no callers last night. That is, no visitors. She doubles as a girl-Friday, housekeeper, chief-bottle-washer and all the rest for the general. She — "
"How much rest?" Braddock wanted to know.
"What? Oh, nothing like that, Tim. It was more like a father-daughter relationship. Winters raised the girl. Parents died when she was a tot. Army brat. He dragged her around the world with him. I checked her out thoroughly. She's clean."
"Okay. Go on. What about Bolan?"
"Where was I? Okay, no official visitors. She went to bed at eleven o'clock or thereabouts. The dogs were on station. The general was working in his study. At a little past midnight, she was awakened by a disturbance outside. The dogs were snarling and carrying on. There also may have been a gunshot. She's not sure on that point. She ran downstairs and found her uncle slumped in a chair near the fireplace, half of his head blown away. Claims that she fainted, doesn't know how long she was out. Her story comes confused along in here. When she came around again, she says, the dogs were still at it. Suddenly they got quiet. A minute later, this man walks into the study. Are you ready?"
Braddock growled, "I'm ready. Hit me."
'This was a tall man, well built, athletic. She says he walked in like a cat. He was wearing a black combat outfit. Hands and face smeared with some black cosmetic. She further describes him as quote, guns and things strapped all over him, unquote."
Braddock found himself leaning tensely forward in his chair. He said, "Now wait a minute, John."
"No, hear it all first. She — "
"This was
after
she'd found her uncle dead?"
"Like I said, it's confused. But that's what she says. The guy walks in, looks at the dead man, gathers up a sheaf of papers from the desk-memoirs, she says — puts them in the fireplace, and sets fire to them. Then he simply walks out."
"Bullshit," Braddock growled.
"That's her story, and we can't shake it."
"Did he leave a marksman's medal at the scene?"
"No."
"Then he didn't kill the man," Braddock declared.
"How can you leap to a conclusion like that?"
"Look, you called me as a Bolan expert, right? I'll leap to any damn conclusion I wish. When Bolan kills he leaves no doubt that he was there."
"Okay, forget that angle for a moment. Maybe Bolan didn't actually kill Winters. Maybe it was a suicide, just as all the evidence indicates. Other than that, Tim ... does this sound like Bolan?"
"Here and there," Braddock growled.
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