our investigator went missing. Then we got another call: 'You're next.' They probably figured if they hurt Leah, they'd be killing the golden goose, but us, hey. We're expendable."
"Who was the investigator?"
"A PI. Former chief of security for Warner. My men hired him out of Beverly Hills."
Tim's mind reversed, drawn by the pull of a buried instinct. "The same men parked up at the mouth of the cul-de-sac in a Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows, license starts with 9VLU?"
Will stared at him for a long time, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar. He finally sat. "Yes. The same men."
Tim crossed the room and grabbed the pen and notepad by the telephone. "Go on."
"Short little nervous guy, the PI was -- Danny Katanga."
"And he was killed?"
"Disappeared. Last week. He must have been making some headway." Will let out a grumbly sigh. "That's when we decided to go to Tannino."
"We've had no word from Leah at all since she left," Emma said.
Will said, "I keep writing letters, hoping, but nothing."
"How can you send her articles and letters when you don't know where she is?"
"She left a P.O.-box number on our answering machine right after she first disappeared, so we could forward her mail -- probably so she could keep getting her financial paperwork. We figure it's a holding box for the entire cult."
"Do any of your letters get returned?"
"No," Emma said. "They go through. To somewhere."
"Where's the post office?"
Will said, "Someplace in the North Valley. We tried to look into it -- do you have any idea how difficult it is to squeeze information out of the United States Postal Service? We talked to some postal inspector, he acted like he was guarding the recipe for Coke or some horseshit. We finally sent Katanga to stake out the box, but the post office crawled up his ass about invasion of privacy, so he had to watch from the parking lot. He sat in his car for a few days with binoculars, but she never showed up. The cult's wise to it -- they probably send someone different each time to pick up the mail. If they pick it up at all."
"I'll need that address."
"I'll have my assistant call Marco with it first thing tomorrow. Watch yourself with that postal inspector -- I'm not kidding. He'll open you up a new one."
Tim jotted a few notes. "Did you record any of the threatening phone calls?"
"No. We managed to trace the second call back to a pay phone in Van Nuys. Nothing came of it."
"I'll want that information, too." Tim flipped through his notes. "What's Leah's last name?" Off the Hennings' blank stares, Tim added, "You said she was from Emma's first marriage?"
"She has my name. I adopted her legally when she was six. She's my stepdaughter, but I make no distinction between her and my own daughter." Will cleared his throat. "I may have progressed a bit foolhardy out of the gate. Wasn't sure what we were dealing with, so I came out swinging. In retrospect that may not have been the best plan of action." He had a habit, Tim observed, of holding his own conversation, undeterred by interjections. "I had my men post these around town. We got nothing but a bunch of nowhere leads." He pulled a flyer from his back pocket and smoothed out its folds on his knee before handing it to Tim. The same photo of Leah, beneath which was written $10,000 reward for information on the whereabouts of this girl, Leah Elizabeth Henning. Persons wishing to remain anonymous should tear this flyer in half, transmit one half with the info submitted, and save the remaining half to be matched later. Leah's identifiers and contact information followed.
Tim thought he detected the faint tracings of pride in Will's face, probably from the Dragnet wording on the flyer he and his men had cooked up.
Tim turned the flyer over, unimpressed. "So now everyone in the cult knows you're after her, that you're the enemy. That's quite a mess."
"That's why we need you to clean it up. And why we'll pay you well to do it." Will enclosed one large fist in
"Who was the investigator?"
"A PI. Former chief of security for Warner. My men hired him out of Beverly Hills."
Tim's mind reversed, drawn by the pull of a buried instinct. "The same men parked up at the mouth of the cul-de-sac in a Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows, license starts with 9VLU?"
Will stared at him for a long time, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar. He finally sat. "Yes. The same men."
Tim crossed the room and grabbed the pen and notepad by the telephone. "Go on."
"Short little nervous guy, the PI was -- Danny Katanga."
"And he was killed?"
"Disappeared. Last week. He must have been making some headway." Will let out a grumbly sigh. "That's when we decided to go to Tannino."
"We've had no word from Leah at all since she left," Emma said.
Will said, "I keep writing letters, hoping, but nothing."
"How can you send her articles and letters when you don't know where she is?"
"She left a P.O.-box number on our answering machine right after she first disappeared, so we could forward her mail -- probably so she could keep getting her financial paperwork. We figure it's a holding box for the entire cult."
"Do any of your letters get returned?"
"No," Emma said. "They go through. To somewhere."
"Where's the post office?"
Will said, "Someplace in the North Valley. We tried to look into it -- do you have any idea how difficult it is to squeeze information out of the United States Postal Service? We talked to some postal inspector, he acted like he was guarding the recipe for Coke or some horseshit. We finally sent Katanga to stake out the box, but the post office crawled up his ass about invasion of privacy, so he had to watch from the parking lot. He sat in his car for a few days with binoculars, but she never showed up. The cult's wise to it -- they probably send someone different each time to pick up the mail. If they pick it up at all."
"I'll need that address."
"I'll have my assistant call Marco with it first thing tomorrow. Watch yourself with that postal inspector -- I'm not kidding. He'll open you up a new one."
Tim jotted a few notes. "Did you record any of the threatening phone calls?"
"No. We managed to trace the second call back to a pay phone in Van Nuys. Nothing came of it."
"I'll want that information, too." Tim flipped through his notes. "What's Leah's last name?" Off the Hennings' blank stares, Tim added, "You said she was from Emma's first marriage?"
"She has my name. I adopted her legally when she was six. She's my stepdaughter, but I make no distinction between her and my own daughter." Will cleared his throat. "I may have progressed a bit foolhardy out of the gate. Wasn't sure what we were dealing with, so I came out swinging. In retrospect that may not have been the best plan of action." He had a habit, Tim observed, of holding his own conversation, undeterred by interjections. "I had my men post these around town. We got nothing but a bunch of nowhere leads." He pulled a flyer from his back pocket and smoothed out its folds on his knee before handing it to Tim. The same photo of Leah, beneath which was written $10,000 reward for information on the whereabouts of this girl, Leah Elizabeth Henning. Persons wishing to remain anonymous should tear this flyer in half, transmit one half with the info submitted, and save the remaining half to be matched later. Leah's identifiers and contact information followed.
Tim thought he detected the faint tracings of pride in Will's face, probably from the Dragnet wording on the flyer he and his men had cooked up.
Tim turned the flyer over, unimpressed. "So now everyone in the cult knows you're after her, that you're the enemy. That's quite a mess."
"That's why we need you to clean it up. And why we'll pay you well to do it." Will enclosed one large fist in
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