"What?"
"Samantha McCoy?"
"Sorry." Dance looked away from O'Neil and the blonde. "No. I'm driving up to San Jose now. If she's gone to this much trouble to keep her identity quiet I want to see her in person. I think it'll take more than a phone call to convince her to help us out."
She disconnected and walked up to O'Neil and the woman he was embracing.
"Kathryn."
"Anne, good to see you," Dance said to Michael O'Neil's wife. The women smiled, then asked about each other's children.
Anne O'Neil nodded toward the hospital. "I came to see Juan. Mike said he's not doing well."
"No. It's pretty bad. He's unconscious now. But his parents are there. They'd be glad for some company, I'm sure."
Anne had a small Leica camera slung over her shoulder. Thanks to the landscape photographer Ansel Adams and the f64 Club, Northern and Central California made up one of the great photography meccas in the world. Anne ran a gallery in Carmel that sold collectible photographs, "collectible" generally defined as those taken by photographers no longer among the living: Adams, Alfred Stieglitz, Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham, Henri Cartier-Bresson. Anne was also a stringer for several newspapers, including big dailies in San Jose and San Francisco.
Dance said, "Michael told you about the party tonight? My father's birthday."
"He did. I think we can make it."
Anne kissed her husband again and headed into the hospital. "See you later, honey."
" 'Bye, dear."
Dance nodded good-bye and climbed into her car, tossing the Coach purse onto the passenger seat. She stopped at Shell for gas, coffee and a cake doughnut and headed onto Highway 1 north, getting a beautiful view of Monterey Bay. She noted that she was driving past the campus of Cal State at Monterey Bay, on the site of the former Fort Ord (probably the only college in the country overlooking
a restricted area filled with unexploded ordnance). A large banner announced what seemed to be a major computer conference this weekend. The school, she recalled, was the recipient of much of the hardware and software in William Croyton's estate. She reflected that if computer experts were still doing research based on the man's contributions from eight years ago, he must've been a true genius. The programs that Wes and Maggie used seemed to be outdated in a year or two tops. How many brilliant innovations had Daniel Pell denied the world by killing Croyton?
Dance flipped through her notebook and found the number of Samantha McCoy's employer, called and asked to be connected, ready to hang up if she answered. But the receptionist said she was working at home that day. Dance disconnected and had TJ text-message her Mapquest directions to the woman's house.
A few minutes later the phone rang, just as she hit play on the CD. She glanced at the screen.
Coincidentally, the Fairfield Four resumed their gospel singing as Dance said hello to Linda Whitfield, who was calling from her church office.
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . ."
"Agent Dance--"
"Call me Kathryn. Please."
" . . . that saved a wretch like me . . ."
"I just wanted you to know. I'll be there in the morning to help you, if you still want me."
"Yes, I'd love for you to come. Somebody from my office will call about the arrangements. Thank you so much."
" . . . I once was lost, but now am found . . ."
A hesitation. Then she said in a formal voice, "You're welcome."
Two out of three. Dance wondered if the reunion might work after all.
Chapter 23
Sitting in front of the open window of the Sea View Motel, Daniel Pell typed awkwardly on the computer keyboard.
He'd managed some access to computers at the Q and at Capitola, but he hadn't had time to sit down and really get to know how they worked. He'd been pounding away on Jennie's portable all morning. Ads, news, porn . . . it was astonishing.