The Golem of Hollywood

Chapter twenty-eight

“No such tag,” Marcia said. “Anthony reran it three times to make sure.”

“What about the 911 tape?”

“They haven’t gotten back to him.”

Figures. “Special Projects?”

“Nothing. What kind of top secret stuff are you into these days, Lev?”

“I’d tell you if I knew.”

“Keep safe.”

“I’ll try.”

The soonest affordable flight to Prague was a Wednesday-night red-eye on Swiss, connecting through Zurich and costing eleven hundred dollars. While leaving Mallick a voicemail explaining his intentions, he fiddled with the white credit card, then tossed it aside disgustedly, girding himself to cough up a grand of his own money with no hope of reimbursement. Maybe the interest on the $97,000 advance on his salary would bring him back up to even in due time.

The sat phone rang before he could finish typing in his own credit card number.

“Lev, Mike Mallick.”

“Commander. Nice to finally hear from you.”

“We need to talk. Face-to-face.”

“You want me to swing by the garage?”

“That location’s no longer active,” Mallick said. “Stay there. I’ll come to you.”

He came alone, pressed and slender, towering and tidy.

Standard eight-foot ceilings emphasized his height: he ducked his head as he entered, remained warily hunched, the habitual stance of a man living in a world not designed for him.

Jacob pulled out two kitchen chairs and offered coffee.

“No, thanks. But help yourself.” Mallick sat, smoothing down the white tufts of hair above his ears. “Getting along here?”

“That’s one of the things I was hoping to talk to you about, sir. I’ve been having a few technical issues.”

“Is that so.”

“I keep trying to run a tag and my system crashes.”

“Mm.”

“I asked a friend in Traffic to run it for me, and she said it doesn’t come up.”

“Then I’d assume it’s bogus.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I also encounter the same problem when I look for the division address.”

“Special Projects?”

Jacob nodded.

“That’s because there is none. This isn’t an official detail. You want to know the address,” Mallick said, tapping his chest, “you’re looking at it.”

“I sent you an e-mail,” Jacob said. “You never wrote back.”

“When was that?”

“A few days ago. I’ve sent several, actually. About a 911 recording, too.”

“Did you, now? I must have missed it.”

“All of them?”

Mallick smiled. “I’m bad with technology.”

“I asked Subach and Schott to tell you.”

Mallick didn’t answer.

Jacob said, “You came here when I told you I was going to Prague.”

“Well, that’s a significant expense.”

“No kidding,” Jacob said. “I’m the one paying.”

“You have a card for operational expenses.”

“It doesn’t work.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Several times. It won’t go through.”

“It’ll go through,” Mallick said placidly. “At any rate, given the expanding scope of this investigation, I thought it would be best to discuss it.”

“Face-to-face.”

“I’m a people person, Lev.”

Jacob said nothing.

Mallick said, “You’re making progress on the case.”

“I’d be doing better if I had the 911 tape or even the slightest sense why you’re stonewalling me.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“You have a better word, sir?”

“I told you. It’s sensitive.”

“Then I don’t get the point of working from home. Or having a secure line. The idea was to avoid attracting attention. Not to put me in a box so small I can’t function.”

Mallick didn’t respond.

“Pardon my language, sir,” Jacob said, “but what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ve given you a very important task and I need you to carry it out.”

“What task is that, sir?”

“Exactly what you’re doing,” Mallick said. “That’s what I need you to do.”

“Tread water?”

“From what you’ve told me, you’ve done a good deal more than that.”

“So you did read my e-mails.”

“I read them.”

“Then you know there’s crucial information that I’m not getting access to.”

“We’re on top of it.”

“Who’s we? On top of what?”

“That’s all you need to know at the moment.”

“With respect, sir, fuck that.”

Mallick chuckled. “Everything they said about you is true.”

“Who said? Mendoza?”

“Are you asking me to take you off the case?”

“I’m asking to not feel like everybody’s running around behind my back.”

“Everybody being?”

“Subach. Schott. Divya Das. Even the guy I talked to in Prague sounded spooked.”

“What’s in Prague?”

“Another head.”

Mallick’s brow creased, and his eyes grew unfocused. He remained that way for some time, nodding slowly.

At last he said, “I think you should go to Prague.”

“So that’s a yes, sir?”

“That’s a yes.”

The bout of permissiveness bewildered Jacob. “Thank you, sir. But can I ask why you’re okay with me leaving the country but you won’t help me obtain a simple 911 recording?”

Mallick rubbed his forehead and contemplated for another long stretch. He seemed to consider several alternatives before settling on taking out his phone, placing it on the coffee table, tapping the screen a few times.

Recording hiss.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

Hello. A woman’s voice. I’d like to report a death.

Sorry, ma’am, can you repeat that? A death?

The woman recited the address of the house on Castle Court.

Are you — ma’am, are you in danger? Can you tell me if you — do you need assistance?

Thank you.

Ma’am? Hello? Ma’am? Are you there?

The hiss cut off as Mallick leaned over and touched the screen.

“Did that help?” he asked softly.

Jacob looked at him.

“Do you want to hear it again?”

Jacob nodded.

Mallick touched PLAY.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

By the end of the second listen-through, Jacob’s mouth was dry and he was gripping the edge of the table hard enough to feel his pulse.

Thank you.

Mallick reached over and pressed PAUSE. “Do you understand now?”

Jacob looked at him. “No.”

“I can e-mail you a copy, if you’d like.”

Jacob nodded.

“Regardless of whether you understand,” Mallick said, “it’s vital that you keep doing what you’re doing. Vital.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Lev?”

“Are you sure I should go to Prague?”

“Why not?”

“I should probably stay here to try and... chase that down.”

The Commander gazed at him with strange tenderness.

“Go,” he said. “I think you’ll find it educational.”

Long after he’d left, Jacob was sitting, motionless. The apartment got dark. He rose to shut and bolt the front door.

His computer seemed to be working fine now. As promised, Mike Mallick had e-mailed him the audio file. Jacob listened to it five, six, seven times, many more times than he needed to be absolutely certain that he’d heard right, that the voice on the recording belonged to Mai.