Fugitive Nights(57)

When the workman hung up the phone the fugitive smiled and said, "Can you help me, please? I am looking for a gravestone just like the one that was made for a woman who died last September. It was a beautiful stone. I must have one like it."

"Did we do it?"

"I am not sure. I think yes, but I do not know the name of the dead woman. It was ordered on day thirteen of September."

"Who was the customer?"

"I do not know, but he showed me a photograph of the stone. It was so lovely. I must have one for my aunt who died last Friday."

"Last September you say? What'd it look like?"

"From the photo I cannot be sure if it was marble or granite. But there were orchids carved on it."

"One on each side a the woman's name," the workman said. "Single grave, sixteen by twenty-eight, right?"

"You did the work?" the fugitive cried.

"Sure," the workman said. "Only time I ever got a call for custom orchids."

"Please! I must see the stone with my eyes to be sure it is exactly what I want for my aunt! Please to tell me the name of the person who ordered the stone?"

"Well, I only do the engraving and sandblasting," the man said. "Martha's the one you should talk to. She's gone to the bank to make a deposit. Can you come back later?"

"When?"

"Twenty minutes maybe?"

"Do you remember the name on the stone?"

"No, I can't remember. I do so many."

The fugitive needed all his self-control to remain calm and businesslike when he said, "I have a problem at the moment. I need very much to order the stone at once. I must go to Los Angeles on business. If you can look in your files for last September it might be possible to find the name. Then I could contact the customer and discover where the stone is placed so that I can see it with my eyes."

The man smiled, shook his head, and said, "Not me, Mister. Martha'd kill anybody that went into her files. Besides, I don't have no idea how to work a computer."

"Oh. Your transaction is on a computer?"

"I don't know nothing about that part of it. I can do a design and tape it off and I can sandblast it till you have the prettiest orchids you ever seen. But I can't go into Martha's files."

"I understand," the fugitive said. "I may wait here until the lady returns?"

"Help yourself," the workman said. "I gotta get back to work."

When he was alone, the fugitive sat and picked up a magazine, thinking about Martha and what he would say to her. What if she was one of those officious Americans who would only give him enough information to select his gravestone and nothing more? Then he'd have to take the information by force, or risk burglarizing this place. He was sure that the building had an alarm system.

The fugitive could hear the hiss of sandblasting outside the office. He got up, went to the front door and looked outside. There was no car parked immediately in front, not even his own. He made a quick decision, and walked around the reception counter to the file drawers. The first one contained nothing but brochures for memorials of all kinds.

He opened another and discovered what looked like order forms. The company had a computer, but they also had an invoice system. He found some orders that were placed by those other companies he'd visited. Serenity appeared to be the only manufacturer in the area. He worked from front to back and discovered that they were in chronological order.

Locating September, he found a large number of invoices. He grabbed the entire batch including some from August and October, just to be sure.

He was shoving them inside his pink cotton shirt when a woman said, "What're you doing?"

He would've recognized Martha. She was taller than he, and almost as heavy. She was a woman of about sixty years, and was so angry there was no point in talking. What could he say, in any case?

The fugitive simply smiled in embarrassment and walked deliberately toward the door, holding out his hand as though to say, "Please, Martha, step back." But he said nothing.

"Who are you?" Martha demanded. "And where do you think you're going with those?"

He kept advancing, meaning only to fend her off so he could get to the door, but she grabbed his arm and said, "Here, you! Drop those files! Then she screamed: "MIKE! COME QUICK!"

The fugitive shoved the woman hard and heard her grunt when she thudded into the wall and fell to the floor.

She screamed, "MIKE! HELP! HELP!"

The fugitive was glad he'd done one thing right, at least. He'd parked out on Perez Road, just in case. He hadn't wanted anybody writing down his license number if something went wrong. He certainly didn't want to steal any more cars.