Jane shook her head. There was no script for this.
“It’s like—” He held out his hands, fingers splayed. “It moves people. Inspires them. Makes them wanna dance or grab a gal and have a good time. It’s got power.”
Jane felt herself nodding, because that was exactly how she’d felt watching the impromptu concerts the students had put on in Treptow Park. She’d wanted desperately to tell Nick about them, but she had to be careful about Germany because she didn’t want him to feel left out.
Danberry asked, “You political?”
She shook her head. She had to play the game.
They’ll know you’ve never voted.
She told the agent, “I’ve never even voted.”
“You do a lot of volunteering, though. Soup kitchens. Homeless shelters. Even that AIDS ward they set up over at UCSF. Not afraid you’ll catch it?”
Jane watched him smoke his cigarette.
He said, “Rock Hudson shocked the hell out of me. Never would’ve thought he was one of them.” He stared up at the Golden Gate, asking, “Was your dad playing matchmaker?”
Don’t answer the question if you don’t understand it.
Danberry explained, “You went away to Germany for three months. Your boyfriend stayed here catting around with your brother.” He glanced at her, then looked back at the bridge. “Ellis-Anne MacMillan said the break-up with Andrew was very unexpected. But they usually are.”
Don’t let them surprise you into reacting.
He asked, “So, the old man flies Mr. Harp to Norway for what? To get you two kids back together?”
Just give them the facts. Don’t over-explain.
She told him, “Nick and I were never apart. I was in Berlin for a job. He had to stay here for work.” Jane knew she should stop talking, but she could not. “Father gave him the job at Queller. He probably wanted Nick in Oslo for himself. The panel with Maplecroft was a big deal. Nick’s very charming, very easy to be around. People have always liked him. They’re drawn to him. Father was no exception. He wanted to help Nick up the ladder.”
“Guys like that always fall up.”
Jane chewed the tip of her tongue. She had to look away so that he did not catch the anger in her eyes. She had never been able to abide anyone running down Nick. He’d suffered so much as a child. People like Danberry would never understand that.
“He’s got charisma, right?” Danberry put out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and tossed the butt into the ashtray. “The pretty face. The quick wit. The cool clothes. But it’s more than that, right? He’s got that thing some guys have. Makes you want to listen to them. Follow them.”
The wind picked up, rustling the edges of the Chronicle. Jane folded the paper closed. She saw the garish headline: $1,000,000 RANSOM OR PROF DIES!
A ridiculous headline for a ridiculous manifesto. Nick had made them all sound unhinged.
Danberry said, “‘Death to the fascist insect that preys on the life of the people.’”
Jane didn’t recognize the line from the ransom note. She pretended to skim the paper.
Danberry said, “It’s not in there. I was talking about the Patty Hearst kidnapping. That’s how the Symbionese Liberation Army signed all of their screeds—‘Death to the fascist insect that preys on the life of the people.’” He studied her face. “Your family has another house near the Hearsts, right? Up in Hillsborough?”
“I was a kid when it happened.”
His laugh said that he thought she still was a kid. “Carter couldn’t free the hostages, but he got Patty Hearst out of lockup.”
“I told you I don’t follow politics.”
“Not even in college?” He said, “My old man told me everybody’s a socialist until they start paying taxes.”
She mirrored his smile again.
“Do you know where the word ‘symbionese’ comes from?”
Jane waited.
“The SLA’s leader, Donald DeFreeze—the jackass didn’t know the word ‘symbiotic,’ so he made up the word ‘symbionese.’” Danberry leaned back in the chair, crossed his ankle over his knee. “The newspapers called them terrorists, and they committed acts of terror, but all terror cells are basically cults, and all cults usually have one guy at the center who’s driving the bus. Your Manson or your Jim Jones or your Reverend Moon.”
They’ll seem almost nonchalant the closer they get to the point.
“DeFreeze was a black fella, an escaped con doing five-to-life for rolling a hooker, and like a lot of cons, he had a lot of charisma, and the kids who followed him—all of them white, middle class, most of them in college—well, they weren’t stupid. They were worse. They were true believers. They felt sorry for him because he was this poor black guy in prison and they were spoiled white kids with everything, and they really believed all the shit that came out of his mouth about fascist insects and everybody living together all Kumbaya. Like I said, he had that thing. Charisma.”
Pay attention to the words they repeat because that’s the point of the story.
Danberry said, “He had everybody in his circle convinced he was smarter than he actually was. More clever than he was. Fact is, he was just another con man running another cult so he could bed the pretty girls and play God with all the boys. He knew when people were pulling away. He knew how to bring them back on side.” Danberry looked at the bridge. His shoulders were relaxed. “They were like yo-yos he could snap back with a flick of his wrist.”
Make eye contact. Don’t look nervous.
“So, anyway.” Danberry clasped his hands together and rested them on his stomach. “What happened was, most of the kids following him ended up shot in the head or burned to death. And I have to tell you, that’s not uncommon. These anarchist groups think they’re doing the right thing, right up until they end up in prison or flat on their backs in the morgue.”
Jane wiped her eyes. She could see everything he was doing, but felt helpless to stop him.
What would Nick do? How would he throw it back in Danberry’s face?
“Miss Queller,” Danberry said, then, “Jinx.” He leaned forward, his knees almost touching her leg.
They’ll get in your space to try to intimidate you.
He said, “Look, I’m on your side here. But your boyfriend—”
“Have you ever seen someone shot in the head?” The stunned look on his face told Jane she’d found the right mark. Like Nick, she let herself draw power from his mistake. “You were so cavalier when you said those kids ended up getting shot in the head. I’m just wondering if you know what that looks like.”
“I didn’t—” He reeled back. “What I meant—”
“There’s a hole, a black hole no larger than the size of a dime, right here”—she pointed to her own temple where Martin Queller was shot—“and on the opposite side, where the bullet exits, you see this bloody pulp, and you realize that everything that makes up that person, everything that makes them so who they are, is splattered onto the floor. Something a janitor will mop up and toss down the drain. Gone. Forever.”
“I—” His mouth opened and closed. “I’m sorry, Miss Queller. I didn’t—”
Jane stood. She went back into the house and slammed the door behind her. She used her hand to wipe her nose as she walked down the hallway. She couldn’t keep up this fa?ade much longer. She had to get out of here. To find Nick. To tell him what was going on.
Her purse was on the sideboard. Jane rummaged for her keys, and then she realized that Nick had taken them.
Where had he gone?
“Jinx?” Jasper was still in the parlor. He was sitting on the couch beside Andrew. They both had drinks in their hands. Even Agent Barlow, standing by the fireplace, had a glass of whisky.
“What is it?” Jasper stood up when she entered the room.
“Are you okay?” Andrew was standing, too. They both looked alarmed, almost angry. Neither one of them had ever been able to abide seeing her upset.
“I’m all right,” she patted her hands in the air to calm them. “Please, could I just have someone’s keys?”
“Take mine.” Jasper gave Andrew his keys. “Andy, you drive her. She’s in no condition.”