Harsh, yes. But sound. Sharing responsibility meant sharing blame. That was the iron wall that would safeguard their secret.
And now they didn't need to know why they were being reminded. They had only to look around the circle and see who was missing.
Murray had not bounced back from his breakdown. For a while, he'd seemed fine. But he hadn't taken his share of the ash. A week later, he'd been late for a meeting. Missed a second. Withdrew from the group socially. Found excuses, made apologies. The vacation they'd insisted on had only made matters worse, as if it gave him time to dwell on his misgivings.
"Don has come to me with troubling news," she said.
Don nodded, face grave. "Murray has asked for a job transfer. Out of state."
A murmur of alarm.
"He didn't tell me directly," Don continued, "but when I stopped by his house to speak to him last week, I saw Realtor business cards on his table, and overheard him on a call to his firm's Rhode Island office."
"Should we...?" Brian swallowed, as if his throat had gone too dry to continue. "Should we wait and see how it plays out, in case he changes his mind?"
She felt a twinge of annoyance, but reminded herself that this was the first time their pact had been tested. They were still civilized beings, capable of considering all options and allowing the possibility of mercy. So she nodded to Tina, ceding the floor to the psychologist.
Tina shook her head. "The only way to change his mind would be to remind him of the pact. To threaten him."
Brian shuffled, clearly uncomfortable with the option. As he should be--they weren't thugs.
"And even if we resort to threats, given Murray's personality, he will pretend to acquiesce, but inwardly become more resolved to leave the group. He will cover his tracks better, so we can't find him. If cornered he'll be more likely to betray us."
She let Tina's words settle over the room. Waited for everyone to absorb the idea. Give them the chance to question it. Then, when no one did, she said, slowly and carefully, "Are we agreed?"
They were.
MURRAY CAME to the next meeting, and they'd done what needed to be done. Now the others were gone and his corpse lay on the gurney. She and Don would dispose of it. There was no need to involve the entire group in that process--and safer if they didn't. Take part in the killing, yes. Know where to find the body? No.
Don was examining Murray's naked body as if it were nothing more than a medical school cadaver.
"He's a lot bigger than that teenager," he mused. "I'd suggest removing the limbs and head and disposing of them as we did the boy--in garbage bags."
She agreed.
He glanced from his tools to the small oven, then over at her.
"Waste not, want not," she said. "The others don't need to know. It will be an excellent way to conduct a blind test of the effectiveness of adult material."
He nodded and lifted his scalpel.
THE EHRICH WEISS SOCIETY
AT FIVE-THIRTY, I WAS BACK IN L.A. with Jeremy, walking to yet another office building, this one in a far better section of town. The directory was peopled with accounting firms, law offices and other professional sorts. The elevators coming down were jammed with fleeing workers, but going up we had one to ourselves. Hope pressed the button for the tenth-floor law office of Donovan, Murdoch and Rodriguez.
"Our contact is the head of the group," she said as the door closed. "May Donovan."
"A lawyer?" I said.
"These guys are professionals, in every sense of the word. We've got a couple of lawyers, a United Church minister, a psychiatrist, an L.A. Times journalist, a professor or two...All folks who take this kind of thing very seriously and can contribute to the cause in their own way. Like May. She does primarily commercial law, but she has a sideline helping clients fleeced by paranormal scams. Not a lot of money in it--mostly pro bono, I think--but she's very passionate about it. They all are."
The doors opened into a quiet lobby, the silence broken only by burbling water--a fountain set in the wall, water cascading over an artfully arranged rock pile. I could hear the faintest tinkle of Japanese music. The walls were done in muted shades of gray and yellow. The thick carpet absorbed all noise. Very Zen.
Though it was just past five, the office seemed empty except for a woman leaning over the receptionist counter, reaching down to peck at the keys and straining to see the distant monitor. She was tall and slender, maybe late forties, with short graying brown hair, a long patrician nose and stylish glasses. She glanced up.
"Caught me checking my stocks." Her voice was low and pleasant, with an accent I couldn't place. "Nasty habit. I know I should just wait out the bad days, but I can't help peeking." She put her hands on Hope's shoulders in a semiembrace. "Good to see you."
Hope performed the introductions.