Andrews ordered an airflivver which he met in the hotel parking lot, then went winging south toward San Diego. Less than an hour later, he was landing on the roof of the San Diego Airborne Law Enforcement Station. He was met by Officer Eliza Lewis, an attractive redhead who served as the liaison to the international government, and who then drove him to the downtown police station where Kerrigan was being held.
“She was picked up at the airport,” said Lewis. “She was carrying a concealed weapon without a permit and when her name came up on the wanted list, we held her. She also had two hunting rifles with her, though they were properly checked in.”
Pearl Kerrigan was a plain looking woman, though not unattractive. Her dull brown hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her already thin lips were pressed together. When Andrews entered the interrogation room to find her waiting, she didn’t move. She didn’t look up. She simply stared at the top of the table.
“Miss Kerrigan,” said Andrews.
She startled in her seat and slowly raised her eyes to look at him. Then just as slowly, she lowered them back to the table.
“Miss Kerrigan, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
There was no response.
“Why did you come to San Diego? Why did you leave your house in Oxford? What can you tell me about the Ladybugs?”
Kerrigan didn’t move. It was as if she was mesmerized. He continued to ask questions but they all remained as unanswered as the first. Finally he tried a different track.
“I’ve been to your house. I’ve been in your celler.”
She looked up at him. “Have you read the book?”
He stepped out of the interrogation room to find Officer Lewis observing from behind the two way mirror.
“Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
“No, but I can see if she had a book with her when she was arrested.”
Kerrigan had indeed had a book in her handbag when she had been arrested. It was an eight by ten hard bound volume of blank pages which she had filled with tightly written cursive. In the center of most pages were the lyrics of Ladybugs songs and around them were annotations and bizarre sketches. Andrews took the book with him back into the interrogation room.
“Is this the book you were talking about?”
“That is the book.”
He opened the cover and flipped through a few random pages. “What about it?”
“You have to read it.”
“Can’t you just tell me what it says?”
“Read it. Then come back tomorrow.”
Leaving the room with the book, Andrews sat down at a vacant desk and picked up the phone. When the long distance operator came on, he gave her his contact number for Agent Wright in Hollywood. He had to wait about a minute for the connection and for Wright to answer.
“How’s it going?”
“Kerrigan’s a wacko and I don’t think I’ll be able to get anything out of her until tomorrow. I’m going to have to stay over.”