“No, if they get to be just good friends. Until, of course, she finds him in a hot tub with two very naked lingerie models. Brad then goes on to beat the crap out of her after she has the poor manners to get angry. He takes back some jewelry and gifts he gave her and tells her to get out of L.A. if she knows what’s good for her.”
“What a charmer,” Erika said coolly.
“And you were friends with him in the marines?” Amy sniped.
“No, we were never friends.”
“So anyway,” Amy said, “I did as you said, and I’m staying away from all the other gyms for a while. And Joey’s doing some of the gym snooping today.”
Gunnar couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. He noticed it when it was too late. It was almost an involuntary tick. The fact was that he wasn’t entirely sure Joey Reigert was made for “snooping.” He was a decent surveillance man and an even better bodyguard, but not much of an actor, not an improviser who could worm his way into someone’s confidence and siphon information out of them. Then again, this time, Joey was in his element in the gyms. It was one place in the world he could naturally blend in.
“Yes,” Amy said, “my reaction exactly.”
“Anyway,” Gunnar said, “let’s get down to business.”
“What did you find?” Erika asked, quickly stepping over to his desk.
“Somewhat hard to tell,” Gunnar admitted. “And let me explain why.”
He reached over to a set of note cards next to the fixed-focus fingerprint camera and a magnifying glass. “Classifying fingerprints can be an itsy bitsy bit tricky for the untrained eye,” he said and showed Amy and Erika the top card up close. “Take a look at this sample. This is my thumbprint.”
In the center of the card was a thumbprint made by a simple ink spot on the digit pressed onto the paper. Gunnar was especially interested in how Amy was following along. He wanted her to be as proficient as possible with what limited forensic hardware a small private investigator had to work with.
“See that?” he said. “Even clear, deliberate fingerprints appear to be combinations of the basic fingerprint patterns.”
“Yeah,” Amy said. “But you appear to show predominant loop patterns.”
“Very good,” Gunnar said with a nod. “In the middle of the finger, we have the ridges coming in from one side, making a sudden loop, then going out the same side again. The further up you go, it starts to resemble the arch pattern, but the centers are perfect loops.”
Erika stepped closer now. “And you have such a clear set of prints from Laura?”
Gunnar picked up another index card. “These are Laura’s. I removed them from the WBBF Girls Caught in the Buff—or Fitness in the Buff, or whatever—poster I took to her office yesterday. The poster had been wiped clean before she got it. The prints I got were very clear.”
“What kind of a pattern does she have?” Erika asked.
“Her prints are what you would call a whorl pattern. Here, compare the card to mine.”
Erika did so, looking at the fingerprint pattern transferred to the card after Gunnar dusted the poster with black fingerprint powder and lifted a print with transparent tape. “I see,” she said. “The whorl pattern is a series of concentric circles, starting out somewhere near the approximate center of each finger and growing outward.” Erika then glanced up and looked Gunnar in the eye. “What about the prints on the power bar wrapper?”
“That’s a more complicated issue,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” Amy exhaled. “I was afraid he was going to say that.”
“Afraid so,” Gunnar said.
“What’s the problem?” Erika asked.
“Well,” Gunnar said, “let me explain what’s going on here, step by step. See that glass over there?”
Erika and Amy nodded, finding a tall drinking glass on the table.
“It was Holt’s. I removed it from his cabin. It had his fingerprints all over it.” Gunnar picked up another index card and handed it to Erika. “And this card holds one of Holt’s best fingerprint samples.”
“It’s a loop pattern,” Amy said.
“And what’s on the power bar wrapper?” Erika asked.
Gunnar went for the last index card on the table. “This, unfortunately, is what was on the wrapper. I used a cyanoacrylate test on it this morning to get the prints. Take a look.” He handed over the card.
“There’s hardly anything there,” Erika said.
“Damn it,” Amy mumbled.
“If you look closely, though…,” Erika said and strained her eyes to see what was on the card.
“Here,” Gunnar said and handed her the magnifying glass. “Take a closer look.” After Erika took it, he added, “You’re going to find a single pattern containing four sections of a whorl pattern.”
“But Laura’s prints are whorl patterns,” Erika said.
Gunnar glanced at Amy, seeing her study her own fingertips.
“So are mine,” Amy said glumly.
Gunnar looked at Erika pensively before answering. “It proves someone with a whorl pattern, someone not Brad Holt, had been handling this wrapper. There is what’s called an island pattern on that wrapper, a bifurcation, and a fragment that resembles Laura’s prints.”
“And it’s still circumstantial evidence,” Amy said.
“To have a chance of these prints standing up in court, we would need at least six to ten matching characteristics.”
“But at least it’s still a lead pointing to Laura,” Erika said. “If you believe she killed him.”
“I don’t know.” Gunnar tossed the cards on the desk. “It’s a piece of circumstantial evidence pointing to a suspect. Or wait a minute…it’s a piece of circumstantial evidence suggesting that Brad Holt wasn’t alone in his cabin that night.”
“I get it,” Erika said. “Which really proves nothing about murder. Brad told everyone he was training alone right up to the contest, but he wasn’t. Big deal. He changed his routine.”
“Exactly,” Amy said quietly.
“Why was it so hard to get prints off that wrapper?” Erika asked.
“The thing had gotten soaked.”
“What luck somebody out there has,” Erika said.
“Somebody,” Amy said, “but not necessarily a killer.”
“No, not necessarily a killer,” Gunnar said.
A heavy silence hung in the office for a moment.
“But wait a minute,” Amy said at length.
“Yeah?” Gunnar said.
“This candy wrapper. The reason you had me look for it. This is not on the market yet. Isn’t that right? The WBBF’s nutritional company is developing it, but everyone else doesn’t have access to it.”
“Only WBBF personnel,” Erika added. “Like Laura.”
“Not that easy,” Gunnar said. “There are dozens upon dozens of WBBF personnel who could have had access to it. Not to mention people who’ve been given free samples of the stuff.”
“Free samples?” Amy asked, clearly dismayed.
“They’ve been test marketing it already,” Gunnar said. “Going to the gyms, to the beaches, doing taste tests, that kind of thing.”
“So we’re really nowhere in this case,” Amy said.
“Maybe not,” Gunnar replied.
“Huh?”
“Maybe we’re proving that Brad died of natural causes. No murder, no cover-up, no complicated conspiracies, nothing as melodramatic as that.”
“But he’s been threatened.”
“So?” Erika said quietly.
“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “So? He could still have died of natural causes. Died of a dumb, senseless accident. We really have no clear, definitive proof of anything to the contrary.”
Another moment of silence followed.
“Except,” Erika said, “You do
n’t really believe that, do you?”
Gunnar shook his head. “Not really. No. Like we said this morning—”
“That fact that he was so active after his first collapse—” Erika cut Gunnar off.
But then he cut her off as well. “The fact that he drank liquids after his first collapse just bugs me too much.”
CHAPTER 33
“Clients rarely hire P.I.’s for murder investigations?” Erika asked as they treaded through the sand.
The harsh whisper of the incoming waves and the burning, rust-colored tint of a disappearing sun set a layered scene for their walk along the beach, just past the Manhattan Beach Pier, and ruminations on loyalty, business, and violence.
“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “In reality, killings always involve the cops. We get cold cases sometimes, though. Missing persons, kidnappings, blackmail, fraud, white-collar things. Those are the problems people turn to P.I.’s for. Oh, and relationship work.”
“Relationship work?” Erika asked, glancing at him with a slight hint of a smile and a squint against the last sliver of the sun. The squint wrinkled her pretty nose in that way Gunnar had always found so adorable.
“Well, you’ve got all your background checks of people met on dating sites. Is Mr. Right telling the truth when he says he’s the guy who loves to take his private jet over to Switzerland on a moment’s notice, just to do some rock climbing because he’s so spontaneous? That is, of course, because he leads a high-pressure life negotiating hundred-million-dollar deals over breakfast.”
Erika laughed at that.
“And he’s also tired of all those shallow high-fashion models his friends keep setting him up with. He’s come to realize it’s the beauty on the inside that really matters.”
This time Erika gave him a mock scowl. “Now that’s just mean.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many times I got those cases,” Gunnar said with a strong nod. “And then there’s good, old-fashioned divorce. Actually, it can be some of the riskiest work in this business. People get irrational. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Come to think of it, I think I’ve never felt quite as much danger in any of my cases as I did in some of the relationship work.”
“You better believe it,” Erika said.
Gunnar studied her look for a moment. What was that? Innuendo? Teasing?
“Yeah,” he said slyly, “I believe it. But are we still talking about my case?”
“What else would we be talking about?”
Gunnar brushed a finger along her forearm. “Of the mistakes we’ve made in the past.”
“I think that’s too complicated for now. This case—”
“I need a break from this case.”
“Come on, just tell me what you’re going to do for now.”
“I’ll tell you for now,” Gunnar said, stroking Erika’s forearm again, feeling her sinuous curves down to her hand, down to the tips of her beautiful fingers. She didn’t pull her hand away. “But let’s go somewhere afterward.”
“I need to know the details,” Erika said.
“I told you already that you’re not responsible for anything.”
“I’m curious. You know me, so come on, I need to know the facts.”
“You’re still as hot-headed as ever.”
“Yes, I am, so let’s have it. And you did tell me you wanted my input on this case.”
Gunnar grinned at her. “I lied. I wanted to get you alone on the beach at sunset.”
Erika said, “No, you didn’t—”
“I did, too, want to get you alone,” Gunnar cut her off.
“You want to know how far to go with this investigation and what to tell Diane.”
He might as well listen to what Erika had to say, Gunnar decided. Especially since she seemed to be leaving doors open for him. Or at least he thought she did. He hoped she did.
“I can confront her about Holt’s criminal friends,” Gunnar said.
“And the possibility that they killed her brother?”
“Yeah.”
“And if she’s looking for revenge?”
“She can go to the cops.”
“So it’s not going to be a war with the underworld?” Erika asked, not entirely in jest.
“This isn’t the movies.”
“The more I think about this, and if what Laura Preston and Amy told you about his organized crime friends is true, the more I don’t want you involved in this case either.” She paused for a moment like she was contemplating something else. “So what about Laura?” she asked at length.
“That’s where we get problems.”
“Is it? You do seem to think she’s lying to you and that somehow she played a role in Brad’s demise.”
Erika paused, obviously wondering what he had to add. Gunnar, instead, wanted her to go on, wanted to hear her perspective on the situation.
“What about Laura?” she asked. “Are you reluctant to pursue her involvement in this? And why?”
“I’m reluctant to pursue the details of Holt’s life.”
“He’s better off dead?” Erika asked with a not entirely incredulous tone.
“Maybe.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You heard what Amy had to say about him.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Whatever he might have been, I don’t exactly feel like rising to the role of his avenger.”
“It would be good for your business if you did. Provided he wasn’t killed by some drug gang or the mob. Wouldn’t it? This isn’t the kind of case private investigators usually handle, right?”
“That’s actually true.”
“Imagine the magazine articles about you if you broke a murder case like this.”
Gunnar chuckled. “Oh, you heard about those?”
“I read them.”
“Oh really?”
“Quite interesting.”
“You’ve been wanting to know what I’ve been doing.”
Gunnar saw Erika’s evasive shadow of a smile. “I think I heard a passing mention of a story about a certain private eye named Marino, and….”
“You’ve missed me.”
“I was curious.”
Gunnar stepped in front of Erika, inches away from her. “I’ve been missing you every second since you left,” he said and reached out for her.
He cupped his hand behind her neck and took in her lips. Her mouth opened with no resistance—opened almost hungrily—and she let him explore her mouth with his tongue.
CHAPTER 34
There was a magnificent serenity hanging over Erika’s house, a quiet sheltering feeling of rightness. For the price of real estate in Manhattan Beach, Gunnar would have expected as much. There was a short driveway he followed Erika’s Mercedes SL Roadster onto, parking next to her split-level home’s porch.
“This is a nice house,” he complimented after Erika got out of her car. “Very nice indeed.”
“Thank you,” she said and led him toward the front door.
“It’s, it’s….” He searched for words to categorize it.
“It’s what?”
They climbed the steps to the porch.
“It’s so homey. So permanent.”
“What else would it be?” Erika asked, amused.
“It says ‘I’m here to stay.’ That ‘this place is my scene.’”
Erika inserted the key into the front door. “Does it now? I didn’t see the sign that says open house.”
“I thought I saw it on the driveway,” Gunnar said and kissed Erika’s neck as she opened the door.
After she pushed the door open, they stepped into a place Gunnar took to be a larger than average living room. He couldn’t make out actual details, but he recognized its dimensions since what appeared to be a kitchen was past an entrance on the room
’s far side, and some other room off to the side of that had its lights on. When Erika didn’t react to the lights, he discounted a burglary or any such scenarios.
“I think this house says I’m always glad to see friends,” Gunnar said with humor.
But the soundless interior of the house was shocked by a loud, rumbling blast of cacophonous noise. It sounded something like WAUKKKKK!
“What was that?” Gunnar startled.
He heard the clicking of Erika’s heels against the hardwood floor as she walked away from him.
“That says unwelcome guests will be dealt with,” she said from somewhere in the darkness.
“Good thing none of those are around tonight.”
Noises that followed came from the floor again. They sounded like the shifting of some heavy object. It was then followed by a strange scraping and pattering.
“Erika?”
The harsh, grating WAUKKKKK noise was back again, but this time it was followed by a wash of lights illuminating all of an upscale, eclectically furnished living room. The first thing Gunnar was greeted by was the sight of a massive St. Bernard dog standing at his feet, making a heavy effort to lift its eyelids, then coughing yet another bark at him.
“Dealt with?” Gunnar asked, seeing Erika off to the side and having a chuckle at his expense. “Is this thing gonna—?”
But before he could finish, the gargantuan animal demonstrated what it could do to anyone unwanted. For all of its size, it lowered its haunches and lunged forward with uncanny agility, springing upright and slamming its two prodigious front paws against Gunnar’s shoulders.
“...Crush me to death?” He forced the final words of his question from his lips, now staggering to stay upright under the weight of the oversized leviathan. He found himself staring into the somnolent eyes of the beast, whose thick-coated, woolly head was larger than his own.
Erika approached Gunnar and his assailant. “Spare him for now, Rocky.”
The dog, in turn, retreated from Gunnar and ambled toward its owner.
“Rocky?” Gunnar asked and straightened his jacket.
“Come on, baby,” Erika said and stroked the dog’s head. “It’s supper time.”
“Nice pet. Does it have its own walk-in refrigerator?”
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