by David Chill
Adam gaped at me. "I ... I don't know how you could think I was involved in any of that."
"You have some explaining to do, kid," I said soberly. "Murder one carries the death penalty with it."
"I didn't murder anybody! My boss borrowed the Explorer that night."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, and he kept it all week. Said he needed to haul some things around."
Now it was my turn to gape at Adam Gee. "That might change things," I said. "In fact, that changes everything."
"Yes, indeed it does," came the smooth-as-velvet voice from behind us. I turned and saw the very handsome face of Malcolm Taylor. His broad smile was not evident, and his blue eyes weren't sparkling. He had a bandage under his chin. In his hand was a .357 Magnum.
"Didn't hear you come in," I said. "This building is awfully quiet."
"I like it that way," he said and pointed to his office. "Let's take this in there, shall we?"
Chapter 15
Malcolm Taylor told Adam to wait outside. He leaned against the front of his magnificent desk. Wearing a yellow golf shirt and tan trousers, he looked dapper enough to play 18 holes at the L.A. Country Club. I sat across from him on the couch. The gun was in Taylor's right hand, aimed directly at my head. He maintained a good 10 feet of separation, meaning there was no way I could lunge at him. At least not without getting shot in the process.
"You really shouldn't have been poking around in my business," Malcolm sighed with a sad shake of his head. "You should have just taken that big fat fee I offered. You would have lived a nice, full life."
"Let's just say, when I'm hired to do a job, I finish it," I responded.
"No one hired you to stick your nose into my business. Guess you never watched Chinatown, did you kitty-cat? Those types of people get their noses cut off. In your case, it'll be much worse."
"Don't be so hasty. You're in this mess up to your neck. It won't be long before the police add everything up. One look at Adam's SUV and they'll note something suspicious. New bumper, uneven paint job. And you took the vehicle all week, didn't you, Malcolm?"
"I did," he said, "and I'd like to see you prove anything. Where's your evidence? The sheet metal and bumper and other parts I replaced? They're all gone. Crushed. No one'll ever find them. I hired someone off the grid. Figured the police would send an APB to every body shop in town. This way, there are no footprints."
"You stitched this together very nicely, Mr. Taylor."
"Of course. I didn't get to the top of the heap by just screwing people over. Like Patty."
I filed this tidbit away for a moment. "What about the goons you sent over to kidnap me at that garage? You're the one who sent me over there, right? Had some girl leave a message on my voice mail telling me to be at Eric Starr's office."
"Yeah, thanks for the heads up that you were looking into Laputa," Malcolm said, feeling relaxed enough to finally smile a little. "Made it convenient for me. You know, those two morons weren't supposed to shoot you. I just wanted to send you a warning. Slap you around a bit so you'd back off. You took it too seriously."
"Yeah, I do that whenever someone points a firearm at me," I said, staring at the .357 Magnum. "I'm not fond of the idea of being slapped around, either."
"You're good at what you do," he said. "I really think I could've used you as a technical advisor."
"Don't tell me you were going to make that crappy movie, Day Watch, or whatever it was called."
"Ha! No, again, that was a ruse, just to try and get you on my side, get you to stop looking into things. You might want to choose your words more carefully. Turns out one of your SC players wrote it."
I frowned. "Demetrius?"
"I don't know. Something like that. Black guy from the hood. Kanter sent it to me as a joke. I optioned it for a dollar, made the kid feel worthwhile."
"Ah, your way of giving back to the community."
"He should stick with football for now. Or something else. The world still needs people to stock shelves at Wal-Mart."
"Nice," I said dryly. "But getting back to that day at Laputa. How long do you think it will take for the police to check my phone. And find that woman who left the voice mail sending me to Laputa to get jumped?"
"Oh, good point," he said. "Thanks for reminding me. Give me your cell phone. And Burnside, don't even think about trying anything funny or I'll shoot you straight away. This isn't some cheap pistol like the one Mike Black was carrying around. Yeah, I know all about that. This one's deadly accurate. And as you mentioned, this is a mighty quiet building. Nobody will hear a thing."
I tossed my phone over to him and he slipped it into his pocket. What I didn't remind him of was that the police wouldn't need the phone to access my voice mail. Or to determine where the blocked number emanated from. Or to find the woman that left the voice mail, who almost certainly would hand over Malcolm Taylor in two seconds. When faced with being an accessory to murder, people tend to cooperate with the police.
"So tell me, Malcolm," I said, sensing Mal Taylor was the type of guy who liked to boast about his accomplishments. "Why Hector Ferris. Why kill him? And why do it so brutally? He have something on you?"
"Hector? That prick helped oust me at BMB. Pretty clean job he did. Had me accused of sexual harassment. And I never harassed anyone. Every girl I screwed there, they wanted it. They were begging for it."
While I wasn't fully surprised at Taylor's openness, I was certainly taken aback at what he would choose to share. Malcolm Taylor's ability as a stud, and the mere thought of it made me want to puke. Why some men insisted on bragging about their sexual conquests to other men was beyond me.
"So Hector got you fired?"
"With Patty's help. They were pretty tight. They called it third-person sexual harassment. And let's just say I had a few women there. Once Patty got wind of things, she threatened to go public with it. And the board decided they didn't want the publicity, so I got packaged out."
"And you were ticked at Hector," I said. "Because Hector knew about you and Kitty Strong."
"You figured that out, huh," Malcolm said, a weird look forming in his eye. "Hector wouldn't back down, that's a problem with some of you cops. Don't understand the entertainment world. I offered him anything he could have ever wanted and he refused me. Self-righteous prick. He left me no choice. I had to take him out. And it had to hurt."
"Dragging him underneath an SUV would accomplish that," I said ruefully.
"Sure," he said. "It started out as vengeance. But to be honest, it just felt good."
"And that's why you used Adam's vehicle."
"I borrowed it. I didn't tell him about it at first, in case something unforeseen happened. He was covered, though. If anyone at the scene catches the license plate, if I need to abandon the vehicle, whatever the issue, Adam had a rock solid alibi. He was still at that AFI function. Witnesses everywhere. The SUV would have simply been reported as stolen."
"So what were you going to do about Patty? She's the one who actually filed those third-person harassment charges?"
Malcolm Taylor smiled in a manner that could only be considered cruel. "Patty? Oh, I've got plans for her. She figured that with me out of the way, she'd be elevated to CEO. What a bad move. Lucas Kanter told me there was no way that would ever happen, the board is sick of her shit. So once a new CEO gets in, Patty will be out on her ass. I've got her future all mapped out. What's left of it, that is."
"And Jay Strong? Geez, but you've had a busy week."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I didn't plan on that one happening. That was just a romantic rendezvous that went south."
"So tell me something. Why did Kitty use Jay's credit card? Wouldn't that have gotten back to him when the bill came at the end of the month?"
Malcolm shrugged. "Who knows. Their marriage was kaput, maybe this was Kitty's way of letting him know it was over. For all I know, Kitty might have even told him where we'd be. When Jay showed up, he tried to get tough with me."
; "Jay's a pretty big guy," I mused. "Hard to outmuscle someone like that."
"Yeah, well, he grabbed me and we tussled for a second or two. I finally got my handgun out and let him have it. Imagine his surprise. He thought he was going to teach me a lesson. Too bad for him, but I always pack some heat with me when I'm out on the town. L.A., you know. Lot of criminals around here."
"So I've noticed. And you set up Kitty so it would like she committed suicide."
"It was the only way out. Murder-suicide. Old story, but that got me off the hook for taking out Jay. The police are either too swamped or too lazy to dig for what really happened. So I wrapped it all up nicely for them. Even put a bow on it."
Working 13 years for the LAPD, I had met plenty of people who had come unhinged. But with most of them, you could tell just by looking at them. Their body movements, their mannerisms, their speech patterns. There was always something off. Not so with Malcolm Taylor. He was cool as ice and suave to boot, a compartmentalizing sociopath. And while his twisted mind was certainly keen, it was clear he hadn't thought out every detail.
"So how do you plan to get away with all this?" I asked.
Malcolm looked down at his gun and then at me and shrugged. "Gosh, I dunno. Can't imagine it'll be hard."
"Oh? You think because no one can hear a gunshot in this building means you're out of the woods? Just how are you going to dispose of my body? These windows don't open."
"Haven't put it all together yet. Didn't expect you here today. You're a smart guy. Tell me. What would you do in this situation? Toss your body off the roof? Or do you have a better plan?"
I stared at him. Did he really think I was going to help conjure up a scheme to murder me? But he did give me an opening. And playing along was the best chance I had right now. I tilted my head and pretended I was in deep thought. My observation of Nick Roche was now coming in handy. All I needed was a cigarette in hand to complete the image. And I actually had an idea in mind.
"Too messy," I declared. "It's not like you can pin a suicide note to my shirt. And you'd have to shoot me to get me out of here, which means blood stains on your nice rug. And your BMB connection makes you an immediate suspect, the cops know I'm looking into BMB. I mean, how many former BMB chiefs have an office in this building? The police would be looking to question you well before you could get the carpet cleaners hired."
He looked at me oddly. "Go on."
I looked back at him and noticed something. He still wore his gold bracelet, but there was no watch on his wrist. At our last meeting, his Rolex was prominently displayed on his left wrist, he removed it only to lay it down on his desk as a power move. It was strange how these things come together. Whether I could pull this off, though, was another matter.
"Wait a minute," I said. "What happened to your Rolex?"
He looked down and shrugged. "Put it down somewhere, I guess. I take it off a lot, it's probably at home. Even still, it's not like I can't afford another."
"You know, they found a Rolex on the floor at the hotel room. The Malomar. It was a BMB watch. I guess you gave them out to your employees for Christmas."
Taylor gaped at me. He clearly wasn't smiling anymore. "What are you getting at?"
"Once they run DNA testing on it, they'll find a hair or fiber on it that will link you to the murder scene. They'll know you were in the room and you killed Jay. The police have the watch. I'm sure someone, somewhere knows you own a .357. There's nothing you can do about it. Unless you have a fall guy. A sap. A foil who can take the blame for you."
"Such as?" he asked warily.
I motioned to the door. "Your assistant. Adam Gee."
"Don't be ridiculous. Adam's like a son to me."
"It's your only way out. You need to give the police someone or they'll collar you. Bring him in here. I'll lay it all out for you."
He paused for a long moment, thought about this and then punched an intercom button and told Adam to come in. The door opened a few seconds later and Adam Gee entered, looking nervous, the steaming cup of coffee in his hands starting to shake. His breathing was deep. Even Malcolm Taylor noticed it.
"What's the matter, Adam?" he asked.
"Tell him, Adam," I prodded. "Better yet, show him your watch."
"No," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Taylor asked me, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Adam, suddenly unsure of who he should be directing the questions to, or even pointing the gun at.
"That watch they found at the scene of Jay Strong's murder. It was a Rolex, but it was a knockoff. Someone like a CEO wouldn't wear a knockoff, would he?"
"No," sniffed Taylor. "I wear the real deal."
"Show him your watch, Adam," I said. "It's the real deal. The one you stole from your boss."
"I didn't ... I didn't steal it," he stammered.
"Oh? Did you call swapping watches with him something other than stealing? The watch your boss dropped at the hotel room had to be yours. It was a knockoff. Which I'm sure the police will figure out. These things are usually numbered somewhere. The company knows who got what. And then you'll be the one the police will charge with double murder. If you're lucky you'll get life, otherwise you're looking at a lethal injection."
"What?!" Adam said, his voice rising. "Malcolm, I'm sorry I took it. You leave it lying around all the time. I swapped mine for yours for a couple of days. I wanted to show off. I just borrowed a watch, for goodness sake. I didn't murder anyone!"
I shook my head. "The funny thing is, kid, the police aren't going to care. They'll identify it as your watch that was at the murder scene, and you'll take the blame for killing Jay Strong. And they'll see it was your vehicle that ran over Hector Ferris. The police won't believe you never left that AFI gathering. They'll figure you just snuck out, took your Explorer and drove over to Hector's house. Then drove back."
"Why would I do that?" he exclaimed. "That's crazy!"
"Sure it is. But your boss won't back you up. If he did, he'd be the one going to prison for life. Or maybe worse. It's always the underlings that take the hit for the boss, not vice versa. Right, Malcolm?"
Malcolm Taylor was processing this and looked intrigued with what he was hearing. An odd expression appeared on the corner of his mouth. The idea that he might be able to squirm out of this nasty situation had to be remarkably appealing. A minute ago, it was looking like he might have to kill me and then orchestrate a tricky maneuver to dispose of my body. And have an explanation for the police, in case Adam squealed. Or maybe shoot Adam, too. Now he had options.
"Even if I were to agree to go forward with that, and pin it on Adam," Malcolm said, "I still have the problem of you to deal with. Adam I know. You, I don't."
I took a breath and knew I would now have to put on a bravo finale. My next few words were critical. I had to convince Malcolm that I was on his side. This was an act I would need to do well if I was going to emerge from this mess alive. Having spent time recruiting high school football players for USC had sharpened my selling skills. And having grown up in L.A. might help me as well. They say every man here is an actor. Now, I'd have to prove it.
"Malcolm, I'm a reasonable man. Pay me a reasonable fee and I'll shut up. I have every reason to want to help you, because that's my one way out. I'll help you pin it all on Adam. He's your only option. The police need a culprit in the Hector Ferris murder. Adam is perfect. Better than perfect. He's tailor-made to play the part."
Adam's eyes darted back and forth, and he had the wild expression of someone who just realized he had been thrown into a parallel universe. "Malcolm, this is crazy," he pleaded. "You can't seriously consider this."
Malcolm Taylor looked at Adam and then looked back at me. "What do you consider reasonable?"
My mind raced. Too low and he'd know I wasn't serious. Too high and he'd balk. I licked my lips some more. In the back of my mind, I recognized licking my lips was a tell. But it was practically involuntary. "I'll do it for a million bucks," I s
aid. "Cash. And when I get it, I'll disappear forever. Keep Adam around, and he'll always have that leverage over you."
Malcolm rolled this over in his mind. He wasn't rejecting it outright, which was a good sign. But out of the corner of my eye, I realized Adam Gee was processing this, too. And he was the one who acted first.
It all happened so quickly. In a split second, Adam flung his steaming venti latte straight into Malcolm's face. Yelping in pain and blinded by the hot drink, Malcolm lowered the gun. Both Adam and I leaped at it, with Adam reaching Malcolm first and grabbing a hold of his arm. I was now debating the curious choice of who to punch in the face. This was not a decision that could be mulled over. But the choice was fairly easy in one regard. Adam's back was to me, and his face was tucked down and out of reach. Malcolm's, on the other hand, was in full view, easily accessible, and both of his hands were occupied, busy trying to maintain control of his gun.
I caught Malcolm with a solid right cross to the jaw. Coupled with the hot cup of coffee splashed in his face, he didn't have a lot of fortitude. His body crumpled, and his grip on the gun loosened. He didn't fall, rather, he slid slightly, trying awkwardly to maintain his equilibrium. His left hand grabbed at the desk in an attempt to steady himself. In so doing, Adam pulled the gun away. He was fumbling with it, trying desperately to secure it in his right hand and insert his finger onto the trigger.
The problem with a three-way fight is you never know who is going to do what. While I didn't think the world would be worse off if Adam aimed the gun at Malcolm and fired, there remained the ancillary issue of what Adam would do with me. Witnesses are a nuisance to the murderer, regardless of any extenuating circumstances. And I didn't think the young man would look kindly upon me, even though I had no intention of letting Malcolm Taylor slip out of this one, and I was in no way going to help him pin the murder on Adam. The big problem for me was, I feared, Adam didn't know that.
The chance to seize control of a situation is optimal when things are in flux. As one of my political science professors at USC once said, through chaos comes opportunity. Adam had managed to tighten his grip on the .357 when I reached him. Just as he was turning toward us, I reached over, raised my balled left fist high in the air, and slammed it down hard on his right forearm. Using a chopping motion that would please any martial arts instructor, I kept moving my arm forward, and followed through with the blow. Adam gasped in pain. The gun tumbled onto the floor and, because my arm was already swinging in a downward arc, my hand was the one closest to being able to retrieve it.
