She turned to look at me, sizing me up again.
I realized she’d just let something slip and was looking to see my reaction.
“You live together,” I said. “That’s no big deal in my book. I live with a robot, after all.”
She nodded, still eyeing me. When she was apparently satisfied, she said, “I brought her back home and we talked things through. I’d gotten the APB at home about the boy, but I agreed with Wanda that her brother’s death hadn’t been random. Someone knew he had the boy. And if they were so quick to kill Wayne, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill the kid, too. Or anyone else who knew where he’d ended up after his parents died.”
“So, you knew you couldn’t take him to the station.”
“And we couldn’t keep him with us.”
“Enter Jed Strait,” I said.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“There’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Just one?”
I smiled and said, “When Wanda’s brother called it in…he had to go through a dispatcher, right?”
“Yes. And there was an order from Buckman that any information on the boy should go straight to him.”
“So, the dispatcher would have put the call through to the chief. At home, do you suppose?”
“By that time? Probably. I don’t know if he went to the murder scene. And I don’t know if she put the call through or just relayed the message.”
I nodded. “Either way, the only people that knew Wayne called in about the boy are the dispatcher, the chief, and the killer?”
“And Wanda.”
“Of course. But no one else knows she was at the coffeeshop or with her brother that night.”
“That’s right,” O’Neal said.
“So…are the cops looking at the dispatcher? Or the chief?”
“Neither one.”
This surprised me. “Why not?”
“There’s no record of Wayne calling in last night. If the dispatcher put it through to the chief like she was supposed to, she didn’t log it.”
“Which means you have no idea who took the call.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?”
“What are you not telling me?”
“One of our dispatchers didn’t make it home after her shift last night. Her name’s Irma Lozano. 48 with four kids and a husband. She clocked out about an hour after Wayne called it in.”
“And then?”
“And then this morning the forest patrol found her car at the bottom of a ravine in the San Gabriel mountains. Irma’s body was thrown from the vehicle, but they found her eventually.”
I tightened my jaw at this latest revelation and then said, “And that’s why you think your phone is tapped.”
“Not just mine. Whoever the killer is, they can’t listen to every call that goes in or out. But I don’t want to take a chance, you know?”
“Can’t blame you,” I said. “So…are you looking at the chief on this?”
She shrugged. “He looks good for it, but I’ve got no motive. He and Wheatley go way back, always on the same side of things. The coroner seems to be leaning in favor of the wife pulling the trigger both times. If it wasn’t for Wayne getting killed trying to do the right thing with the boy, there’d be no indication that the Wheatleys were anything but murder/suicide.”
“And you and Wanda are the only ones who know Wayne called it in.”
“The only ones still alive. Other than the killer, of course,” she said.
“If Irma patched the call through to the chief like she was supposed to, would he have had time to get to Atwater Village and kill Wayne?”
“Probably. He lives in Los Feliz, too. Not far from the Wheatley house.”
“But would he?”
“I can’t say. He’s a power-hungry son of a bitch, but would he really kill the DA two days after announcing his run for governor? They had that whole ceremony up at the observatory, and Wheatley was there with him. Right hand man.”
“All right,” I said. “If not the chief, then who?”
“You got me,” she said. “Someone powerful in the department. Someone who could have gotten to the dispatchers who were working that night and made sure any calls about Jack didn’t go to the chief like they were supposed to. I can’t very easily start interviewing the other dispatchers, though, without drawing attention to myself now, can I?”
“I don’t suppose you can. Besides, what would be the motive?”
She shook her head. “A case Wheatley was getting set to prosecute, maybe. Something that might expose a dirty cop once the witnesses start testifying…I don’t know.”
“Have you looked into his upcoming cases?”
“I’m starting that process. But, like I said, I have to make sure that any digging I do isn’t obvious. I can’t draw attention to what I’m looking into.”
I nodded my understanding and said, “So, what do you do until something breaks?”
“Keep the boy safe. And keep nosing around as quietly as I can.”
“You’re going to have to produce him sooner or later, aren’t you? Or else set yourself up for some charge or other?”
“Yes. A day or two. Then I’ll have to figure out Plan B.”
“And you’re going to keep me out of the mess when the pot boils over, right?”
“I’ll do my best, Jed. Some pots don’t boil, though. They blow.”
I sighed and said, “All right. I’m in it now. What choice do I have?”
She smiled. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
We started pedaling again, O’Neal steering us back toward shore.
“On the Hennigar thing?” I asked as we neared the dock.
She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing, Jed. Not if you want to keep it close to the buttons. You want me to open an investigation, I can get some manpower on it. Maybe locate this guy and get him hauled in before your deadline.”
“I don’t want him hauled in, and that’s not what I was going to ask about.”
“If you don’t want him hauled in, then I don’t think I want to hear anymore.”
“What I’ve got planned isn’t illegal. I promise.”
“All right,” she said, her tone still dubious. “What did you need, then?”
“Have you got any leads on where Beadle’s hiding yet?”
“I do, actually.”
“A good lead?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had time to assess it. It’s just a lead.”
“All right. When you find him, I want a piece of him,” I said as we reached the dock. “There’s no way Hennigar would have found his way to me without Cosmo having given me up in exchange for a moment’s safety, which will give me some leverage.”
“What kind of leverage do you need?”
“I thought you didn’t want to hear any more.”
“And you said you weren’t going to commit any crimes.”
“I’m not,” I said as I climbed out of the boat. “It’s that Beadle could play an important part in making things smoother in my non-criminal endeavors. Which he owes me, having thrown more than a few wrinkles at me of late.”
This time, I offered the detective my hand to steady herself with as she stepped over the seat I’d just been in and then climbed onto the dock with me. I was a little surprised that she accepted the help.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll let you know how this lead pans out if I have a few minutes to work it.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
She smiled and reached for her purse to light another cigarette.
“You have any more of those blackouts?” she asked.
“No. Thankfully.”
Blowing smoke into the air, she said, “You should still see a doctor.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Which means no.”
I smiled and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thanks for the ride,” I said as I turned in the direction of my car.
Chapter Four
I drove back to the office where I checked on Peggy. On any other day, I would have been eager to hear that we’d gotten a referral or that some business had come in off the street. Now, I was hoping that business stayed quiet—all of my energy being given over to putting a cap on the threat represented by Hennigar and the possibility of icing Elsa Schwartz’s plans to use her stolen Chavezium and Klaus Lang’s notebook for evil purposes. Having to make room in my day—and in my mind—for the problem of Jack Wheatley was all the distraction I could handle.
My secretary was at her post, as usual.
“Anything?” I asked as I walked into the lobby.
Peggy smiled and said, “Not if you count new business.”
“Old business?”
“Just this,” she said, opening a desk drawer and pulling out an envelope.
She handed it to me, and I saw it was from Imelda Bettencourt. Peggy had already sliced it open and—I was sure—examined the contents. This meant that I didn’t need to bother.
“It’s all there?” I asked.
“Every penny.”
“Good.”
“And a note,” she said with a sly smile.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
Peggy spread her hands wide, mimicking the look of the title cards used in old silent pictures, and then gave her best approximation of what Imelda had written. “Payment in full. While my client was happy with the outcome, I need you to know that I was not. This terminates our professional relationship.”
“I killed the golden goose.”
“You certainly did,” Peggy said. “But you’ll notice that she left the door open for an unprofessional relationship.”
“Please.”
Her smile widened. “I can see it now. You and Imelda in the ballroom at the Avalon Hotel, the maître de falling all over himself to meet your whims.”
She laughed at her own joke. I tried my best not to smile but then gave up.
“You can get that into the bank?” I asked.
“Sure. You want to sign or shall I forge your signature?”
I gestured for a pen and reached for the envelope, ignoring the hand-written dismissal inside.
As I signed the check, I said, “And how are things going with the assignment I gave you?”
“You tell me,” she said as she slid open a desk drawer and pulled out a file folder. Laying it on the desktop, she opened the folder and took out four glossy eight-by-tens. I looked down at the photos, each one portraying a different dark-haired woman, all in their late twenties or early thirties.
The first looked like a wholesome farmgirl despite the business suit she wore in the publicity shot. I tapped the picture and said, “Looks too innocent. You heard her accent?”
“I did,” Peggy said. “Very German. Very stern despite the soda fountain demeanor.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, considering the other three.
None were dead ringers for Elsa. That would have been asking too much. But a ringer wasn’t required. All I needed was a woman who could be mistaken for Elsa for just a few seconds, long enough to let me get the jump on Hennigar and put the rest of my plan into action.
“How’d the rest sound?” I asked.
“All good. All convincing.”
“You have a favorite?”
She looked at them for a moment, the faces all upside down from her perspective. Then she tapped the third one and said, “She sounded the scariest. The iciest, I guess you might say. I’ve never met this Schwartz woman, so I can’t say for sure. But if we’re just looking for a woman to play a power-hungry German scientist, she’s the one I’d go with.”
I nodded. “That’s good enough for me. Give her a call and tell her I’ll need her the night of the 23rd. Tell her from eight to midnight.”
“Should I tell her it might be dangerous?”
“No. Just tell her she’s acting. Give her the scenario but don’t let it be known that Hennigar might be a tough guy. Just tell her I need her to convince someone that I’ve found a missing German heiress and leave it that. And tell her she gets paid whether I end up needing her or not.”
“So, there’s a chance you won’t need her?”
“Yes,” I said. “If I can find the real Elsa and get her back here in time, then I won’t need the actress.”
“And what exactly are you planning to do if you can’t find Elsa? Won’t this guy figure out you’ve brought a stand-in?”
“I’m sure he will, but by then it’ll be too late. I just need Miss…what’s her name?”
Peggy flipped the photo over and read the name off the back. “Elizabeth Dade.”
“I just need Miss Dade to buy me a few seconds’ distraction, and then the rest of my plan should all fall into place.”
“Which is?”
I smiled. “Classified,” I said and left it at that. Tapping the photo, I added, “Get it set up, please. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Also, the first plan I was trying to set up isn’t going to come together.”
She gave me a look of mock disappointment. “You mean I won’t have to field a thousand phone calls over the next few days?”
“You’re spared,” I said. “But don’t look be too happy about it. I would have paid you overtime.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she answered with a smug smile.
After finishing at the office, I headed back to Chavez Ravine, planning on collecting my temporary charge and my hat. The route between my office and Garcia Industries was a well-worn path, one I probably could have navigated in my sleep—which was partly why it was so surprising when I ended up somewhere else.
The last thing I remember was turning right onto Broadway, the Winslow’s nose heading in the direction of Chinatown and the downtown end of Sunset Boulevard.
And then I was standing at the counter in a liquor store I did not recognize. Fancy bottles lined the top shelf that rimmed the perimeter, a hundred variations on amber shining through the glass.
The man in front of me was in his fifties, balding and with a confused expression on his face. He wore a leather apron and had a feather duster poking out of his hip pocket.
On the glass counter between us was a large bottle of Scotch.
The cash register showed a dollar figure that I wasn’t used to staring down in exchange for a single item: $8.25.
“Paying up is customarily the next step,” he said as he crossed his arms across his chest.
“And this bottle is that much?” I asked, pointing at the register.
“It certainly is.”
Jed Strait, I thought. Whichever one of me you are, you’re going to have to stop trying to get me in trouble.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve reconsidered,” I said.
“You knew how much it was gonna be before I rung it up,” he said, disgust in his tone.
“Yeah, but…like I said. I’ve reconsidered.”
“But I already rung it up,” he said, uncrossing his arms and holding one palm out toward the register like it was the prime exhibit in a murder trial.
“You’ll need to unring it then.”
“Doesn’t work that way.”
I sighed and tried offering him a disarming smile. “I don’t know what to say. I was…temporarily bereft of my wits.”
“I’ll bereave you, pal,” he said, his face growing red.
“And I’ll just see myself out.”
“Get the hell out!” he said. “And don’t even think about coming back around.”
I turned and headed for the door, glad to get outside without the conflict getting any worse. The man’s words echoed in my mind, though.
As I reached the sidewalk and looked up and down the street for my car, I recalled what had occurred when I’d been hijacked the night before. According to Charlie, the grizzled gambler and recipient of a nasty knife wound, the Jed who’d steered me to the gambling den had tol
d Stony G that I’d see her around. Moments later, that Jed had been gone, leaving me back in the driver’s seat. And now the clerk in the liquor store had just told me not to think about returning. It was the sort of thing any merchant would say to a deadbeat. But what if he’d said it because I—or the Jed who’d just occupied my mind—had said something similar inside the store about seeing the clerk again?
If so, it might mean that this Jed and the one from last night were the same. It might also mean that he had some inkling that control of my body was slipping away, prompting him to spill that little message to the people he was interacting with.
The only way to know if my doppelganger had actually said such a thing would be to walk back into the liquor store and ask. And I had no intention of doing that.
I spotted the Winslow about eight cars up a street that I did not recognize. When I checked my watch, I was surprised to see that more than an hour had passed since I’d left Peggy at the office.
Small favors that it wasn’t longer, I thought as I got into the car, also reminding myself to be grateful this other Jed hadn’t opted to go back to Stony G’s. He’d purchased liquor the night before, though, maybe even getting it here, so maybe that was a pattern.
As I pulled away from the curb and headed for the first corner, I checked the street sign. The name on the sign meant nothing to me, and I guessed that he had brought me south of downtown again. More than likely, this was his territory in the world he lived in, and he kept bringing me here every chance he got.
In the daylight, I had a better idea of where I was than I’d been able to grasp in the dark and the rain on the previous night. I’d been down this way before, and I knew it was a rough section of town. The fact that I was apparently being repeatedly taken over by the same Jed—and one who had a predilection for expensive booze, illegal gambling, and a part of town where bodies often showed up in alleyways—made me even more leery of spending unsupervised time with young Jack Wheatley. It just wouldn’t do to get hijacked by this other Jed with the boy in my care.
I made the drive back to Chavez Ravine as quickly as I could, paranoid now that I wouldn’t make it before getting hijacked again. My fears went unrealized, though, and within half an hour I was parking in front of the old inventor’s patchy lawn.
The Fedora Fandango: A Dieselpunk Adventure (The Crossover Case Files Book 5) Page 5
