ColorofDeath

by Elizabeth Lowell

  How could this happen?

  “Talk to me,” she demanded, turning to face him. “And put a cork in the beer. If word of this gets out, Sizemore Security Consulting is ruined.”

  He ignored her until he finished the second beer. Then he reached for a third.

  With startling quickness, Sharon stepped between her father and the vat of icy beer. “No.”

  He started to shove her aside, only to find that she was stronger than she looked.

  “It’s my life too,” she said angrily. “Tell me what’s going on and then you can drink beer until you’re too drunk to care about anything but the next beer.”

  Sizemore started to explode, then decided she was right. The beer could wait.

  “This is much too important to screw up with a father-daughter shouting match,” she said.

  He shrugged. He hated when she was right, which was a hell of a lot more often than he gave her credit for.

  “What do you want to know?” he muttered.

  “This Kirby dude. Where is he now?”

  “The morgue.”

  She let out a long breath. “Well, that’s going to make it hard to question him.”

  Sizemore gave a laugh that was more like a grunt. “Maybe that’s the whole idea. Dead man, no witnesses but Groves and the CI he’s shagging. Easy enough to point the finger at someone else.”

  “Kennedy has known you too long to buy their bull.”

  “I hope so.” Sizemore looked at his watch. “I expected him to call by now to apologize.”

  She frowned and narrowed her eyes at something only she could see. “So you have a vague connection to Kirby and Kirby is dead. What else could Groves use against you?”

  “There’s a leak somewhere on the crime strike force. Groves wants to pin it on me.”

  “How?”

  “How?” he repeated sarcastically. “Shit, use your head for something besides blowing Peyton. I run a security operation. I have access to a lot of courier information.”

  “So do other people. The CI’s father, for instance. Is Groves barking up that tree?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about the couriers themselves?”

  “You think they set themselves up to be killed?” Sizemore asked in rising tones.

  “Maybe they just expected to get part of the take and they got killed instead. Besides, most of the couriers never even know anything has happened until they check the trunk. They report the theft and walk away perfectly healthy. Only the insurance companies cry.”

  Sizemore frowned. “And we look like dickheads.”

  “Maybe Mandel Inc. was working with dirty couriers,” Sharon continued. “Maybe the son found out and something went wrong.”

  “You think the man killed his own son?”

  “Read the Bible. Hell, read the newspapers. It happens all the time. Maybe no one meant for anyone to get hurt,” she said, waving her hand impatiently. “Maybe that’s just the way it turned out. Shit happens.”

  Sizemore pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “I like it. Can we prove it?”

  “I don’t know.” She went and sat by her computer again. “But if we put our minds to it, we might be able to inflate the theory enough to keep us afloat.”

  Chapter 63

  Glendale

  Sunday

  5:30 P.M.

  “When do you think he’ll call?” Kate asked.

  Sam shifted, lifting her to a more comfortable position on top of him. They’d flipped a coin for top or bottom and he’d lost. Not that he was complaining. The floor wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It was just that the bed was a lot more accommodating.

  Or had been. Right now the bedroom smelled like industrial strength cleaners. Kate wouldn’t even look at it.

  He didn’t blame her.

  Besides, the living room floor had a lot to recommend it. Convenience, for starters. Oh, yeah. It was convenient. He smiled at the memory. He liked having her come apart in his hands, his arms, both of them too hungry to make it more than three steps inside the front door to shut off the alarm. He could get used to that kind of heat and loving.

  Who are you trying to fool? You’re already used to it. What are you going to do when this is all over? Ask her to make ice cubes in Fargo with you? Because that’s where you’ll be until hell freezes solid or your twenty years are up, whichever comes first.

  But until they broke the case, he had Kate, all warm and soft, covering him like a dream.

  “Sam?”

  “Mmm?” he asked, running his thumb down her spine to the alluring shadow between her buttocks.

  She moved her hips and both of them took a swift breath.

  “Kennedy,” she said breathlessly. “When will he call?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he’ll believe the connections we made?”

  “He doesn’t have much choice. But just in case…” Reluctantly, Sam lifted Kate and slid out from under.

  “What?”

  He dropped her slacks on top of her and zipped up his own. “Back to work.”

  “Slave driver.”

  “You weren’t complaining earlier.”

  She smiled and slanted him the kind of glance that told him she was remembering the second time, when she’d begged him to finish and he’d just kept on moving slow and easy and deep until she came so hard she almost blacked out.

  He grinned.

  “You look real smug,” she said, pulling on her thong.

  “All your fault.”

  “Yeah?”

  He slid a fingertip down from her belly button to the crease where her right leg joined her body, then lower, lower, skimming lightly, like a tongue tasting. “Yeah.”

  She blew her hair out of her face. “Keep that up and it will be round three.”

  “You have an optimistic view of my ability.”

  She grinned and nipped lightly on his chin. “All your fault,” she said, repeating his words as she stepped into her jeans. “In fact —”

  Sam’s cell phone rang. Since he’d never made it all the way out of his pants, everything was still within reach. He pulled the cell phone off his belt and looked at the code. “Mecklin.”

  “Is that some kind of exotic curse?” she asked.

  “No. It’s an agent in Florida.”

  Kate measured Sam’s expression. Playtime over. Back to work for both of them. “Okay, I’ll make some sandwiches while you talk. I wouldn’t want your, uh, ability to flag for lack of food.”

  He was smiling as he answered the call. The smile didn’t last past Mecklin’s first words.

  “Somebody is closing down the pipeline.”

  “Which one?” Sam asked.

  “The sapphire one — Florida to L.A.”

  The last of Sam’s sexy good humor vanished. “Who? Where?”

  “Remember the de Santos cousins I told you about in L.A.?”

  “Eduardo and José, the cutter and the launderer?”

  “Bingo. They were murdered last night.”

  “Any suspects?” Sam asked.

  “In José’s case, given the necktie, they’re looking for a Colombian connection.”

  “Any mutt with a knife can do a necktie.”

  “Yeah,” Mecklin agreed. “Gotta love copycats.”

  “What about Eduardo?”

  “Torture and strangulation.”

  Sam grunted. “Anything at the crime scenes?”

  “Blood and dead bodies.”

  “How are the cops treating it?”

  Mecklin laughed without humor. “Like two cold cases in the making. Everyone is talking to the usual suspects, knocking on nearby doors, filing reports, and all the rest of the brain-dead routine. Like I said — the cops know a case that’s headed for the cold files. They’ll save their energy for something they have a chance of solving.”

  Sam couldn’t blame the locals. There were lots of murders in L.A. When someone with known gang c
onnections died, not a whole lot of sweat or tears got used up finding out who and when and why.

  “Okay, they got the L.A. end of the pipeline,” Sam said. “Was Hall Jewelry robbed?”

  “The cutting room was busted up some, the safe was opened. Nothing left but a couple of stones that got spilled on the way out.”

  “What kind of stones?”

  “How the hell would I — wait.”

  Sam heard the other agent tapping at a computer keyboard.

  “Red,” Mecklin said after a minute.

  “Red?”

  “Stones. The stuff that was dropped on the floor was red. That’s all that the cops said. If you need more information, wait for the insurance report.”

  “No thanks. I was hoping for blue stones. Wonder if the murderer was too.”

  “What?” Mecklin asked.

  “Nothing. Just thinking aloud. What about Seguro Jimenez, the Florida end of the pipeline? Is he okay?”

  “According to his wife, he’s visiting family in Ecuador.”

  “You believe her?”

  “I believe that the grapevine got to Seguro before I did,” Mecklin said. “I believe he already knew about the de Santos murders. Either he had a part in them, was afraid he was next, or he was next and we haven’t found the body. Any way it comes down, he’s gone somewhere that we can’t get to him.”

  “End of pipeline.”

  “Looks that way. Sorry I don’t have better news.”

  “I’ll take what I can get. Keep on Seguro. If you hear he’s back in town —”

  “I’ll be on him like a streetwalker wanting out of the rain,” Mecklin cut in.

  “Thanks.”

  Sam punched the end button, saw the battery was low, and went to the suitcase he’d brought to Kate’s house. By the time he’d set up the charger and plugged it in, then unloaded his files and computer onto various worktables, Kate appeared in the door of the workroom. She was carrying a tray of sandwiches and fruit. A big pitcher of iced tea unbalanced the tray.

  “I’ll take that,” Sam said, lifting the pitcher.

  “Thanks. That should keep us going until the coffee is ready.”

  He looked at the half gallon of tea. It had been hot outside, but not that hot. “Thirsty?”

  “Sure am. Gee, I wonder why.”

  He smiled slowly. “Same here.”

  “You wonder why?”

  “I know why I’m thirsty. Want me to tell you?”

  Her lips turned up in a very female smile. “Sure, but only if you’re not going to slip into cop mode at the wrong moment.”

  “Is there a right moment?”

  “Last night was a good one. It saved our butts.” She handed him a thick sandwich made from the leftovers of last night’s chicken. For the first time in hours, looking at food didn’t make her stomach flip. “Did, uh, Meckler —”

  “Mecklin,” Sam said around a big bite.

  “Mecklin have anything interesting to say?”

  “Two men died in L.A. last night.”

  “And this was unusual how?”

  “They were the two men most likely to have handled the big sapphire on its way to Purcell.”

  Her hand hesitated before it reached a sandwich. “How so?”

  “One laundered Colombian money through the gold market in L.A. The other was a cutter in L.A. Both were de Santos, cousins of a cousin of a friend of a cousin to Seguro in Florida, the man who insists he didn’t buy the big blue gem from the her/him act.”

  Kate blinked, almost smiled, and said, “I want a big kiss.”

  “Why?”

  “I understood that.”

  A corner of Sam’s mouth turned up. “I’ll owe it to you. Every time I get my hands on you, we end up on the floor.”

  “Or against a wall.”

  He grinned and kept taking big, efficient bites of food.

  “Were any more sapphires found?” Kate asked as she took a cautious nibble of sandwich.

  “No.”

  “Anything to connect the deaths with Purcell?”

  “Does a necktie and torture count?” He saw the look on her face and kicked himself. “Sorry, darling. I keep forgetting you aren’t a cop. You sure handled yourself like one last night.”

  “Pure, undiluted practice. I was terrified.”

  “Why do you think repetition and drills are such a big part of any cop’s or soldier’s training?”

  “I was still screaming in my mind,” she said.

  “You think I wasn’t?”

  “I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but it does. Even if it isn’t quite true.” Kate blew out a long breath and returned to her sandwich.

  Sam had already finished his and was looking hopefully at the tray.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be lucky to eat this.”

  He scooped up the last sandwich and went to the worktable where he’d spread out his files.

  “Why hasn’t Kennedy called?” Kate asked.

  “You mean to grovel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t hold your breath on that. He’s probably checking facts and then checking them again while he looks for other explanations. He sure as hell isn’t going to be eager to pull the trigger on his old buddy Sizemore.”

  “Neither are you.”

  Sam didn’t argue. “Sizemore is a prick, but that’s not a good enough reason to ruin his reputation. The evidence we have is largely circumstantial. And…” After a moment, he shrugged.

  “And what?”

  “And I’d like a backup position if Kennedy doesn’t go for our interpretation of the facts.”

  “What backup position?”

  “Good question.” He looked at the files and tablets and sticky notes. “Let’s hope we find an answer.”

  Chapter 64

  Scottsdale

  Sunday

  8:10 P.M.

  Kennedy’s expression was grim. His office was wearing a shroud of cigarette smoke. The ashtray looked like a funeral pyre.

  “It’ll never stand up in court,” he said the instant Sam and Kate walked in.

  Sam looked at Doug.

  Doug looked like he had a toothache.

  “What’s the problem?” Sam asked, turning back to Kennedy.

  “Circumstantial,” the SSA said succinctly. “All of it. No hard evidence. Any defense lawyer could shove it up our ass.”

  “If it was only one circumstance or two or three, sure,” Sam said. “But no one else had the information that Sizemore did. Not us, not —”

  “What about Mandel Inc.?” Doug asked. “They had it.”

  Sam’s fingers pressed against Kate’s wrist, warning her to be quiet.

  “Doesn’t fly,” Sam said.

  “Why not?” Kennedy demanded. “They sure as hell knew their son was carrying the goods their daughter cut.”

  “You’re out of your bureaucratic mind!” Kate said, ignoring Sam’s silent warning. “Dad wouldn’t kill his own son!”

  “Nobody’s saying he meant to,” Kennedy said calmly. “Ninety-nine percent of courier heists don’t even result in a hangnail to the courier, much less death. Something just went wrong.”

  “Like what?” she asked sarcastically. “Lee tripped and broke his neck and a flock of vultures carried him off to the mangrove swamp for a snack?”

  “Look, Ms. Chandler,” Kennedy said. “I know how hard this is on you.”

  “You don’t have the faintest idea. Last night someone tried to kill us and I ended up with blood and bone and — stuff— all over the —” She took a sawing breath. “Never mind. That’s not important. The point is that my father wouldn’t kill my brother.”

  “Admirable sentiment, and quite expected,” Kennedy said. “But I could think of several scenarios in which your brother’s death would be required. Regrettable, I’m sure, but still necessary.”

  “Name them,” she said through pale, tight lips.

  Kennedy looked at Doug.


  Doug looked right back at him.

  “If the heist was supposed to be clean and quiet,” Sam said evenly, not wanting Doug to get in any more trouble than he already was, “and Lee happened onto the scene and recognized his father or some other Mandel employee, then Lee had to die, right? But since it’s basically a family business, the father is the most likely suspect.”

  Kate wanted to object. The pressure of Sam’s fingers around her wrist made her think better of it. That and the clear sense that he was a breath away from losing his temper and going right over the desk after Kennedy.

  “Very good,” Kennedy said sardonically. “I guess you haven’t lost your perspective after all.”

  Sam ignored him. “Or Lee could have been in on it from the start, and his father found out, they argued, and Lee ended up dead.”

  Kennedy nodded.

  “Or Lee could have been innocent and his father wasn’t,” Sam continued. “Argument, same result.”

  Again, Kennedy nodded. He reached for another cigarette, lit it, and began to look relaxed for the first time.

  Doug didn’t. He just kept looking at Sam as though he expected the other man to pull his weapon and start shooting.

  “The only problem with those scenarios,” Sam continued in his dangerously neutral tone, “is that they assume a single death unrelated to any other courier heist, which we know isn’t the case.”

  Kennedy threw the lighter on his desk. “What are you talking about? Of course the heists are connected. Even if the MOs are mixed — hell, I’ll give you your goddamn Teflon gang — there’s not one single reason to assume the Florida hit was a one-off.”

  “I agree,” Sam said. “Which leads us to the second problem.”

  Doug braced himself.

  Kennedy picked up a letter opener and tested its edge. Not sharp enough. Not nearly as sharp as Sam Fucking Groves. “I’m listening,” Kennedy said, putting down the tool.

  “The outstanding features of the courier heists I’ve concentrated on were technical skill, inside information, and the kind of training usually associated with special law-enforcement and/or military teams. That’s what makes them Teflon. They’re smarter and a lot better trained than your average mutt. Or their boss is. Kirby was smart, but I don’t think he was the boss. He didn’t have a way to get the inside information unless someone gave it to him. Someone who was already inside.”