Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

  "What the hell are you doing in here?" Bensen, his cheeks white with anger, stood inside the door.

  "I got lost trying to find my way out."

  Bensen strode across the room and flipped the whiteboard around to its blank side.

  "You've got no right to be in here. You know I could have you arrested?"

  "For what? Getting lost?"

  "For obstructing a police investigation. This is a murder case. "

  "Yeah, I kind of knew that already. You think that arresting the son of one of the murder victims is a good move? The press would love that."

  Bensen flushed. "Are you threatening me?"

  "No. Just stating the likely outcome of arresting me. That wouldn't be smart."

  "I don't care who you are. You stay right away from anything to do with this case."

  "You didn't say that when you invited me into the crime scene the other day."

  "That was then. This is now. I needed a comparison of the two crime scenes and you were the best person for that. Thanks for your help. I have noted all the salient points you made. But now it is crucial that the investigation is objective and not compromised. I can't have the son of one of the victims anywhere near the case. If I get an arrest, can you imagine what the defense would do with the fact that you were in any way helping out with the investigation? It would ruin any case I had. If you want this person caught and bought to trial you have to stay right away."

  "You're only right about the caught part."

  His eyes hardened and he stepped closer, perhaps trying to intimidate me. This might have had more effect if he didn't come up only to my chin.

  "That's exactly what I mean. You're hot-headed and just waiting to explode. You're a threat to me, to my investigation and probably to all of your friends. Now get out of here and don't let me catch you anywhere near my case, or I swear I'll throw you into jail no matter what the media might think. I'm not scared of the media. I can handle them."

  Bensen had a strange glint in his eye when he said this and I realized that this was exactly what he was after. Publicity. He knew what this sort of case could do for his career. It was an O.J. Simpson case. A serial killer with a headline-grabbing name who stole victims' hearts. He was going to hitch himself to this case and make himself a star.

  I took a step towards him. "My parents didn't die so you could become famous, you son of a bitch."

  His eyes flicked around. It was late and everyone had left. He avoided my eyes as he stepped over to a desk and picked up a sheath of papers. "Get out of here before I have you thrown out." He riffled through the papers.

  I grabbed the edge of the free-standing whiteboard and yanked down hard. It spun around, end over end, with the photos flapping. Bensen dropped the papers and snared it as I opened the door.

  "Hey, Bensen! You want the media you better catch this guy soon. If I get him there'll be nothing for you to ride on."

  * * * *

  After seeing the media camped outside, I took a back exit out of the precinct station. It was close to midnight and a light drizzle was falling. I stepped out the back door and bumped straight into Liz.

  "Tan!"

  "Hi, Liz."

  She stood with her hands in the pockets of her long, black, leather coat, the collar turned up against the rain. "What happened? How's Troy? Have they released him?"

  "No. They're going to charge him with possession and firearm offences."

  "Tan, that'll ruin him. The Turbos will sack him and who will pick him up with his history?"

  "I know. The drugs and gun were planted, Liz. I'll do my best to find out who did it."

  "Why is this happening? Who would want to do this to him?"

  "He hasn't said anything to you?"

  "No. He shuts me down whenever I try to talk about it. Why would he do that? Doesn't he want to know who is doing this to him?"

  I shrugged. "Perhaps he already knows, that's why."

  Her brown eyes were like black pools in the night. "Already knows? Then why hasn't he told me? Why hasn't he done anything about it?"

  "That's a good question. Why don't you ask him?"

  "I will, don't worry about that." She held onto my arm. "Any news about Cupid?"

  "Well, according to New York's finest he could be a thirty-year-old, good-looking doctor or a psychotic mental patient. Take your pick."

  "No leads at all?"

  "I think they're close to finding other victims, which should give them some leads but I think Mr. McGoo has more chance of catching Cupid than Bensen."

  "But you're not going to wait for Bensen to catch him are you?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I think you want to catch him and deal with him yourself. That would be a mistake, Tan." Our faces were inches apart. Her skin looked as soft and smooth as brown velvet.

  "The only mistake would be if this guy was to live out the rest of his life in prison." My voice was rough.

  "No. The mistake would be you going to jail for killing someone so far beneath you it would be like doing time for stomping an ant. The mistake would be for Jade and...us to lose you."

  The drizzle grew heavier as we stood silent, contemplating each other. A car door slammed somewhere.

  "You'd better go up. He'll need someone."

  "And you? Who do you need?" she said.

  She turned and disappeared inside before I could think of an answer.

  * * * *

  "So, was that your girlfriend?"

  I turned towards the voice. A dark figure stood in the shelter of the building.

  "Is this what you do at night? Hang around in the rain and darkness surprising people?"

  "Pretty much." Bob pushed away from the wall and walked over to me. "It's not as bad as it seems though. You get to see a whole other side of people. Take you, for instance. First you were an astrologist, then a football player, and now a criminal. You certainly don't stick to type do you?"

  "I wasn't charged. They released me."

  "Oh, scratch the criminal part then. What about Decker?"

  I was silent.

  "So, he wasn't so lucky. Why was he carrying drugs and a handgun?"

  "Do you really think I'm going to answer that?"

  She grinned. "Not really. Can you explain why the drugs and gun were in Decker's car?"

  "That's a good question. Do you think Decker would do that with the state his career is in at the moment?"

  "You think someone planted them in the car? Why would someone do that? Does he have any enemies?"

  "You know as much as me."

  "Now that would be a good story. Even better than a fallen sports star is a sports star being wrongly accused and framed. Tell me more."

  "Do you ever stop?"

  "Does the news? Look, Decker is in a bind here. You know the media are going to crucify him, don't you? The Turbos' star quarterback caught with drugs and an unregistered handgun. The media are going to eat him up like a mad dog and chew his reputation into little pieces. There won't be anything left.

  "I can help you. Give me something. Anything. One paper on his side might make a huge difference."

  I regarded her skeptically. She was wearing a black leather coat, and the water glistened on it like pearls in the street lights. Her long, dark hair hung down her back and she looked as sleek and smooth as a weasel. And about as trustworthy. She would do anything for a story. But she was right about one thing. Decker needed some friends.

  "Okay, but you can't quote me."

  "No problem. You can be my respected inside source. For once, I won't have to invent it."

  "You really are shameless, aren't you?"

  She moved closer, until her body was slightly touching mine. Her smiling face turned up to mine. "I have an idea I'm not the only one, Mister Astrologer slash footballer slash criminal."

  She had a point.

  "So will I give you the facts or are you going to climb into my skull and get them yourself."

  She smiled, not
in the least bashful, and stepped back. "You're a hard one, aren't you?"

  I smiled back. "Takes one to know one." I started toward the taxi rank. "Okay, I can't give you the full story, but I'm sure the drugs and gun were planted in Decker's car by a fan who has been stalking Decker." This wasn't in the least what I thought but it sounded like it would sail. "I expect evidence to emerge in the next day that will exonerate Decker from any wrongdoing." This, I hoped, was true. It was up to me to find it.

  I opened the door of the first taxi.

  "Is this on the level?" she said.

  "Bob, would I lie to you?"

  "You better not, buster, or I will hang your balls out to dry."

  "Why is that a bad thing? Who would want wet balls?"

  "I'm serious, Mark. If this is wrong it could mean my job."

  "And if it is right?"

  She grinned. "It means I have the mother of all scoops and all those other reporters can kiss my ass."

  I climbed in to the taxi and wound the window down.

  "I'm guessing they wouldn't be the first," I said as the taxi drove off.

  CHAPTER 15

  On my way back to Heavenly Falls I had my first--and only--good idea since I took the Decker case. Outside my Winnebago, I cleaned the whiteboard then wrote, Call me.

  "That's probably not the most effective way to get a date."

  Faith was standing in the doorway of her mobile home, watching me. Little Bear pushed past her and jumped all over me. I had barely patted him when he dropped down, ran over to my Winnebago and disappeared inside.

  "Thanks for looking after him," I said.

  "Any luck with the Cupid case?" Despite the cold, she was dressed in only a tank top and brief black shorts. Faith was small, pretty and the color of a warm chocolate drink with extra milk. Her abs stood out like speed-bumps and she looked ready to run a marathon or walk down a cat-walk. She looked so goddamn feminine I had to keep reminding myself she was a transsexual. That was one slippery slope I didn't want to get caught on.

  "Mole is trying to track down previous victims. It seems the best lead at this stage."

  "You need any help you let me know."

  "You know, it is only forty degrees today?"

  "Thanks for the weather update. Do you do seven day forecasts? I have a fun run next week."

  "No, but I can give you today's forecast. You're going to freeze your nuts off if you don't actually get dressed."

  "You're assuming I still have nuts to freeze off. Want to see?"

  Faith started to pull down the band on her shorts and I caught a brief flash of dark hair.

  "No, no, no. That's all right," I said, holding up my hand. "That's one area where I don't mind if the mystery is never solved."

  Faith grinned at my discomfort. "Come on, you're not even a tiny bit curious? I won't tell anyone you looked."

  "Faith, you're kind of like the Easter Bunny to me. I'm afraid if I look it'll shatter my dreams. Please leave me my last remaining innocence."

  "Okay, but you know where I live. Hell, what am I saying? We're so close you can see my shower from here." Faith considered me with a glint in her eye. "I suppose one day I should look at putting curtains up, don't you think?"

  "Faith, say the word and I'll do it for you today."

  "For a supposed tough guy, you really are a wimp."

  "You are my kryptonite," I agreed.

  I stepped inside, checked the motion sensor cameras and turned on my iPod. Jade's voice echoed through the Winnebago and Little Bear looked up, puzzled.

  "Yeah, join the club," I said to him.

  I sat down at the small kitchen table and wrote down some of the names and addresses I had seen on Bensen's whiteboard. Mole probably had them, but just in case. I fired up my laptop and scrolled through the images and writing. A lot of it was very similar to Bensen's. However, mine was more detailed. It should have been. I had been working on it for fourteen years. Bensen's task force was pretty thorough, but they were covering ground I had already discarded. I had spent months researching the organ-theft trade and never found any evidence that Cupid was selling organs on the black market. I had also discarded the idea that Cupid might be a deranged doctor or a mental patient. He was too crazy for the former and too smart for the latter. I stopped at the notes I had written just the other day.

  Why does he take the hearts?

  This, to me, was the crucial question. Know that and I would be able to work out who. Over the last fourteen years I had investigated all of the ideas on Bensen's list. I had been hampered because I only had the one crime scene to work with. I had no comparison to find patterns and leads. Up until now.

  Abrahams' murder could be the key to unlocking my parents' deaths. On Bensen's list they had gone with the odds and assumed Cupid was male. I wasn't so sure. Men were the targets. More specifically men's hearts.

  Could Cupid be a spurned woman who was ripping out men's hearts because she herself had had her heart ripped out figuratively by her lover? It seemed a pretty drastic payback, but if she was angry and crazy enough, who knew? But then why would such a woman kill my mom? Why would she have such anger that she would stab my mom over fifty times?

  Known to the victims.

  I couldn't believe this, but I could see why the police thought so. The victims seemed to have invited the killer into their homes. There were no signs of forced entry. The hematoma on the back of the skull of each victim seemed to indicate that the victim trusted the killer enough to turn his back on him. The lack of defensive wounds and injuries also dovetailed with this. The victims hadn't fought back.

  Why would Dad and Abrahams invite a killer into their homes and turn their back on him? Or her? Perhaps this also might point to a female killer. Weren't the victims more likely to turn their back and trust a woman than a man?

  I had investigated every known friend, relative, acquaintance and workplace associate of my parents. It had taken a long time and, in some cases, had ruined whatever friendship that might have existed between us. But I had to know. I couldn't take anyone at face value. I had tried to be discreet and clever but some had seen through my smiles and knew what was behind my questioning. I couldn't believe I had missed anyone. I had been so goddam thorough. But then why had Dad and Abrahams let the killer into their homes? Why had they turned their back on him. Or her.

  Why had they trusted their killer?

  * * * *

  I awoke cold, to the sound of my cell ringing. I glanced across at Little Bear whose head peeped out smugly from under my blankets.

  "What do you need blankets for, you three-legged thief?"

  I picked up my cell and opened the door of the Winnebago. The rain had stopped but low, sullen clouds moved listlessly overhead. Water still dripped from the tall sycamore tree in a steady pitter-patter on my roof.

  The caller ID was blocked.

  "Yeah?"

  "What do you want?" said a deep voice.

  "You saw the sign," I said, surprised that it had worked so quickly.

  "Every day." From his tone, this was not a positive thing.

  "Yeah. Sorry about that. I need your help."

  "I was under the impression we were helping you every day."

  "Yes, you are. And what a fine job you guys have been doing. I haven't been stabbed, shot or blown up in over two years. You guys have been ace."

  Silence.

  I wasn't laying it on too thick was I? "And sorry about some of those messages that have been appearing on my board."

  "Like the one that said the FBI blows?"

  "Well...yes. It's those damn Sanchez kids. They have no respect for authority. I have spoken to them but they just kept writing nasty things on my board. The youth of today, eh?"

  "I have video of you doing it."

  Silence.

  "Well, you've got me there. I have no memory of that at all. I'm sure you've read my record and know I'm bi-polar and I can do things and not even remember them. Hey, I've even been to
ld I voted for Bush a few years ago, but that can't be true, can it?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Well, the thing is... Were you guys following me yesterday?"

  Silence again.

  "Hey, I'm not asking you to tell state secrets but I need to know if you were following me during the afternoon yesterday. Drugs and a gun were planted in the car I was in and the owner has been charged."

  "What's that to us?"

  "Well, aren't you the law? Aren't you supposed to catch the bad guys?"

  "We're fishing for shark not toads."

  "El Casera."

  "Not over the phone."

  "You want to catch this shark? How about if I was to help you? No more sneaking out the back or losing my tails?"

  "No more stupid messages on that board?"

  "Yes. I will have a harsh word to the Sanchez kids about that."

  "Yeah, sure, you do that." The sarcasm dripped through the phone. He paused, thinking. "And if you ever have any idea you're being followed or have any incidental contact with any Al-Qaida agents you will let us know?"

  "Sure." Just not straight away. "Well? Do we have a deal?"

  "I'll get back to you. Oh, there is one other little thing you can do right now."

  So after I hung up, I went out, wiped the board clean, and then wrote on it.

  I love the FBI.

  CHAPTER 16

  I went for a run and pushed myself as hard as I could for six miles. Running had always helped me clear my head, and if there was ever a time it needed clearing it was today. The heavens opened up but I didn't mind. I had always liked running in the rain. There was something pure and cleansing about it.

  As I ran down the muddy road through the trailer park I spotted the Sanchez kids, the Black Ghosts. They were the sons of the Mexican trailer park owner and were as light-fingered and wild as a gang of gypsies crossed with a biker club. Acilino, the oldest at fourteen, was holding the left leg of a twelve foot Tyrannosaurus rex. All I could see of Jairo and Pilar were their feet.

  "Is that a dinosaur?" I said.

  Acilino regarded me silently.

  Okay, not my smartest question. I tried to save myself. "It's a T-Rex, isn't it?"