Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 18

by Blindman's Bluff

“Who knows? Too many people with too many keys. It’s just ridiculous!”

  Decker said, “I heard that the staff was vetted pretty carefully.”

  “Whatever that means! Who does private security anyway? They’re either losers who couldn’t make it into the police or ex-policemen who were thrown out for being on the take. Or with Dad, it was reformed delinquents who tugged on his misguided heartstrings.”

  Again, Marge and Decker exchanged glances.

  Nurse Jane Edderly had returned. “We found a room for you. Please follow me.”

  “Thank you for helping out,” Decker said.

  Grant said, “Yeah, thanks for giving me a room in my family’s building after a six-hour emergency flight to tend to my murdered parents. Thanks a whole fucking load, Nurse Edderly!”

  The nurse glanced at him but remained silent.

  Mace put a hand on Grant’s shoulder, but he shook it off. The space was small but roomy enough for the four of them to sit while Grant’s remaining two lackeys had to stand. Within a few minutes, everyone was drinking bad coffee. Mace looked defeated, but Grant was still on youthful fire.

  “When can I see my brother?”

  “Mr. Kaffey…” Decker paused. “Would you mind if I called one of you by your first name since both of you are Mr. Kaffey?”

  “Call me Mace,” the older man said.

  “I frankly don’t care what the fuck you call me. Just tell me what’s going on. And who do I have to screw to see my brother?”

  Marge said, “We saw your brother about twenty minutes ago. He was in a lot of pain, so the doctor upped the sedation. He’s out of it. Your seeing him is not a police decision but a medical one.”

  “Then get the doctor over here!”

  “I tried to have him paged,” Decker said. “He’s in surgery.”

  “Grant, let’s just hear what the police have to say,” Mace told him.

  Marge turned to Grant. “You’re right in several respects about the ranch’s security. There was an obvious breach. Two of the guards were homicide victims, but there are two others who were on duty who’re missing. We’re working with a man named Neptune Brady. Do you know him?”

  Mace said, “Neptune has been under Guy’s employ for a while…first in the business and then he took him as his personal head of security.”

  “Why?” Grant asked. “Do you suspect him?”

  “Just gathering information,” Decker repeated. “What did Brady specifically do in the business?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mace said. “I’m East Coast-based.

  Grant said, “He’s a licensed private detective. He did some freelance work. There were some numbers not adding up in the accounting office—embezzling. Dad put Neptune on the cases and he did good work. So Dad being Dad offered him a full-time job at the Coyote Ranch as head of security at an exorbitant salary.”

  “He was a generous guy?” Marge asked.

  “Generous one minute, a tightwad the next. You never knew how his pocketbook would swing. Dad was paying Neptune a fortune, but Dad insisted that was how you kept them loyal.”

  “Do you get along with Mr. Brady?”

  Grant said, “Neutral. We don’t have much to do with each other.”

  “What about you?” Marge asked Mace.

  “I barely know him. You think he did it?”

  “We’re just gathering information,” Marge said. “You said something about your dad hiring delinquents?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You mentioned that your father hired security guards who were former delinquents.”

  “Yeah, Gil mentioned something about that to me. Is someone going to check up on my brother?” Grant looked at his two underlings. “Joe, find out what’s happening with Mr. Kaffey.”

  After the assistant left, Decker said, “Can you help me sort out the specifics of the company? For starters, how many people does Kaffey Industries employ?”

  “At the height of the real estate boom, maybe a thousand,” Grant told him. “Now we’re down to around eight hundred. Six fifty on the West Coast, and Mace and I got about a hundred and fifty working for us.”

  “You’re real estate developers?” Marge asked.

  “Primarily,” Grant said.

  “Shopping malls?”

  “Primarily.”

  Decker said, “Have you two always worked on the East Coast?”

  “Dad decided to expand about ten years ago. At first, we were commuting bicoastally. Then we decided to relocate.”

  “My wife’s from New York,” Mace said. “She jumped at the opportunity to move back east. Guy still came out every month. Not necessary for him to do so, but my brother has a hard time delegating. Grant can back me up on that.”

  “Dad’s a workaholic,” Grant told him. “He not only keeps long hours, he expects everyone else to keep long hours.”

  “Is that a problem?” Marge asked.

  “Not with us, because we’re three thousand miles away,” Grant said. “My brother gets the brunt end. Dad accuses us of being soft because we have a life. But that’s just Dad being Dad.” Tears formed in his eyes. “Dad came from humble beginnings.”

  “We both did,” Mace said with a bristle. “My father came over from Europe with nothing. He opened a small appliance repair shop back when people still repaired things. He was frugal and saved and managed to buy a couple of apartment buildings. Guy and I parlayed our dad’s holdings into an empire.”

  Grant gave his uncle a hard stare and then turned his irritation on Decker. “What does this have to do with his murder?”

  “Just trying to get a feel for your family, Mr. Kaffey. It helps to know some background. I’m sorry if you find the questions intrusive.”

  Marge stepped in. “Was your father having problems with anything specific? Maybe the embezzling accountant?”

  “He was actually an account executive,” Mace said. “Milfred Connors. I think there was talk of a lawsuit, but Guy paid him off.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Grant said. “He steals and then he threatens to sue.”

  Marge wrote down the name. “So why pay him off?”

  “Because it’s easier than a protracted legal battle,” Mace told her.

  Grant said, “We had enough lawsuits going already.” He backtracked. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some we initiated. Some were initiated against us.”

  Mace said, “What about Cyclone Inc., Grant? They were really pissed when we pulled the permits for the Greenridge Project.” He turned to Decker. “They’ve been impeding the project for years. We finally got all the permits and approvals, so they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Decker said, “Why is Cyclone Inc. pissed at you?”

  Grant said, “They own the Percivil Galleria and Bennington Mall—both of which have been around for twenty or thirty years. Bennington was knocked for a loop by the Woodbury Commons-one of the busiest outlet malls in the country. But Percivil was doing all right because it’s across the Hudson where there isn’t competition.”

  “Then we came on the scene,” Mace said. “Kaffey is developing a state-of-the-art mall that’s going to blow the Galleria out of the water.”

  Grant said, “Not only will it include almost every chain and luxury goods store, we’re in the process of developing a resort hotel with two Tumi Addams-designed golf courses.”

  Mace said, “One indoors, one outdoors.”

  “Golf year-round. Plus we’ve signed on with some of the country’s best chefs to open up restaurants.”

  “Wow,” Marge said. “That would blow any existing mall away.”

  “Exactly!” Mace crowed.

  Decker asked, “Where exactly is the development?”

  “Upstate New York in Clarence County surrounded by some of the most beautiful land that ever existed,” Mace said. “The area is filled with ecological nuts, but we did our due diligence. We’ve filed all the necessary environmental impact reports. The whole project is going to
be green.”

  “Cyclone’s been raising a stink about graft and corruption,” Grant said. “Totally unfounded accusations. Assholes! They’ve already sicced the county tax assessors on our books. We came away clean. We’ve got nothing to hide!”

  “Who’s the CEO of Cyclone?” Decker asked.

  “Paul Pritchard.” Grant paused. “He’s an asshole, but murder?”

  Mace said, “Our project will kill his last profitable mall, Grant. Pritchard’s a bastard, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.” He turned to Decker. “Check him out.”

  “We will,” Marge said. “Getting back to the more immediate, does Gil live near your father?”

  “Gil lives in L.A. Dad lives on the ranch and in Palos Verde Peninsula. The company is headquartered in Irvine.”

  Decker raised an eyebrow. “Not so far from Palos Verdes but far from Coyote Ranch.”

  “That was the purpose,” Grant said. “When Dad wanted to get away, he wanted to get away. Initially he bought the property for Mom and her horses, but Dad came to love it. Mostly they entertained at the Palos Verdes house, but every so often they’d give a party at the ranch.” His eyes looked far away. “One winter”—a laugh—“Dad got some snow machines and provided skiing on several man-made runs. The party lasted an entire weekend. That was something else.”

  “Was the ranch’s security beefed up for the weekend?” Marge asked.

  “Probably. That would be Neptune Brady’s bailiwick. He knew the ins and outs of the ranch better than my parents. Fuckhead! How the hell did this happen? He’s the one you should be questioning, not me.”

  Decker said, “He’s on our radar. So far, he’s been cooperative.”

  Grant became agitated. “Where the fuck is that doctor? I want to see my brother!”

  “Let me go check on it,” Marge said.

  “Good idea.” Decker turned to the men. “Thank you both for being so forthright at this very difficult time.”

  “Fucking nightmare!” Grant tried to pace, but there wasn’t much floor space. Talking business had seemed to calm him down, giving him something else to think about. The minute he was brought back into his current tragedy, he was perched on the edge of an explosion. And who could blame him?

  Decker said, “Do you think that the Greenridge Project will go through in the wake of this tragedy?”

  “Absolutely,” Mace said stiffly. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  “It’s just that Guy was the CEO, and a project of that magnitude is a mammoth enterprise. It sounds like the biggest shopping mall that Kaffey has developed.”

  Grant said, “It’ll be difficult, but we can carry out Greenridge without Dad as long as Gil can take care of the rest of Kaffey.” He shook his head. “God, that’s a huge load.”

  Mace said, “It’ll be hard to handle anything without Guy, but we can manage if we work together. We’re not just business associates, we’re family.”

  Decker regarded Guy’s younger brother. His pep talk sounded forced—maybe trying to convince himself he was up to the job. Marge came back into the room. “Dr. Rain is just out of surgery. He’ll see you both in his office as soon as he’s cleaned up. Nurse Edderly will be happy to take you to his office.”

  Grant punched a fist into his palm. “I don’t want anything to do with that bitch!”

  “I’ll be happy to take you,” Marge said.

  “Thank you,” Mace said. “Are you staying with us?”

  “We need to get back to the ranch.” To the crime scene, Decker thought. “I also want to check out these two men you mentioned—Paul Pritchard and Milfred Connors.”

  “Connors was a low-level con man,” Grant said. “He’s a nothing.”

  “Sometimes it’s the nothings who get pissed off,” Mace told him.

  “Exactly,” Decker said. “Here are some business cards, gentlemen. Call me anytime.”

  “And here’s my card,” Grant countered. “That’s a business number. You can call it anytime. If it’s important, you can leave your number and I’ll be paged.”

  “Thank you,” Decker said. “Uh…just one last question. Do either of you know Spanish?”

  “What?” Mace said.

  “What’s that about?” Grant asked.

  “A lot of people who work at the ranch are Hispanic. In California, Hispanics do a lot of construction work. Just wondering if you and your dad and your brother can communicate with them directly.”

  “Of course we visit the job sites, but we don’t talk directly to the men,” Mace told him.

  “Why would we do that?” Grant asked. “That’s why we employ foremen.”

  SIX

  ONCE BEHIND THE wheel, Marge got comfortable in her seat and spoke while adjusting the mirrors. “I’d love to see the company’s financials on Greenridge, especially in this current climate. Sounds like something that was born in real estate boomland and is currently moribund in bustville.”

  “Maybe they already had the financing for the project.”

  “Something that big, including a hotel? That’s a cool billion, right?”

  “Too many zeroes and I get confused.” Decker opened a bottle of water and chugged half of it. “Even if I had the financials, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to interpret something that complicated.”

  Marge started the motor and drove out of the underground lot. “Do you think that the project might have something to do with the murders?”

  “It’s worth checking out, but I don’t expect anything.” Decker closed the cap. “Let’s concentrate on what we do know.”

  “We have murdered guards and we have missing guards. Sounds like an inside job.”

  “Two things come to mind,” Decker said. “An inside robbery job that was botched or an inside job where the guards were used in a murder for hire.”

  “In which case, we need to look deeper into the family.”

  Decker said, “What did you think of Grant?”

  “Intense. He did most of the talking for his uncle.”

  “What do you think about Mace?”

  “Not as much intense. We didn’t know Guy Kaffey, but from today’s conversation snippets, I’d say that younger brother Mace grew up under the shadow of Guy.”

  Decker said, “Grant’s also the younger brother and you just described him as intense.”

  “Yeah, he’s aggressive. But maybe Gil is even more aggressive. All I’m saying is that if Guy and Mace clashed, we both know who’d come out ahead. I wonder if Guy Kaffey was as enthusiastic on the Greenridge Project as Mace and Grant are.”

  “Guy was about to pull the plug and the two New Yorkers weren’t happy with his decision?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Marge said. “But even if that were the case, would that generate enough anger and hostility in Grant for him to kill his parents?”

  Decker said, “We don’t really know how Grant feels about his parents. There could have been a lot of playacting going on.”

  “True that,” Marge said. “Interesting that you didn’t ask if there was enough anger and hostility for Mace to kill a brother.”

  “Cain and Abel,” Decker said. “The very first chapter. There are four recorded people on the newly minted universe and bam, one brother shoots the other because of jealousy. What does that say about the human race?”

  “Doesn’t say too much for us or for the Big Cheese in the sky,” Marge noted. “Any police chief who ran a major city with a 25 percent homicide rate would get his ass canned in an eye blink.”

  THE MAN CALLED into the witness box was Hispanic.

  No surprise there.

  The entire afternoon had been a parade of Hispanics from the plaintiff—a beefy guy with tattoos—to the defendant—another beefy guy with tattoos. Rina could sum up the assortment of alleged assaults and batteries in one word.

  Alcohol.

  All the participants had been drunk at the time, both the ladies as well as the gents. Normally the melee would have
been forgotten about the next day, but the police happened to be cruising by when the slugfest had been in full force. The cops managed to arrest whoever didn’t scatter fast with the unlucky remaining souls blaming each one for starting the incident. Witnesses had suddenly come down with bad memories caused by cold feet.

  The current participant in the witness box proved to be no exception.

  At least, the jury finally figured out who Smiling Tom Cruise was.

  When the first witness was called to the stand—a Hispanic woman in her fifties wearing a red miniskirt and with permanently inked eyebrows and a mane of long black hair—Smiling Tom, who had been sitting in the gallery, whipped out an electronic device. Walking slowing toward his destination, Tom held a small PDA in his hand, listening intently to something through an ear pod. When he reached the witness box, Tom turned off the radio and pulled out the earphone, stowing both in his front pocket.

  The group exchanged glances and shrugged.

  He sat himself directly behind the witness, his head leaning over the hoochie mama’s shoulder. The witness seemed to enjoy his presence, turning to him and gracing Mr. Sunglasses with a wide, white smile. For once, Tom didn’t smile back.

  The case continued and Tom’s purpose became clear.

  He was a translator.

  To call him a translator was an understatement.

  What Tom did was act out the testimony. He was a one-man stage show, his voice rising and falling, imparting each phrase with the exact amount of emotion required. If there was an Oscar for translators, Sunglasses Tom would have won it hands down.

  As the afternoon hours passed, the witnesses’ recollections got more faint and indistinct and Arturo Gutierrez, now being grilled mercilessly by a hard-driving prosecutor in a red power suit, was more of the same. Although he did remember punches being thrown, he couldn’t tell who threw the punches. Maybe the plaintiff hit the defendant, but maybe the defendant hit the plaintiff. The witnesses were tentative on the stand, and the only one having a good time seemed to be Tom.

  By the time the prosecution rested and the defense was due up, it was time to go home. After receiving their orders not to talk or discuss the case with anyone, the jury slowly and silently filed out of the courtroom as the bailiff looked them over one by one by one. Rina was reminded of the metaphor used on the holiday of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year’s. God judges all his people as they pass under him one by one—as if he were counting a flock of sheep.