by Rivers, Mal
Up close I noticed her eyes were more of a coral blue. She was beautiful, even more so with the glasses. I had an urge to say yes, but realized she probably wasn’t well-matched to me, or I to her. I mean, she was essentially Ryder in a different shell, and that thought jarred me somewhat. I have been told, though, that opposites attract.
I said yes and excused myself to the door. She promised she would get the name of the impostor Lynch, and then said, “The first murder.”
“Sorry?”
“You will find out how this all started with the first murder. Think on it, and you will realize what Miss Ryder does.”
“How do you mean? Do you know more?”
“No, but it is obvious the first is important. If indeed the serial killings were a mere smokescreen, you’ll do well to understand why the person or persons responsible started such a charade.”
“I don’t think we’re really interested in why.”
“You will be. You are a curious man, Ader. Call me later and I’ll have your name.”
32
Out on the street, I walked somewhat vacantly back to the Lexus, still pondering over what Cassandra Bishop had said.
While Ryder had mentioned murder number one before, she seemed to put number three at the top of the list in terms of importance. It was a relief to know they differed a little, even though I had to give credit to Cassandra, considering she had less to go on than Ryder did.
I sat on the hood for a while and contemplated tonight. My senses were rattled over the meeting—an abandoned parking lot in LA—a red flag for a detective, no doubt, but that’s a large part of the job description. I always considered that logic, and my conclusion was that no detective solved a case working through white flags alone. That’s how the cops do it. And if the cops couldn’t solve cases going through white flags, it would be naive to expect a detective to do any better. Genius can only get you so far, and, as you’ve gathered by now, Ryder is no angel when it comes to red flags.
Perhaps Dale Huntington was sheepish. Maybe he possessed information he feared to divulge. Either way, I’d be going with Ryder, prepared, fearing the worst.
I hopped off the hood and glanced down the street. It was relatively quiet. A few spoiled rich kids walked past me with shopping bags in their hands. Just as I approached my Lexus, I saw a car pull up to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. I recognized the car, and I didn’t like it. I liked it even less when I saw the man’s face through the windscreen. I’d only seen him previously through a pair of binoculars, but it was Andonian. I was willing to stake a year’s wage on it. He’d been tailing me. The roles from last night reversed. I couldn’t quite make out the person beside him, due to the sunlight resting oh so conveniently on the passenger side of the windscreen, but they were female—possibly blonde hair. It was just a glance, no good for a witness sighting, but, for whatever reason, possibly inference, I thought it might be Kacie. That thought lingered and converged with Agent Swanson’s words from last night, despite Ryder’s advice for me to have faith in her.
I hesitated at how to play out the situation. I decided, recklessly, to make myself known. It may have partly been my ego, but nobody tails me and thinks they have the upper hand. I walked down the street and squared off to the car. It didn’t last long. Andonian looked at me, paused, and then skidded out into the street and then sped away while he glared directly at me.
It was a curious retreat, if that’s what it was. If you’re going to tail a guy, you don’t make a big scene of fleeing in front of him. Either way, I was relieved he didn’t feel the urge to gun me down gangster style with his revolver from out the window, and I still couldn’t make out his female companion. The sun was at that angle where it collides with glass prominently. If it was Kacie, there was always the chance she was under coercion, I told myself. For a split second I considered going after them, but it seemed somewhat futile, even with Melissa’s life possibly in the balance. By the time I’d got into my Lexus and turned round, they’d be down one of dozens of side streets.
In two days, their time was up anyway, and Ryder had told me to stay away from that side of things.
A slight detour was in order.
I had phoned Luis Flores to give him all kinds of hell for Midge the Vulture. He seemed apologetic enough, and gave me his assurance he’d make him regret it.
I wanted more, though. I wanted to see Midge again, and beat something out of him. I wanted to know exactly what he knew about Andonian’s operation.
I found him at the same bar as before. I could see him through the window as I watched from inside the Lexus out on the street. When he left by the back door and walked down a small alley across the street, I followed him. I grabbed him from behind and shoved him into the wall. He coughed and gasped in surprise.
“What the hell—” he said.
“You fly a little too carelessly for a vulture. Stand up and answer me, or I’ll kick your head off. Or is it a beak?”
“Look—I was just playing my game. I gave you as much chance as Andonian.”
“How much of what you told me was true?”
“All of it—kind of. He paid me to keep quiet, and to—discourage you. But—I played fair. I went fifty-fifty with the information.”
I tightened my grip. “How the hell did he know I was coming to you in the first place?”
“I—told him. When I got the call from Luis I thought I’d make the most of it—”
“So you were a goddamned snake from the start. Tell me, why did you give me that crap about a meth lab?”
He looked back at me with a startled glare. “What?”
“There’s no meth lab. They’re gun running.”
“That’s—I don’t know, he told me it was—”
I let go of his arms and let him fall to the dirt on the ground. I laughed at him. “Seems like I’m not the only one being played. Andonian wasn’t telling you the truth, was he? How does it feel to have your own trick played against you?”
He didn’t answer. He simply stared at me with a slightly defeated look on his face.
I pointed at him and wagged my finger. “Okay, so you don’t know shit about the operation. I’ll take that. What about this—did he ever say anything about having a cop or an FBI agent in his pocket?”
Midge cleared his throat and looked to the side. “I think so—I mean, he implied something like that.”
“How did he imply it?”
“I can’t remember—I overheard him once, saying, ‘She’ll sort things out—on the inside.’”
“What about Melissa, does he have her?”
“No,” he said. “I swear he never said anything about having her.”
I glared at him some more, with my inner instinct telling me not to take anything he said as gospel. But, after hearing how Andonian had screwed with him, he had a look of not having anything to lose.
I didn’t say goodbye to him. I just left him on the floor, like a corpse. The vultures above watching him.
33
I arrived back at Sully’s for 3.30PM. He owns a condo in Glendale, which was hardly up to Ryder’s standards, and when I saw her admiring the view of the parking lot from the balcony, I had to wonder if she was cracking.
On my way over I kept looking over my shoulder. Part of me felt that I would run into Andonian again, considering Glendale is Armenian central.
Sully was still working on whatever angle Ryder had assigned him. I tried explaining to her that an extra man would be advantageous at a clandestine meeting should it go sour, but she showed no interest. She had no reservations about this Dale Huntington and what he was going to confirm to her.
After explaining my afternoon to her, she moved back inside and sat quietly on Sully’s solitary sofa. Her eyes were closed, but I doubted she was in conference with herself. Unfamiliarity tended to work her up into a stage of helplessness. She was worried about something. Whether it was the meeting, Melissa, or something else, I could only guess.<
br />
“What’s eating you?” I said.
She looked back at me with a tired glance. “Surely, you needn’t ask.”
“You know, what shall we do about the client? Do we talk to them before Sunday, when the FBI takes down the operation, or just leave it?”
She frowned. “What good would it do to talk to them? I have no office with which to do so.”
“Do you even expect to get a fee? If Gillham and Mane goes belly up after this—”
“I highly doubt that. Those involved may go to prison, but the company will remain at the time I prove who killed Guy Lynch. The company signed that agreement—not Graham Rudd, or anyone else involved.”
“Right, if you say so. Regarding Melissa—”
“Yes?”
“I was hoping you’d fill the rest in for me.”
She stared at me blankly and offered no response. If she was as lost as she looked, God help Melissa.
Before 5PM came along, I received a phone call from an unknown number. I answered it out on the balcony. I’m rarely edgy about answering such calls; after all, the button to end the call is but a fingertip away. But, when I heard the voice on the other end, it startled me somewhat.
“Ader, it’s me,” the voice said.
“Kacie—” I mumbled. I looked behind at Ryder, who hadn’t heard. “What are you doing—”
There was a pause and some phone static, and then she said, “I’m on a—pay phone. I’m with Melissa.”
“Why?”
Another moment of phone static. “I took her from the cabin. She’ll be okay. She won’t get hurt.”
“What have you done—are you helping Andonian? Has he got something on you?”
There was another long pause. I thought she’d hung up, but then she said, “I can’t tell you that. The line’s broke—Ader—”
The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a while and looked out across the street. Empty, just like my mind.
I rode up to the derelict parking lot and killed the engine outside. It didn’t matter, as there was no entering with a vehicle. The place had been bordered up a long time ago. Chain linked fencing surrounded the perimeter and concrete barriers blocked the single entrance. I imagine plans were on hold to demolish the place, seen as LAX hated having a place nearby where people could park for free. The area was also a prime place for vehicle enthusiasts, intent on practicing their drifting skills. If there was a way inside with a car, it involved heaving that concrete barrier away.
We waited until 6PM and didn’t notice any cars pull up on either side of the building. With both of us armed, at my insistence, we walked inside. Twenty feet in and the place was pitch black on the ground floor. None of the lights worked anymore, and it seemed dumb to venture further. If Huntington had gone inside and expected us to follow, he was either optimistic or just plain loony.
By 6.30 we stood erect against the side of my Lexus. Ryder folded her arms and glassed the barren ground surrounding the area. Just as we were about to call it off, a car approached us from the east, slowly. It pulled up some fifty feet away and a man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses got out from the driver’s side. He stood, feet together for a while as we watched him. There was no cause for alarm, and, eventually, he walked toward us.
I let Ryder walk out into the middle of the road to meet him. My hand was ready to go for my P230, should anything happen.
Huntington lifted up his head, and I could just about make out his chin—and his mustache.
“Kendra Ryder,” he said. “It’s been a while.”
“Quite. I wish I could be more positive about meeting you again—”
“I understand. We all try to forget.” He looked at me and took off his cap and shades. “Hello again, Ader York.”
I just stood in disbelief. I wasn’t amazed, merely taken aback.
“What the hell is this—” I glanced over at Ryder. “He’s that colonel I saw in Quantico!”
He smiled. “I’m not a colonel. As soon as I knew about your visit, and that you were sent by Kendra here, I came to intercept you.”
“But how? Who the hell are you?”
“You already know my name. I suspect you have seen it in the file I gave you.”
I looked at Ryder. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me—why even bother sending me out to Quantico?”
“I didn’t know he would be there, obviously,” she said. “But, when you came back and told me of a colonel with a mustache—I suspected it was information for myself.”
Huntington nodded. “My nickname in the CID is The Colonel. It was a cinch she’d figure it out, and try to contact me. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, but I couldn’t risk saying anything to you back at base. The whole situation is a little tricky.”
I leaned forward a little and looked at his face closely. In any other situation, I would’ve managed a smile. “Oh, I see, Colonel Mustard.”
“Yes—” He snorted.
I scratched my head. “Why all the hush hush? Couldn’t you two have just worked this out over the phone? Come to think of it, why have you both never come forward on all this? Eight people have died.”
“There is a reason for that,” he said. “Reasons that can only be said in person. I do not trust telephones. As for the latter question—we have remained quiet, but not idle. We’ve had a team working the case since we learned of the murders.”
I frowned at Ryder. “So that’s why you never wanted the case—”
She nodded slowly, almost in an oppressive way.
“Yes.” Huntington smirked. “I was hoping she would stay out of it. But, I always knew this day would come—”
“What did you expect? I know she’s no saint, but you didn’t expect her to keep it bottled up, surely?”
Huntington picked out a piece of gum from his pocket and placed it in his mouth, and then he shook his head. “I don’t think you understand, and it is clear she has not told you everything.”
I looked at her for an answer and she looked away. Huntington gave me a file and as I looked through it, he spoke, addressing Ryder more than myself.
“This is the file nobody knows about. The one you never saw after you were sent home. The real reason for the murders Lee Lynch committed. While originally the victims were killed in a way so as to look like ritualistic killings by radicals, several of them had one connection—transportation.”
“Transportation?” I said quizzically.
“Yes, some of the people killed were in some way related to the transportation of items from various countries into Afghanistan to help the effort and the establishment of the army in Afghan territory—weapons, military equipment, vehicles, commodities, even plain currency. We didn’t even realize the connection until after Lee Lynch was caught, seen as some of the victims were civilians, potential witnesses at the wrong place at the wrong time, as opposed to being directly employed in the various transportation avenues.”
“Wait a minute—” I said. “So something dodgy was going on in that area—that sounds like the work of a group, not just Lee Lynch.”
Huntington nodded. “Precisely. And it was all in-house. The scandal was much more than the murder of civilians by our own men—it was corruption of the highest grade. If it ever got out—I don’t even want to think of the consequences.”
I took a step back while Ryder remained motionless. The air around us whistled and I whistled back with my own deep breathing. I probably should have been asking a lot more, but the words never came.
Huntington continued, “The operation was weeded out, but never cracked. After the trial, things returned to normal, but whatever was stolen, including two hundred million in US currency, was never seen again. It was over. It was covered up and never thought of again.”
“Until three years ago,” I said.
“Yes. It was a big shock, of course. But, after time, we couldn’t find any connection to the events in Afghanistan. But that all changed when a man named Guy Lynch die
d. And I dare say the surname alone was what enticed you out, Kendra, even though you had never met Guy Lynch back then.” He waited for her to nod and he continued, “Thing is, we had no idea what was going on with him throughout the years. But when news of his death came through, we had a theory as to why he had been murdered. Even though everything from back then was finished, the fact remained that Guy Lynch turned on his brother, which in turn meant he betrayed the group involved with the treasonous theft of military itinerary. So, we considered this was payback, by those remaining in the group. But it took them ages to find him, given his witness protection status, and then his moving around. Perhaps it took them that long to suspect he’d ever revert to his real name. Who knows.”
I shook my head vehemently and looked at Ryder. “But that’s a load of horse shit. The murders before Guy Lynch had nothing to do with that—and I doubt the people we think killed Guy Lynch were involved back then either.”
Huntington smiled. “Of course. That’s why I am here now. I fear both Kendra and I have been suffering from the same problem of not knowing how both the present and the past fits together. She has reliably informed me she has come up with a solution.”
“Yes,” Ryder said. “One that would make sense in hindsight. But, I’m afraid it does little to support your theory someone from twelve years ago is involved.”
There was a slight scowl on Huntington’s face, then he replaced it with an honest grin. “Very well. Perhaps you would enlighten me.”
“No,” she said. “First, I wish to know why you never told me about what happened after Lee Lynch’s arrest. That was my case—why was I let down, was it because of what I knew? Because I knew nothing. Nothing whatsoever.”
Huntington sighed. “You just don’t understand, do you? It was for your own good. When I pulled Lee Lynch away from that table, and—his victim was still breathing, what else was to be done?”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “The final victim survived?”
No one had time to answer. To the west there was the sound of an engine. Several engines, making headway to our location. At such a speed, in a desolate part of LA, it was as ominous as we perceived. Before I could even hear the gunfire, Huntington had hurled Ryder back in front of my Lexus. I followed likewise, and peered over the hood. There were three cars heading straight for us. We were in a hopeless position, as this wouldn’t be a standoff. They wouldn’t simply stop in front of us and allow us to return fire gracefully. No, this would be a drive-by, from each side. A torrent of sub machine gun fire that we couldn’t possibly hope to avoid.
