“It’s worth checking out. If they rented the vans to Gabe they might have his address. If we get that we could go to his place and search it.”
“They won’t give that out.”
“We’ll persuade them.”
“You think it’s a solid lead then?” Campbell asked.
Max nodded. “I think it’s the best lead we’ve got right now. Thanks, Campbell.”
Campbell grinned wide.
Max turned to Liz. “We need to get to your car, but those cops are going to be there for a while.”
“We could slip out the back. Once we get far enough away we could call a cab to come and get us.”
“I don’t know about that. If they catch us on foot we’re fucked.”
“I thought you two was the cops?” Campbell said.
“Let’s just say we’re deep undercover,” Max said. “We don’t want any exposure that could jeopardize the work we’ve done. We can’t risk letting this guy get away.”
“Wow,” Campbell said. “This is like some kinda movie or something.”
“I wish,” Max said. “It’s easy in the movies.”
Campbell nodded. “Sure.”
“We could wait it out here until daybreak,” Liz said. “Then we walk out like we’re just a normal couple, carpooling to work.”
“That could work,” Max said. “Campbell, do you mind if we crash here for a bit? We don’t stay long.”
Campbell smiled. “Sure thing. It’s been a while since I had somebody to talk to.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Liz’s plan worked. Max had never felt so exposed walking from the vacant house to her car, but the only officer standing outside the flophouse never looked up from his cell phone long enough to notice them. Even after she started the car he simply swiped rapidly on his phone’s screen, engrossed in something.
After backing into a driveway and making a three point turn, Max and Liz left the crime scene and their unexpected eye witness behind. Max had left Campbell with a stern warning to stay away from the house and not to engage the police; otherwise, he risked blowing their “cover”. Their homeless friend had been more than agreeable and Max felt certain Campbell would follow his directions.
Liz’s phone guided them to Winehouse Party Rentals, a local small business with a single location. They arrived forty minutes later, pulling into the ample parking lot. Winehouse Party Rentals consisted of a small storefront back-ended by a large warehouse. Max presumed the tents and other rental equipment might be stored there.
Liz found a spot easily and parked the near the door. She killed the engine. “How do we play this?”
Max shrugged. “I’m going to confront him.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I’m working off the cuff here.”
“What if he’s dangerous?”
Max thought about that. “We’ll tell him we’re private investigators and that we’re following up on a lead. We’ll scare him a bit, suggest that he’s implicated in a child porn ring. Then we ask for Gabe’s address and see if he gives it up in exchange for leniency.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“Probably, if he thinks it’ll keep him out of hot water.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Me too.”
Max got out of the car and headed toward the front door of Winehouse Party Rentals, with Liz by his side.
* * *
Inside the store, Max and Liz entered a small lobby and approached the front counter. A thin man in his late thirties with dark hair and a faint beard sat behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked.
“I’m looking for a manager,” Max said.
“You got him,” the man said. He extended his hand. “Jerry Winehouse, manager and owner.”
“My lucky day.”
Winehouse grinned wide. “What can I do for you two?”
“I’m looking for an address. The address of one of your customers.”
“Sorry, we can’t provide personal information about our customers. If you’re looking for a reference though I can give you a few names.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do. I’m really in need of that address.”
“I wish I could help you, friend, but we take our customers’ privacy seriously around here. You’d want us to the do the same for you, I’m sure.”
“I would, but you see I haven’t committed any crimes.”
Winehouse’s grin faded slightly. He cocked his head to the side, a quizzical look on his face. “Are you a police officer?”
“Not exactly.”
“A private investigator?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m not sure I understand. What would one of my customers have to do with anything you’re investigating?”
“I’m hoping maybe you can tell me.”
“I’m sure I can’t, sir.”
Now Winehouse’s language had changed from friend to sir. “Gabe Harris. Does that name ring a bell?”
Winehouse’s smile faded completely and Max read everything in the man’s eyes. A second later the smile reappeared, but it looked different. Forced. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know that name.”
“I think you do.”
“I’m sure I don’t. But I could check my records, I suppose.”
“Please.”
“Wait right here.”
Winehouse disappeared behind the counter. Max waited, glancing at Liz. The look in her eyes told him that she’d seen the same recognition on Winehouse’s face at the mention of Gabe Harris’s name.
Another thirty seconds passed. Max peered into the doorway leading to the room behind the counter, but could see nothing but an empty hallway.
Suddenly Liz cried out loudly. “Max! He’s getting away!”
Max turned to see Winehouse sprinting across the parking lot, keys in hand. He’d slipped out the back and was now headed toward a red Ford Mustang parked near the edge of the lot.
Max didn’t hesitate; he spun on the balls of his feet and blasted through the front door. It opened more easily than he anticipated, slamming against the outer wall of the store.
Max ran, closing the distance quickly. Winehouse cast Max a quick glance behind, picking up speed once he realized he’d been made. Max doubled his own speed, pushing his legs beyond their normal exertion. The distance closed faster. As Winehouse got closer to his car he attempted to unlock it remotely. Instead, he dropped the key fob to the pavement. He stopped running and stooped to retrieve the key.
The second or two it took Winehouse to pick up the key was all that Max needed. Just as Winehouse reached to pull open the door handle, Max struck him full force, knocking him to the pavement. Winehouse took the brunt of the impact, with Max landing on top of him hard.
Winehouse began scratching and hitting wildly. He clamped his teeth down on Max’s thumb and bit hard. Max felt warm blood begin to flow. He cried out before drawing back and delivering a solid blow to Winehouse’s temple.
Winehouse bit harder. Max hit him harder this time. Winehouse started to relax his grip, so Max hit him again. His knuckles sang with pain, but he found that didn’t care at all. The pain felt oddly invigorating.
Max pulled his hand free as Winehouse released his grip. He looked down and saw the man’s eyes had gone loopy, staring ahead, but not focusing on anything.
Max hit him again.
“Max! Stop!” Liz cried out from behind.
Max lifted Winehouse to his feet. Their suspect could stand on his own, but only barely. Max gripped him under the arm and guided him back to the shop door, closing it behind them.
Liz locked the door and turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED before pulling the blind.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Winehouse recovered quickly enough, but not before Max and Liz had him tied to a chair in the back room, beyond the view from the counter. One customer had shown up i
n the meantime, but after a quick knock on the door he left. Hopefully, Winehouse didn’t get a lot of foot traffic.
Max looked down at the man tied to the chair, visions of Gabe Harris running through his mind. Not only had they already tied one man to a chair, Winehouse became their second in a week. The surreality of the situation should have jarred him more, he thought, but it seemed he’d grown accustomed to the abnormal these days. The idea frightened him a little.
“You know Gabe,” Max said, getting in Winehouse’s face. His knuckles ached now, the muscles in his arm tight. It still felt good.
Winehouse was all there now, his eyes wide as he regarded Max and Liz. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“You won’t get hurt if you answer our questions,” Max said. He wondered just how far he’d go to get Winehouse to talk. He shied away from the answer, but he had a pretty good idea anyway. He put some distance between Winehouse and himself, remembering his urge to pound the son of a bitch into a puddle out in the parking lot. “What do you know about Gabe Harris?”
Winehouse looked at Max. “Why are you doing this?”
Max frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“Okay, okay.” Winehouse hesitated. Max could almost hear the wheels turning his head. He didn’t like it; it meant that he was either telling a lie or figuring out just how much of the truth to reveal.
Max decided to force Winehouse’s hand. “We know about the movies.”
Recognition flared on Winehouse’s face, just for a moment.
“I know him, okay?” Winehouse admitted.
“Why did you lie in the first place?” Liz asked.
“Because I thought you guys were cops or P.I.s or something.”
“And how would that matter to you?” Max asked, “All we wanted to do was ask you a few questions. You know something you’re not telling us.”
Winehouse again went silent as he considered his next response. “I didn’t think you were cops, okay? I thought maybe you worked for Caldwell.”
And there it was.
“Go on,” Max said.
“Look, I don’t know what Gabe does with the movies, all right? I just provide the vans. That’s all, I swear.”
“Then why would you be afraid of Caldwell?”
“I know Gabe is doing something on the side,” Winehouse continued. “Caldwell probably wouldn’t like it if he found out. But like I told you, I don’t know what Gabe does, I just get a cut.”
“That’s the truth then?” Max asked. “You just provide the vans?”
Winehouse nodded emphatically. “I swear. That’s all, just the vans. It’s not easy running a business, you know? Gabe was offering easy money and it helps keep me above water. Your beef is with Gabe, not me. You gotta believe me.”
Max looked at Winehouse, considering what the man said. “Gabe’s address. Now.”
“What do you want it for?”
“Is there some reason you don’t want to give it to me?”
Winehouse shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that if I give it to you and Gabe finds out about it he won’t be happy.”
Apparently Winehouse didn’t know Gabe was dead. “Do you think he’ll hurt you?”
“Not that, but he won’t want to do business with me anymore. My revenue stream will dry up.”
“Would it be better if you lost some teeth?” Max asked. He balled up his fist again, hardly noticing he’d done it.
“No, no,” Winehouse said. “I’ll tell you, but you can’t let him know I told you.”
“Fine.”
Winehouse nodded toward the desk in the corner of the small room. “Over there in the second drawer you’ll find an address book. His contact info is in there. I can’t guarantee it’s legit though; I only wrote down what he told me.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“It’s not like we hang out together, he just rents the vans.”
Max wondered how a deal like theirs got struck in the first place and thought the story sounded fishy. “So you don’t know Gabe outside of your little arrangement?”
Winehouse shook his head. “No. I swear.”
Max regarded him suspiciously. “I thought I told you not to lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are. Tell me before I fucking beat it out of you.”
Winehouse hesitated again. “We know each other from the club, all right?”
“Explain.”
“The Hustle. I know him from there. I used to go there a lot, especially after my girlfriend and I broke up. One night we got to talking. I told him the kind of business I ran and he asked if I wanted to make some money. I said that I did.”
“How do you know Caldwell?”
“I don’t, really. All I know is that Gabe wants to keep it all on the down low. I assumed he was skimming off the guy or something, but I stayed out of it. Not my business.”
Liz shot Winehouse a look. “That didn’t work out for you, did it?”
Winehouse continued, ignoring her. “He said he needed vans and that he’d make it worth my while. So I asked what they were gonna be used for because I didn’t want to get tied up in something illegal. So Gabe told me that he made movies, mostly with Mexican girls, and needed to be able to haul them to the shoots. He told me they were all legit, legal age and citizens and whatnot. He even showed me all the paperwork, so I told him sure, he could rent the vans.”
“They’re not all legal age,” Max said. “Just so you know.”
“Hey, I don’t know anything about that. All I know is what Gabe told me. That’s it.”
“Ignorance doesn’t spare you complicity,” Liz said.
“What does that mean?” Winehouse asked.
“It means,” Max said, “that just because you keep yourself in the dark about the bad shit Gabe is doing doesn’t make you any less guilty.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Winehouse insisted. “I just rent the vans. That’s all.”
Max wondered whether or not Winehouse was telling the truth. It was entirely possible that he’d just supplied the vans for money. Gabe did seem to be the mastermind behind his little movie business and getting transportation under the table helped to keep the operation a secret.
Leaving Winehouse where he sat, Max walked to the desk and retrieved the address book. He thumbed through it until he found the entry he was looking for. The initials G.H. had been written on the page with the address and a phone number below it.
“G.H.,” Max said. “I assume that’s Gabe’s initials?”
“That’s him,” Winehouse replied. “Don’t tell him I told you anything, please.”
Max ignored him and turned to Liz. “Stay here with him. I’m going to go check out Gabe’s house.”
“You’re going alone?” Liz asked.
Max looked at Winehouse suspiciously. He didn’t trust a guy who’s conscience was flexible enough to look the other way for a little bit of cash. “I need you to keep an eye on this asshole for the time being.”
“Hey,” Winehouse said. “Easy on the name calling.”
Max shook his head. “You and Gabe are two peas in a pod.” He turned back to Liz. “If he makes any noise, gag the son of a bitch.”
Liz glared at Winehouse. He must have seen the determination in her eyes. “I won’t make any noise,” he said.
Max tore out the page from Winehouse’s address book. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Liz nodded. “Be careful.”
Max gave Winehouse another look and found that he wanted to hit the guy again. Instead, he resisted that urge and left the building, headed toward the late Gabe Harris’s apartment.
* * *
Max took Liz’s car to the address listed in Winehouse’s book. With mid-day traffic, the drive took twenty-five minutes. He felt shaky and nervous with anticipation and the extra bit of adrenaline left in his system from his earlier altercation with Winehouse.
Upon arrival he parked outside the ap
artment complex and went inside the lobby. He took the stairs to the fourth floor and found the apartment easily enough. He retrieved the keys he’d taken from Gabe’s pocket earlier that morning and after trying four of them he found a match. The door opened and he let himself inside, closing it gently behind him.
Inside, the place was a mess. It smelled faintly of spoiled milk and dirty laundry. Half-eaten bowls of cereal filled with congealing milk sat in the sink, explaining half of the odor. Max didn’t search for the source of other stink. Instead, he went to the bedroom and looked around. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but he hoped that he would know it when he found it.
Wearing a pair of the rubber gloves he’d purchased earlier, Max rifled through dresser drawers and looked underneath the mattress and the box springs. Finding nothing in the bedroom, he moved on to the bathroom, sifting through the medicine cabinet and the linen closet before heading into the second bedroom.
This room appeared to have been converted into a small office, complete with a laptop and a desk. He searched through a stack of paperwork that had been haphazardly strewn around the laptop, like everything else in the place. With the place such a disaster, nobody would even be able to tell Max had been there.
He found Gabe’s cell phone charger lying on the desk and thought of Liz’s comment about searching the dead man’s phone. He pocketed the charger before lifting the lid of the laptop to find the computer in sleep mode. It woke up a moment later, the lock screen appearing. On top of the keys, a slip of paper caught Max’s eye. He picked it up to inspect it. It was a receipt for a large safe deposit box, paid in full for one year, the date of the receipt the day after Max had found Amanda’s DVD.
Max inventoried what he knew so far. Gabe had left the house that night with a satchel full of something. Ruby had told Max just before she’d been shot that Gabe had been sitting on some kind of evidence, something to use against Caldwell. The likelihood that the contents of that satchel had found their way into a safe deposit box the next day seemed highly likely.
Max inspected the receipt more closely and found the box number: 21845. Max retrieved Gabe’s keys from his pocket and searched through them until he hit pay dirt.
Familiar Lies Page 18
