CHAPTER
45
Bennett Hacker folded easily.
Faced with a mountain of evidence compiled by Medi-Cal fraud investigator Dwight Zevonsky—a twenty-nine-year-old with the look of a hippie grad student and the manner of a grand inquisitor—the parole officer traded full disclosure for a guilty plea to fraud and grand larceny that brought him a six-year sentence in a federal prison. Out of California, under protective isolation because Hacker had once been a Barstow patrolman and former cops didn’t fare well behind bars, even those who’d befriended cons.
The scam had gone just as we’d theorized: Hacker and Degussa trolling for halfway-house residents whose names could be registered as Sentries patients. Compensating the parolees with small cash payments or drugs, or sometimes nothing at all. At first the cons showed up for sign-in sessions and one follow-up, in the unoccupied suite on the ground floor. Later even that pretext was dropped.
Later, the patient population had stretched beyond the halfway houses, with Degussa charged with finding new recruits.
“Sometimes we used dope, sometimes Ray just scared the junkies,” Hacker said. “Ray gives you a look, that can be enough.”
He smiled and smoked. Knowing he’d made a good deal. Probably working out six years of angles.
Milo and Zevonsky sat across from him in the interview room. I watched through the one-way mirror. Before being booked, Hacker’s contact lenses had been removed, and he’d been issued cheap jail eyeglasses with clear plastic frames. A size too large, they slid down his nose and made his chin appear even skimpier. The gestalt was creepy: malicious nerd in County blues.
Hacker tried to tell the story as if he wasn’t a protagonist. Degussa and “his partner” receiving two-thirds of the billings filed under Franco Gull’s name—splitting slightly over two hundred thousand dollars during a sixteen-month period.
“Ray was unhappy,” said Hacker. “He figured the others were making millions, he should be getting more.”
“What did he do about it?” said Milo.
“He was planning to talk to them about it.”
“Them,” said Zevonsky, “being . . .”
“The shrinks—Koppel and Larsen.”
“They were in charge.”
“It was all them. They cooked it up, came to me.”
“How’d you know them?”
“Koppel used to see me at the halfway house she owned. Checking up on my charges.”
“She came to you,” said Zevonsky.
“That’s right.”
“And your job was to . . .”
“Sign my name to some therapy forms. Also, to pinpoint good candidates.”
“Meaning?”
“Druggies, losers, guys who wouldn’t give problems.” Hacker smiled. “She was a businesswoman.”
Milo said, “She owned the halfway houses in partnership, with her ex.”
“So?”
“What about him?”
“Fat boy? He owned the houses, but he had nothing to do with it.”
Zevonsky said, “You’re sure you want to go on record saying that?”
“I’m on record because it’s true. Why would I lie to you?” Puff puff. “Hell, if I could bring someone else into this, I would. Spread the wealth, do myself some more good.”
“Maybe you’d lie just for the fun of it?” said Milo.
“This isn’t fun,” said Hacker. “This isn’t anything near fun.”
“What about Jerome Quick?” said Milo.
“Again with that? The only Quick I know is Gavin, and I already told you about him. Who’s Jerry, the kid’s brother?”
I already told you about him.
Recounting it coldly. Gavin snooping around the building after hours, seeing scruffy men filing in and out for five-minute visits, overhearing things. Conversations about billing.
Gavin, the brain-injured would-be investigative reporter, stumbling upon a real story. And dying because of it.
“Crazy idiot,” said Hacker.
“Crazy idiot because he snooped,” said Milo.
“And opened up his big yap. He went and told Koppel about his suspicions. During therapy. He’d never seen her with the cons, so I guess he assumed she wasn’t in on it. She told Larsen, said she’d handle it. Larsen didn’t believe her, had Ray handle it.”
Confidentiality.
Milo said, “Who did Gavin see with the cons?”
“Ray and Larsen.”
“Aren’t you leaving something out?” said Dwight Zevonsky.
Hacker smoked and nodded. “I was occasionally there. Mostly, my job was getting names, making sure the cons were stable.”
“Passing out bribes,” said Zevonsky.
“Whatever.”
Milo said, “Did Koppel know Gavin was going to be whacked?”
“No,” said Hacker. “Like I said, she thought she could handle it.”
“Larsen didn’t believe her.”
“Larsen didn’t want to wait.”
“So he called Ray.”
“Ray had done it before.”
“Killed for Larsen?”
“No, for himself.”
“Who?”
“Guys in prison.”
“What about another woman?”
Pause. “Maybe that, too.”
“Maybe?” said Milo.
“I don’t know for sure. Ray implied it. Said when women put him down they were gonna get stuck with the tab. When he said it, he was playing with a knife. Cleaning his nails.”
“Get stuck. He used those words.”
“It was a . . . figure of speech with him. When someone went down they were stuck with the tab. Ray could be generous. When we partied, he’d give women whatever they wanted. Long as they didn’t disappoint him.”
“Disappoint him, how?”
“By not doing what he wanted.”
“Bossy fellow,” said Milo.
“He could be,” said Hacker.
“So Koppel wasn’t in on Gavin’s murder.”
“I told you. No. When she found out, figured out what happened, she went nuts. Threatened to shut the whole thing down. Larsen tried to calm her down, but she was pretty upset. I think what bugged her the most was that one of her patients had been whacked. She took that personally.”
“So Ray whacked her, too.”
Hacker nodded.
“He told you he was gonna do it. Told you about Gavin, too.”
“Uh-uh, no way. If he told me, I would’ve tried to stop it.”
“Being an upright guy and all that,” said Milo.
“Hey,” said Hacker, winking. “I used to be his PO.”
“What about Christina Marsh?”
“She partied with us, a slut, Ray was fucking her. She was a stripper, and he liked her ’cause she was stupid and had a tight body. He bought her expensive stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Clothes, perfume. Like I said, Ray could be generous.”
“All the money you were making, he could afford to be.”
“It ran through his fingers,” said Hacker. “Typical con.”
“Ray buy Christina shoes?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“He liked her.”
“He liked what she did for him.”
“Until . . .”
“Until what?” said Hacker.
“She was also up there on Mulholland, Bennett.”
“True,” said Hacker.
“This is full disclosure? The deal can be turned around.”
Hacker pushed his glasses up his nose. “The deal’s already inked.”
“You keep twisting things to put yourself out of the picture, we’ll tear up the papers and send you over for a 187 prosecution.”
“I’m putting myself out of the picture because I wasn’t in that picture,” said Hacker. “In the Sentries picture, yes. The help-with-the-paperwork picture, yes. But not the up-on-Mulholland picture.”
“Y
ou knew Ray was going to whack Gavin.”
“He never came out and said so.”
“He hinted,” said Milo. “Said someone was gonna get stuck with the tab.”
Hacker hesitated. Nodded.
“He told you about it, afterward.”
“Who says?”
“You were roommates.”
“We weren’t asshole buddies.”
Milo mimed tearing up a sheet of paper.
Hacker said, “What he said was, ‘I solved our problem.’ I didn’t ask. Later, a couple of days later, we were getting high in the apartment and he was feeling good and he told me the details. Said it went down easy, the kid was surprised, he didn’t put up any resistance.”
“Why’d he kill Christina Marsh?”
“ ’Cause she was there.”
“Any other motivation?”
“He said she irritated him by being with the kid.”
“Irritated.”
“That’s the word he used. Ray had a way . . . using little words for big feelings. I know for a fact that Christi irritated him other times, too, because he told me.”
“What’d she do?”
“It’s what she didn’t do. Not being there when Ray wanted her to be. One time, he scored some high-class coke, wanted to party with her, and she wasn’t available. Then she did that again. Said she was busy. Ray didn’t like being told no.”
“How’d Ray meet Christi?”
“Some bar,” said Hacker. “He picked her up.”
“A bar where?”
“Playa Del Rey. The Whale Watch. It’s a place we went a lot.”
“Christi was there,” said Milo.
“Right there,” said Hacker. “Ripe for the picking—Ray’s words.”
“You party with her, too?”
Hacker laughed and smoked, shoved his glasses up again, took them off, and said, “I need a smaller size of these.”
Milo said, “You party with Christi Marsh, Bennett?”
“Not quite.”
“Why’s that?”
“Ray wasn’t into sharing.”
“Ray ever talk about someone named Flora Newsome?”
“Her?” said Hacker, surprised. “Yeah, I knew Flora; she temped at an office where I worked.”
“Ray come into that office?”
“Yeah,” said Hacker. “As a matter of fact, Ray knew her, too. They dated for a while.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Milo.
“Why? What’s she got to do with anything?”
“She got stuck with the check.”
Hacker’s myopic eyes bugged. “You’re kidding.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I transferred out of that office—it was a satellite—after maybe two weeks. Flora? I liked her. Nice girl, quiet. I thought about dating her myself, but then Ray started with her.”
“And Ray didn’t like to share.”
“He did her?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Milo.
“Too bad,” said Hacker. His voice had dropped; he looked as if he meant it.
“Something bother you, Bennett?”
“What’d she do to piss Ray off?”
“You don’t know?”
“I swear I don’t.”
“You said Ray implied he’d done women.”
“Yeah, but like I said he just hinted around—you’re saying that was her? Flora? Shit.”
“That bother you, Bennett?”
“Sure it does. I liked her. Nice girl. After Ray said he wasn’t dating her anymore, I told him maybe I’d give her a try. He got irritated with me, told me sloppy seconds was for losers.” Hacker licked his lips. “I thought about doing it anyway, I liked Flora. But you didn’t want Ray irritated at you. Was it in the papers?”
“Nope,” said Milo. “Small-time story.”
“Flora,” said Hacker. “Unreal.”
“You guys have fun rooming in the Marina?”
“His idea, not mine,” said Hacker. “He was supposed to split the rent, so I thought, why not, we’d go our separate ways. He paid one month.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Milo. “You didn’t complain.”
“Like I said.”
“Ray a good roomie?”
“Actually, yes,” said Hacker. “Made his bed, vacuumed. You know cons, they can be real neat. I thought it would save me some money. My plan was to own the place, not just rent. My main place is a shithole, you saw it. I like the water—you’re sure the federal thing is buttoned down? I won’t be close to anyone I might’ve worked with in California? I don’t want to be watching my back all the time.”
“Buttoned tight.”
Hacker smoked, smiled. All thoughts of Flora Newsome vanished.
Milo said, “Something amusing, Bennett?”
“I was thinking,” said Hacker. “When the six years are over, I’m gonna be assigned to someone like me.”
CHAPTER
46
It would be a long time before Jerry Quick’s entire story would be told.
“Maybe never,” said Milo.
There was a dash of false hope. A week after I’d seen Kelly Quick and her mother, Kelly made the mistake of using a conventional cell phone, not a prepaid, when she called Rio de Janeiro. Milo had gotten a subpoena for her account, and he traced the call.
“Staybridge Suites Hotel, São Paulo, Brazil.”
“Brazil has no extradition treaty with the U.S.,” I said.
“Funny thing about that. Quick checked in four days ago with a woman, paid cash, checked out yesterday, no indication where. The registration book lists them as Mr. and Mrs. Jack Schnell, Englewood, New Jersey, and they had passports to prove it. The desk clerk describes it as a May-December thing. Gray-haired guy, younger woman, dark, slim.”
“She have blue fingernails?”
“Ka-ching, you get the kewpie doll. Clerk said they looked deeply in love. Clerk said Mr. Schnell bought Mrs. Schnell a string bikini and various other baubles.”
I said, “Schnell means ‘quick’ in German.”
“Yeah, I know. Ha-ha-ha.”
*
Mistake number two: A MasterCard belonging to Sheila Quick had been used to rent a room at a Days Inn in Pasadena. Milo and I drove out there, spotted Sheila reading a softcover by the pool, covered by a bulky robe; no string bikini, there. She looked pale and small, and we avoided her and walked up to her room.
Milo’s knock was answered by a young female voice. “Yes?”
“Housekeeping.”
Kelly Quick opened the door. Saw him, then me. Said, “Oh, no.” She was barefoot, had her hair pinned up, and wore glasses, cutoffs, and an oversized olive drab T-shirt that read US ARMY SPECIAL FORCES. WE GET THE JOB DONE. In her hand was ten pounds of law book.
Milo said, “Hi, Kelly,” and showed her his badge.
She said, “I haven’t done anything.”
“How’s the weather in São Paulo?”
She sagged. “I screwed up, should’ve used a pay phone. He’s going to . . .” Her mouth clamped shut.
“Going to what, Ms. Quick?”
Tears filled her eyes. “Going to be disappointed in me.”
Milo steered her back into the room. Twin beds, neatly made up. Soda cans and take-out cartons and female clothing all over the place. More law books piled up on a nightstand.
He sat her down on one of the beds. “How’s the studying going?”
“It’s hard to concentrate.”
“Going back in the fall?”
“Who knows.”
“No need for this to be difficult, Kelly.”
“You think?” she said. “That’s a laugh.”
“How long are you planning to live this way? Taking care of your mom.”
Kelly’s dark eyes flashed. “I don’t take care of her. She’s . . . you can’t take care of her, you can just watch her.”
“Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”
“Whatever.”
I said, “She needs real help, Kelly. And you need to get on with your life.”
She glared at me. Foam collected at the corners of her mouth. “You’re so damn smart, tell me how to do that.”
“Let’s call your aunt—”
“Eileen’s a bitch.”
“She’s also an adult, and she lives in California. You need to be back in Boston.”
“Whatever.” Blink blink.
I said, “We can help you with all that.”
“Sure you can.”
Milo said, “Where’s your dad headed?”
“Uh-uh, screw your help—leave me alone.”
“That T-shirt,” said Milo. “Dad give it to you?”
No answer.
“I’ve done some research, Kelly. Found a website where he attended his army reunion. What the site didn’t say was that he was in a Special Forces unit. Qualified as a sniper.”
Kelly closed her eyes.
Milo said, “I was in Vietnam, myself, know the unit. He was in some pretty hairy situations.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I’d bet you would, Kelly. Bet Dad told you plenty.”
“Then you’d lose your bet.”
“The other thing my research turned up was that no one can seem to find any evidence your dad ever traded metals. We know what he really did for a living, Kelly. His latest freelance was for a gentleman from Africa. He tell you about that? Tell you what he did to pay the bills?”
She turned away from us. “He was a businessman. He supported us.”
“So where is he now?”
She shook her head.
“Brazil,” said Milo. “With a girl not much older than you.”
“He’s entitled,” Kelly blurted. “He did his best with . . . her. My mom. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Mom’s tough.”
“Mom’s . . .” She threw up her hands. “She’s who she is.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be forced to be her nurse.”
“I’m not her nurse; you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look,” said Milo, “it’s just a matter of time. We’re going to dig, and we’re going to find out where he got his money and where he keeps it. That happens, any financial support for your mom’s going to be turned off.”
Kelly faced him. “Why are you doing this? My brother’s dead and my mother’s sick and he’s gone. Don’t I deserve a life?”
Alex 18 - Therapy Page 41
