“Como va, jeffe?” Murillo says when Jake joins him in the squad car.
“Okay, I guess,” Jake answers. “We’ve known each other a long time, Ed. I’ve got something I want to ask you but I want to make sure it goes no further than us. You good with that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. I’m a little concerned about Bobby Schultz. Seems to me he’s hitting the sauce pretty hard. Is there any talk going around about him?”
Murillo’s expression looks pained. He nods his head slightly. “Some, yeah.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“If it was anybody but you, Jake, you know I wouldn’t breathe a word of this.”
“I understand. But it’s important that you tell me whatever you can.”
“The word is that Schultz is hurting bad for money. Gambling debts. Maybe some mob involvement.”
“Shit. It’s even worse than I thought.”
Murillo remains quiet. Then, after watching Jake mull things over in his mind for several minutes, he says, “I’ve always had a lot of respect for Schultz. But I can understand why you’d be worried if his mind isn’t completely on the job.”
“I let down my partner,” Jake says. “There’s no way I’m going to let down my daughter, too. If I’m a little paranoid you can understand why.”
“I do, Jake, believe me. Listen, I’m coming up for retirement soon like I told you. I’d be happy to volunteer for permanent guard duty for Tristan if it eases your mind at all.”
“She’s dating Keith Abrams, did you know that?”
“Yeah, I figured she was. She’s mentioned him a couple times.”
“He’s been covering most of the evening duty for obvious reasons. But I’d be very happy if you’d cover days permanently. It would definitely ease my mind knowing somebody I have complete confidence in is looking out for her during the day.”
“I’ll speak to the lieutenant first thing tomorrow. I don’t think he’ll have any trouble with this. If he does, you might have to call him yourself.”
“Okay, let me know how it goes. And Ed … thank you. I appreciate what you’re doing.”
“No problema, jeffe.”
Jake eases out of the squad car. “Chao, amigo.”
“Hasta luego,” Murillo says as he backs out of the driveway.
Jake watches Murillo drive away with a troublesome awareness; his friend was giving off some vibes that he had some problems of his own.
Following his chat with Murillo, Jake calls Bobby Schultz.
When Schultz answers his cell phone Jake senses something unusual in his friend. Not fear exactly but … nervousness maybe.
“Hi, Jake,” Schultz says. “I was just going to call you.” This, Jake senses immediately, is a lie.
“Anything on the Klamath Falls murder?”
“Uh, not a lot. They’re putting together a forensics report and we’ll know more very soon.”
“Okay. Anything else happening of interest?”
“Routine shit,” Schultz replies. “Nothing exciting I’m afraid.”
“Keep in touch.”
“Sure, Jake. Of course.”
When he hangs up there is not a shred of doubt in Jake’s mind that Bobby Schultz is in trouble. Jake isn’t sure where the trouble emanates from or what, if anything, it has to do with the case but, either way, it’s cause for concern. I need to see him face to face, Jake thinks. And soon.
A sense of urgency is manifesting itself in Jake’s mind. The feeling that Tristan is in danger is growing in intensity.
What’s most disturbing - what suddenly has Jake in a state of near panic - is that the source of the danger is no longer clear.
* *
Marius Dupree arrives back in Los Angeles on Thursday evening and takes up residence in the home occupied by his clerical persona. The road trip, although unrushed, has left him exhausted. He sleeps late on Friday morning. Then, after visiting a local diner for a breakfast of sweet rolls and strong coffee, he punches in a quick dial code on his cell phone.
“Where are you?” the voice on the other end of the line asks.
“Back home,” Dupree says. “Are there any developments that are likely to cause me any undue concern?”
“I don’t think so. But I need some cash.”
“Of course you do. Our usual meeting place?”
“I’ll be there at ten tonight.”
“I look forward to seeing you.”
* *
“Interesting,” Lillian mumbles, staring at her computer screen.
“What have you got?” Jake asks.
“Nothing actually. It’s just interesting, that’s all. If we were looking for a French master of disguise who was sixty years old or so I’d say we had found our man.”
Jake comes around to look over Lillian’s shoulder. “Who is he?” Jake asks, looking at a studio portrait of a handsome, dark-haired man in his twenties.
“His name is Antoine Dupree. He fits our profile perfectly except for the fact that he died twenty-five years ago. Famous, successful actor celebrated for his ability to change his appearance. Kind of a French version of Lon Chaney.”
“Well,” Jake says, “I think the fact that he’s dead pretty much rules him out as a suspect.”
“An astute observation,” Lillian replies caustically. “By the way, have you talked to Bobby yet? We need to figure out what there is about him that’s got your radar going crazy.”
“I’ve phoned him a couple of times. He’s not picking up. I’ve left a message for him to call or stop by.”
“Bye, you guys,” Tristan calls.
Jake walks out to the foyer to see Tristan off. “What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?”
“Keith has tickets to the hockey game. The Kings are playing the Canucks.”
“He’s turned you into a hockey fan, has he?”
“I’m not a total fan yet but it’s pretty cool.”
“Have fun, honey. Tell Keith to keep a sharp eye out, though.”
Tristan kisses her father on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m in good hands.”
Jake finds Lillian engrossed in her computer when he rejoins her in the den. “Anything interesting?” he asks.
“Mmm… still reading about this Dupree character,” she says. “This article says he had a ten-year-old son when he died.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That would make the son around the age of our perp today.”
Jake is mildly surprised that this is of any real interest to Lillian. “And you find this significant?” he asks.
“I find everything significant,” she replies, “until somebody proves to me that it’s not.”
“Okay. What do we know about the son? Is he an actor by any chance?”
“The son’s name is Marius. I’ll run a search and see what there is on him.” A few minutes later Lillian pushes back from the computer and turns to Jake. “There’s no mention of a Marius Dupree having anything to do with acting but there is reference to him in several articles partying in Monaco, that kind of thing. Seems like quite the playboy. And look at this.” She swings the computer monitor around for Jake to see.
There’s a picture of a dark-haired, slender young man who looks to be in his late twenties standing with a group of beautiful women beside a hotel pool in Spain. Dupree is beaming broadly, wearing white slacks, a dark blue short-sleeved shirt, and sunglasses perched on top of his head. His hair appears styled, on the long side and wavy. All the women are wearing very revealing micro-bikinis and give the impression they are in the presence of royalty. “He’s almost a picture perfect image of his father,” Jake observes.
“Exactly my thought,” Lillian says.
“Is there any mention of him ever being in the States?”
Lillian goes back to the keyboard. “There’s a couple of hits.” She takes a moment to scan the highlights. “The only mention I see of him in America is as a contestant in a yacht race that ran off Miam
i, Florida. That was two years ago.”
Jake makes a face indicating mild interest. “Well, it’s a connection. Not a very strong one though.”
“Maybe. But I find it intriguing nonetheless. It puts him in America approximately six months before the murders in L.A. start.”
“You’re stretching things a bit, kid.”
Lillian ignores Jake’s lack of enthusiasm. “I think we should see if
there were any unsolved murders in Florida around the time of his visit that fit our guy’s m.o.”
Jake is rapidly losing interest in this line of reasoning. To him the whole thing smacks of a giant waste of time. “Suit yourself, Lil. I think I need a break. How about we have a drink out on the patio and relax for an hour?”
“Okay. Just give me a few minutes here. You go ahead, I’ll join you when I’m done.”
Forty minutes later Jake, stretched out on a recliner with Crocket in his lap, jolts awake when Lillian pulls a folding chair up beside him and sits down. Without saying a word she hands him a computer printout containing a five by seven picture with a brief write-up beneath. Jake, still groggy, puts on his sunglasses, scans the picture and what’s written beneath. He sees a gorgeous twenty-year-old with long black hair named Victoria Stanton who two years ago was attending junior college in Miami. Her stabbed, beaten, and raped body was found one day after she was reported missing, washed up on the rocks at Bayfront Park.
Jake looks up at Lillian with a stunned look on his face. Before he can say anything she hands him another printout, dated just three months earlier. It’s an editorial piece; the gist of it being that, despite an abundance of trace evidence accumulated during the investigation into the brutal murder of Victoria Stanton, Miami Police have yet to yield a suspect.
21
“We’ve got to get this to Bobby,” Jake says. “Right now.”
“Wait a minute, Jake,” Lillian says. “Are you forgetting what we talked about earlier?”
“Lil, surely to hell you’re not seriously suggesting Bobby is helping a serial killer slaughter young women. That is just too bloody bizarre!”
“All I’m saying is that the LAPD has been close to nailing this monster before, and each time he somehow manages to slip away. You said yourself you had suspicions that the killer was being tipped off by somebody on the inside. If you’re right, who do we have as a more likely suspect than Bobby Schultz?”
Jake shakes his head. “I know he’s drinking too much – I admit that. And it looks like he’s got financial problems. Okay. But it’s a hell of a leap from that to what you’re suggesting.”
“Don’t forget that he’s been lying to you as well. Are you willing to take a chance that I'm not right about him? It looks like there’s a pretty good possibility we have an i.d. on the killer. Do you really want to gamble that he might be tipped to the fact we're on to him?”
Jake takes a moment to let everything gel in his mind. “Look, before we get too sold on this new theory of yours, why don’t we see if we can definitely put Dupree in the States during the murders. Maybe we’ll find out he’s been in France for the past year and the whole premise goes up in smoke.”
“You’re right,” Lillian concedes. “It’s the obvious thing to do as a first step.” She heads out of the room in the direction of the den. “I’ll see what I can come up with online.” She stops before she’s out of Jake’s sight, turns, and gives him a meaningful look. “But in the meantime, not a word to Bobby.”
Jake nods his assent. He’s not happy about what he’s agreeing to but he’ll go along at least until something concrete occurs with regard to Dupree. “All right.” He watches as Lillian marches off with purpose.
Marius Dupree is something of a minor public figure in France, his notoriety resulting solely from the fact that he is the playboy son of famous parents. Being rich and handsome he’s a regular subject for the tabloids and, since the age of twenty or so, his presence is mentioned routinely at various functions, parties, and benefits. For the past two years, however, not a single mention of him appears in print in France. This fact alone doesn’t put him in America but it’s damn sure odd, Lillian ponders, that he suddenly seems to have dropped off the edge of the earth.
Maybe - just maybe - Lillian thinks to herself, we’ve got our man.
“So, okay,” Lillian says after she has rejoined Jake and filled him in on what she learned online, “where do we go from here?”
“I don’t see that we’ve got much choice, Lil. We’ve got to trust somebody and if not Jake, then who?”
“What do you think of Abrams?” Lillian asks.
“From what I’ve seen of him he seems like a competent, dedicated cop. Tristan, despite her wish that he’d take his time letting their relationship develop, clearly thinks a lot of him. But what does it matter what I think of him? We can’t very well confide in Abrams and expect him to keep it to himself.”
“Who do you know on the force that you could say, without reservation, is above suspicion?”
“Oh, hell, there are lots of guys that would fit that description,” Jake says. “But, first of all, whoever we confide in has to be part of the task force assigned to this investigation. And secondly, if we go to anybody but the lead detectives on the case we’re going to be asked why we circumvented them. It’s a no win situation, Lil. We’re damned if we do and double damned if we don’t.”
Lillian ponders matters for a long moment. “If you were in top shape,” she finally offers, “I’d suggest we go it alone until we can get absolute and clear evidence that this Dupree guy is our man. But you’re a long way from being in top shape I’m afraid to say.”
Jake takes a while to do some pondering of his own. “I’m actually doing pretty well, Lil. I haven’t had any of those pain attacks for a week or so.”
“That’s because you’ve been getting lots of rest and not taxing yourself too much. That could change real fast if you start pushing yourself too hard.”
“Maybe,” Jake allows. “And maybe not.”
“If we were to go it alone for awhile – theoretically speaking, of course - what would you suggest as our next step?”
“If Dupree is our guy he’s not going to be here as himself. There’s no way we’re going to find him by looking for the man we know. There is one way I can think of that might work.”
“Let’s here it,” Lillian says.
“The killer has made his intentions regarding Tristan very clear. It stands to reason he'd grab her if an opportunity presented itself. Especially if he thought there was little risk of getting caught.”
“Sounds like dangerous thinking,” Lillian says. “The kind that could backfire with disastrous consequences.”
“I wouldn't for a moment consider actually using Tristan as bait, of course. But the idea of a sting might have some merit I think."
"I don't know, Jake."
"If you can think of a better idea I’m all for hearing it, kid.”
The silence that follows speaks volumes.
The next day Lillian reminds Jake of their decision to ‘read’ Bobby Schultz. “Depending on what you learn, we can then decide what we’re going to do about Dupree.”
“Okay, I’ll call him again. But he’s ignored the last two messages I left for him to get back to me.”
“Maybe you should have a quiet chat with Abrams. See what you can learn from him without letting on why you’re asking.”
“Might not be so easy to do.”
“You could just ask if everything’s okay with Bobby, that you haven’t heard from him in awhile.”
“Can’t hurt to try. I think he’s coming over to see Tristan tonight; I’ll try and corner him then. By the way, Ed Murillo called me today. Asked if I’d like to grab a beer with him tomorrow night.”
“The guy that’s guarding Tristan during the day?”
“Yeah. He and I were pretty good friends back when we were both rookies. We kind of got out of touch when I moved up to detective
but I’ve always liked Ed. It’ll be good to kick back with him for a couple hours, relive the bad old days.”
“Sounds like a really good idea, Jake. You need to get your mind off all this killer business for awhile.”
“You don’t mind being around here on your own for an evening?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got lots to occupy me. You just enjoy yourself. But don’t overdo it, okay?”
“So you're nixing the strip clubs and hooker bars?”
“Definitely no strip clubs or hooker bars. I’ll provide all the stripping and hooking you need when you get home.”
“With an offer like that I’m thinking maybe I’ll just stay home.”
Lillian raises one eyebrow and does a little vamp routine that gets Jake’s heart racing. “I’m not averse to a little rehearsal before the big event,” she says in a low, sexy voice.
Jake may not be the smartest guy in the western hemisphere but he doesn’t have to be poked with a cattle prod to take a hint.
At 4 o’clock Tristan gets home from her classes. “Daddy,” she calls. “Officer Murillo would like to talk to you.”
Jake and Lillian are still upstairs, recuperating from the afternoon of high-jinks. “Okay, honey,” Jake calls down, “tell him I’ll be right there.”
Jake dresses quickly and takes the stairs down to where Tristan waits.
“Having a nap, Daddy?” she asks with a stern look of disapproval.
“Yeah,” he replies. Guilt is painted all over him. It pisses him off that his daughter can make him feel like a teenager caught looking at dirty magazines.
Jake heads out the door and finds Murillo leaning against his squad car, smoking.
“Eduardo, mi amigo. ¿Cómo estás?”
“Hola, Jake. Listen, I just wanted to apologize about tomorrow night. Turns out I have to take a rain check. Gabriella’s not doing too well right now. ”
“Geez, I’m sorry, Ed. Is she ill?”
Murillo's face saddens noticeably. “She’s got a bad ticker, Jake. She's undergoing some very radical treatments to try and repair the damage that has already been done but some days are very hard for her. We’ve got her on a transplant list but … well, we’re just hoping for the best.”
THE FOURTH BULLET: A Novel of Suspense Page 12
