“I had just seen Eric with Carmen Montague and witnessed an explosion. I don’t believe I was thinking all that clearly. And later when I got home, I tossed the brooch in my jewelry box. I never thought it was real. A lot of women, particularly in Beverly Hills, have copies made of their more expensive pieces. The real ones stay home in the safe while they wear paste, you know, imitation stones that look real but aren’t. I figured she was just some sweet old lady. Maybe some former Hollywood star who didn’t get out much. I thought I was just being nice when I offered to help. I didn’t think about the brooch again until the night Carmen died.”
Donner cleared his throat. “I appreciate your efforts, Ms. Childs, to keep this investigation under wraps. If any word were to leak out, all the work we’ve done would be worthless. The case would be blown.”
I told Agent Donner I appreciated the delicacy of the situation. “In fact, as a result, Agent Langdon and I have been very careful not to mix our personal affairs with that of the investigation. I suppose you could say we’ve even tabled our relationship—temporarily—at least until this investigation is over.”
Donner’s eyes tracked between Eric and me, his face not giving me a clue as to what he was thinking. But I had no doubt in my mind he knew exactly how successful we’d been at curtailing our relationship, particularly the night of Carmen’s murder. But with half a dozen agents in the room, I figured he wasn’t about to say anything.
“Ms. Childs, I’m not here to critique your personal relationship with one of my agents or to dash any future hopes of romance. But I would like to ask a favor.”
“Anything,” I said. Anything? I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. What kind of reporter was I? I should be asking more questions, not agreeing to anything. Tyler was going to kill me.
“Agent Langdon tells me you believe this Wigged Bandit has been calling your radio station.”
“I do.”
“And he tells me you’ve provided us with an audio tape with what you think may be this mystery caller’s voice.”
“I’m convinced it’s her,” I said. “She’s called the station several times. I’m pretty good with voices and hers is distinct. It’s a little raspy and midrange. My bet is she’s probably a smoker, or has been. I think I’d recognize it anywhere now. She calls herself Tomi.”
“We’ve been running the digital recording through some voice recognition software and with a little luck we may get a match. But right now, we have some photos we’d like you to look through. See if you can identify any of them as the person you saw the day of the bombing.”
The person? I thought it odd he referred to the Wigged Bandit as the person. “You mean the woman?”
Eric reached for a remote clicker on the center of the table and pointed it in the direction of a large screen on the wall. A group of nine photos, mug shots, three across and three down, appeared instantly on the monitor.
I glanced at the screen and looked back at Eric.
“There must be some mistake. I thought you wanted me to identify a woman. These are all photos of men.”
“Exactly,” Donner said. “We think the person we’re looking for, this Tomi, a.k.a. the Wigged Bandit, you met outside of Henry Westin’s the day of the robbery, is using a disguise.”
“And you think the Wigged Bandit is a man?”
Eric nodded. “Take a close look, Carol. Do any of these men look familiar?”
I stared at the screen. I didn’t know any of them. But there was a similarity about them. They were all white, clean-shaven, and middle-aged. Maybe thirty-five to forty years old. I couldn’t imagine any of them as women. I squinted at the screen and tried to imagine if makeup and a wig might make one of them look like my Wigged Bandit.
“Look at the eyes, Carol. The chin. The nose. See if you see anything that makes you think one of the men in these photos might be the woman you met the day of the robbery.”
“Maybe number three.” I pointed to the photo of the man on the end of the first row. “Something about the mouth, thin lips, cheekbones maybe.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head and stared back at the screen. Was the face I was looking at the face of a robber or murderer or maybe both? “You think there’s a connection between the robberies and whoever killed Carmen?”
Eric and Donner exchanged a look. An answer to my question required another level of approval. Donner nodded for Eric to speak. It was obvious from their exchange I was being given privileged information.
“We believe Carmen’s death was an accident. That whoever murdered her didn’t intend to kill her, but to scare her.”
“So you know about the copper sulfate? You’ve seen the coroner’s report?”
Eric nodded. “We suspect Carmen was being blackmailed. We think she may have known who was behind the robberies and threatened to go to Diaz and expose the operation, but couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because whoever killed Carmen knew she was skimming off the top of her husband’s jewels, and may have threatened to expose her first.”
Donner stood up and walked over to the monitor and pointed to the picture of the man I had identified. “There’s no honor among thieves, Carol. But if the Wigged Bandit is who we think…murder’s not usually part of his MO. Somebody wanted to frighten her, remind her to stay quiet. Master thieves like these pride themselves on their skills, and violence is seldom one of them. They consider what they do an art. The bigger the haul and smaller the collateral damage, the happier they are.”
I studied the photo on the screen again. Eric had enlarged it. The man’s features were delicate, almost feminine, his nose small, the eyes nicely shaped, deep set with thin brows. With the proper makeup and skills he might be made up to look like a woman.
“How tall is he?”
“About five-five. Slight build. Maybe a hundred and forty-five pounds.”
I considered his height and that she had been bent over, carrying shopping bags. The jacket he was wearing might have given the appearance of a hunchback or the frail shoulders of an elderly woman, making her even smaller than five-five.
“If it is him, when he called the station the first time, he said exactly what you said a few minutes ago.” I looked at Donner. “That nobody was supposed to die. She or he said that it was an accident, and the police had it all wrong. And then he hung up.”
Donner came back to the table and spread out pictures of some of the stolen items and Liz Taylor’s famous necklace, La Peregrina.
“We think Ms. Pero may have taken the pearl necklace Mimi was planning to wear to the awards show from the vault before the bomb went off and hidden it inside her jacket. That’s the reason Westin’s took so long to notify Mimi that they had Miss Taylor’s necklace. It was missing, for a while anyway. And Westin’s was hesitant to report it. That is, until the coroner found it on Ms. Pero’s body. Mr. Churchill says she had taken the necklace out of the vault to show Carmen. But when Carmen arrived and was in such a hurry, there wasn’t time for her to see it. Then Carmen left and suddenly there’s this big explosion. We suspect the Wigged Bandit, or the mysterious redheaded woman, was in the store before the explosion and stepped outside. Right behind Carmen, just before the bomb went off, then raced back inside. Covered by all the smoke, it would have been easy for her to take the necklace where Ms. Pero would have left it. But instead of leaving it on the counter where she was supposed to, Ms. Pero fell and hit her head on one of the glass display cabinets and was killed.”
“So you think Ms. Pero was in on it?”
“Probably. But unfortunately, we don’t have enough proof yet. Investigations take time, Carol. However, somebody inside Westin’s knew Carmen would be there that day, and whoever that is—or was—is connected to the case.”
“Okay, I get how someone trailing Carmen would
know which valuables she was carrying and what jewels were in the shop she was visiting. It’d be a two-for-one stop. A big win. But why me? Why did the Wigged Bandit give me a ridiculously expensive brooch, and then start calling the station?”
Eric answered, “I couldn’t tell you before, Carol, but if this is our man, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen this. Several years ago there was another attack on Henry Westin’s in Paris. One of the thieves, a man dressed as a woman, engaged a policeman in a conversation outside the store on the Rue de la Pais, just several doors down from the police station. The patrolman remembers she asked for directions, described her as a sweet little old lady—exactly like you did. He even shared a cigarette with her before going about his business. Minutes later, this sweet little old lady and her friends—all men dressed as women—entered the store and pulled off on the biggest heist in Westin’s history. They made away with better than a million dollars in jewels and diamonds. Later, one of them even sent a letter to the police station. It was addressed to the patrolman that sweet little old lady had spoken with, thanking him for his help and enclosing a small memento, a gold cigarette lighter.” Eric nodded back to the screen, at the photo of the man I thought might be the Wigged Bandit.
“And you think that might be him?”
“Could be. What we do know is that thieves like these love to brag about how close they can get without being caught. For them, it’s not just about the theft. It’s a game.”
“So you think he’s playing with me.”
“Whoever he is, Carol, he’s bored. And the fact that he’s calling you and toying with you on the air makes us wonder if maybe he’s got a bit too much time on his hands. If he’s not done.”
“What do you mean, not done?”
“There’s going to be another robbery.”
Chapter 22
After my meeting with the FBI, I drove back to the station in a quandary. I hadn’t shared with Tyler everything I knew about the FBI and their investigation into the robberies. Tyler knew they were involved, but he didn’t know Eric was working undercover, and certainly not as an escort. And I wasn’t about to tell him. Nor had I mentioned everything about how the FBI suspected I’d not only met the Wigged Bandit the day of the robbery, but that she’d given me a ridiculously expensive jeweled brooch. As a thank you gift! My mind was a mass of tangled ideas and threads of thoughts all leading to a dead end.
On top of that, as I was leaving FBI Headquarters, Agent Donner suggested he call my boss, explaining that he would be sending a team of agents over to the station in the morning. He thought it would be a good idea that if the Wigged Bandit showed up, I wasn’t there to greet him alone. I agreed, but not about his calling Tyler. I told him I’d take care of that. Trouble was, I wasn’t quite sure where to begin.
When I got to the radio station, I grabbed a couple of colorfully wrapped Belgian chocolates from the top of my desk drawer and proceeded down the hall to Tyler’s office. I wasn’t about to go in empty-handed.
As I entered Tyler’s office, I tossed several of the candies onto the desk in front of him. “Got a minute?”
Tyler’s eyes went from his computer screen to the candy to me. “If you’re here about Bunny, Carol, there’s nothing more to say.”
“Actually, it’s not about Bunny. Or at least not directly,” I said.
“Sit.” Tyler snapped one of the chocolates off the top of his desk and looked at me as he popped it in his mouth. “Go on, what is it you want?”
I decided not to hold back. I told Tyler the FBI was sending over a group of plainclothes agents to the station in the morning. “They have reason to believe the Wigged Bandit may show up here tomorrow.”
“What?” Tyler stared at me like I just told him the station was being invaded by aliens.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to you first with this, but I had a meeting with the FBI this morning, and they think Tomi, our mystery caller, could be the Wigged Bandit, and may try to come here tomorrow morning.”
“What do you mean, come here tomorrow morning? What have you done?”
Tyler started to stand up, but I was quicker. I stood, all five feet nine of me, and leaned over the desk, my hand nearly touching his shoulder, urging him to sit back down.
“Nothing. But you’re going to have to trust me on this, Tyler. I think I have a lead on Carmen’s murder and the robberies, and while I know Bunny has an issue with my chasing after such things, I can’t let it go. I’m going to find out who killed Carmen and how her death’s related to the robberies, and when I do, KCHC’s going to have the exclusive.”
Tyler shook his head. I could see the disbelief at what I had just told him registering in his eyes. Anything more and I’d have to push his eyeballs back into the sockets.
“You just better hope this is something we can run.” Tyler sat back down, like he was about to draw his last breath.
“I’ll leave that to you,” I said. “You and I both want this story. I figure Bunny’s your problem. But tomorrow morning, the FBI will be here and—”
“And you, Carol, one way or the other will be on the air with Bunny Morganstern at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. You got that?”
I stepped back from the desk and gave Tyler a quick salute. “Got it.”
The next morning, Tyler and I met Eric and his team in the station conference room. The agents looked like they were all dressed in the same blue suits they had on yesterday. Anyone seeing them would think they were clients coming in for an early morning business meeting. When I walked in, Eric was plugging a monitor into the station’s security system. It was now possible to view anyone coming or going through the station’s main gate from inside the conference room.
Eric nodded to me. Tyler and I took seats at the end of the conference table and Eric took charge of the meeting. He explained the roles each of the plainclothes agents would play. Two were to be positioned outside the station’s front doors, two more in the lobby, and a fifth by the security gate facing La Cienega Boulevard. They were all equipped discreetly with a near-invisible earpiece that connected to a small lapel microphone allowing them to communicate walkie-talkie style. Satisfied Eric had the operation under control, Tyler excused himself and returned to the newsroom, reminding me I was due in the studio with Bunny at ten a.m. No exceptions.
With other agents now in place, Eric and I were alone in the conference room. I got up and took a seat next to him while he continued to monitor the security camera. Shop talk seemed like the best idea.
“Agent Donner didn’t come?” I asked.
“He thought I could handle it.” Eric kept his eyes on the screen.
“I guess that’s good, huh?”
“It’s all okay, Carol. You all right?” He glanced at me then turned his attention back to the monitor.
“Yeah, just fine.”
“Good.”
So much for small talk. I hated this crazy two-step we had forced ourselves into. I had questions I wanted answers to and he wasn’t at liberty to comment on. On top of that, we hadn’t spoken about anything personal in days. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever felt so close yet so far from someone whose sentences I used to be able to finish without a thought.
We stared at the screen in silence. Then at exactly eight thirty, a woman driving a beat-up blue Toyota appeared at the station’s front gate.
I leaned closer to the monitor and watched as she rolled the driver’s window down. Extending her hand, she reached unsuccessfully for the visitor’s bell.
“Hello?” Her voice wobbled through the speaker as she poked her head out the car’s window, and I got a look at her on the security camera for the first time.
I didn’t recognize her. For all I knew she might have been the same woman I’d seen in Beverly Hills or just a random fan of the station. I didn’t know. She had short curly gray hair that bobbed around her face, an
d she was wearing big, round coke-bottle glasses. To me it looked like a disguise. I leaned closer to Eric, my shoulder touching his, and whispered, “Oh, come on, she can’t be for real.” He stared at the screen, cocked his head, and shrugged. He wasn’t so sure.
“I’m here to drop something off for Carol Childs,” the woman yelled in the direction of the buzzer.
I punched Eric lightly on the shoulder. I didn’t recognize the voice, but this had to be her.
We watched as she reached again for the gate button, her short chubby fingers inches from it. The undercover FBI agent standing by the entrance walked over to her car, doused his cigarette, and smiled. We could hear the exchange through the security speaker.
“May I help?”
“I can’t reach the button.”
“Let me.”
The agent pushed a security button and the gate swung open. Just as the old lady was about to drive through, a young boy wearing a black hoodie on a ten-speed bike with razor-thin tires came racing through the gate. Out of nowhere, he zipped past them both. Swerving in front of the car, he stood up on the bike and pedaled fast as he could like a yellow-shirted cyclist to the finish line, making his way toward the station’s big double doors. He skidded to a stop, dumped his bike on the concrete the way kids do, then ran toward the entrance. The two plainclothes agents guarding the front doors looked at each other then back at the approaching car. It was accelerating. The old lady, possibly frightened by the presence of the boy on the bike, had frozen her foot on the gas. The car, clearly out of control, was coming full speed towards the front entrance.
“Look out!” The agents dove headfirst behind concrete planters that served as barriers to the station’s glass doors. At the last minute, the car swerved and careened into a concrete pillar, where it came to a stop.
“It’s the kid!” Eric yelled into his lapel mic, then jumped up and raced toward the lobby. “Get him! Don’t let him get away.”
Without a Doubt Page 13
