I can't convince her that she needs to find sanctuary somewhere. She's going on with the show tonight. I'd like to see a platoon of deputies surrounding this place and I'd like to see a couple of your best policewomen living inside Judith's shoes until we break this thing."
Lahey had been regarding me with melancholy eyes throughout that monologue. When I ran out of words he asked me, "Are you finished?"
I said, "For now."
He said, "No—you're finished, period. Dobbs and Harney are not dead, they're in jail. I put them there and the charge is murder. I'm taking you in too, Joe."
I said, "Get serious."
"You get serious." He pulled his gun and wagged it in the direction of the car. "Turn and spread, hands on the roof, you know the routine. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right..."
This guy was reading me my rights and he obviously had bought not a word of what I'd been telling him about Judith White.
I really didn't have an option.
I turned toward the roof of his car as though I was submitting but then I kept on spinning and kneed him in the groin, snatched the gun from his hand and banged it against the side of the head hard enough to put his lights out for a moment.
At least, I thought as I went to my car and put that scene behind me—at least there would be cops watching the area for awhile anyway.
Other than that, I didn't have a gasp of an idea of what I could do for Judith now. I just knew that I had to do something. And damned quick.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Don’t get the idea that I was in a panic, or that I felt that Judith was in immediate danger of losing her life—but these guys in the big time play for keeps and seldom leave anything to chance. If I'd doped the case right and if DiCenza's people were trying to intimidate the judge by not-so-subtle threats against his daughter, then Judith very probably was not in immediate danger. To rub out five innocent bystanders is to send a very strong message, but the effect of that message depended on the judge's daughter being simply vulnerable, not dead.
And like I said, these people don't leave much to chance. My immediate worry was that they would quietly snatch the daughter and keep her on ice to insure that continuing state of vulnerability until they got what they wanted from her father.
Mind you, I was not one hundred percent convinced that I had all the answers to the thing but putting all the bits and pieces together from the DiCenza angle made the events of the past few days much more coherent when trying to draw a total picture. I still did not know what to make of the angle on Craig Maan and the reason for involving me in the thing—but sometimes it's too much to expect total coherency—sometimes dumb events intrude coincidentally upon sober events and serve only to cloud the picture, so I wasn't holding out for a neat package.
I had plenty enough to worry about with what I had, and what I had was a rather clear picture involving a federal judge and one of the biggest racketeers west of the Mississippi.
You have to understand the mentality at play here. In all their dealings, these people primarily rely on non-verbal communications. They don't say to you, "Cooperate or I’ll kill you." Instead they kill someone close to you and that is supposed to be a metaphor for your own fate if you choose to oppose them. Or if you value that other life more highly than your own, they kill someone close to the other person and the message is the same.
These people would not directly threaten a federal judge, and they would not kidnap his daughter and send a ransom note. But someone somewhere at some opportune moment would find a way to indirectly suggest that the judge's daughter could be highly vulnerable to an attack by his enemies, and then they would show him by example how easy it would be.
They would wait then, to see if he comes around. How long the wait would depend on the urgency of their situation. But they'd wait long enough at least to check the effect of the message. If it didn't seem to be working—if this is a stubborn judge and he is moving to make his daughter less vulnerable—then the kidnap would be the logical next move.
That is what I was worried about. And I was worried, too, about the hanging judge. Maybe he would not submit
to that kind of blackmail, not even with his daughter's life at stake—and maybe tempers would flare if all else failed and someone would decide to send that smart judge his daughter's head in a sack merely to teach him a lesson.
So, yes, in that assessment Judith was in very grave danger and the next shoe could drop at any time. Although I was not panicked, I also felt that it was no time to hem and haw over fine points of law with the official cop in the case while he runs along blind alleys in pursuit of a metaphor. That is why I smacked Art Lahey instead of letting him cuff me and haul me off to jail for no damned good reason at all. If I was right, I could square things later. If I was wrong, of course, then I'd probably worked my final case as a private cop in the state of California—or probably anywhere else.
But if I was right. . . then maybe I was Judith White's only hope for a happy outcome from this thing. It's not that I came to this big decision to risk life and career for a woman I barely knew. I knew her well enough, in the first place—how much better to know any woman than to spend three hours locked in her passionate embrace?— and if my primary interests were longevity and wealth I would not have picked this kind of work to begin with.
Hell, I'm a cop. Makes no difference whether the taxpayers or private clients are sponsoring me, I'm a cop. That's what I am and it's what I do.
And that is what I was doing when I smacked Lahey.
I traveled west through the foothills and ten minutes deep into L.A. county before I started looking for a public phone, and I called Judith first.
I told her briefly what had happened, and I told her
briefly about my worse fears, and then I urged her to get in touch with her father as quickly as possible.
"What am I supposed to tell him?"
"Tell him, dammit, that his lifeguards are behind bars in San Bernardino and that he should send replacements damned quick!"
"Oh God, Joe, I don't want to do that," she wailed. "He has enough on his mind already."
I couldn't believe it, and I told her that. I also told her, "The worse damned thing you can do is let yourself get snatched! Then they've got your dad by the ying-yang for sure! So if your concern is only for him ..."
She said, "Maybe you're right."
"Damned right I'm right. Call him! Then you sit tight! Don't go anywhere without an escort. Stay right there! Understand?"
I guess she didn't. "Joe, this is silly. I can't spend the rest of my life with bodyguards."
"Maybe you won't spend the rest of your life with anyone then, and maybe you don't have a hell of a lot left to spend. Look!—Judith!—Judy, dammit!—this isn't a three-act play and you're not on a stage. It's real life and these people have shown us how little they value other people's real lives. They're playing to win and they will win if you try to just shrug it off."
She said, "Well..." in a very undecided tone of voice.
"I'm not asking you to go into hiding. I'm just telling you to be sensible. Use sensible caution. Don't expose yourself unnecessarily. Does that make sense?"
"I guess it does," she said. "I promise I’ll call Daddy."
"And don't leave the theater without an escort."
"Joe..Very undecided again.
I said, "Okay. Okay. I’ll pick you up tonight."
"How will you do that? That sheriff will be looking for you, won't he?"
"Probably all the sheriffs are looking for me by now," I told her. "But I’ll work it out. Wait for me."
"Okay."
"Promise."
"I promise. Where will you be in the meantime?"
I said, "Hell, I don't know."
"Why don't you go up to my place. Nobody would look for you there, would they?"
I thought about that for a second, then replied, "Maybe that's an idea. Where do you live and how do I get in?"
"Who's Gertie?"
"The housekeeper. Don't worry, she's—"
"You've got a housekeeper?"
She laughed softly as she replied, "Well not out of my salary. Family money pays for the expenses on the house."
"You're living with your dad?"
"No, it's the old family home, Joe. Dad has a condo down in L.A." Her voice took on a kidding tone as she added, "Our lives are entirely separate and entirely our own .. . so maybe I’ll pick up that rain check tonight."
I said, "Best offer I've had since uh . . . how long ago was it?—about noontime?"
She wasn't kidding anymore as she told me, "That was
really wild, Joe. Keeps bouncing back on me. Can't get you out of my head. What did you do to me?—spike my drink, or something? I've never ..."
I told her, "Always takes two to tango, kid. But I'd be happy to compare notes with you later tonight."
"Deal," she said.
"So keep it intact."
"Keep what intact?"
"Keep that gorgeous ass intact with the rest of the equipment. Don't hang it out anywhere and invite someone to whack it off. 'Cause I don't want you without your ass, kid."
Judith hung up laughing, but I did not.
I was deadly serious, and even more so after I'd called Art Lahey.
I called for Lahey from the same public phone and I told the guy who picked it up, "If he's not on the line in thirty seconds I'm hanging up."
I got him in ten, and not in the best of humor.
Lahey growled, "I can't believe this, you crazy bastard."
"Start believing," I suggested, "and begin with the idea that I'm sincerely sorry that I had to conk you, then—"
"I can live with the conk. But I’ll probably never make a baby again."
"You've made enough already," I told him. "Don't try to stall me, Art. I know how long it's safe to hang on here so forget it and let's talk to the point. You're on a false trail. I don't care what kind of evidence you've got, it's not what it looks like. You've got the DiCenza bunch in your territory now and they make what they want to make. Keep a guard on that girl and you’ll be a hero. Don't, and you'll be the asshole they want you to be."
He said, "Speaking of assholes, we're pulling your license. And I just issued an APB. You're armed and dangerous, so don't expect any special handling when they throw you down."
I said, "I'm not armed, Art."
"You've got my pistol."
"Not me," I assured him. "I left it with you."
"Wasn't there when I came around."
"Then someone else is armed and probably much more dangerous," I told him. "Do you have some people down there at that God damned theater now?"
He said, "Enough that you'd better give it a wide berth, asshole."
"They'll come at you and right through you," I warned him. "I've dealt with people like these before, so don't put your cadets down there, these people don't play defensively. It's offense all the way and you'd better get ready for it."
I hung it up and got away from there.
So maybe I'd overplayed it just a bit. Then again, maybe not.
And maybe, I was thinking, I'd better take my own advice and make myself armed and dangerous.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I went back east and circled south instead of north toward San Antonio Heights, wanted to run by Valley Central Hospital and try to look in on Susan Baker. That may sound crazy but I figured it was worth a soft probe anyway. I wasn't going to do anything crazy, just take a look and play the ear. Had no intention of spending the day at Judith's place in the hills either, though the idea was strong that I should go take a look there too and see what I could learn from the White family home. Didn't really know where else to start, and now with the added aggravation of trying to avoid cops it seemed a little silly to be running up and down the boulevards in Lahey country—but what the hell else could I do?
The hospital was on the way, sort of, and I wanted to see Susan Baker. Had absolutely no idea of what I would find there, if anything, but certainly Susan could be an important piece of the puzzle. If I could get to her, and if she could talk coherently to me... well I figured it was worth the risk. And I got lucky. A police car was standing empty outside the emergency entrance, but that's normal,
you can expect to see that any time—and I could not detect any hint of other police presence in the area.
I waltzed in the back way and went up to the psychological/psychiatric section and walked smack into Susan— right past her door anyway, saw her sitting in bed watching television. She didn't see me and I didn't see anyone else in the room, nor was there any evidence that she was under any kind of security watch.
I went on to the nurse's station and told the girl at the desk, "I'm Doctor Joseph."
She looked up from a report and said, "Yes?"
"I'm consulting on Susan Baker."
She was quick on the uptake. "Oh yes. She was just brought down from the security ward. This way, please."
That told me something right there. It meant both that Susan was not considered a difficult patient and that the cops were no longer standing over her.
The nurse was leading me to Susan's room. I followed her back down the hallway, asked her from a pace behind, "What is the regimen?"
She replied over her shoulder as we continued along, "Bedrest and TLC. She's doing fine."
"No medication?"
"Nothing's on the chart. She will probably be released tomorrow."
The nurse left me at the door and I went into the room alone, which of course was what I wanted once I had established the condition of the patient.
Susan turned her head to look at me, blinked twice then said, "Oh, it's you." The voice sounded a bit weak but she wasn't whispering.
"You got your voice back," I observed.
"Yeah, how "bout that."
I laid the thousand bucks on her bed tray and told her, "I didn't earn this."
She looked at the money for a moment before replying, "It's not all mine. How much did you earn?"
"Not a penny."
"I guess not." She turned her head toward the window. "I don't want the fucking money."
I said, "Maybe the other contributors wouldn't feel that way. Take it."
They're all dead," she declared in a tiny voice.
"What kind of game was it, Susan?" I asked gently.
She turned to me with a snort. "Game?! Some game! They're all dead! All but me! Why not me?"
"Who killed them?"
Her eyes fled again to the window. "Craig said it would be easy, like learning a script and staging it. Well it was never easy. It was horrible. Nobody would cooperate. Everyone had to ad lib. Like you."
I said, "I guess no one ever showed me the script, kid. What was I supposed to do?"
"You were supposed to . . ." She caught herself and turned to me with venom in the eyes. "Get out of here!" she screamed.
I tried to calm her but it just got worse, at the top of her lungs.
The nurse was running back toward the room when I stepped outside.
"Guess she doesn't like me," I said as the nurse ran past me.
Damned if I knew why, though. Nice guy like me? My performance on Craig's stage must have been a terrible disappointment to everyone.
It was a graceful three-level house on a cul-de-sac with several others of equal value, probably built at a time when a hundred-thousand dollar house was a mansion and dirt was still cheap. With real estate now a cottage industry and everyone playing that market, you probably couldn't touch these places for a million—but it was the kind of home you would visualize for a successful lawyer. Don't know about federal judges—they're not in the same league because their annual salary wouldn't equal a lawyer's share of one good accident award—but I didn
't know at the time how long Judge White had been on the bench or how long ago he'd bought the property.
The area was nicely secluded—deeper into the hills than where I lived and the terrain quite a bit more rugged— but it was a view house perched onto the side of the mountain, so there was not that feeling of isolation that comes with some of these remote neighborhoods.
Gertie was black, about sixty, obviously sharp of mind but also gentle and possessed of a dignified reserve, not terribly warm but not cold either—the perfect housekeeper. I gathered that she'd been with the family for a long time. I asked her about Judge White and she told me that he had moved into Los Angeles several years earlier, shortly after Judith returned home from her world travels.
That's about the time he went on the bench," I guessed.
She said, "When he went to federal court, yes. He was a judge before that."
"Superior Court?"
She shrugged and made a dumb face. "It was just down here in Pomona, whatever that court is."
"Do you like him?"
"The judge? How could I not like the judge? He's a great man."
Gertie did not live in. She had a family in Ontario, worked a regular eight to five, forty hour week, and Judith had given her the rest of the day off after my arrival. I got the idea that she was anxious to leave. She showed me around the main level and pointed out the bar, the refrigerator loaded with goodies, fresh pot of coffee, the game room.
Copp In The Dark, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) Page 9
