A half hour later, after calling all of Peter Blaine’s phone numbers and knocking way too many times for the benefit of any witnesses, Nick was standing inside Blaine’s home office. Blaine was nowhere around. Nick was sure of that because he’d personally looked behind every door, under every bed, inside every closet, and even searched every drawer — without a warrant. If he found anything important in one of those drawers (which he did), he’d put it back and come back later with a warrant so he could find it all over again, legally this time.
In Blaine’s top desk drawer, he found a photograph, which gave him a whole new set of theories.
The photograph showed Melanie Blaine with her eyes closed, head turned slightly to the side, on her back, naked from at least the waist up. Next to her, lying on her side, looking down towards Melanie’s legs, was Edna. Only her head and bare shoulders were showing because her head was oriented lower in the photograph. The impression Nick got was they were engaged in some sort of sex act. It looked like the shot wasn’t taken with informed consent, either. It appeared as though the lens was mounted up high and partially behind an object with a sharp edge, like a box or picture frame, because it showed in one corner of the photo.
So maybe the Blaines were being blackmailed. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. An indiscretion committed by someone influential and rich, in this case that someone’s wife, used by a blackmailer to get money, or information, or a business advantage. Another possibility was that Blaine had his wife followed because he was suspicious of her and had the photograph taken. Once he had the proof and knew it wasn’t a one-time thing, it made him mad and he killed her along with Edna. Anger and jealously was an age-old motive. Another possibility was that Peter Blaine not only knew about his wife and Edna but approved of it. Maybe he even participated in it and the photo had nothing at all to do with any of the murders. Or, on the other hand, it was possible Peter Blaine was the pimp all along and killed them all so he wouldn’t be found out.
The trouble was Nick had too many damn theories. He was just chasing his tail. He had to get back to the basics. He had to interview his witnesses, Forney and Templeton. He had to find Blaine and re-interview him. And above all else, he had to pick-up Malone and search his house, car, and business.
Nick put the photograph back in the drawer and posted one of the patrol officers outside the condo in the hallway. He had an arrest warrant and a couple of search warrants to get. But first, he wanted to stop by and check on Al.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At just past midnight the doors to Valley Medical whooshed open to pass Nick in. In the waiting room he saw a man, dirty and worn like a field hand’s boot, wearing a heavy, red plaid shirt, and a navy blue watch cap. He was slouched down in one of the chairs, his chin resting on his chest, his personals in a black plastic lawn bag at his feet. On the opposite side of the room sat a family of three. The little boy, maybe six, in sweatpants, tennis shoes, and a Spiderman tee shirt, was nervously kicking the air. On one side of him was his father, a man of about twenty-five with a blue ink tattoo on the side of his neck. On the other side of the boy was his mother who had straight black hair, red-brown lips edged in black, and blue eyelids. Like the man across from her, she too was asleep. Other than that, the waiting room was empty.
Nick badged past security and headed towards the elevators. At that exact same time his cell sounded incoming. The readout showed Terrie calling, so he let his voicemail pick it up. He didn’t want to go over the whole damn story again; he’d already told it twice. He actually didn’t much feel like talking at all.
His mind inexplicably jumped from Terrie to Ellen. Why one would prompt the other made no to sense him, but he didn’t spend much time thinking about it because his thoughts of her prompted a strange emotion — fear. This too, made no sense. He knew she and his mother were safe. Nobody but nobody knew where Ellen was staying …unless she called someone. He hoped she hadn’t called someone. His apprehension grew.
While he waited for the elevator to take him to ICU, it crossed his mind to give Ellen a call, just to make sure. The possibility of danger continued to sit there like an indigestible mass in the pit of his stomach. His elevator arrived, but he didn’t get in. Instead he opened his cell and punched in her number.
A sleepy Ellen answered the phone, and he was relieved. For the first time in several hours he felt better.
“What time is it? Is everything okay?”
It sounded like she switched on the lamp next to the bed.
“Yeah …no …just checking to make sure you and mom are safe.”
“Something’s happened, hasn’t it? What is it Mikolaj?”
“I’ll explain in the morning. Go back to sleep. I shouldn’t have called. I just, you know, wanted to check.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk?”
“I can’t right now. Look, I gotta go. I’ll be there in a couple of hours or so. Please go back to sleep, I shouldn’t have called …really.”
He disconnected and poked the elevator button again. He told himself he shouldn’t have called but felt better that he had.
Ellen …
He couldn’t ever remember seeing Al without his glasses on. It changed his whole appearance. Or was it seeing him flat out on his back, covered with a white hospital blanket, that made him look, what, vulnerable? Jeeze, I can’t believe it, he told himself.
The night nurse floated into the room, checked Al’s IV, and then lifted up the blanket to look at his wound and the drain tube the surgeon had left in place. She took a listen to his heart and lungs before leaving without saying a word. Out by her station he could hear two of the night staff in discussion about someone’s sister and her eminent divorce. He also heard the sound of a patient buzzing for an attendant. Nick remembered how much he hated hospitals.
He scooted a chair over by Al’s bed and sat down. He couldn’t stay long; there was a lot to do. He sat quietly watching him breathe until a tear started to form. He wiped it away, waited a couple of seconds, and looked to see if anyone was watching. There wasn’t. It still embarrassed him, though. What the hell is that all about, he thought?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was just past 4 AM, and Nick was cold. From the driveway he could see a faint glow through the windows. It was just like his mom to keep a light on for him. Some things never change.
After leaving Al, Nick got the arrest warrant for Malone and the search warrants he wanted. It wasn’t as hard as he thought. It was all done by phone. He then put the Special Ops people on it and they hit both the club and Malone’s house looking for him. They found nothing except the indication that he had packed up and left in a hurry. They’d go into hunt mode now.
Nick went in the back door taking care to minimize the squeak of the hinges. It was warm inside and he could hear the metal grate over the floor heater, the one he used to stand over on cold mornings as a kid, ticking from the heat. He kicked off his shoes and crossed through the kitchen into the family room where he hoped to catch a few hours sleep before taking Ellen back to her place later in the morning.
He stepped into the room and Ellen was there, sleeping in his father’s big chair, wearing pajama bottoms and a tee shirt, wrapped in a blanket, legs pulled-up to her chest. The remote control for the TV rested on the floor below her. On the couch, someone had placed a pillow and a couple of blankets for him.
He stood there looking at her; one minute, five minutes, it seemed like more.
It’s strange, he thought, the whole scene seems so familiar. It’s as if I’ve been here before. Then he asked, what am I doing stashing a witness in my mother’s house?
Just then she opened her eyes and looked at him. A second of silence passed between them.
“I must have fallen asleep. Mikolaj, are you all right? I heard. The news said a detective had been shot and some others, too. Was it Al? You said you were going to meet him.”
She uncoiled herself and stood up.
“Yeah, he’s going to be okay, though.”
He stopped talking and just locked-in on her. The blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, a corner held in each hand.
The sensation of familiarity was even stronger now. They weren’t acting or feeling like strangers. Maybe it was her presence in the family home, or maybe it was the way she seemed genuinely concerned about what had happened to Al, or maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because he wanted to feel something other than hate, and anger, and sadness. But he didn’t think so.
A connection, an emotional one, had been made somewhere along the way, before now. Almost from the beginning they had acted as if something was there; the way they talked to each other, discussing, arguing, give and take; the way she called him Mikolaj; even the simple act of her changing the channel on his car radio and turning the volume up, was one of unconscious familiarity.
“What happened?” she asked. “How bad is he hurt? …What’s the matter?”
She stopped talking as soon as he moved towards her. She unwrapped the blanket and pulled him in, putting both her arms and the blanket around him. They kissed hard at first, then softer and longer.
After a moment she whispered, “Ann says you act tough but you’re not. She also says you’ll blame yourself for what happened.”
He kissed her to get her to stop talking. He didn’t feel like talking about it anymore …or acting tough either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sounds and smells roused him, and the weight of Ellen’s body on his brought him fully awake. He could hear his mother in the kitchen banging pans, running water, listening to the radio, a morning ritual of hers played out thousands and thousands of times before. The old house had its sounds and its smells.
They were in his bed. The one he slept in as a kid. How weird was that? Ellen was half on top of him, her head on his chest, one leg between the two of his. His pants were on the floor, his shirt and jacket over the footboard. And his left hand was full-out, dead asleep. But he liked the feel of her, the smell of her, hearing her breathing slow and at peace. Who cares; it’s just a hand?
He wondered what time it was but he couldn’t get a look at his watch without disturbing her. By the light coming through the window, though, he guessed it was after eight. Four hours sleep, maybe. It was enough. It would have to be.
Ellen stirred, rolling her face slightly back and forth on his bare chest. Maybe she sensed the change in his breathing pattern.
He started to think about the implications of a relationship with her but put it aside. There was no point. It was there, it happened, was happening. He’d deal with the consequences later.
Nick turned to the problem of finding Malone. Maybe his phone records would give up a clue. An idea suddenly came to him. He had to make a call, but he couldn’t get up without waking her.
She stirred again and he felt her eyelashes fluttering on his bare skin like little brush strokes. He glanced down without raising his head. Her eyes were open now, looking across his chest at the wall.
What was she thinking? Regrets? A mistake? He needed a shower? No, not that, at least he hoped not.
Ellen looked-up at him, saw he was awake, smiled, kissed his chest, and then raised-up and kissed him on the lips. Her breasts hung down touching his arm and shoulder.
That answers that, he thought. He also decided the call wasn’t so important anymore. She was incredible.
Later, after, thirty minutes after, they lay holding hands staring at the ceiling.
“Do you think your mom heard us?” she asked.
“Does a Pollack like vodka?”
She giggled. He didn’t.
“Do you mind if I shower first? That way I can go down and help Ann.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll just lie here and enjoy the view.”
She swung her feet over the edge of the bed so her back was to him, grabbed his shirt off the footboard, and held it over the front of her as she stood up. As she walked towards the bathroom, she looked back at him and smiled. Some of the best parts were still showing.
As soon as Ellen left the room, Nick searched out his cell and called around until he located Rene.
“How’s he doing?” she asked.
“Last I checked, okay. The bullet collapsed a lung and broke a rib. That seems to be the extent of it.”
“Lucky man. He sure scared the crap out of me; all that blood …jeeze.”
“Yeah, me too. I thought for a second there …well, he’s okay now so what I thought doesn’t matter. Hey, I need a couple of favors.”
“Name it,” she replied.
“Isn’t there something you guys do with cell phones when you’re trying to track dealers, pinging?”
“Good idea. I assume you mean to track Malone. Yeah, if his phone’s on then we can pretty much figure out where he is. It’s beautiful; they never think to turn their phones off, especially when they’re running. They wanna stay in touch so they can find out what’s going on.”
“The sooner, the better; we gotta get this guy before someone else gets hurt.”
“Okay, I’ll get on it but what else? You said a couple.”
“Oh, I’m going to need the tape from last night. The original.”
“Not a problem, I can take care of both. Now, I want a favor from you.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“If I can find this sucker from his cell phone, I want to be in on it.”
“Deal, but you know how those Special Ops guys are.”
“Yeah, but at least I’ll have a shot at him.”
“Okay, if you get a location on him call Special Ops first and get them moving on it and then call me. After that, just meet me there, wherever there is.”
Ellen came in the door wrapped in a towel, her hair wet from the shower.
“Cool. You at the office? I could walk the tape over.”
“No, I’m taking care of a witness,” he replied with a smile.
Ellen looked at him and dropped the towel, facing him. He felt it starting all over again.
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
Nick shook his finger at Ellen.
“If I sleep, I might miss out on something.”
Ellen made a sad face.
“Huh, okay, whatever you said.”
Rene hung-up. Nick looked at his watch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Forney’s house was a bad imitation of a Greek Mediterranean villa, this one built in the dry, brown, east San Jose foothills. Marble was everywhere. You couldn’t spit without hitting it — the broad, fan-shaped front steps; the porch landing; the trim around the cut glass door; the railings and balusters; even the statuary in the gardens. The walls, though, were whitewashed stucco, set off by a terracotta tile roof. There was a rangy olive tree near one corner of the front yard and alongside the stand-alone three car garage there was a low palm and three tall cypresses. In place of the traditional California lawn was low crawling juniper, a rolling sea of blue-green.
Nick parked the Ford in the driveway behind a black Mercedes S500 and next to a yellow Hummer.
He was greeted at the front door by the housekeeper who had a slight Hispanic accent, and who led Nick into the living room that looked out onto the back patio where Forney was taking either an early lunch or a very late breakfast. She requested a moment to allow her time to announce his presence and walked out to her employer. Nick couldn’t ever remember being ushered anywhere by a servant before, much less announced, so he traipsed on after.
Ramon Forney was a short, barrel chested man of about fifty who looked to be one of those unfortunate types who could shave baby butt smooth in the morning and have a full beard by dinnertime. He was wearing a white, short-sleeve shirt out at the waist, tan linen trousers and brown loafers without socks. On his left wrist he wore a huge gold watch with a gold band and on his right pinky, a gold ring.
He sat at a glass topped, wrought iron table that allowed the view of a rectangular sw
imming pool. On the far side of the pool were two marble statues of naked men, one posed sitting and the other as if he’d just launched a javelin. Beyond that were more marble steps, four to be precise, that led to an elevated patio and garden area that was being tended by a gardener wearing a floppy hat. And then, if the statues didn’t overdue it, at one end of the pool was a small replica of the north porch of the Erechtheum of Acropolis, columns and all, that served as a pool house.
As Nick stepped out onto the patio he could see that Forney was reading the newspaper in an attitude of leisure. A saucer with cup, half full of coffee, rested within his reach. A mostly-eaten omelet was pushed to one side.
At the housekeeper’s approach, Forney looked up from his paper and then caught sight of Nick behind her. Her boss’ eye movement drew the housekeeper’s attention as well, and she turned to look.
“Oh, sir,” she said to Nick. Then she turned back to Forney and stated, “I asked him to wait.”
“That’s all right; this man is a police officer. I’ve been expecting him. You may leave us. Oh, and will you tell Leo to wait in my office please.”
“Expecting me, Mr. Forney; how is that?”
“It’s obvious isn’t it; two women who work for me, indirectly at least, have been murdered. You wouldn’t be doing your job if you didn’t question me. And of course you’ve paid a number of visits to my club. Those reports have reached me as well.”
“Fair enough,” Nick said. “And if you anticipated my visit, you probably anticipated I’d ask you where you were last night around 8 PM and, say, last Thursday around five or six in the morning.”
Nick decided to start with this question for a couple of reasons. First, Forney was too confident. Asking him to establish his whereabouts right-away, might unsettle him and make him less likely to stray too far from the truth. The other reason was he didn’t want Forney to think that they were looking only at Malone.
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