by Bill Sage
“Just a hunch. He may not be. But if Sands is in on the kidnapping, mentioning Miller’s name should rattle the shit out of him. He’d think we know everything.”
“Yeah, but if his story about not knowing anything is true, it won’t get us anywhere.”
“We won’t know until we play with what we have.”
Roth hung up and entered the courtroom. After handling a few short cause matters, he heard three motions and held a revocation of probation hearing. He didn’t start any trials because he had a sale of heroin case starting in the afternoon.
For the first time since Asher had been kidnapped, Roth left the courthouse for lunch. He and Judge Mahler went to Franco’s. It was a nice break from eating in his chambers.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Franco asked Mahler. “You guys don’t like good Italian food anymore?”
“Al’s been stuck in some heavy trials,” Mahler said, smiling.
Laughing, Roth said, “All death penalty murder ones.”
Franco laughed, then said, “I’ll get a waiter.”
Returning to his chambers, Roth got ready for the pretrial discussion on the heroin case. As he was looking over the file, he was thinking it was good that Mahler hadn’t asked any questions or seemed to suspect anything was wrong.
A few minutes later, he invited the attorneys into his chambers to discuss any issues they thought needed to be resolved before the trial began.
Roth could tell the defense attorney was new. The big tipoff was he’d cite some part of the constitution for almost everything he said.
“That’s required by the 14th Amendment’s due process clause” was something he said at least four times.
Another tipoff was that he was trying to give the impression he had scores of jury trials under his belt. “My final arguments usually aren’t too long, Your Honor,” he advised Roth.
“Okay, I’ll hold you to that,” Roth said, eyeing the DA.
Roth braced himself for a prolonged, tedious trial, with loads of amateurish cross-examination and mindless objections to the DA’s questions.
20
AFTER HEARING AN hour of testimony in the heroin case, Roth adjourned the trial and left for home. Entering the den, he threw his suit coat on a chair and poured himself a little Irish whiskey. Sometimes he liked to switch from drinking Scotch.
Linda, as she’d done the day before, was holed up in the bedroom, reading her self-help books.
As Roth took a swallow, he was thinking that it didn’t look too promising for rescuing Asher. The Toyota couldn’t be traced, Lopez found no clues inside, and the kidnappers never came back to reclaim it. And to top it off, it looked like Sands was probably just a lookout.
Unless Ben could get somewhere using the “Sam Miller” tack, there was nothing else to go on. The only thing left was doing a “Goldman” on Sands.
Meanwhile, demanding proof of life and a simultaneous exchange wasn’t getting Roth anywhere. If he and Linda continued to insist on them, it could be bad for Asher. There was always the possibility that the kidnappers could give up on trying to extort a ransom for him and dump his dead body in a ditch somewhere.
If that happened, Roth felt he should take all the blame. Yeah, Linda was the one who didn’t want to go to the police, but he could’ve pressured her into it. She would’ve listened to him, but he never really tried.
With the way things were going, Roth was thinking that allowing his sense of justice control his decisions might have been a mistake.
A few minutes later, Linda came downstairs and sat beside him. Even though he was trying to keep his thoughts to himself, he could tell she knew he felt discouraged. That didn’t surprise him—he never could hide his inner feelings from her.
“Is Jake gonna come out here?” she asked.
She can see it on my face. Thinks I need his help.
“I hate to ask him until we really have something.”
“But I can see what’s happening to you. You need him here. You guys do stuff together. That’s what you’ve always done.”
“I know what you’re getting at, but he’s got plenty of things to do in Detroit.”
“He has Izzy. They’re partners. He can take care of things while Jake’s out here.”
Al could see she wasn’t going to let it go. And besides, she was right—he wanted Jake at his side. They’d always stood together against their enemies.
The way things were going now, Roth was almost at the point of giving up on striking back at the kidnappers. That’s why he was starting to think that if he could get proof of life and a quick exchange, maybe he should settle for that.
But his lack of new ideas and the dim prospects of finding a way of levelling the playing field didn’t justify asking Jake to fly across the county just to hold his hand.
“I just can’t do it, honey,” Al said. “He’s got his own life. I want to keep him in the background for when we really need him.”
21
MEANWHILE, AT THE safe house, Sands wasn’t budging. He was holding fast to his know-nothing story.
“You guys have to believe me,” Sands said to Ben.
“I gotta believe you?” Ben roared. Turning to Phil, he said, “You hear this asshole?”
Laughing, Phil said, “I’m gonna ask you one more time. What’s the name of the guy and his number?”
“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know. I had it on a piece of paper. In the car…”
“Don’t give us that shit again,” Phil said. “We know it’s not in there.”
“I swear, that’s the truth. You gotta believe me.”
Phil stood up and pulled a hunting knife out of the sheath on his belt. “Lift the asshole up.”
Ben grabbed Sands by his armpits and slid him off the chair. Sands fell to the floor on his side.
Bending down, Ben said, “I don’t know why you want to do it this way. But I can tell you, we’re tired of your lying.”
Then he turned Sands around, so he was flat on his back.
“Slide his pants down,” Phil ordered. “I think he needs to feel a little pain.”
“Whaddaya guys doing?” Sands asked in a fearful voice.
“Shut up, asshole,” Ben said. He unbuckled Sands’ pants and started pulling them down.
“Wait, wait. For God’s sake, wait.”
“We’ve wasted enough time being fair with you. All you’ve done is feed us the same line of bullshit over and over again.”
“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“It’s too late for that shit,” Ben said.
“He said his name was ‘Hank.’”
Ben said, “You coulda told us that hours ago. That means you been lying to us all along. You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Wait! The number. I memorized it.”
Phil said, “Fuck him, he’s bullshittin’ us again.”
“You’ll say anything now,” Ben sneered. “We’re not buying it.”
“No, no, you gotta listen. Here it is.” Then he rattled off the number. “Go ahead. Try it. I’m not lying.”
“Whaddaya think?” Phil said.
“I say fuck ’im.”
“Please!” Sands cried out. “Please, call the number.”
Ben and Phil looked at each other, pretending they were trying to decide what to do.
After waiting a few seconds, Phil said, “I got no use for this asshole, but maybe he’s finally coming clean.”
Looking at Sands, Ben warned, “I’m not saying what I’ll do after I call this bullshit number. You understand?”
Nodding, Sands said, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Give it to me again, and I’ll call it.”
Sands repeated the number.
They lifted him up from the floor and sat him back in the chair. Then Ben walked downstairs, went to the phone and dialed the number.
“Fullerton Motel,” the guy answering said.
“Did you guys move?”
“No, we’re still in Santa Ana. On Spruce.”
“Okay, thanks,” Ben said, hanging up.
Leaving Phil to guard Sands, Ben got into his Suburban and drove to Santa Ana. After driving on the freeway for an hour and half, he arrived at the motel. It was in an industrial area. Mainly commercial buildings, a convenience store at the intersection with Cabot.
Walking to the front door, he laughed to himself. Half of the neon lights weren’t working.
What a dump.
Inside, a half-bald, middle-aged man sat at the front desk. Wearing a red plaid shirt, he was drinking coffee out of large, brown mug and eating a glazed donut. It didn’t surprise Ben that the clerk didn’t greet him as he walked in. Didn’t even look up, just kept eating.
What a piece-of-shit slob.
“Hey, donut man,” Ben said. “I hate to bother you, but I gotta ask you a few questions. I’m an investigator.”
Wiping crumbs off his mouth, the clerk mumbled, “I’ll need to see some identification.”
“Hey, swallow before you start talking,” Ben barked. But he heard what the guy said.
“ID. I need to see it.”
“Listen to me. I’m not a cop, so I don’t have any identification. I don’t have a lot of time either. So, answer one or two questions and I’m outta here.”
The clerk gawked at him, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth.
Then taking a softer approach, Ben said, “I know you have to be careful. But what I need to know is important for public safety. And I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”
Shaking his head, the clerk said, “No. Can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Ben said in an angry voice. “Are three or four men staying in a room at your motel?”
“I told you, I can’t give out that information.”
“Hey, asshole, I’m not asking for names. I just wanna know if three or more guys are staying in the same room. Don’t make this hard on yourself.”
The motel guy hesitated.
“What’s your fuckin’ problem? That’s not privileged information.”
“But—”
“Okay, then answer this: You live here, or do you drive home?”
The clerk got the implied message. “Sir, it’s not that… I want to answer your questions, but I…”
I’m gonna break this guy’s fuckin’ face.
Leaning on the counter, Ben let his jacket fall open, giving the clerk a glimpse of his shoulder holster. “Look, dickhead, if I have to come around this counter, there’s gonna be more than answering questions. You’re starting to piss me off.”
“Okay, okay. Yeah, there were three guys staying in a room. But they checked out yesterday afternoon. Pretty quick, too.”
“Did one guy look like he was tied up?”
Shaking his head, the clerk said, “I don’t know about that. What I can tell you is that when they took the room, only one guy came to the front. Later I saw three other guys come in the side door. One guy had gray hair.”
“What name did they use to sign in?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Open the fuckin’ book and tell me.”
The clerk looked at the ledger and said, “Grant…Eddie Grant.”
“Let me see,” Ben said, reaching for the ledger.
After verifying the name, Ben stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Peeling off a ten-dollar bill, he tossed it on the counter. “Here, buy yourself some soap or more donuts.”
Then he stepped over to the door. Stopping, he turned around. “Have a nice day,” he said, smiling.
When Ben returned to the safe house, he ran upstairs, where Phil was watching Sands.
“You know where that number leads to?” Ben asked Sands.
“I…I never called it.”
“Maybe you did, and maybe you didn’t,” Ben said, pulling a chair close to Sands. Sitting down, he said, “But I’ll tell you something we know. You were working with Sam Miller on the kidnapping. We know the whole thing.”
“Miller…?”
“If you tell us where they’re holding Burns, we’ll cut you loose. Otherwise, you’re not gonna make it outta here alive.”
“I haven’t talked or seen Miller in years. Last I heard, he’d moved to Orange County. I’m not working with him. Haven’t in years.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“I swear. We did some shit together. Years ago, but not on this. You gotta believe me.”
Standing up, Ben said, “I know you’re lying to protect your pals, but I can guarantee you it’s not gonna work.”
22
BEN WENT DOWNSTAIRS to the kitchen and heated up a day-old beef burrito. He wanted to wait a few minutes before he called Al to give him the bad news. All the leads were dead ends.
At least the burrito was good, especially after drenching it in guacamole and salsa. He washed it all down with a Bud. Then lighting up a cigarette, he called Al.
“Sands kept giving us the same story. So, we gave him the ‘Goldman’ treatment. That opened him up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He finally gave up the phone number. You know, for the guy he was supposed to call. He said his name was ‘Hank,’ but Sands thought that was a phony name.”
“What about the number?”
“It was a shithole motel in Santa Ana. I drove down there to check it out. The motel guy told me that three men moved out yesterday afternoon. And get this—one guy had gray hair.”
“They must’ve taken Ash out of there after you crashed into Sands’ car.”
“So now we’re back to square one. Where do we go from here?”
“What about questioning him about Miller?”
“He said he hadn’t spoken to him in years. And that was after doing a ‘Goldman’ on him.”
Al sighed. Didn’t say anything.
After several seconds, Ben asked, “On Sands, hang on to him?”
“Haven’t made a final decision, but he’s definitely in the expendable zone.”
“If we ever find out he was involved, you may wanna take a part in the conclusion of all this yourself.”
“That’s a possibility.”
After hanging up, Al downed the last of his drink and poured another. It looked like they’d missed their chance of rescuing Asher from the motel. If Sands had given Ben the number when Ben first asked for it, they could’ve staked out the motel and ambushed the kidnappers when they came out with Asher. Or Roth could’ve cooked up a plan to con a way into their room.
But now, it was too late. Nothing to go on.
As for Sands’ story that he doesn’t know anything about the kidnapping, that might be true. But that wouldn’t get him off the hook. Refusing to give Ben the phone number when he first asked for it was a huge strike against him.
Al checked on Linda. She’d fallen asleep in the chair. A blanket was on her lap; the book had fallen to the floor. Al picked it up and put it on the side table. Then he returned to the den, clicked on the TV.
About an hour later, Jake called.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“All bad. It’s turning into a pile of crap.”
Then Al told him about Sands not knowing anything and what Ben found out about the motel. It was leading them nowhere. Jake let out a deep sigh. “That leaves only one lead.”
“Yeah, and if Miller doesn’t lead us anywhere, we’re screwed.”
“We’ll get something,” Jake said in a reassuring voice. “It’ll just show up.”
“I like your optimism, but all I can think of is Linda.” Al went silent for a few seconds. “I don’t know, maybe I should have—”
“Al don’t blame yourself. You’re doing it right. It just takes time.”
“But it’s Linda’s father.” Al turned down the sound on the TV. “That’s all I think about. Every second.”
“Al, listen—”
“She doesn’t go into work every
day, and when she does, she doesn’t stay there that long. Some days, she just sits in the bedroom, reading those books. I wish I could go up there and tell her everything is okay, that we got him back.”
“It’s probably okay that she doesn’t spend all day at the office. She’s got people for that.”
Al was silent for a few seconds. Then: “You’re right. The VP under her is taking care of it. Good guy. He and his wife have been over here for dinner.”
“So, stop worrying about it. Linda’s tough, you know that.”
“It’s hard to be objective when it comes to your wife. But I know you’re right.”
“Maybe I should come out there. We can work this out together.”
“You got your own shit to take care of. Let’s wait until the real action begins.”
“I don’t have to wait for you. I can come anytime I want.”
“When it’s time, I’ll tell you.”
“It’s not up to you.”
“Too bad you’re not with Celia anymore.”
“Oh, so now you’re changing the subject?”
“Well, I don’t know. It would give you another reason for coming out.”
“Okay, I’ll play along.” Jake thought for a second. “Unlike Linda, she couldn’t handle my line of work. I think she loved me, but it was too much for her. Can’t blame her.”
“You ever call her?”
“No. Got to move on to other things.”
“She still calls Linda. They talk.”
“Yeah, you told me.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
“I know you’re dying to know,” Al said. “Yes, she talks about you.”
“Too bad it went the way it did.”
“Who knows…”
“Whatever.”
After some more silence, Al said, “I’m going to drink Scotch until I crash out. Then I’ll crawl into bed, put my arm around her, and hope I fall asleep.”
“When I hear you talk like that, I know I gotta get out there.”
23
“AL,” LOPEZ SAID ON THE PHONE.
