by M. Z. Kelly
It was obvious that Charlie was still pining for Wilma, but I was determined not to bring up the subject. Still, I wasn’t sure if horny Charlie was better than sexy Charlie. When he and Wilma had been doing the dirty deed, my partner walked around with a big dumb post-coital grin on his face.
Andrews drove north on the 101 Freeway and ended up in Van Nuys, a suburb of Los Angeles. We followed him and watched as he stopped in the parking lot of a little bar called, The Red Tavern, and went inside.
We pulled to the curb down the street and watched from a distance as a second car pulled up and a man went inside the bar.
“I think I’ve seen that guy before,” I said. “I’m just not sure where.”
“Did you get a good look?” Charlie asked.
I shook my head. “No, and the bar’s too small for me to go in there and try to identify him. Let’s pull into the parking lot and wait until he comes out.”
Charlie parked at the far end of the small lot. I voiced my concerns that Captain Andrews might be able to make us when he came out of the bar.
“Maybe we should pretend like we’re making out?” Charlie suggested.
“What? That’s disgusting.”
Charlie’s face fell. “I’m that bad, huh?”
“No, it’s just that...it would be like making out with my father.”
Half an hour later, as Andrews and the other man came out of the bar, I realized I had no choice but to pretend to snuggle up in Charlie’s arms. I felt like I was being hugged by one of those bear jamboree characters at Disneyland.
“Got him,” I whispered, getting a bead on the man Andrews was with through the bear hug. “I know the son of a bitch.”
After the captain and his companion had left the parking lot, I got out of the bear hug and said, “The guy’s name is Emilio Cruz. He’s one of Jimmy Marcello’s foot soldiers.”
Charlie was asking me about Cruz when my phone rang. I saw the number was Natalie’s, took the call, and heard my friend’s frantic voice on the line.
“Kate, we need you to come quick. Mags Warner has been shot.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The next afternoon I left Bernie at home with Natalie, before Charlie and I drove to FBI headquarters on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. Charlie circled the area a couple of times to be sure we weren’t being followed before parking.
“Have you heard anything about more Mags?” Charlie asked.
“Out of surgery and holding her own. The doctors say the bullet was small caliber and partially fragmented when it hit her skull. They expect some brain damage, but they think she may survive.”
“I hope nobody made us when we were at the scene last night.”
“I think we’re good. The responding officers didn’t recognize us. Natalie told them that we were just friends who’d come to offer emotional support.”
“Do you think Mags was targeted because she talked to you?”
“Somebody probably didn’t want her talking about Discrete’s exclusive client list.”
“The department needs to search her house, see if there are any names useful to our investigation.”
“Already let Pearl know. He said he’d see what he can do.”
“He knows about your assignment?”
“I called and told him. I thought somebody on the inside, other than the chief, should know.”
What I didn’t say is that I wanted Pearl to know about my circumstances in case Chief Reed resigned. I wasn’t sure if it would have any bearing on getting my job back if that happened, but I thought it made sense to have someone else in the know.
“Even though you’ve officially resigned, you could still be a target, Kate. You need to be careful.”
I looked at my partner as we walked to the FBI offices. “I’ll keep that in mind, Daddy. Just promise me no more bear hugs.”
We met with two FBI agents that had been briefed on our case, assignments, and background.
The lead investigator was Special Agent Meg Walsh, an auburn-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Her partner, Special Agent Kenyon Jones, was probably a couple of years younger than Walsh. He was African-American and handsome.
“We understand that, with Chief Reed’s approval, you’ve been doing surveillance of Captain Andrews for the last couple of days,” Walsh began, after introductions.
“We followed him to a bar in Van Nuys last night,” I said. “He met with one of Jimmy Marcello’s assistants. A man named, Emilio Cruz. There’s no doubt that he’s dirty. He may also be the one who broke into my house and shot at me the other night.”
“We know about Cruz,” Jones said. “He’s worked for Marcello for the past decade. Spends a lot of time in Vegas as an enforcer.”
“He’s bad news,” Walsh agreed. “Of course, anyone associated with Marcello is bad news.”
“Are you aware of Marcello’s businesses?” Jones asked.
I said, “Along with Discrete, we know about his corporation, Abex Holdings, and that they had invested in one of Michael Clinton’s companies.”
“Abex had a very large investment in MWC Enterprises,” the agent said. “Several million dollars, from what we’ve been able to determine. They probably had an expectation of a very large tax-free return on that investment.”
“And when the return wasn’t sufficient, it could be that it got Clinton killed,” Charlie suggested.
“Maybe,” Jones said. “We’re still looking into their business arrangements.” He took a sip from a water bottle and said to Walsh, “Maybe we should summarize what we think we know at this point.”
Walsh turned her sharp, blue-green eyes on us and began, “As you probably know, Discrete Escort Services began operations in the mid-eighties. Jimmy Marcello and his brother, Tony, owned the business, and a guy named Sal Madden ran the daily operations. There was a family dispute, probably involving money, Madden ended up dead in his backyard swimming pool, and the business closed down for a few years. When it reopened in 1988, Jimmy was in charge and Tony had disappeared.”
“His brother killed him and took over,” Charlie said.
“Probably, although Tony went Hoffa,” Walsh said. “His body’s never been found. Marcello put Marla West in charge of day-to-day operations.”
Walsh’s cyan eyes shifted toward me. “We all know that escort services are, for the most part, fronts for prostitution and Discrete was certainly no exception. When some complaints began to surface in the mid-eighties, your department launched an undercover investigation.”
“My father was involved,” I said, “along with his partner Sam Weber and another officer, Billy Tompkins, who’s now deceased.”
“At the time of that investigation, your father was reporting to a man named, Pete Arroyo. He’s now working out of Rampart.”
“I’ve heard the name, but we’ve never met,” I said. “I think he’s a commander now.”
“Arroyo was a lieutenant assigned to vice at the time and was in charge of the investigation. We talked to a captain who was the head of your department’s internal affairs division back in the eighties. They had a case open on Arroyo involving complaints about him partying with prostitutes. They never proved anything and the case was closed. We think he was the one who tipped off the Marcello brothers about the undercover investigation in return for favors.”
“It would have kept the girls coming his way,” I said.
Walsh agreed. “Or money, or both. It’s been the way Marcello’s operated with impunity for years, including getting favors from city hall. Harmon Sanders was just the latest in a long history of those with influence looking the other way or even greasing the wheels when it came to Marcello’s interests.”
“What about Captain Andrews?” I asked. “Do we have any idea how he’s connected to everything?”
“There were four officers assigned to the undercover investigation of Discrete,” Walsh said. “Your father, Sam Weber, Billy Tompkins, and Trent Andrews.”
&nbs
p; “What? Wait...when I talked to John Duncan, who’s the officer assigned to the cold case on my dad, and Sam Weber, neither of them ever mentioned Andrews being involved.”
Walsh looked at her partner and said, “Do you want to fill them in on your interview with Weber.”
“I met with the retired officer yesterday,” Jones said. “After several denials, he finally admitted he knew that Arroyo was providing protection for Discrete. He kept quiet about it all these years out of fear that either Arroyo or Jimmy Marcello himself would come after him.”
“So he stood by and watched while my father told Arroyo what he knew and paid for it with his life.”
“Probably,” Jones said. “But we still have no direct proof that Marcello was behind what happened to your father.” He glanced at Walsh, then met my eyes again. “Weber also told us that just before the undercover investigation of Discrete ended, Trent Andrews replaced Billy Tompkins. It’s just speculation, but it could be that Andrews was brought in by Arroyo to take out your father.”
What the agent said made my heart rate spike. Could the middle-aged captain, who exhibited an air of calm authority, really be a cold-blooded killer—the man who murdered my father? I didn’t want to believe it, but everything was pointing in his direction.
“What did Weber say about Andrews?” I asked.
“He denied knowing anything more than your father reporting his suspicions about the undercover operations being compromised to Arroyo. All he would say about Trent Andrews is that he thought it was strange that Tompkins was suddenly replaced by him. Weber’s basically a little coward who’s tried to keep his mouth shut and look out for his own interests all these years.”
I pushed back in my chair and exhaled. I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever have enough to tie Marcello or the two cops to my father’s death.
“Where do we go from here?” I asked.
Special Agent Walsh said, “We bring in Arroyo and Andrews for questioning.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“Mags Warner will be drooling into her oatmeal if she survives,” Marcello says to The Wolf. The mob boss’s dark eyes shift, his gaze coming over to Pete Arroyo and Trent Andrews. The Wolf knows that the two cops have worked for Marcello for years, but he sees the men nervously twist and squirm in his presence. Marcello’s eyes narrow on Andrews. “The detective is another matter. You fucked up.”
Andrew’s voice breaks, his calm demeanor gone. “She’s history, anyway, resigned from the department. Rumor has it she was suffering from emotional distress.”
“We’ll see about that,” Marcello says. “Sexton still thinks that I’m behind what happened to her father. That alone makes her dangerous.”
Drinks are served and the conversation grows more pleasant. The four men engage in small talk about the history they share.
Carina bobs peacefully on the placid water. In the distance, Santa Cruz Island drifts in and out of a fogbank. The Wolf knows that the location has been carefully chosen. They are in a secluded spot where the ocean currents are deep and strong. The yacht is deserted, except for the two cops and Marcello’s most trusted crew members.
“I’m concerned about the feds,” Arroyo says when the conversation turns back to the issues at hand. “We’re probably looking at another consent decree where everything the department does is scrutinized by the government for years.”
“We’ve been through that before,” the crime boss says. “We just lie low. The business is shuttered. I’m moving operations to other areas.”
“Where does that leave us?” Andrews asks, motioning to his partner.
Marcello smiles, his voice softens. “You’re still part of my family. We go back to the old days. I’ve known you almost as long as The Wolf. You’re both like brothers to me. I’ll never forget that.”
“We are family,” The Wolf agrees. “Even though business interests change, we have each other’s backs, always.” He raises his glass. “To my brothers.”
The Wolf watches as the cops return the toast, smile and relax. They spend the next few minutes talking about their exploits over the years, how Arroyo and Andrews have made a small fortune.
“I’m thinking of retiring in a couple of years,” Arroyo says. “Maybe I’ll buy a ranch in Blue Heaven.”
“Hell you should be able to buy half of Idaho,” Marcello says. He turns to Andrews, “What about you?”
“I’ve got an ex-wife who gets half my pension. I’m in for a few more years.”
Marcello chuckles. “Hell, we can always take care of that situation.” He looks at The Wolf. “Right?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Andrews smiles, raises his glass again and drinks.
The mob boss stands and walks over to the railing. He stares off into the fog bank for a moment before turning back to the two cops. “Like I said, you both have been with me a long time. When times were tough, I could always count on you to take care of things.” The cops nod and agree. “It’s only right that The Wolf and me now take care of you both.”
Jimmy Marcello’s hands move quickly for a man his age, drawing the weapon beneath his coat. The Wolf sees the cops’ eyes widen, their bodies becoming stiff when they realize the guns are trained on them. There’s a popping sound as the mob boss puts two rounds in Arroyo’s head. The Wolf does the same with Andrews.
Moments later, the bodies of Pete Arroyo and Trent Andrews are over the railing and into the water where they will be carried down into the deep channel, their bodies never to be seen again.
Marcello returns the gun to the holster beneath his coat and turns to his companion. “Good riddance. We shoulda taken out that garbage years ago.”
A fear, almost as cold as the deep water of the channel, swirls through The Wolf as he studies Marcello. He wonders if he could be next but says, “Problem solved.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
“I’ve called a press conference for six o’clock tonight,” Chief Reed said. “I’m going to announce my resignation.”
We were meeting in Runyon Canyon Park again. It was early morning, the best time for the chief to slip away and avoid the press. It had been two days since my meeting with the FBI.
“I don’t understand why you can’t give it a few more days,” I said. “I feel like we’re getting closer to the truth.”
“Someone leaked information about Arroyo and Andrews going missing. The press also knows they were under investigation for ties to Jimmy Marcello. The fallout is coming in my direction and there’s no way to stop it.”
Reed’s dark eyes shifted away from me for a moment as he continued. “Reverend Vollmer is also still out there stirring things up. The city is on edge and there’s a chance that rioting could erupt again. If I can prevent that, maybe save a life or two, then my resignation is a small price to pay.”
I knew he was right, but felt sad that this good man, who cared deeply about the city, its citizens, and the cops on his watch, was being swept up in a wave of violence and corruption that had nothing to do with him.
“The FBI thinks Marcello is behind the disappearance of Arroyo and Andrews,” I said, meeting his eyes again. “They think they were both providing protection to his business interests for years and Marcello got worried they might turn on him if they were questioned. It would seem that anyone close to Mr. Marcello suddenly goes away, just like his brother did.” I exhaled and ran a hand through hair that the morning fog was playing havoc with. “It’s just too bad that Mags Warner’s in a coma. I’d love to talk to her again.”
“It’s doubtful she’s going to be any use to us in her condition. The best we can hope for is that the feds will eventually get something on Marcello that will tie him to everything that’s happened. They’re talking to the IRS about auditing his businesses. Of course, that could take months or years.”
The chief reached into a duffle bag. “In the meantime, as my last official act, I’m reinstating you. I want you back on the case and officially on duty
tomorrow morning.” He handed me my shield and gun. “With Arroyo and Andrews gone, I think the direct threat against you has lessened. But if you see a dark sedan following you around try not to worry. It’ll probably be your insurance policy—the FBI.”
I took my badge and weapon. “I don’t need protection. What I do need is to solve this case.” What I didn’t say is that I also needed to tie Jimmy Marcello to my father’s death.
Chief Reed stood up and said, “That’s why you’re a good cop, Detective Sexton. It’s been a pleasure serving as your chief.”
Before he left, I mentioned what Mo had said about Martin Vollmer possibly molesting boys. “I told my partner about it and he was going to call vice, but I haven’t heard anything more.”
“Maybe giving you back your badge and gun was my next to last official act as chief. I’ll make some calls this afternoon and see what we can do about the reverend.”
***
I spent a quiet night at home after calling Charlie and telling him I was back on duty and that we were to report to the station in the morning. The first thing he said was that he was going to call Wilma and tell her. I knew what that meant. Charlie was hoping to get lucky tonight.
I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang. My pulse quickened when I heard Jack’s voice.
“Kate, I’ve been thinking about what’s been happening between us. I was wondering if I can come by in a couple of days so we can talk.”
I didn’t know what to say, but the more I’d thought about our situation over the last few days, the more upset I’d become over his not being truthful about why he’d moved to Washington.
“I’m really not sure if that’s a good idea,” I said. “How are things there? With the ex-wife, I mean.”
“She’s doing better. I was able to get her a home health aide and she’s adjusting to her new life.”
“That’s good.”
“Kate, I want you to know that I was wrong. I should have told you what was going on from the start. It’s just that I...I guess I wasn’t sure how to explain my circumstances. It’s been kind of complicated.”
