by Michael Omer
“Frank Gulliepe was found dead in his apartment last night.”
Tarp stared for a minute. Then he burst laughing. It was a wild laugh, full of anger and satisfaction. “Really?” Tarp roared. “Dead? That’s fantastic news! The world is a better place. Did he suffer? Tell me he suffered!”
“He was stabbed several times,” Hannah said, exchanging looks with Bernard.
Tarp’s laugh intensified. “Oh, this is simply incredible,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Wait until my wife hears about—” Suddenly his face froze. “Hang on,” he said. “You think I did that?”
The detectives stayed quiet.
“I would never… I mean I’m glad he’s dead—he was a piece of shit—but I would never resort to… Wait a minute. Last night, you say?”
“That’s right,” Bernard said.
“Oh, okay then.” Tarp seemed relieved. “Last night my wife and I went to celebrate the kickoff of her new show. It was a long dinner party. Ended at three in the morning. More than twenty people saw me there.”
“We would like their details, please,” Bernard said.
“Absolutely,” Tarp said. He got up and went to prepare a list, leaving Hannah and Bernard alone.
“Nice place,” Hannah said.
“Yup,” Bernard agreed.
“Notice how even when you talked to him, he replied to me?”
“Yup.”
“Weird.”
Bernard shrugged wearily. He had met many like Tarp over the years. Some people didn’t want to talk to the black cop. They liked their cops nice and white. It always bothered him, but he had nothing new to say about it.
Tarp returned with the list and handed it to Hannah.
“There,” he said.
“Mr. Tarp, do you know why Frank Gulliepe targeted your wife?”
“Oh, sure,” Tarp said. “We figured that one out pretty quickly. He auditioned for a part in one of her TV series. She didn’t accept him. Told him he should go to acting school.”
“I see.”
“Told me he was one of the worst actors she had ever met.”
“Thank you for your time, sir. If there’s anything else, please let us know.”
“I will.”
They left the Tarp residence.
“He has enough money to hire someone to do the job,” Hannah said as they got into the car.
“Then let’s prove it,” Bernard said, slamming the driver’s door.
Jacob and Mitchell paid a visit to Richard Vance’s home, only to find him gone. His girlfriend, a middle-aged, pudgy woman with curly hair, garish makeup, and a red dress showing off a ridiculous amount of cleavage, obligingly agreed to call him. She did so, hissing at him angrily from inside the house, and then returned to let them know that Richard was parking his truck at the corner of Ayers Road and Murchio Drive, and would probably stay there the next hour or so. They thanked her and drove off.
They reached the corner, looked around, and couldn’t see a Richard in sight. It was a pleasant enough suburb, and they stood at the edge of the Newhall community park, where a few kids threw around a football. A mother stood with one small boy and one toddler near an ice cream truck, trying to get them to decide what they wanted to have. The toddler was screaming angrily, apparently enraged by the fact that he couldn’t have three different types of ice pops. Another woman walked past them, pushing a stroller. The small girl in it pointed at the detectives and giggled. Jacob did not feel like giggling.
“Do you want to go back to his house?” Mitchell asked. “It’s not far.”
“Well, rush hour is pretty much now, so it might take longer,” Jacob said, glancing at his watch. “I wonder what he was doing here, anyway.”
“Maybe he was moving something in his truck,” Mitchell said.
“Then why stay here for an hour?”
“Maybe he was loading furniture from one of the homes around here,” Mitchell said, looking around him.
“Yeah,” Jacob said. “Or maybe…” He strode toward the ice cream seller. The toddler was now quiet, a yellow ice pop in one hand, a purple ice pop in the other. The woman was just paying the ice cream vendor, a thin, middle-aged black man with delicate hands and strangely long eyelashes.
“Richard Vance?” Jacob said.
“Yeah,” the vendor answered, giving the woman her change. “You the detective who came to my house? Lily was spitting fire at me through the phone. She thought I was returning to my evil ways.”
“And are you?”
“Nothing evil in selling ice cream,” Richard said, shrugging. “Unless you’re a dentist. What do you want, Detective?”
“I’m looking for a friend of yours. Blayze Terry? He isn’t answering his door,” Jacob said.
“Yeah? And what makes you think I know where he is?”
“You two were pretty tight back in the day, weren’t you?”
A father approached the van, tugging a kid after him. “I’d like a Coke, please,” he said.
“Sure, sir, anything else? Something for the child?”
“The child isn’t allowed to eat sweets, because he misbehaved. Didn’t you, Ronnie?”
“Yes, Daddy,” the shamefaced kid said, staring at the ground, tears in his eyes.
Jacob looked at the man as he paid for the Coke and dragged the kid away, sipping from the can.
“Sometimes I think the crowd I used to hang around with before was much nicer than the people I meet now,” Richard said.
“Yeah,” Jacob said. “I can see why you’d think that.”
“Anyway, you’re looking for Blayze, huh? What’d he do?”
“We just want to ask him some questions.”
“Blayze isn’t a burglar no more.”
“Really? Is he also an ice cream truck owner?”
“No. He works at an electronics shop. I forget the name. But he’s clean.”
“Well, I’m happy to see that you’ve both started a new chapter in your life,” Jacob said. “We just want to ask him some questions. We aren’t here to arrest him.”
“Okay,” Richard said, looking skeptically at Jacob. “Well, it makes sense that he isn’t answering the door. He’s gone fishing off the North Shore.”
“Do you know where?”
“There’s a small beach he likes to go to. I can show you where. Or I can call him and ask him.”
“No need to call him,” Jacob said. “Just show us the place.”
Richard took out his phone. “I’ll show you,” he said, and began fiddling with the device.
“Do you have strawberry ice pops?” Mitchell asked.
“Yup,” Richard said.
“Can I have one?”
“I didn’t have you pegged as a strawberry ice pop lover,” Jacob said.
“What’s not to love? It’s strawberry, and it’s an ice pop.”
“Wise words,” Richard said, and showed them the phone screen. “See here? This is Route 133. If you take the turn here, the beach is just about ten minutes’ drive that way. It’s a quiet beach, not many people, so if he’s there you won’t have any difficulty spotting him.”
Mitchell paid for the ice pop and the detectives returned to their car.
“You know that this guy’ll call Blayze the minute we drive off.” Mitchell said, peeling the wrapper off the ice pop.
“Well, he didn’t answer our calls,” Jacob said. “Let’s hope that Blayze likes to turn off his phone when he’s fishing.”
Chapter Eleven
Hannah called the district attorney’s office the moment she and Bernard got back to the station, requesting a search warrant for Tarp’s bank accounts. She explained that Tarp had admitted to verbally assaulting the victim, that his wife’s car was similar to one described leaving the scene, and that they knew he had hired a private detective to check out the victim. The woman who answered the phone assured her they’d do it as soon as possible, but seeing as it was already the afternoon, and it wasn’t likely Tarp could g
et rid of any evidence in the bank records, Hannah doubted she’d get the warrant before the following day. She and Bernard sat down with a box of muffins they had bought on the way. Hannah knew there was a misconception about the relationship between cops and doughnuts. Personally she hated doughnuts, but she really loved muffins, and she felt like she needed the sugar.
“So we’re thinking either a hitman hired by Mr. Tarp, or some sort of drug-related crime, right?” she said.
Bernard nodded, taking a bite from a raisin muffin. “Those are the likely candidates so far,” he said.
“Could they be related somehow?” Hannah said.
“What, like Tarp hiring Chad Grimes to kill Frank?” Bernard asked.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Possible,” Bernard shrugged. “How would Tarp find a killer?”
“He’d have some contact,” Hannah said. “Some sleazy middleman who knew the right people.”
“Right. But would that middleman connect Tarp with Grimes?”
They were both silent for a few moments.
“Could it be anyone else?” Hannah asked.
“We have a list of about fifteen women that Frank harassed,” Bernard said. “It’s not like we’re lacking suspects.”
“Yeah, but most of them didn’t know it was him,” Hannah pointed out. “Tarp had money to hire a good private eye. Who else could have known about this?”
“Frank could have written something incriminating in one of his messages,” Bernard said. “Something which revealed his identity. For example, something that only he knew.”
“We should check those messages again,” Hannah said.
Bernard sighed. “Fine,” he said.
“I’ll take Twitter, you’ll take Facebook,” Hannah said.
They both got to work silently, and were scanning the messages when Hannah’s phone rang.
“Detective Shor,” she answered.
“Hey, Hannah,” a female voice said.
“Hey, Holly, what’s up?” Holly had been a police dispatcher for the past three years. She was one of Hannah’s favorites.
“Well, you know the surveillance you requested on Chad Grimes’s house? The patrol team watching the place just reported that he came home.”
Hannah snatched the keys off her desk and motioned Bernard to follow her. “Is he still there?” she asked.
“He is so far,” Holly said. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Bernard drummed his fingers impatiently on the dashboard as Hannah parked their car next to the unmarked white Dodge Charger the surveillance team was using. The two patrol officers, Noel and Kate, sat inside, bored looks on their faces. When they saw Hannah and Bernard, they got out of the car.
They were a strange pair, with Kate taller than Noel by at least five inches. They were minor celebrities among the patrol policemen, after arresting a notorious serial rapist whom they’d caught completely by accident.
Bernard had once dreamed he and Kate were sleeping together. Ever since, he felt uncomfortable whenever he saw her.
“Detectives,” Kate said with a half smile.
“Is he still there?” Hannah asked.
“Should be,” Kate said. “Haven’t seen him leave the place.”
“How long have you two been here?” Bernard asked.
“We replaced the previous shift at eight-thirty this morning,” Noel said. “That was seven hours ago. Though it feels like seven years.”
“Okay, thanks,” Hannah said.
“Do you need us to stick around?” Kate asked.
“No need,” Hannah said, just as Bernard said, “Yeah, just a few minutes.”
Kate looked at them in amusement. “So which one is it?” she asked.
“Just a few minutes,” Bernard said.
Kate nodded. Bernard and Hannah began walking toward the crumbling home of Chad Grimes. Bernard was mulling over the case in his mind. Grimes had been seen entering the bathroom in the bar with Frank Gulliepe. Later, Frank Gulliepe was found dead in his apartment, and Grimes might have left the bar at the same time Frank did. Not a very compelling evidence trail.
“You think there’s any point in asking him about Tarp?” he asked Hannah.
She shrugged. “Can’t hurt, I gue—”
The sound of an explosion interrupted their discussion. Bernard was moving before he realized what was going on. He rammed into Hannah, and she tumbled down. “Down, down, down!!!” he yelled. Another explosion echoed in the street. Somewhere he heard a scream.
“What the hell?” Hannah shouted.
“Gun!” he shouted back. “The bastard’s shooting at us!”
A third explosion, and he felt something zoom past his ear. He rolled behind a picket fence and pulled out his own gun. He heard a siren in the background. A fourth shot was fired. The surveillance car entered the fray, pivoting, wheels screeching, halting with its side pointing at Grimes’s house. The passenger’s door was kicked open and Kate burst out, holding a gun. There was another explosion and the car’s front window cracked. Kate dropped down, training her gun on the house.
Time moved strangely, sluggishly. Bernard had time to take it all in. Kate’s expert, flawless movements, the product of hundreds of training hours in the police academy. Holding the gun steadily, searching for the target. Noel barging out of the driver’s door, flattening himself against the car, drawing his gun. Hannah running low toward a nearby tree, looking for cover.
“Don’t shoot!” Bernard shouted at Kate. “There’s a woman and a baby in the house!” His own voice sounded strange in his ear.
One more shot, though he couldn’t tell where it hit. Time started moving at a normal pace. Kate lowered her gun, took cover next to Noel behind their car. Noel was yelling into the radio, calling for backup, reporting the shooting. Bernard looked around him. Were there any civilians around? Anyone hurt? No, the street seemed to be empty. Anyone outside wisely took cover as soon as the shooting started.
Three additional shots rang out, and at least two hit the patrol car with loud clangs.
Then there was silence. The silence stretched. Bernard and Hannah’s eyes met, and they both raised their heads at the same time. Bernard was trying to locate the window from which the shooter was firing at them when Hannah yelled, “There!”
It was Chad Grimes. He was getting away, jumping over the picket fence between his yard and the neighbor’s. Hannah was already up and running. The woman was damn fast, Bernard thought.
“Check the house!” he yelled at Kate and Noel, hoping the woman and the baby were unhurt, then rose and dashed after Hannah. She sprinted heedlessly after Grimes, focused on the target. She reached the picket fence between the yards, grabbed it and leaped over. Her leg hit one of the wooden boards and she stumbled, crashing on the other side.
Bernard reached the fence and jumped over it without thinking, clearing it flawlessly; his feet hit the ground and he kept running, glancing back at Hannah. She was getting up, grimacing in anger and pain, but she seemed okay. He turned ahead, saw Grimes bursting through a gate on the other side of the yard. Bernard gritted his teeth and ran even faster, looking for a way to cut Grimes off, to lure him to a dead end.
Bernard reached the gate and ran through it, the wood bruising his arm as he shoved the thing away. They were both out in the street now, Grimes no more than thirty feet ahead, running fast. Bernard heard the siren from Kate’s car again. Dammit! Had they checked the house? The woman could be hurt!
Grimes suddenly turned around and lifted his arms, his hands clutching a black object. Bernard dove behind a parked car, the first shot ricocheting off the sidewalk exactly where he’d stood a moment earlier. The sound of the shots synchronized with his beating heart—a shot for each heartbeat. One… two… three… four… He heard the clanging as the bullets hit the car’s metal body, a deafening smashing sound as one of the windows burst, and then silence.
Bernard raised his head. Grimes was still pointing his
gun at him, his finger pulling the trigger over and over though the weapon was empty. Bernard realized that his own Glock 22 was pointed straight at Grimes, that his finger was about to press the trigger. Instead, he bolted from his hideout, rushing at the man with the empty magazine. Grimes seemed to realize his weapon was empty, turned around, and started running again, tossing the useless gun aside.
The patrol car zoomed past Bernard, the siren squealing, piercing his ears. It overtook Grimes and swerved left, crashing into the sidewalk; Grimes collided with the hood, rolling over it, falling down on the other side. He was getting up as Bernard reached him, pointing his gun at Grimes’s face, yelling, “Police, don’t move!” There was a strange echo to his words, and he realized Kate had yelled the exact same thing, standing on the other side of the car, her gun raised over the car’s hood, trained on Grimes.
Grimes whirled around, and Bernard saw he was holding a knife.
“Drop it!” Bernard screamed. “Do it now! Now!”
Grimes hesitated, and Bernard knew he might have to kill a man today after all. His heart was in his throat, his safety off, his finger on the trigger tense and ready.
Grimes let go of the knife, and it fell on the ground with a clunk.
“Down on the ground! Hands behind your head!” Bernard yelled. Grimes slowly went to his knees, his hands behind his head. His eyes stared forward, unfocused; his mouth was twisted in a grimace of rage.
Kate was already beside him, cuffing him roughly, snarling at him. “Stay down! Stay the fuck down!”
“The house?” Bernard asked.
“Noel’s checking it,” Kate said, breathing heavily. She lifted Grimes to his feet and pushed him into the backseat of her car.
Bernard watched her, his heart pumping quickly, his knees weak. No matter how many times it had happened before, getting shot at was something he would never get used to. He swallowed hard, a bitter taste in his mouth. He looked back, searching for Hannah. She limped slowly toward them, still holding her gun.
The street was very quiet, Bernard noticed—an entire block still holding its breath. Kate slammed the door shut, with Grimes locked up behind it. They exchanged looks.
