She knew the man from somewhere. She’d seen him on the beach before and she thought she’d seen him with Ellie, but she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts were hard to pin to reality. The fog was getting thicker and she fought against it, but inevitably surrendered to the confusion.
Marty struggled in the backseat against the handcuffs. ‘I have the right to call my attorney.’
Perkins looked up from the confiscated mobile phone and half turned in his seat. ‘Wrong. You have the right to have an attorney. The phone call - at the station, by the way - is a courtesy.’ He turned back to the phone and logged on to his onboard terminal. ‘Watch the potholes, kiddo. I have a hard enough time typing on this thing as it is.’
Marty slumped back in his eat. Lily had called him names he hadn’t heard her use in years. ‘Hey, these things are really uncomfortable. Are they necessary?’ He leaned forward and tried to relieve the pressure on his wrists.
‘Serious crimes you’ve been charged with. Obstructing justice, harboring a felon, resisting arrest.’ Stanfield laughed. ‘You’re in pretty good shape for an old guy.’
‘I haven’t actually been charged with anything yet, and after my attorney is finished with you, you won’t be arresting anyone for anything ever again.’
Stanfield looked at Perkins. ‘Is he threatening us?’
‘Watch the road, kid. I don’t think it qualifies as a threat if he can’t back it up.’ He clicked a couple more keys and dropped Marty’s mobile in a plastic evidence bag. ‘Okay. The phone company should get the call details from this phone shortly. But I noticed a single number with no name attached, incoming and outgoing and at the top of a couple of interesting text messages. They’re going to geolocate that number first.’
Marty banged his head against the window. ‘Fuck. Really? You guys need to leave her alone. She didn’t kill him.’
‘We know, sir. We’ve already told you on many occasions. That’s what makes this so tragic. If you made the effort to get her to turn herself in you wouldn’t be in the backseat of my car and Ellie’s life wouldn’t be in danger. But you had to be all anti-establishment and now look where the both of you are.’
Marty grunted and sat back lower in his seat. ‘Can’t you take me to the station in Malibu? I really don’t want to go to the Valley.’
‘Hey, Perkins, the rich man doesn’t like the Valley. What’s wrong? Not good enough for you?’
‘Leave it kiddo.’ Perkins looked over his shoulder. ‘We’re the station handling the case, that’s the station we take the suspects to. Do yourself a favor and keep it shut.’
Charlie looked at the incoming request and swore. They’d found Ellie’s new number. Now they’d find Ellie. He didn’t want them to find Ellie.
He sat back in his chair and contemplated losing the request. It would buy her some time. His company had a commitment to provide location information within fifteen minutes. Losing it wouldn’t buy her very much time and it’s likely he’d be taken off the legal intercept desk. All in all a bad trade-off.
But he could warn her before he informed the cops and try and keep her out of their clutches. He used an online messaging service.
“Your number has been discovered. Geolocation will start shortly. Turn it off, find a new phone and keep your head down.”
He pressed enter and turned back to his task. On an average day he could do it and report back to the police in less than two minutes. Today, for this one job, it would take the full fifteen.
Lily paced beside the pool, phone to her head, waiting for their attorney to pick up. ‘Hurry up you piece of - ’
‘Lily? Is that very nice?’
‘Sorry, I’m a bit upset and you know how much I hate waiting.’
‘What’s Marty done this time?’
‘He’s gotten himself arrested.’
‘Where is he and what has he done?’
‘It’s a long story. They’re taking him to the Devonshire station.’
‘The Valley? He’s been taken to the Valley?’
‘So what?’
‘Traffic is a bitch today.’ He sighed down the phone. ‘Okay. I’ll head out there now. Do you know why he’s been arrested?’
‘Obstructing justice, harboring a felon and resisting arrest.’
‘The resisting part I get. What’s this about?’
Lily sighed and sat at the outdoor table. ‘You know Ellie?’
‘Oh, shit. Is he hiding her somewhere?’
‘Not quite. We know her new mobile number and have talked to her a couple of times and he wouldn’t cooperate with the police when they came around. Got kind of belligerent.’ She smiled. ‘It was like when we were first dating in the late seventies and went to all those political rallies.’
‘Why? For God’s sake, why? And the Valley? Christ. Marty didn’t like Sweeney either, but there’s no cause to hide a killer.’
‘She didn’t do it.’
‘Oh, they never do, Lily.’
‘No, really. I’ve had a good talk with her. She didn’t. There’s someone else who killed Sweeney, set her up and now is trying to get her. I wish she would come in.’
‘Irrelevant at this point. I need to get going. I’m going to miss my lunch for this.’
‘You can afford to miss a couple of lunches. Call me when you know when he can come home, okay? But don’t rush it. He needs to cool off and I can’t think of a better place.’
The lawyer terminated the call and Lily sat back and tried to remember the name of the private detective. She had to call him off. There were enough problems already.
The Killer bided his time. Sunset was in six or so hours, and he had her corralled. General area, anyway. He wanted her on her toes, not sure where he was going to be next. Time to juice her.
He dialed her number. The new number. It went directly to voicemail.
‘Shit.’ And he was away from his computer. He couldn’t track her online. He had to rely on his wits.
He backtracked to the cubbyhole where he found the homeless bag lady. He raised his fist to hammer on the door when a toothless scrawny guy somewhere north of thirty, but not yet in his sixties interrupted him.
‘She ain’t there.’
‘Who the fuck are you and why should I care?’
‘You looking for Ann?’
‘Baggy lady with way too many coats and a black eye?’
The old guy pushed himself off the wall. ‘You did that to her?’ He did the two right steps followed by a left step stagger most drunks were familiar with and balled up his fists like a bare-knuckled fighter from a century ago. ‘She’s a friend. And a lady. Nobody hurts one of my friends. And a lady.’ He feebly flung his fist.
The Killer casually batted it away and slapped him on the side of the face. ‘Get stuffed, before I rearrange your boney old body.’ He gave him a shove, landing him on his ass in the alley. He squatted down and looked at the bum in the eye. ‘So if she’s not there, where can I find the hag?’
The old man drew a deep breath and let loose a wad of phlegm an alpaca would be proud of, catching the Killer on the right cheek, just below his eye.
He staggered back and wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘Cocksucker, I’ll kill you.’ He swung a boot into his ribs, smiling at the cracking sound on impact. ‘I’ll be back for you, bones.’
The old guy, Ann’s friend, groaned and rolled into a fetal position. The Killer stood over him, unzipped his fly and urinated. ‘This should improve the smell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bitch to find and kill.’
Marty hammered on the one-way glass. ‘What the fuck is taking so long? Did you all go home?’ He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed against the glass in a vain attempt to see the other side.
On the other side Stanfield elbowed Perkins in the ribs. ‘How long are you going to make him stew?’
‘Until he shuts up and sits down, or his over-priced attorney shows up. Whichever is first.’
Sampson walked into the viewing area.
‘The attorney wins. He just got here. Looks like he pays more for shoes than I do in rent.’ He flicked the business card with his nail and handed it to Perkins. ‘Nigel Hopkins. Your case. You can deal with the guy. Only non-Jewish lawyer in LA, I think.’ He handed him the card, smiled and walked out.
Stanfield went and retrieved the lawyer and joined Perkins and Marty in the interrogation room.
‘Have you been talking to my client without me present?’
‘Idle chat, the weather, Angels, LA Kings. Nothing related to the case. Although I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It was a one-way conversation. Your client is as mute as Marcel Marceau.’
‘Officers,’
‘Sergeants,’ corrected Perkins.
‘Sergeants, what are you charging my client with?’
‘He’s been obstructing justice and harboring a fugitive, both charges related to an ongoing case, and resisting arrest, which is not related to any specific case. It’s a result of us attempting to place your client in the squad car and being met with moderate physical resistance and an incessant yelling.’
‘Yelling? Yelling what?’
‘I believe it was “Attica”, at the top of his lungs. Doesn’t make much sense to me.’
‘Attica refers to a riot in the Attica Correctional Facility in Attica, New York in, I believe, 1971.’
‘I know what it refers to counselor. What doesn’t make sense is the riot was triggered by poor living conditions. Have you seen your client’s house? Of course you have. It’s palatial.’
‘Which of your fugitives is he harboring? What case is he obstructing?
Perkins filled open a case file, spun it to face the other side of the table and pushed it toward the lawyer. ‘A Miss Ellie Bourke. She currently is a suspect in the murder of Bart Sweeney.’
Marty leaned forward. ‘Hey. You told me in the car you thought she was set up.’
Perkins held up his hand. ‘You’re supposed to tell your client to not speak without your consent.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Until we can speak to Miss Bourke, she is still the prime suspect. Now, there may be information she can provide which would change our view, but we need to talk to her first.’ He pointed at Marty. ‘Your client has talked to Miss Bourke a number of times. When we asked your client what was said in those conversations he refused. He’s also warned Miss Bourke, we believe, when we’ve been in the general area she’s in. Harboring and obstructing.’
‘Ridiculous. It’s not harboring if she’s not under his protective care.’
‘I think we can convince the District attorney a virtual harboring occurred.’
Nigel took off his glasses and wiped the bridge of his nose. ‘What do you want to make this go away?’
‘Where is she, what has she said, and he contacts her and tells her to come in.’
‘That’ll get rid of all the charges?’
Perkins pulled the file back and closed it. ‘Obstruction and harboring go away. Not sure about resisting.’
Stanfield chuckled. ‘He’s kinda soft, partner. Wasn’t really resisting. I mean, I’ve definitely had worse.’
‘Good point.’ He looked at Marty and then at his attorney. ‘Cooperate with helping us track down Ellie and I’ll drop the resisting.’
Marty leaned close to Nigel and whispered. ‘No guarantees, Nigel. I talked to her a couple time and we texted, but I don’t really know where she is. I already told her the cops thought she was set up. Don’t think she believed me.’
‘You didn’t try very hard to convince her, did you?’
‘Oh, hell no. I still don’t believe them. Him. Whatever.’
Nigel nodded and sat up straight. ‘Gentlemen, We agree to the premise of your deal, but I have a slight concern with the details.’
‘Of course. You get paid by the six minutes. What’s concerning you?’
‘He can certainly tell you what was said in the conversation, but he’s no surer of her location than you are, by the sound of it, and he’s not comfortable telling her to turn herself in when he believes it to be nothing more than a trap.’
Perkins stood and collected the file. ‘Okay. The bail hearing will be tomorrow. Your client will be spending the night.’ He opened the door and motioned for the constable on the other side to take Marty to the holding cell. ‘Process this guy.’ He handed him the file. ‘It’s all in here.’ He and Stanfield left before Nigel had a chance to counter-offer.
‘Why are you just sitting there? I’m paying you an obscene amount of money to keep things like this from happening.’ Marty struggled a bit when the constable lifted him from the chair and cuffed him. ‘Come on, Nigel. I don’t want to spend the night here.’
‘Then cooperate. It’s easy.’
‘It goes against my better judgment.’
‘If this is your better judgment, you cuffed and heading for fingerprinting and a cell for the night, I’d hate to see the not so better judgment.’ He placed his glasses on, down near the end of his nose and smiled up at his client. ‘Just do it, Marty. You know what you have to do.’
The Killer walked south on the boardwalk along Venice Beach for the third time in the last hour. He’d circled the geographical area he was told she was in and hadn’t seen her since he saw her hiding in the alcove.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. His whiskers were getting soft. It had been a couple of days. Fished the Altoids tin from his pocket and popped two more pills. He dry swallowed and suppressed a retch. The brights were getting brighter and the sounds echoed like his head was in a fifteen gallon plastic bucket.
Anger, no, rage fueled him. The threads were slipping through his fingers and he never lost control. ‘Never.’ But it felt like he was in danger of losing it this time.
He reached the end of the beach, past the fishing pier and all the way to via Marina at the entrance to Marina del Rey. He wiped the sweat from his neck and walked up via Marina until he reached Pacific Avenue, where he turned left again and headed north. ‘I’m probably too far south. Fuck.’ He stepped up his pace until he passed the end of the lagoon. ‘This is closer to her location. Her last location.’ He debated having her checked again, but that was something he couldn’t do forever without getting caught. He looked at his watch. He still had four hours before it was critical.
He was moving on instinct now. Left on Hurricane then right on Speedway. A few more blocks and he was near the hole in the wall where he slammed the bag lady.
He discounted going after her again. ‘She’s a waste of air.’ He was about a block away and ready to get back on the beach when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He took a step back and watched Ellie step out of a doorway.
‘Luck of the fucking Irish. You’re mine.’
He shadowed her, a bit more than a half a block behind. He wouldn’t lose her again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I felt like I was in the cross-hairs of a sniper’s scope, eyes on me all the time. Shadows flitted past the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t place any one person tailing me, but the feeling was unsettling.
Almost as unsettling as the message from Charlie. The police had my number. I needed a new one. I was running low on cash, but the alternative was broadcasting my location to the cops every step I took.
I dropped into the same phone shop on the boardwalk Danny had visited and got another pre-pay phone.
What the asshole said about Ann worried me. I took a mazy route back to her place. She had nothing to do with this and I really didn’t like him getting her involved.
I paused by the door and looked around. Nobody appeared to be paying me any attention. I knocked gently on the door and slipped into the old storage room.
Ann was curled up on her mattress, back to the door, face to the wall. Her snores sounded wet, like she was choking on phlegm. I gently rolled her over and stepped back. ‘Shit.’ Her upper lip was split and blood caked her cheek.
She moaned and pulled back. ‘Lemme alone.’
�
�Ann. It’s me. Jesus, girl. Are you okay?’
She pulled her coats tighter and grunted something I couldn’t understand. She needed a stitch or two in her lip and a good cleaning, but I couldn’t help her in the state she was in right now. And the longer I stayed here, the more likely I’d be on the receiving end of a battle I didn’t want to have around her.
I gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’ll be back, Ann. Take it easy. Lock the door and don’t let anyone in. Remember, lock the door.’
If he was following me, I’d make sure he followed me far away from here. Ann had enough.
And I’d make sure he’d have to work for it.
I turned on the newest phone and looked at the compromised pre-pay phone. I stuffed it in the front pocket of my pants.
A cold gust of wind swept in off the Pacific. I looked west and saw a bank of dark clouds moving in at a good clip. It was going to get wet before it got dark.
I debated sending a message to Charlie thanking him but discarded that idea pretty quickly. My number was going to stay very private until all of this was finished.
I slid it in my back pocket and slowly scanned the full 360 degrees. I was just south of the fish pier. The population on the beach was light to start with on a Thursday, and the approaching cold front quickly dispersed those who remained. Harder for me to hide, but harder for ass-hat to sneak up on me. And if he wanted to keep an eye on me he was going to have to work for it.
It was little over two and a half miles between the Venice Fish Pier and the Santa Monica pier. I used to run it frequently, two or three times a week, before the training intensified for the movie. Then I got enough exercise with the hand to hand combat training - I needed a five mile run like I needed a second head.
I started off with an easy stride. I was confident I couldn’t be tracked through my phone meaning this guy would have to keep up if he was going to keep an eye on me like he said he would.
G'Day USA Page 20
