Slipknot: A Private Investigator Crime and Suspense Mystery Thriller (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series Book 3)

by D. D. VanDyke

  “I guess.”

  “What about suffocation?”

  “Possible. There was no bruising or signs of a struggle, though if she were sedated first it would be easy to smother her with a pillow, or even a hand.”

  I sighed. “Bottom line, it looks professional and well planned. If the killer had actually killed me in my own car, it would have been ruled natural causes, probably. At best it would have been a really tough case to crack, coming out of the blue like that.”

  “Is it really out of the blue?” Brody asked. “You sure there’s not something you want to tell me?”

  “Tanner, there are a few dozen people that might wish I were dead, but I’ve racked my brain and nobody I can think of is likely to actually risk doing it, with the possible exception of Houdini, and there’s nothing I can do about him. I’m not bringing heat on anyone right now. In fact, things have been slow. Anyone with half a brain would let sleeping investigators lie and hope I went away.”

  “Then I guess we’ll just keep flatfooting it.”

  “What about the possibility Hade actually was the target?”

  “We’re looking into that too.”

  “Who was she?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that. Not until we talk to her known associates, notify next of kin of her death, all that stuff.”

  “Sure. Thanks for the update.”

  “We’ll find out who did this, Cal.”

  “I’m more interested in why.” I hung up.

  “Boss?” Mickey’s voice floated up the stairs, interrupting my inexpert internet searches.

  “Yeah.” I hurried down to the basement.

  Mickey pointed to his two biggest screens, which showed pictures of Hade and some articles from card-player magazines. “Your dead woman’s a mid-level poker pro.”

  “Why’d it take you hours to figure that out?”

  “Because she didn’t use her legal name. First I had to find a photo of Dalonia Hade, and then I did a face-matching search using a program I designed.”

  “Oh, here’s the serial number for her gun.” I handed him the paper with Sergei’s handwriting on it. “Maybe it’s in a database somewhere.”

  Mickey made an annoyed face. “That would have helped hours ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  “One second.” His fingers flew over the keyboard like a concert pianist, and less than thirty seconds later a window popped up. “Yep. There’s the gun registration. Dalonia Hade. Washington State. You want her home address?”

  “Yeah, print it out. Mickey, you’re a wonder. I knew there was something familiar about her. I think I’ve seen her on ESPN poker coverage.”

  “She played under the legal alias Delia Harman. Has a poker LLC, ‘Doing Business As’ and everything, just like a writer’s pen name. Lives – lived – in Seattle, played in tournaments all over North America. Net earnings of about one hundred fifty K last year.”

  I brushed an empty tortilla chip bag onto the floor and sat in a chair. “Small time for a pro, but good enough to make a decent living. That explains her expertise, but not her presence at Vyazma. Like I pointed out to Sergei, there are half a dozen places closer and nicer, not to mention the fact that there are three legal card rooms half an hour’s drive away. Why go to the Tenderloin to play?”

  “Unless she was trying to get in a game with you specifically.”

  “Bingo.”

  “No, poker, ha ha. But how did she know you’d be there?”

  I rubbed the blast scars under my hair, turning my face away. “Because I’d been playing there every night for a week.”

  “I was wondering.” Mickey’s puppy eyes held genuine concern.

  “Oh, not you too. I’m on the wagon for a while.”

  “Hey, who am I to judge another gamer on a binge? I just need the work and a broke boss don’t pay much.”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  “But Cal…who tipped her off? And why did she want to play with you?”

  I stood up, clapped Mickey on the shoulder and said, “Two good questions. I’m going to find out.”

  Then I went to wash my hands.

  Any regular player at Vyazma could have passed the word that I was there every night, so actually the issue of who was probably moot. The why, however, seemed obvious. In line with Thomas’ thinking, someone hired Hade to do me damage.

  Maybe whoever it was believed a big loss would send me over the edge into some kind of black spiral of despair. If so, they didn’t know me very well. It would take a lot more than losing one heirloom automobile to do that. One thing poker teaches you is to take your lumps and get back up again.

  I composed a quick email to Brody with an extract of the info Mickey had turned up, and then swung back by my house to leave a note for Mom and tend the animals – water, food, yard time for the dogs. It was entirely possible she’d forget to do it if she ended up passed out on someone’s sofa until morning. She might not use illegal substances anymore, beyond some weed now and then, but when her emotions got out of balance she could hit the bottle as hard as anyone to drown her pain.

  It was also her method of punishing me, a passive-aggressive way to use my underlying sense of responsibility against me. Look what you made me do to myself.

  My cell phone beeped and I flipped it open to see a text. Not from Thomas as expected, but from an unknown number. It read, Please come see me tonight at my home. It’s important. – Luger.

  Chapter 4

  Luger the mid-level crime- and slum-lord. Luger the neo-Nazi. Luger who certainly had a thing for me, some fascination sprouting from his fringe-science ideas about race. He’d tried to explain them to me at our one dinner, a mishmash of stuff about Noah and the curse of Ham combined with junk science about racial characteristics, but I just couldn’t get my head around it, even as an academic exercise in functional insanity.

  And if he’d thought he was putting his best foot forward, well…

  I saved the number to my contacts, though that might not matter. I expected a guy like him to use burner phones.

  Seven o’clock, I texted back. That gave me about an hour to freshen up and change. I made sure to outfit myself with every item I might need, many stashed in my boots – three weapons with extra ammo, second phone, shim ring, micro-LED light, not to mention cuffs, pepper spray, whistle and more.

  A girl can never be too prepared.

  I drove Molly this time, straight to the Tenderloin apartment block Luger owned and occupied. Two of his men stood guard at the rolling steel door to the underground garage, opening it for me with nods as I pulled up.

  Nice to have such security, even if it was bought with the lifeblood of junkies.

  I was escorted to the elevator and up to his suite. The route I took through the building seemed clean and well lit this time. I wondered if that was for my benefit. There was an underlying reek to the place, though, an aroma that reminded me that Luger made his money off the misery of its denizens.

  This time the thugs at the door didn’t harass me, though I gave up two of my guns and my utility knife readily enough. They left me with the rest of my gear – what they noticed, anyway.

  That was the point. Give people something to find and sometimes they didn’t dig any further.

  When the frisking was done, they opened the door to his inner sanctum, furnished in dark, heavy woods and leathers, and then closed it behind me.

  The picture of Hitler in a heroic pose hadn’t moved from its spot above the mantelpiece, but one of Tojo seemed to have joined him. Given that my sobo, or grandma, Akiko, had cursed the Japanese warlord every day for causing her and my grandpa sofu Nobu to be interned in a camp during the Second World War, this wasn’t going to influence me in his favor.

  But a source was a source, and Luger had the visibility into the underworld I needed, so I put on my best face and returned the bow he gave me after coming out from behind his neatly arranged desk.

  “Konban-wa,” he said gravely.
>
  “Good evening to you too, Luger. Sorry, but my Japanese is pretty rusty. My grandparents used to speak it to me, but they died before I reached my teens.”

  “A pity. It’s a beautiful language.”

  “I always thought it seemed stiff and limiting, actually. The words themselves convey much less meaning, the inflection and body language much more. I’ll stick with English.”

  “As you wish. Schnapps?”

  “Sure, a small one. I’m really tired and I’ll be driving.”

  He handed me a shot glass. “I can always have someone take you home.”

  “Maybe.” Probably not, though. It was one thing to trust Sergei’s men, quite another to give one of Luger’s jackbooted Aryan thugs a chance to take advantage of one of the “lower races.”

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I requested you visit me.”

  “I am.”

  “Before we get to that, may I ask you to be forthright with me about something?”

  “Okay.”

  “Why did we never have a second date?”

  I sighed. “Look, sometimes there’s simply no chemistry. The conversation was interesting, but I also don’t think we have enough in common.” That was as gently as I could put it. Not that I was worried about sparing his feelings per se, but I was in the lion’s den here. No point in antagonizing the alpha male on his own turf. Besides, he might have some answers I needed, and of course he knew it.

  How do you tell someone like Luger that these power games that came so naturally to him were exactly what turned a girl off? Well, this girl anyway. No doubt he had his share of willing neo-Nazi submissives stashed away somewhere.

  “Fair enough,” he eventually said after sipping at his schnapps.

  I put mine to my lips to be polite and tasted alcohol and a hint of peach. “This isn’t nearly as sweet as I expected.”

  “It’s the German version, not American. Just one more thing they do better.”

  I didn’t answer that. “So, thanks for the schnapps, but can we cut to the chase, please? I truly am tired. I was up most of the night.”

  “Yes, I heard something about that.” Luger settled himself at the end of one leather sofa, one hand resting dramatically along the back, his other holding his drink. “Come. Sit.”

  I guess I wasn’t going to get him to let me off the hook. I’d just have to play along while he slowly doled out whatever information he had. I sat at the other end and sipped, meeting his calm, reptilian eyes. “Okay. Now what?”

  “Did you ever think deeply about the situation with that kidnapped girl? Talia Sorkin?”

  “Sure. I’ve come at it from every angle.”

  “Not every angle.”

  “Every angle I can think of.”

  “What if I could help you think of another angle?”

  “I’d be very grateful.”

  “How grateful?”

  I cocked my head. “Not grateful enough to spread my legs, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “You wound me. Nothing so pruriently transactional ever entered my mind. No, I was thinking of a different favor.”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “We can discuss specifics later. For now, let’s talk about the day you saved the girl.”

  “Okay.”

  “Or should I say, the day someone saved the girl for you.”

  A shiver seized my spine. How much did he know? Thomas had been sure his involvement had gone undetected, but in the underworld, as in business, nothing remained secret forever. Not when information was such valuable currency.

  “Who would that be?” I said.

  “An independent contractor, perhaps? You know better than I. You’ve met him, I believe. Shared at least one meal with him. He might even have given you a name to call him by. What matters, though, is the answer to a certain question that’s been nagging you.”

  “Like a splinter in my mind? Okay, Morpheus. I’ll bite.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  I sighed. Obviously Luger wasn’t up on pop culture. “What’s the question?”

  Luger finished his schnapps, setting the glass down precisely on a coaster upon the sofa’s end table, and then rose to stand in profile, hands behind his back, a dramatic pose. “The question is, my dear California: why would an independent contractor decline to fulfill his contract?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why would a contract killer decide not to kill?”

  My mind scrabbled at this, grasping at the meaning of his words, trying to fit them into the pattern of what I currently knew. “I presume it’s because he didn’t want to kill a child, and he did want to get rid of three scumbags. He also implied the crew had crossed their employer. In his version, he didn’t back out of any contract.”

  Luger turned toward me. “I see you don’t know much about the contracting business. Unless the terms are explicitly defined otherwise, they are all-or-nothing agreements. If, for example, four people are to be eliminated, but one survives, the contract is null and void and no monies are paid.”

  The chill extended outward toward my limbs, so I stood up to get the blood flowing. “So this guy didn’t want to whack an innocent kid. Maybe he didn’t know she was a child when he took the deal. Maybe his code is more important to him than money.”

  “Is that what he told you he had? A code of ethics?”

  I jabbed a finger toward him. “Everyone has one, whether they’ve ever consciously defined it or not. You have one, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “So why is this a big deal?”

  “Because your entire structure of logic is built upon one false assumption. Like a forking road, if you take the incorrect path, you inevitably end up at the wrong destination and your trip has been for nothing. The irony is, I believe you already identified the flaw in your train of thinking, but you discarded it at some point. Perhaps the contractor presented a plausible argument that you wanted to believe…or perhaps you simply chose to blind yourself to the truth.”

  “What truth? What argument? Can you get to the point, please?”

  Luger sighed melodramatically. “I’d have thought you’d work it out by now, with the help of my clues. I see you’re not following, so let me make it more plain. Talia Sorkin was never part of any contract. In fact, just as you believe, the heist crew taking her was one of the reasons they became liabilities. She was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the bridge too far, the shark that was jumped. The three thieves were out of control, and one thing every powerful person must have is control. Unless one is a hedonist, the vast sums of money generated by profitable enterprises are only means to an end: power.”

  “So you’re saying Houdini –”

  “– I never said that name –”

  “– then I will. Houdini paid the independent contractor to get rid of his loose cannon employees once the heist was completed, but he missed one? And the one he missed has it in for me instead of the guy who tried to kill him?” I remembered something. “Lattimer. He escaped.”

  Luger put a spread hand to his eyes. “True, but this isn’t about Lattimer.” He tapped his chin. “I thought you Asians were supposed to be smarter than the average Caucasian, but I can see I may have misjudged you.”

  “Well, you can’t spell Caucasian without ‘Asian.’ I guess one-quarter Japanese simply wasn’t enough to boost my IQ enough. Listen, Luger, it’s easy to act smug when you know something I don’t, but that’s knowledge, not brainpower. Now for the last time, would you please tell me: who was the fourth person the contractor was supposed to dispose of?”

  Luger stepped up to me, reminding me yet again how short he was, barely taller than I. It made for a strangely intimate scene, our faces a foot from each other, which was no doubt what he intended, but I wasn’t going to back away. He wanted to play petty power games? I’d try to win, place or at least show him I wouldn’t be intimidated.

  �
��My dear California, we all live to some extent at the sufferance of others. When you proceed across a crosswalk, you hope none of the drivers decide to run you down. When you visit me here, you trust that I won’t murder you and dispose of your body. What most often keeps us safe? Fear of consequences. But what happens when one fears nothing? When the layers of insulation between the powerful and everyone else become so thick that they believe they are immune to all consequences? That sufferance,” he made a poof gesture with spreading fingers, “evaporates.”

  “Are you putting yourself in that category of power?”

  Luger’s mouth twitched. “Not by any margin. I may be a big fish in my small pond, but outside of these tender waters I would quickly become dinner.”

  “So you’re talking about Houdini again.”

  He said nothing, only gave a slight shrug, and then reached up with his right hand to touch my bare left forearm, cupping it in his palm. “I’d hate to see you disappear from my life, California Gale Corwin. My world would dim, just a little.” With his left hand he brushed the hair back from my neck, exposing my scars. “Such beauty.”

  “You men really are crazy, always fascinated with my damage,” I said, refusing to flinch.

  “Or maybe only the crazy are real men,” he replied, tracing my jawline. “The more perfect something seems, the more ugly it becomes. Only the flawed is truly beautiful. Too bad you can’t embrace that truth.”

  Oddly, I found his attention touching, despite his creepy demeanor. I bet Luger was immensely popular with the freaky set. Still, I took his hand firmly, pulling it away from my face. “Flawed is ugly, not beautiful. Who was the fourth target, Luger? Who?” I already suspected the answer, but I had to hear it from him.

  Luger’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. When he spoke, his breath smelled faintly of cinnamon and peach. “The fourth target was the one who would have neatly tied up all the loose ends. The one who’s been such an irritant for he whose name I do not speak.”

  I seized him by the collar. “Who.”

  Luger’s mouth twitched. “The fourth target was you.”

  Chapter 5