Relatively Dead

by Cook, Alan

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Cynthia.” Her voice sounded edgy.

  “Hi, Audrey. How are you and Grandma doing?”

  “We’re fine. Well, sort of. The man impersonating Michael just called.”

  “Again? Who answered the phone?”

  “Mrs. Horton. She insists on answering the phone. She was hoping he’d call again. She wanted to try to trick him into revealing his address or something, but—”

  “What did he want?”

  “More money. Another five thousand. I listened to the call on the upstairs line. Same old song and dance. He has to pay for someone’s injuries.”

  “How did Grandma handle it?” I wondered if she’d been rational.

  “She fell for it. She told him she’d wire him the money.”

  “Oh, no. But that’s not going to happen because you’re not going to take her to the bank.”

  “I know. Maybe you can talk to her. She still thinks she has to do it.” Audrey didn’t like the idea of having to tell Grandma no.

  “I will in a minute. Does he want to pick up the money at the same place?”

  “Yes. In about three hours. Eleven, your time.”

  “Maybe we can have the police there waiting for him.”

  “Be careful. He threatened your life again if she didn’t send the money. He’s calling from the same number and he apparently doesn’t know Mrs. Horton changed banks. He reminded her to take the money to the Western Union outlet close to where she banked before.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  At least he didn’t know everything about Grandma’s life. I suspected Grandma told him where she banked the first time he said he was Michael. It was the sort of thing you’d tell your son. He was still in Los Angeles. That was good. At least, Grandma and Audrey were in no physical danger.

  “Thanks, Audrey. You’re doing a good job. Put Grandma on the line. I’ll tell her to obey you in regard to the money.”

  It took me five minutes to convince Grandma Michael was dead. By that time she was crying and saying how sorry she was she messed up. I told her she hadn’t messed up, and we might have a chance to catch the scammer. When I finally had her stabilized I talked to Audrey again for a minute, thanked her for being on the ball, told her I’d be careful, and then disconnected. I spent my life telling people I’d be careful.

  I looked up Kyle’s number on my phone while apologizing to Jason for letting his scrumptious breakfast grow cold. Kyle didn’t answer his cell phone. I left an urgent message and called Mr. Ault’s home number. Hildy answered the phone. I identified myself and asked for Kyle. She said Kyle was out but would return in half an hour. I left my cell phone number with Hildy and disconnected.

  I rushed back to the table and crammed several bites of pancake and maple syrup into my mouth while apologizing again to Jason. “I’ve gotta run. The scammer expects to pick up more money in three hours. If he shows, we have a chance to nab him.”

  “That’s a job for the police.”

  “I’m trying to get them involved. I don’t know who the contact for this case is, but my friend, Kyle, has police connections and should be able to find out. I’ve got a call in for him now.”

  “Then why do you have to rush off?”

  “I want to be there when they get him.” And make sure the police got the right man. My distrust of government was exerting itself.

  Jason tried to dissuade me, saying it was too dangerous. I told him I’d be careful. Anything to get him off my back. In answer to his question, I told him the address of the Western Union office in West Los Angeles.

  “With Monday morning traffic there’s a good chance you won’t get there in three hours.”

  “How should I go?”

  “When you get out to the main road, route two forty-three, turn right and take it down the mountain to I-ten. Take I-ten all the way to west L.A.”

  I jammed my few belongings into the suitcase and went out to the car with Jason. After a quick good-bye hug, during which he again told me to be careful, I set the GPS for the address of the Western Union office where the scammer was expecting to pick up the money, and drove away.

  Fortunately, the GPS agreed with Jason’s directions and didn’t give me a lot of grief. The problem was, I couldn’t go very fast on the curvy and narrow mountain road. When I got behind a slow truck, I couldn’t pass it without taking the kind of risk one only takes in a war zone when being fired on by a machine gun.

  Then my cell phone rang. It was Kyle. I asked him to wait a minute. It was much too dangerous to talk to him while I was driving under these conditions, in addition to being illegal, so I looked for a turnout. I found a small one, stopped the car, and got back on the phone.

  “You told me you had police connections.”

  I outlined the situation to him, and asked if he could find out what unit was handling this case and get them to stake out the Western Union office. I should have found out this information before. In fact, I should have talked to the detectives to see if they’d made any breakthroughs. I’d gotten too wrapped up in the murder. Kyle agreed to do what I asked him. I told him to remind the police that the perp probably had a disease that affected his hands, thanked him, and got back on the road.

  I caught the truck, but by that time we were close to I-10. Once on the Interstate I sped up to about seventy-five, observing that I didn’t stick out because other cars were maintaining similar speeds or higher. At this rate, I would get to West LA in plenty of time.

  The open road didn’t last. As we headed west toward Los Angeles, the traffic became more and more congested, slowing down, at times to a crawl. Now I knew how the local commuters felt. I turned my radio to KNX, an all-news station, to find out whether there were any accidents on I-10. Apparently not. Just normal, Monday morning traffic. At this rate, I would get to the Western Union office by tomorrow sometime.

  I tried not to pound my hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Changing lanes didn’t help. The lanes moved at about the same speed. I found a station playing classic jazz, turned down the volume to keep it in the background, and tried to formulate a plan. Nothing exotic came to mind. Just spot the scammer and make sure the police catch him. Stay out of his reach.

  I moved into the carpool lane, risking a huge fine. $341 minimum, the signs said. I got so nervous there, thinking about the fine and delay if I were stopped by a cop, that I moved back into a travel lane. Periodically, traffic sped up and then slowed down. It appeared to move in waves. I decided I had a shot at getting there in time, after all. My cell phone rang. It was Kyle, again. I was moving at a moderate speed on the straight road and decided to risk a ticket. I answered the phone and was glad to hear his calm voice.

  “It’s all set. A couple of plainclothes officers will be watching the Western Union office. They’re in contact with the clerk who gave the scammer the money before. They’ve arranged a signal for him to give when the suspect asks for the money. That way, they can be sure they have the right man.”

  I thanked him. He told me to be careful and let the police handle it. Everybody was concerned about my safety.

  Originally, I’d been planning to fly back to North Carolina today. I’d postponed my flight indefinitely when I decided to go to Idyllwild. Now I wasn’t sure when I’d get home.

  The GPS earned its pay by directing me through the last few miles after exiting I-10. The store with the Western Union outlet was at an intersection. I drove past it and parked a couple of blocks away. I didn’t want the scammer spotting the red Porsche and remembering it, in case something went wrong. Perhaps I should have rented a gray Camry, like that of my grandmother. Nobody notices gray cars.

  I walked back to the store and noted the time. Quarter to eleven. The scammer was supposed to appear at eleven. Good. The store was one of those big modern pharmacies that actually sell everything. You have to have a map to find the prescription counter.

  The pharmacy had its own parking lot. I scanned the cars i
n the lot to see if I could spot the police car. It would be unmarked, but other than the averageness of the vehicle, Kyle had told me one possible way to spot it, that is if the officers weren’t driving a confiscated dope dealer’s car. I saw a nondescript Ford. Nondescript, except for one thing. The license was all numeric and said “CA EXEMPT” across the top. That configuration was used by government vehicles in California, including the police.

  Nobody was in the car. I hoped the scammer didn’t know how to interpret license plates. I walked into the store, trying to look casual. I did a quick 360-degree scan and spotted a black and yellow Western Union sign at a counter near the checkout area. There were actually three clerks in the vicinity, two female and one male. Things were a little more complicated than I’d pictured. Apparently, the male clerk had served the scammer on the two occasions he’d been there. I hoped some arrangement had been made so he’d do it again to make positive ID.

  Nobody near the counter looked like a plainclothes detective. Most of the customers were older. If the officers were in the store, they weren’t obvious. I decided to pretend to be a shopper. I wandered along an aisle, always keeping the front of the store in sight. I stopped at the sunscreen display. I needed to buy some, anyway.

  I was debating the merits of cream versus spray when a lady shopper stopped beside me. “The spray is easy to apply to your arms and legs, although you might want to get some cream for your face.”

  “So I should get both?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “That makes a lot of sense.” I selected a container of 30 SPF spray.

  “You’re Carol, aren’t you?”

  I was momentarily startled. I felt as if I were in a spy movie. Had I said the secret code? I took another look at her. She could have been a housewife, with her short, no-nonsense hair and jeans that were a little loose. She wore a light sweater over her shirt, and there was room to conceal a gun underneath it. She was shorter than I was but had enough bulk that I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.

  “Did you talk to Kyle?” I regretted the statement as soon as it left my mouth. How could she know Kyle?

  However, she nodded. “He said to watch for a tall Asian babe wearing dark glasses.”

  I almost laughed, and then realized spies didn’t do that. “What shall I call you?”

  “You can call me Officer Watson.”

  “Do you have a partner…Officer Watson?”

  She nodded. “He’s here somewhere. Wearing a Yankees cap and a really awful sweatshirt. We’ve got to separate. You can hang around, but stay away from checkout and don’t try to participate in any action. I suggest you don’t let the perp see you, even if we arrest him. I understand he may have tried to kill you, already.”

  She wandered away. I couldn’t go to the checkout counter to pay for my sunscreen. I walked around the store, carrying the two containers. I spotted Watson’s partner, but he didn’t meet my eyes. He looked big enough and strong enough to handle our scammer.

  At about ten minutes after eleven, the male cop walked over to the counter and talked briefly with the male clerk. What about? I loosely tailed the cop and saw him pass Watson, apparently exchanging words with her, although they didn’t look at each other. Several minutes later Watson walked past me.

  “The perp called and asked if the money was here. He gave the correct number. He was told it was.”

  She walked on. My heart rate accelerated. Maybe he’d really show. I hadn’t quite believed it before. Obviously, some things had happened while I was driving here. The police must have contacted Grandma—I had given her number to Kyle—and coached her in passing a fake number on to the scammer by phone, since he wouldn’t trust the voice of anyone else. LAPD got points for doing that.

  Fifteen minutes went by. I started getting antsy. Another fifteen minutes. Where the hell was he? I was getting hungry. Then I saw him. I was standing several aisles away from the entrance, looking over the top of a display of bestselling books—Connelly, Patterson, the usual suspects—when he walked into the store. He was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses. I knew it was him because he was also wearing gloves, even though the day was warming up nicely. He was hiding his hand problem.

  He stopped just inside the doorway and looked around. I wondered if the cops saw him. I wasn’t sure where they were. I willed him to go over to the counter where the clerk could identify him. I knew they wanted to catch him in the act of requesting the money. Suddenly he turned around and went out the door. A couple of shoppers came in at the same time and I lost sight of him.

  I ran to the entrance. Watson caught my arm in a strong grip before I could go outside. Her partner was a step behind her. I gave her a pleading look.

  “That’s him. The guy with the gloves. He’s covering his hand problem.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  “I couldn’t see.”

  “Stay here.”

  Watson and her partner dashed outside. I was about two seconds behind them. He was nowhere in sight. They split up. Watson ran into the parking lot. The male cop ran down the street. We were near an intersection. The light changed and traffic in front of me started moving. I waited for a bus to get out of the way so I could see across the busy street. Maybe the scammer made it to the other side.

  When the bus passed, I scanned the other side of the street. I ran to the corner and looked both ways along the side street. He was nowhere in sight. Neither were the police officers. It would be well over a minute before I could safely cross the street, assuming he went that direction. By that time it would be too late. Discouraged, I wandered over to the car I was certain belonged to the officers, leaned against it, and waited.

  How could he have gotten away? He had shown a certain amount of intelligence in carrying out the scam. He’d probably planned an escape route. There hadn’t been time for him to start a car in the parking lot. Watson would have seen him. If he wasn’t traveling by car, how was he traveling? People in Los Angeles didn’t go a long way on foot unless they were exercising.

  Then I remembered the bus. I walked back past the entrance to the pharmacy and saw the sign for the bus stop just a few feet from it. Of course. He’d walked into the store when the bus was approaching. It was a timing play. He had a certain number of seconds to case the place. If he didn’t like what he saw, he’d run out and jump on the bus.

  “I thought I told you to stay in the store.”

  I jumped. I hadn’t seen Watson approaching. “He got on the bus.”

  “Huh?”

  I explained my theory to her. She looked at the street. Another bus was just going by. She scratched her head.

  “He would have to be pretty smart to figure it out so exactly. As I recall, the door of the bus was closed by the time we got outside.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Make a call to see if we can determine what bus he got on. Have an officer intercept it and search it, if possible. If he got off, maybe the driver can tell us where. I’ll continue the stakeout. He might come back.”

  I shook my head. “He won’t. He’s spooked. But thanks for trying.”

  She looked at me funny. “That’s our job. I don’t think he saw either of us. Did he look at you?”

  “No. I don’t know what scared him.”

  I didn’t think he’d return, and I didn’t have high hopes for them finding him on the bus, either. However, they might get other leads.

  “Do you have a card or something, in case I need to get in touch with you?”

  Officer Watson produced a card. “This has my personal cell phone number on it. I don’t give it to everyone so use it wisely. By the way, you’d better go and pay for your sunscreen or we’ll have to arrest you for shoplifting.”

  Sure enough, I was still holding the containers I’d picked up. I mumbled something about forgetting I had them. Then I took her card and shoved it in my wallet. I headed back inside the store.

  CHAPTER 18

 
“If you have time, squeeze the trigger slowly, so you get a surprise shot. That way you won’t flinch and spoil your aim.”

  “On TV, the police can fire five or six shots in a couple of seconds, and hit the target dead center every time.”

  Kyle laughed. “On TV they can do all kinds of things you can’t do in real life. Look at the reality shows. How real are they?”

  I put the earmuffs on and held the gun with two hands, just as Kyle showed me. I fired six shots—slowly—and even hit the human-looking target a couple of times, but probably didn’t kill it.

  We were at a police firing range. Kyle obviously had the connections he said he did. After I fired a couple of more series, Kyle took the gun, which he said was a nine-millimeter, and fired some shots, himself. He was a lot better than I was. Duh.

  ***

  As I drove Kyle back to Ault’s house, he looked more relaxed than he did at the Ault residence. He was wearing a sweater instead of his usual suit, and he obviously enjoyed riding in the Porsche. I liked him better this way, and I wanted to get to know him. However, I already had a boyfriend. He showed his concern for me as we drove.

  “I think you’re good enough to hit a target at close range. If you’re in immediate danger, I’m sure you’ll be close to the guy. But just because you’re carrying a gun doesn’t mean you can go waltzing into dicey situations.”

  “I won’t. It’s just insurance. But I need a gun smaller than the one we used at the range, so it will fit into my purse.”

  “I’ll give you a gun that was used by Mr. Ault’s last wife. It’s a .22 caliber Beretta. When they divorced, he got it as part of the settlement.”

  I chuckled, realizing that was a joke. Kyle carried a remote that he used to open the gates of the Ault residence, and I drove up the circular driveway. We went into the house together, and Kyle found Brad, who tended to Ault’s personal needs. Brad said Ault was taking a nap, so I wouldn’t be able to see him. I was sorry about that. I liked Mr. Ault.

  Kyle disappeared for a few minutes, and then returned with a small gun and some bullets. He showed me how to load it and unload it, and put the safety on and off, and then he had me go through those procedures until he was satisfied I knew what I was doing. At least he didn’t make me do it blindfolded.