Relatively Dead

by Cook, Alan

  “Are members’ names and addresses available to other members?”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Good. I’d like to join.” I pulled out my wallet. “What are the dues?”

  “Such enthusiasm. Let me get a membership form before you change your mind.”

  I joined the Society using the name Cynthia Sakai, and even gave my North Carolina address. I figured by the time the scammer saw my name in connection with the Society he would hopefully be behind bars. Dorothy copied his name and address and telephone number from the membership list and gave me the information.

  Before I left I checked several books that contained information on Boyds, but I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know.

  ***

  Thomas Kelly lived about four miles from the store where he received the payments from Grandma in West Los Angeles. I checked as soon as I got back to my motel room. My first reaction was, since many stores and banks handled Western Union transfers, he could have picked someplace closer, but then I realized how clever this man must be. It never occurred to me he might not be the scammer.

  The address had an apartment number. I pictured him living in a large apartment complex, probably with a swimming pool. The telephone number was different than the one he used to call Grandma. That wasn’t surprising.

  I looked up the address on Google Earth, using my laptop computer and Wi-Fi provided by the motel, and found it wasn’t a large apartment building at all. It was on a street with what appeared to be houses on it. They might be duplexes. That would explain why his address had an A appended to the street number. I wondered whether he was the owner or just a tenant.

  I called Officer Watson on her cell phone and told her what I knew. She was riding in a patrol car, but she apparently wrote it all down. She said she couldn’t get a search warrant or even check into his financial affairs based on the fact that he wore gloves and was interested in Boyds, but she did promise to pay him a visit. She and her partner were in his area.

  I checked my email to see if there was something from Audrey, telling how she and Grandma were getting along. I also tried to call at least every other day, but email was easiest for quick messages too long for texting. I deleted an email promising penis enlargement. The next one told me if I invested wisely with the aid of this guru’s newsletter, I would be financially secure in retirement. I was already retired. I deleted it.

  There was an email from Audrey. She said she and Grandma were doing fine, but when Grandma’s mind was working she missed me. I missed her, too. I was getting homesick. I would have to go back soon. Perhaps I could turn the case—both cases—over to the police and hotfoot it back to North Carolina.

  With that in mind I called Officer Watson after she was off-shift. I got her voice-mail and doubted she’d call me back, but ten minutes later she did. She said she and her partner had gone to the house.

  “It is a duplex. It took forever before he came to the door. He was wearing a bathrobe and had obviously just gotten out of bed. We checked his hands. There’s nothing wrong with them. A little red, perhaps, but no rash or blisters. He’s been watching too many cop shows. He talked about his rights and wouldn’t let us into the house without a warrant. We said we were looking for a scammer and he fit the description. We didn’t say how we got his address. He knew he didn’t have to talk to us but he said he’d been sleeping Monday morning when the Western Union pickup was supposed to occur. He also said he works at night.”

  “Can’t you put him in a lineup and let the clerk who paid him try and identify him?”

  “How? Not by his hands. Not by his face or hair. And if you put a baseball cap and dark glasses on a bunch of guys they all look alike. Could you identity him?”

  I had to admit I probably couldn’t. “What happens now?”

  “Unless we get some real clues, he’s home free. Although I doubt that he’ll try to scam Mrs. Horton again—or anybody else. I think we put the fear of God in him.”

  That wouldn’t get her money back. Or solve Jason’s murder. Our perp’s hand problem must have cleared up. Dr. Kemp said penicillin might help. But it also made him impossible to identify.

  I was meeting Rigo for dinner. He’d told me earlier on the phone he was taking me to a really nice restaurant. I told him that was unnecessary but he insisted. I suspected it was because I’d eaten out the night before with Jason and Marcia. How could he be jealous of Jason, who was old enough to be my grandfather? I decided to dress up as elegantly as I could, considering what was left of my poison oak, and be very sweet to him.

  ***

  The next morning I traded in the Porsche for a nondescript Chevy. In order to do detective work I needed to blend in with the scenery. Then I went for a long run on the beach. My evening with Rigo had gone very well, and I was feeling good about life. I ate a leisurely lunch by myself and then drove to West Los Angeles and parked a block away from Tom Kelly’s house. I’d come to the conclusion that if the police couldn’t pin his crimes on him, I had to do it.

  I strolled along the sidewalk, pretending to be walking for exercise. The two-story houses on his block were made of stucco, looked alike, and might be sixty years old. They were split vertically, so both residents had two floors. Most of them sported recent paint jobs and the lawns were green. The area was well maintained. All of them were duplexes. I stopped in front of the off-white duplex where Tom lived.

  The curtains on the windows of his half of the building were closed. It appeared that he did work at night. However, I was sure he hadn’t been sleeping Monday morning, despite what he said. His day off? I could see a sign hanging from his doorknob. I went up the concrete walkway to his front door, making up a story in case he opened it.

  The sign read, “DAY SLEEPER, NO VISITORS.” I noticed the houses didn’t have driveways, which meant no garages. They couldn’t all park on the street. I went back to the sidewalk and retraced my steps to the corner. I walked down the side street. Sure enough, there was an alley running behind the duplexes. The two-car garages were on the alley. One space for each apartment.

  Kelly’s house was the fifth from the corner. I found his garage with its two doors. The doors were closed. No windows; I couldn’t see inside the garage. The doors didn’t have handles. They must be operated electronically. I walked back to my car and moved it to the block where Kelly lived. Sitting in the car, I could see his front door. So what? It was early afternoon. If he worked nights, he might not be up for hours. If he drove to work, he would go out the back door, which wasn’t visible to me.

  After talking to Marcia, Jason and I agreed she didn’t fit the profile of a killer, whatever that was. Or perhaps she had us both fooled. I didn’t think so. For one thing, she said she was going to close the syndicate. Would she do that if she’d killed Jason III because of a disagreement regarding the syndicate?

  Jason II was back in Idyllwild. He said he was satisfied Marcia didn’t kill Jason III. He was willing to let the police handle the case. Why wasn’t I? Was I afraid the police would botch it? They seemed to be botching catching the scam artist. Why would they do better working on the murder? What if the same person did both? And what if he—or she— killed Timothy in Northern Ireland, to boot? I couldn’t let all my relatives get killed.

  I didn’t know what time Kelly went to work, but if he worked nights that implied after dark, which was hours away. I couldn’t sit here that long. What should I do? I was fairly close to Ault’s house, but I couldn’t call Kyle. He wouldn’t approve of me stalking suspected scammers—or murderers.

  I’d told Rigo I’d be tied up tonight, but had been vague about what I’d be doing. I decided I’d better not call him. He’d ask too many questions.

  CHAPTER 20

  When I returned to my post it was after dark. I’d eaten fast food and used a restroom. I had the gun in my purse. I had a water bottle with me, but I knew I had to drink sparingly if I were going to be here for a long time, since I didn’t have access to a
restroom. It wasn’t easy being a detective.

  I’d also cruised around the immediate area to see where Kelly might work. There were the usual small businesses and shopping centers. Nothing stood out. Maybe he worked farther away.

  I parked within sight of Kelly’s house. The first thing I noticed was light coming from two of his windows, one on each floor. He was home and he was up. Good news. When he left for work he’d turn off his lights. Then what? He’d go to the garage and drive away in his car. He might not come in this direction. I would be left with egg on my face.

  I started my car and drove around the residential block, making three left turns. I parked on the side street almost opposite the alley leading to his garage. Almost, because I couldn’t block the continuation of the alley heading to the right from my side of the street that went between the next block of garages. From my location I couldn’t see Kelly’s garage, which was on the right side of the alley. My view was blocked by a garage on the left side.

  I got out of the car wearing my black sweater and jeans. “Wear white after dark.” Was that a slogan from my youth, warning pedestrians to make themselves visible to cars? I wanted to be invisible. I’d just have to watch out for cars. I walked a few steps along the street and made out Kelly’s garage in the alley with the aid of a dim streetlight.

  All right, but I couldn’t stand here for two hours. There was no parking in the alley, itself, so I couldn’t move the car there. Although traffic was sparse and pedestrians even sparser, I would be conspicuous just hanging out. I crossed the street, strolled to the corner, turned left, and walked past Kelly’s house. The lights were still on. I couldn’t see inside because of the closed curtains. Presumably, he couldn’t see out.

  I walked halfway along the block, crossed the street, and went back on the other side, never going beyond the point where I could see Kelly’s lights. The other houses also showed lights. The curtains of one house were open. I looked in the window as I passed and saw a television set tuned to a cartoon show, but no living person. If I couldn’t see them they couldn’t see me—right?

  I continued to walk up and down the street, across from Kelly’s house. After thirty minutes, I passed a woman walking a dog so small I didn’t see it at first in the dim light. I carefully avoided stepping on it, and the woman and I smiled and nodded to each other. I realized she would probably be coming back this way. I didn’t want to pass her again, so I continued around the same block I’d driven around earlier, with three left turns, hoping Kelly wouldn’t leave before I got back.

  When I arrived at the other end of Kelly’s alley, I looked along it, but Kelly’s garage was too far away for me to pick out. No cars were in the alley. I hoped he hadn’t left. I considered walking the length of the alley as a shortcut, but scuttled that idea because if Kelly did get into his car and head toward me I’d be the deer in his headlights. There was no place to hide.

  I quickly finished my circumnavigation of the block without using the alley. I passed my car and the alley again at the other end. Still nothing happening in the alley. When I got back to the corner of the street Kelly’s house fronted, and on which I’d seen the dog walker, I looked up and down it for her. She’d apparently returned home. I rounded the corner and looked for Kelly’s lights. They were still on. I gave a sigh of relief.

  ***

  An hour later I was still strolling and keeping my watch. I heard fast footsteps coming up behind me. Startled, I went to the edge of the sidewalk and looked around. A young man wearing a hoodie was rapidly approaching. I couldn’t see much of his face. Would he rob me—or rape me? It was too late to run.

  As he passed me he spoke in a gruff voice. “Better get your ass home, honey.”

  I watched him speed away, wondering what his accent was, wishing my heart would slow down. In spite of my abstinence I suddenly needed to pee. Doubtless a result of my fright. What did real detectives do in a situation like this? I knew if I left my post for fifteen minutes, Kelly would be gone by the time I returned.

  I supposed a man would pee in the alley where he was unlikely to be seen. No way was I going to do that. I knew a car would appear as soon as I pulled down my pants. The only thing about men I envied was their ability to pee while standing.

  As I was debating what to do, the upstairs light went out at Kelly’s house. I quickly headed toward the side street that crossed the alley. I hesitated, still in sight of Kelly’s house, to see if the downstairs lights would be turned off. Two minutes later the whole house went dark.

  I quickly went to the entrance of the alley. I crossed the street to be less conspicuous and closer to my car. My heart sped up again when I saw one of the doors belonging to Kelly’s garage open. I got into my car where I was no longer able to see the garage, and opened a window.

  I heard the sound of an engine starting. I started mine but didn’t turn on my lights. I wouldn’t be able to hear Kelly’s car if it went the other way along the alley. I shut off my engine. The engine noise of the other car grew louder, then softer. Backing out. Louder again. Steadily louder. It was coming my way. I started my engine again.

  Even though I was expecting it, I jumped out of my skin when the car lights suddenly appeared out of the alley, headed almost directly toward me, looking like ghost lights in a haunted house. The car turned left. If it had turned right, I would have been the deer in the headlights. I tried to read the license plate. I got a snapshot of the three letters: BFD. How to remember them? All I could think of was “Big Fucking Deal.”

  The car turned left again at the corner, taking it past the front of Kelly’s house. I turned on my lights as soon as it was out of sight, and drove to the corner. When Kelly’s car was a half-block away I turned the corner and followed it.

  A series of stop signs kept us stopping and starting. I slowed down when Kelly stopped so I wouldn’t get too close to him. When he started I sped up so I wouldn’t get too far behind him when I stopped. As long as there wasn’t any other traffic, that worked.

  Then we approached an intersection with a stoplight. Kelly moved into the left-turn lane. There wasn’t anybody between us; I had to follow him into that lane. I stopped behind him, wondering if he knew I was following him. It was too dark to see his head inside the car, and the headrest on his car seat obscured it, anyway. I comforted myself with the thought that even if he looked in his rearview mirror he wouldn’t be able to see my face or get a good description of my car. I also memorized the numeric portion of his license plate.

  A green arrow gave us permission to proceed. We turned onto a major street; I think it was Pico Boulevard. Kelly turned into the second from the center lane. I turned into the left lane and fell back a little, still worried he might get suspicious if I stayed right behind him. We continued in that formation for several blocks and then stopped at another light. Traffic was moderately heavy. Several cars were between Kelly and me, but I could still see his car, since it was in a different lane.

  The light turned green and we proceeded. He caught me by surprise when he moved into a right-turn lane. I couldn’t change lanes because of the traffic. I saw him turn right as I sped by. Damn. Now what? Maybe I could recover. I did a U-turn at the next stoplight and came back to this intersection, finally turning left after a wait of what seemed like hours.

  I cruised along slowly, not having any idea where Kelly had gone. After a quarter of a mile I saw a shopping center on the right. It was eleven o’clock at night. The stores were closed. No cars were in the parking lot. I was prepared to pass it when I saw lights at the far end of the row of dark buildings. Then I saw some parked cars near the lights. A large neon sign proclaimed it was a member of one of California’s major supermarket chains. It must be open twenty-four hours a day.

  Open stores needed employees, even at night. It was worth a shot. I pulled into the parking lot and cruised slowly up and down the aisles between the parked cars, looking for a light-colored compact with “BFD” in the license. It was one of the cars fa
rthest away from the market. It contained the correct letters, and the numeric part also corresponded with my memory. My heart jumped when I saw it. He must be an employee. If he were just buying some food, he would have parked closer to the store. Employees were probably required to leave the more desirable spots for customers.

  I parked some distance away from Kelly’s car and then went back to it and peered in the windows with the aid of lights in the parking lot. A plastic cup sat in the drink holder. That was it. The inside of the car looked clean. Nothing was on either the front or back seats. I couldn’t identify it as the car that had almost run me over. I had only seen that car as a frightening shape in the dark, and the sound of its engine had been that of a much more powerful vehicle that Tom’s compact, or at least it had sounded like that to my scared ears.

  Now what should I do? My bladder told me. I fluffed my hair to make it look longer,—it had grown out since I found my identity—raced to the store, and went inside. I headed straight to the first employee I spotted, who was at a customer service counter, and asked where the bathrooms were. I corrected myself and said restrooms. That’s still a euphemism, but I doubted she’d understand loo or WC. I’d heard that in Canada they said washrooms, which at least makes some sense. She pointed to the corner of the store. I got there just in time.

  When I came out, feeling much relieved, I grabbed a hand basket and walked around the store, throwing in some crackers, cheese, and a couple of other items. I tried to spot Thomas Kelly, but none of the half dozen employees I saw came close to my admittedly inadequate picture of him. I began to doubt myself. Maybe I’d made a mistake, or been the victim of several coincidences.

  I went to checkout and placed my items on the counter. The female clerk was middle-aged, with a bouffant hairdo that probably needed help from hairspray to keep it in place. She asked me in a loud and cheerful voice if I’d found everything all right, and then scanned my purchases with a dexterity that spoke of years of experience.