Loose Ends: A California Corwin P. I. Mystery (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series)

by D. D. VanDyke

  Relaxing fractionally after looking each way down the hall, apparently ensuring I was alone, he said, “Sure. Come on in.”

  I followed him into a bare reception lounge with a couple of naked workstations in it – phones, computers, not much else. No one sat at them. In one corner squatted an old refrigerator next to a kitchenette – countertops, cabinets, a two-burner stove, microwave and sink. A restroom door and another unmarked one completed the points of interest. I presumed the second entry led to the real monitoring center.

  The man waved me to a seat and then sat down nearby. “What’s this about?” His eyes set deep in a grizzled hatchet face stayed very still, like a hunter, as did his whipcord-lean body.

  “You’ve been on the job?” I asked, recognizing the signs.

  “Like you. Bill Clawson, Lieutenant, Chicago PD, retired.” He still didn’t hold out his corded, veined hand.

  “Cal Corwin, as I said. Eight years SFPD.”

  His eyes flicked to my hip. “Still carry, I see.”

  “Good catch. Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t.” Distance surfaced in his haunted blue eyes.

  “Should I ask why?”

  “Can’t stand to touch a weapon anymore.” Bill snorted ruefully. “Pathetic, huh?”

  I shook my head. “I get it. Everyone reacts differently.” I understood. Once bitten. Ask a plane crash survivor how they feel about flying. Some could do it and some couldn’t. I felt certain Bill had killed someone on the job and a piece inside him had broken off. Maybe it still rattled in his head. Given Chicago’s reputation as the murder capital of the U.S., I wasn’t surprised.

  “So what’s this about?” Bill’s azure orbs searched my face and I felt myself getting distracted. I was always a sucker for damaged goods, especially a man with a bit of age on him. Mom says it’s daddy issues and I couldn’t really argue. My father had died young of a heart attack and left us both needing him.

  Forcing myself to look away, I glanced around at the room. Suddenly, I doubted that this man had anything to do with Talia’s disappearance. Sometimes I just knew. That vibe again maybe, or just old-fashioned cop sense.

  After a brief internal debate I decided to show some cards. Normally I’d go slower, be more cautious, but the clock was ticking on Talia, so I had to take a risk. Either this guy was clean and I could use his help or he was dirty and I should see it in his responses. Either way, I’d win.

  “I’ll level with you, Bill, as far as I can. I am a security consultant sometimes, but right now I’m investigating a crime. I can’t give you too many details, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Cop to cop?”

  “Yeah.” I met his eyes this time. They turned cool, appraising. “It’s about a young girl, if that makes you feel better.”

  Bull’s-eye. Bill’s face crumbled and I rejoiced inside at his strong reaction, hoping it meant information was about to flow.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  That sounded like an admission. Diamond clarity seized me by the scruff of the neck. “Just following leads, Bill,” I said, casually letting my hand drift down near my holster.

  Bill’s eyes narrowed as they followed my movement. “Why would you be asking about her? It was…it was seven years ago.”

  “What was?”

  “My baby girl. My little Sandy.”

  Baffled, I tried to keep from showing it. “The girl I’m talking about is missing right now.”

  “Oh.” Bill took a deep breath, almost a sob. “I thought…but that makes no sense,” he repeated. “I’m sorry. It’s burned into my skull. May fourteenth, 1998, I…I had too much to drink. I came home, fell into bed, failed to secure my service revolver, and…”

  Oh, God. I could see it in a flash of imagination. His daughter, walking in to see Daddy. Disobeying, as kids will do. Picking the gun up.

  Pulling the trigger.

  Bill, waking to that sound and a world-shattering nightmare of guilt, remorse, despair. Must have wrecked his marriage, too. Hard for a mother to forgive something like that.

  My voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Bill. I really am. I can’t imagine how that must feel. But right now there’s another child out there. She’s missing, and someone might have her. I’m looking.”

  Spreading his hands, he visibly steeled himself. “How can I help?”

  “You guys monitor for North Bay Distributors, right?” An innocuous name for the company, obviously designed to keep a low profile.

  “Sure.”

  “Tell me about the security system. Is it any good?”

  “Pretty deep, though it’s geared toward monetary loss rather than burglary prevention.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well,” he scratched at the knee of his suit trousers, “there’s just one security guard on during the day, and none at night. If I was a heist crew I could crash the gate, ram the door, be in and out in two minutes with a million bucks worth of stuff and no way the police could react in time. No, their security system is state of the art, but it’s for preventing white-collar crime. Very tight access.”

  “So it cuts their potential losses and ensures that any break-in is going to be obvious, quickly found out, and limited by the time it takes to fill a couple trash bags with expensive Schedule 1 narcotics.”

  Bill smiled without humor. “Actually there are much pricier things in there than Oxy. Some specialized drugs go for thousands a dose. They’re kept in heavy vaults. No smash-and-grab will get those.”

  “So, bottom line, it’s a lot cheaper to pay for insurance than round-the-clock guards or heavier fortifications.”

  “Yeah. But what does that have to do with a child?”

  I cleared my throat, trying to split the difference on how much I was willing to tell him. I had to keep his sympathy, but I didn’t want to spread so much information that it might get to the cops or elsewhere and endanger Talia. “Bear with me a little longer. If you wanted to make more than a quick heist…say, if you wanted to clean the place out of the good stuff, how would you do it?”

  “Inside job, of course.” He looked at me as if I had gone simple, and then realized my question had been rhetorical. “The girl. Leverage. Who is it?”

  “I –”

  Bill’s face lit up as his cop mind went visibly into overdrive. “It has to be someone that works at the warehouse. There are six people that have access. Obviously none of them are a willing part of it or nobody’d be leaning on them. So one of them has a kid and she’s been taken. Give me five minutes to look them up and I’ll tell you who.”

  “Damn, Bill. You’re wasted in this job.”

  “I was a good cop,” he said simply as he stood with a convulsive motion and looked away. “But I made my twenty for retirement and this job pays really well, so…”

  “I get it.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Bill walked over to the fridge and opened the freezer. He rooted inside and came up with a bottle of vodka, unscrewed the top and took a long pull of the subzero liquid with the motions of a professional alcoholic. He saluted me with the bottle. “But now you do.”

  I held my hand up. “I just saw your eyes light up with the old fire. You figured out what I had in five seconds flat. I bet you were hell on wheels back in the day. Look, I’m not asking you to come with me out into the field. Just work with me, help me by filling in what I don’t know.”

  “Then tell me what you already do know. I’m going to figure it out anyway. Would you rather I started poking around separately?”

  No, I really wouldn’t. An uncoordinated investigation might snarl things up badly, get someone killed.

  I stared at him. My gut told me he was on the level even while my head nagged that he might be dirty. No. Nobody could fake the reaction I had seen. No way this guy could be part of anything that threatened a child. I decided I’d rather have him inside than out.

  “Okay. The warehouse manager, Mira Sorkin, had her daughter kidnappe
d on Friday. They blackmailed her into revealing all the information for someone to get into the warehouse, but it doesn’t appear the heist has come off and they haven’t let her daughter go. She’s a wreck, as you might expect, and of course they told her not to go to the cops.”

  “Taken Friday and they had all weekend to pull the job – but here it is Monday.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Something delayed them. But what?”

  “No way to know, and I’m not sure it matters.” I filled him in on everything else Mira had told me.

  Bill sat forward, rubbing his hands together – either a theatrical gesture, or from the cold bottle. “We ought to set a trap.”

  “How?”

  “Now that I know, my guys and I can be looking for anyone that tries to impersonate Sorkin and get in. Once we got eyes on them…” He clapped his cupped hands together as if catching an insect.

  “Look, Bill, no offense, but we only met today. I get a good vibe off you, but one of your guys might be in on it.”

  “No way!”

  “For a cut of, oh, tens of millions? You sure? Any of them seem different lately? Anybody specifically ask to work Friday overnight, or Saturday?”

  Bill sat back, realization dawning on his face. “Lattimer. Dammit. And he switched with Cy to get on tonight.”

  “That’s our boy. With a guy on the inside they don’t have to worry as much about slip-ups or anyone noticing the oddity of anyone going in at that hour. They have cover.” I pointed at him. “Something delayed them before, but the longer they wait, the more likely something will go wrong. So they’re going to do it this evening. You mentioned a trap, but that doesn’t get us the girl back. In fact, if the cops swoop in and grab the thieves, whoever is watching the kid might…”

  “Yeah. But look, I got a simple plan. They won’t have any reason to think we’re on to them, so we stake the place out and then follow. They’ll probably lead us right to her. We can call PD when we have something solid.” Bill began to pace and seemed suddenly filled with a zealot’s flaming heart, as if he recognized his opportunity for moral redemption.

  I nodded, checking my watch. 3:30 p.m. “Seems like our best chance. Let’s do it.”

  “Pick me up at the diner across the street from here at about eight, all right?”

  “No problem.” We exchanged cell numbers, I waved off a handshake, and then I headed back to my office for a meal and a nap on my sofa. Stakeouts often turned into long, boring nights and I needed to be fresh, because if Bill was right, this was our big chance to follow the perps back to Talia.

  You might think I’d have had a hard time going to sleep, but as a cop I’d long ago learned to compartmentalize, to ignore what I couldn’t control and shut down my impatience. In this case, I dropped off instantly.

  I woke to find a fax from Mira in my machine. Skimming it quickly, I didn’t see anything new, merely more detail. I handed it off to Mickey on the way out. He hummed and waved over his shoulder, eyes glued to the screens as I shut the door.

  Chapter 4

  Just after sundown I parked Molly at the curb on the corner facing the single vehicle entrance to the heavily fenced North Bay Distributors complex, the warehouse I’d visited before. I’d picked Bill up from work. He wore the same clothes, though he’d added an old suit jacket that made him look nondescript and forgettable.

  I’d chosen a position under a dead streetlight where we could see the entire length of the block. Anyone would either drive right by us or approach us from the other end, though I doubted they would spot us; it was dark and we were just one car among many lining the streets.

  “They have to come this way,” Bill muttered, confirming my own thoughts. Out of the comfortable shell of the call center he seemed a bit deflated, his cracks more obvious. As he sipped coffee I could smell alcohol fumes in Molly’s close confines.

  “Yes, they do,” I said. “Unless they plan on a forcible B-and-E over the back fence. But if so, why take the girl?”

  “It bothers me that they delayed two days. Could she already be dead?”

  I sighed through clenched teeth. “No way to be sure and we have no shot at a lead but this stakeout. Unless you want to go back to your office and beat it out of Lattimer…but he might not know anything.”

  “Yeah. If I was them, I’d tell the inside man as little as possible.”

  “Hang in there, Bill. This is the best chance we have.” I sipped my own unadulterated coffee, glad of its warmth.

  Fifteen minutes went by in silence, and then half an hour. Bill finished his coffee mix and started sipping straight from his flask. Maybe when this was all over I should introduce him to Mira. Would two substance abusers raise a kid better than one? Make each other happy, understand and forgive all faults? Or would it be twice as bad for Talia?

  God, what a world.

  “When did you say Lattimer’s shift ended?”

  “He’s on at five, off at one a.m.”

  I checked my watch. “Nine fifteen. I’d bet they’ll come between now and midnight, probably earlier than later. I’m going to guess between ten-thirty and eleven.”

  “How you figure?”

  We’d already gone a few rounds of stump-the-cop on several subjects so I played along. Spinning deductive theories passed the time. “Nine is the middle of Lattimer’s shift. By nine, anyone who might stop in at the call center, say, because he forgot something, is probably home for good. By nine, most day-job people are off the streets. No traffic jams across the bridges or along any of the main routes. They’ll want a smooth getaway.”

  “Okay, that’s the beginning. What about the end of your window? Ten-thirty to eleven?”

  I idly rubbed the joints of my right hand, bending the fingers back and forth, a minor therapy I performed when I had nothing else to do. “The closer the end of his shift gets, the more chance of the next guy coming in early and blowing things. If I were a thief I’d want a very comfortable two hours of buffer. Also, most PD turnovers are at eleven. The oncoming shift is finishing up their briefing and the outgoing has already mentally checked out. Some will be dropping off their squad cars early to get to the head of the line. Hell, it’s Monday, right? A slow night.”

  Bill nodded. “Sounds plausible. You’re a lot more tuned-in to the local area than I am.”

  “Consider this your orientation to the underside of the Bay Area, then.” I sipped. “So what brought you out near the City?”

  He snorted. “I called Chi-town ‘the City’ when I was on the job.”

  “Yeah, and so do New Yorkers. Yada, yada. Answer the question, Bill.”

  “No deductions?”

  “No. You don’t want to talk about it?”

  “We partners now?” He sounded defensive.

  “Maybe. What do you think?”

  “We sure ain’t lovers.”

  “Nope.” I looked sideways at him. “Stay focused, Bill. Remember Talia.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “No harm, no foul.” I really didn’t mind. He hadn’t said a word about my scars, which was a welcome change, and he remained on the upside of pathetic, so I took his backhanded pass as a compliment. If he’d been off the juice I might have even given him a shot. Like I said, I don’t mind a bit of age on a man. Some things get better with time: a fine whiskey, a good cigar, a classic car. But my own addictions writhed beneath the surface too close to want to deal with anyone else’s.

  Demons, I’d found, are best faced alone. If you get help beating them, you never know if it was really you that won. Eventually, when you’re all by yourself, they’ll jump you from the shadows. On that day you’d better be ready to throw down and win.

  Eventually Bill spoke in answer to my earlier question. “After Sandy died, I crawled even farther into the bottle…but you already figured that.”

  I nodded.

  “They put me on a desk for a while. Mandatory counseling, weekly shrink sessions. It didn’t take. They eased me off the force. Retired me. I unders
tood. They had to do it. I was useless. By that time it was too late, though. My wife had left me. Couldn’t blame her. She was ten years younger…pretty. Full of life. Deserved a second chance.” His words slurred slightly, and the next time he lifted the flask I reached over to stop its motion toward his lips.

  “Give it a break, Bill.” He wiggled the flask under my hand but I clamped down firmly and held his eyes. “You’ve had enough for now, Lieutenant. I need you upright and operating.”

  Slowly his hand relaxed under mine, his eyes clearing as he capped the container and slid it into a breast pocket. “Okay. I’m good.”

  Another hour of silence passed, broken only by the occasional exchange of remarks, before Bill said, “I’m gonna take a walk. Drain the monster.”

  “Right.” That was one concrete advantage men had over women – the ability to pee standing up. Must be nice. Me, between rallying, stakeouts and marathon poker sessions I’d developed the bladder of a camel so I just held it.

  “Give me the flask first.”

  “I’m not that far gone.”

  “Flask,” I said in a voice of stone.

  Bill raised an eyebrow, but took out the container and handed it to me before he exited and walked around the corner, probably heading for a small park half a block back. As long as he picked a good shadowed tree he’d be all right. I thought about pouring his liquor onto the street but that seemed rude, an insult tantamount to throwing poker chips in the trash.

  Just then the first large vehicle in a while rounded the opposite corner, its lights illuminating the street. I slouched down as low as I could while keeping an eye on it. We’d figured they’d bring some kind of truck for the cargo capacity. With an inside job and no need for smash-and-grab hurry, the more they carried away, the bigger their take.

  The vehicle turned out to be a white heavy-duty panel van, an extended model perfect for a heist like this. It didn’t turn in to the warehouse drive, though. Rather, it cruised slowly down the block. I ducked, squeezing my small frame sideways under the steering wheel and lowered my head to cover the lighter skin of my face, my black hair forming a concealing canopy.