by Andy King
She told him he would be hearing from her soon.
13
Sunday the 15th
Amy had hoped that brunch at Spazio Caffé would take the edge off of McKuen’s worries. He smiled and chatted, but kept thinking about all of his recent problems.
To take a step toward clearing his name, he’d agreed to meet with the detectives on neutral ground. Irked at Celeste Sauvage and her one-woman prosecutor act, he watched Coil out the front window. She paced the sidewalk, grim as usual.
Two detectives joined her. They pushed through the door, Coil badged the hostess and pointed across the room. McKuen waved them over. They sat down.
“You know Detective Don Ishido,” she said. “This is Detective Micki Kelman.” Kelman gave a quick wave and smiled.
Amy and Liv weren’t thrilled. Being interviewed by the police on a weekend morning, even with McKuen’s consent, wasn’t their idea of fun. Coil broke the ice.
“I’m really glad to see you healthy, Mrs. Reneaux.” Liv smiled.
“Same here,” she said.
“LAPD went easy on you?”
“They handled me like the Queen’s diamonds.” Coil looked at Amy.
“Mrs. McKuen, I trust you haven’t been harassed further.” Amy nodded.
“Dennis won’t confirm but I’m pretty sure I have an escort,” she said. Dennis looked sideways. McKuen stifled a grin. Coil looked at each of the four.
“Steve filled you in?”
“This Sauvage bitch is pretty harsh,” Liv said. Dennis smirked.
“We’re all going to have to live with her if she, ah, prevails,” Coil said.
“You mean if she buys the election.” Amy’s remark startled everyone except McKuen. Conversation ceased. McKuen and Dennis started to eat.
“When you’re done,” Coil said, “I’d like the four of you to come by the station for separate interviews.”
“That’s unreasonable!” Liv said. Ishido held up a hand. In the measured cadence of a veteran detective, he addressed Liv.
“Mrs. Reneaux. Captain Coil, and I…we think that if each of you tells exactly the same story…um, independently and voluntarily, it would go a long way toward shielding your families from further, uh—”
“Persecution,” said Liv.
“Inquiry,” said Kelman.
McKuen noticed the empathy. Winning over a person of Liv’s temperament was done with honey, not vinegar.
“Captain Coil has taken a huge amount of flak for refusing to arrest Mr. McKuen and Mr. Reneaux,” Ishido said.
“Politics,” Liv huffed, and resumed eating for two. Kelman smiled.
“You’re right, it’s politics.” Coil gave her a glance.
“All the facts suggest the implication is hogwash,” Kelman said. “The pressure by the command structure, city officials and the media, it’s all on Captain Coil.” She smiled again.
“Celeste Sauvage is another, uh, sharp edge. So if you could please take an hour of your time to sort of distribute the weight…”
Liv’s expression softened. Amy was paying close attention.
“OK, I’ll shut up,” Liv said. McKuen raised a finger.
“We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. Could you get four people to do this at the same time so we can get out of there quick?” Coil nodded. She seemed pleased Ishido and Kelman had wooed the wives.
McKuen was pretty sure that Coil thought the killings were a diversion and somebody was framing them. Politics would consume a fair amount of her energy, though. She stood up.
“Unless there’s something else, we’ll see you soon.” The detectives left.
“What’s going on, Steve?” Amy said.
“It’s all connected,” he said. “It’s got to be. The murders, you getting detained and questioned, Liv getting kidnapped. How it’s connected?” He shrugged. A look passed between them.
The necklace, he thought. But how did Liv’s kidnapping fit in? And why kill four competitors?
McKuen had told Dennis he had some ideas, and he did, but his number one job was to keep Amy safe. And the business running.
And figure this out.
_____
Interviews done, McKuen was in his office with the door closed. Eyes shut tight, he tried to calm himself.
He opened his eyes and picked up a picture frame, a photograph of Amy triumphant, having just come up from an onstage bow, smiling. A few orchestra members stood behind her, applauding.
She was his life now. If she asked, he would give up his work, all the dirty details. But she would never ask.
They’d become best friends, Amy a whole new chapter, a new book. He would never let her fall into danger, even if he had to hire a whole security company. He turned his attention to the puzzle.
It was more than Sauvage, more than the necklace and the piece of paper. Somebody was out there.
The drug trade dangerous, he knew a dozen people who thought he’d screwed them over. So who?
The realization was a chill fog, swirling from behind. The Five, somebody took over, revenge.
It made sense, kind of. Then doubt pushed the idea aside.
It could be someone else, but what if? He pulled out a yellow pad. His thoughts sped up as he sketched scenarios.
A thin smile played across his face. Whoever’s the enemy, they’re good. No, better than good. Smart and inspired. Well OK, I’m good, too.
His mother, then Mindy, were surprised by his talent for lucky guesses. Luck had little to do with it.
First he listed the angles, drawing shapes, like a flow chart. Then he asked himself what can go right and what can go wrong.
He assigned each angle a probability. Mindy, the math major, had helped him hone that method. Again he diagrammed what could go right, or wrong.
Last, he found time and space to get away from the pad and let the images compile themselves. Taking regular time to do nothing, what his mom used to call goofing off, let his brain do what it wanted to do instead of forcing it to think. Daydreaming and free association are important techniques, if you have the discipline to use them. His intuition and ideas were just a product of observation, obsessive organization and letting his subconscious roam.
After years of practice, running through the process took very little time, the results uncanny.
McKuen’s lucky guesses were often right.
The page was covered with sketches and notes, an idea becoming clearer. He heard a sound and lifted his head. Zolo stood there, grinning at him through his thin, black mustache.
“Jeez, I didn’t hear you come in,” McKuen said. Zolo’s smile widened.
“I am silent, like hunter.” McKuen shook off his frustration.
“Thanks for coming over.”
“You say you want to meet, so I am here.”
“You know about this murder last night, right?”
“You want me to investigate?”
“You bet. If Captain Coil didn’t think we were innocent, we’d be in jail.”
Zolo sat on the sofa. McKuen assumed that Zolo wanted to convey his expertise, a little self-promotion.
“You know you are being followed, yes?” Zolo said. McKuen raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“I thought I saw somebody last week. With everything else going on, I forgot to tell you.” He pointed at Zolo.
“Your guys are tailing us, right?”
“Yes, but we also watch others follow you. These people, they are not so good. Amateurs, at least compare to my men.”
“Son of a bitch! Who’s following me?”
“Not only you, but Dennis also.”
“OK, who?”
“We think they are employed by this woman, Celeste Sauvage?”
“Goddamn it! That bitch has a hard-on for us. This is bullshit!”
“Jefe calm down, perhaps we can use this.”
McKuen was always one to consider turning the tables. Strategy was a way of life.
“Really? How?” he said.
“Oh yeah, she was there, too.”
“But you and Dennis go outside for some time.” McKuen smiled.
“Your guys were somewhere nearby, huh?”
“Of course.” Zolo was obviously proud his men weren’t spotted. “We see this Sauvage woman’s people. I am surprised that you did not, they are not, uh—”
“Expert.”
“Sí, experto. Clumsy, I think you say.”
“But they were there, so she has to know we didn’t do it.”
“Oh yes, she knows by now.” The corners of McKuen’s mouth turned up slightly.
“You’ve got other surveillance, huh?” Zolo straightened in mock indignation.
“Of course. This is why I make the big bucks.” He laughed at his use of slang, holding his sides. McKuen laughed too, glad that Dennis had pitched Zolo’s services.
“Hey look,” he said. “Let me know if you ever need a favor, if I can help you…” He let the offer hang, sure Zolo understood he wasn’t talking about money.
“Leave this to Captain Coil.” Zolo said. He smiled. “She will take care of Sauvage.”
McKuen thought about it, then nodded. Zolo sobered. He evidently had more on his mind.
“This is not why I come here,” he said. McKuen raised his eyebrows.
“One of my sources, you know…” Zolo shrugged. McKuen nodded. An investigator doesn’t divulge his sources.
“This person tells me somebody is asking about you.” McKuen’s eyebrows went up again.
“Actually, this somebody is asking about me,” Zolo said. “I think he wants to connect to you.”
“He wants an introduction?”
“I do not know what he wants, but I have a rule.” McKuen nodded again. Good rules are often a lifesaver.
“I do not talk to somebody I do not know who does not give his identity,” Zolo said.
“And this guy wants to be unknown.” Zolo nodded with gravity.
“Any idea what his real goal is?” McKuen said.
“No, but he is willing to pay a large sum of money to talk to me. He ask more than once.”
“Really.” McKuen’s brain was in overdrive. It couldn’t be the guy about the piece of paper, could it? That would be too easy.
“You want to know if you should go ahead,” he said. Zolo nodded.
McKuen nodded back, glad that Zolo asked him. He didn’t think Zolo was that worried about talking to somebody.
He held up a finger. He was inclined to say yes, but he wanted to think about it; could be a setup. He half-shut an eye.
“Zolo, I really appreciate that you asked, but it doesn’t feel right. If you don’t mind, why don’t you just forget the whole thing, OK?”
“Is no problem, I just want to run by you.” Zolo stood up. McKuen stood, too.
“You’re right about letting Coil handle this, but please keep tabs on Sauvage’s people,” he said. Zolo agreed and left.
McKuen paced, alternately looking out the window and staring at the floor. Security was the most important thing. For this guy to surface now… He flopped into his chair and stared at nothing. And realized.
The call he’d made a couple of days before hadn’t been returned. He picked up the phone and left another voicemail.
_____
A little later he was in the barroom, talking about a new brand of whiskey with Lori the bartender. He heard his phone ring.
“Phil, thanks for calling back.”
“How can I help?” Phil Adelman said.
“I know you’re busy, but I have an interesting issue.”
“I’ve got a few minutes. Your issues are always interesting.”
“You know law enforcement types socially, right?”
“I do.”
“There was a guy who rolled through my world awhile back, left a trail. I mentioned him to you at the time. Now I need some, uh, side information.”
“And your contacts won’t do for this purpose.” McKuen wanted info but didn’t want to go to Coil. Why risk further scrutiny?
“I can’t ask right now,” he said.
“OK, who’s the subject?”
“His name was John Christian, arrested for counterfeiting and murder in Santa Monica. He went to jail, but broke out, came back and well, got killed.”
“Ah yes, so what do you need, now he’s dead?”
“I need to know where he did business. I need to know who he was connected with. He had to have a network. Were they wrapped up? Are any of them still out there? You know, unaccounted-for?”
“That’s Federal, probably Secret Service and FBI. I might be able to find out.”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll be back to you soon.”
“Thanks so much, Phil.”
A couple of hours later, Phil called back.
“No worries about you asking?” McKuen said. He thought he heard a suppressed chuckle.
“No worries at all. This Christian fellow had people in the Orange County-Riverside area and up in the Central Valley.”
“You mean like Fresno or Bakersfield?”
“Yes, it looks like he had an operation in Bakersfield.”
“Smart. Kept everything out of LA. Any details?”
“Christian used cells. He had cutouts, borrowed a chapter out of the terrorist book. Do you have a fax?”
“I think it still works.” McKuen gave Phil the number.
“I’ll send you a page, keeps things off the phone,” Phil said. “The bottom line is that every person associated with Christian is still in prison, except one.”
“One?”
“Yes, the authorities never found him. They think he was Christian’s main man.”
“Really. Any idea where the guy was from?”
“The FBI thinks he wasn’t from Bakersfield, so probably down around Orange County. Other than that they don’t have anything solid. Does that help?”
“Oh yeah, that’s great. Thanks, Phil.”
“It’s nothing.”
McKuen thought it had to be the man. He was the only one left, and maybe the only one Christian would have trusted enough to let him get close. McKuen snorted. He was assuming too much. Christian was a manipulator and a sociopathic asshole, that’s all he really knew.
What he didn’t know was exactly how Christian died. Oh sure, Darlie Major killed him, but why? Christian tried to skip the country, and didn’t take her with him. He broke out of prison to get his money…and get revenge. On McKuen. And then?
A picture slammed in, clear now. The paper was worth millions, but its emotional value was priceless. This guy worked for Christian, but probably hated him. That’s why he stole the matching piece of paper. He might even have helped Darlie nail Christian.
If he could trap the man, the threat, at least that threat, would be neutralized. More importantly, McKuen would get his revenge—he couldn’t help the cruel smile—on a dead man. It would bury John Christian for good.
It was time to admit the truth. The paper might be crucial for his enemy, but the necklace was everything to him. He leaned back in his chair and thought about the Santa Monica Pier, picturing two buildings at the end. A couple minutes to run through a plan on the yellow pad, and he picked up his phone.
“Is Zolo.”
“It’s McKuen. That guy who wanted to talk to you? Can you call him back and go ahead?”
“Oh, OK. I call my friend and set this up.”
“I think we should do that. Why don’t you come over and call from here.”
“OK, I be there soon.”
McKuen hung up and stared at the wall. Let’s see what this guy’s got. Then start working on turning the bars over to Dennis and getting out.
14
Eddie unlocked the file cabinet. He pulled the box with the gun and silencer out of a drawer and set it on his desk, ready. He picked up his keys. H
is phone rang.
“Remember how you wanted to get in touch with that guy? Goes by Zolo?”
“Oh yeah, you got a way?”
“He called back, wants your number.”
“No, I’m not giving him my number, get his. Our deal stands, you make a ton of money.”
“OK OK, I thought so, I told him that.” The man gave Eddie a phone number. “When can I get paid?” he said.
“Give you half now, half when I’m sure. You get here in fifteen, I’ll pay you half before I call him.”
“Right away.” Click.
While waiting, Eddie thought about it. Suspicious. For whatever reason, Zolo changed his mind. It must have been after talking to McKuen. OK, see what the deal is, then decide how to play it.
He dispatched the go-between and punched the number on a burner phone.
“Is Zolo.”
“This is the guy Jorge talked to, said you would take my call.”
“¿Que onda?” Eddie’s Spanish wasn’t so good. His parents’ Spanish wasn’t that great.
“English man, ain’t got time to translate,” he said, “and take me off speaker.” The sound of the phone changed.
“OK, what’s goin’ on?”
“Got somethin’ you want, you got somethin’ I want,” Eddie said.
“Yes, a friend has a piece of paper and you have a piece of jewelry, no?”
“That’s right.” Zolo paused. Eddie figured he was signaling McKuen.
“Describe the jewelry,” Zolo said.
“Silver necklace with a locket, it’s got a ruby and three little diamonds.” There was a short pause.
“Yes, that’s it,” Zolo said.
“Now you describe the paper.”
“It’s just a bunch of letters and numbers, mano.”
“What does the paper itself look like?”
“Oh, thin and small.”
Eddie’s pulse raced. It was the key to his dreams, but he didn’t think McKuen would give it up easily. He’d learned caution when he pushed Christian’s counterfeit bills.
“I need you to bring it to Torrance,” he said.
