Matteo leans forward, and I can just see the compelling and serious expression on his handsome face. “Deadly sure. It’s why we need to get to the bottom of this. The drug lords are after this wannabe superhero, and they’ve picked up on the comic book connection too. They could target your staff and your building if we don’t shut this down. If you think you know something, I suggest you share it.”
“I-I was younger when my father wrote it. Dad didn’t discuss everything with me, but yes. Honestly, I think he wrote about something real.”
“What makes you think that?”
Casey takes a deep breath, holds it in for a long count, then lets it back out slowly. He raises his eyes to Matteo’s face. I know that look. I see it in the boardroom monthly. He’s taking Matteo’s measure. His fingers cease fidgeting on the table, and Casey seems to take hold of himself. From my vantage point, it looks like he’s about to be truly honest with Matteo.
“My father did always use the newspaper for inspiration; that’s true. And the drug culture in LA in the eighties was insane. The comic book was his way of trying to change the ills of the world. I mean, he was constantly trying to help out kids from bad situations. He’d hire them or mentor them when he could, but it was more than that. My father saw himself as some sort of superhero.” The last came out with a note of bitterness.
Matteo doesn’t respond, allowing Casey room to continue. I shift on my feet, heart pounding. It’s a good thing I’m not in there. I’d be halfway across the table to get answers.
Casey continues after a sip of water. “Something about that last story line was different, though. My father was different. Gone a lot. Lots of . . . questionable personal decisions. At the time, I thought he was going senile, that he finally thought he was the Hooded Falcon . . . We were fighting more. But I think he’d based his last comics on something real that he was investigating. He didn’t tell me about it, and if he told anyone about it, it would have been the equally crazy kid who lived with us—he was trouble. There were other kids he’d hire for odd jobs—helping with his typewriter or gadgets or whatever. But this one . . . got to my father the way no one else had, and he used him until the day he died. I told my father that every chance I got, even though my father wouldn’t listen to me.”
My stomach turns over. The kid who lived with them. He has to mean Lawrence. There’s true bitterness in Casey’s voice. If he’s involved in this case somehow, could he be the one to have broken into Lawrence’s place? My place? Could my boss be the Golden Arrow?
Rideout picks this moment to burst into the room where I’m standing, sloshing a cup of coffee all over the floor. He mutters an expletive as he jams a headset on and tries repeatedly to get the earbuds inserted properly. He shoots me a look like it’s my fault he’s been getting coffee and missing the interview. “Kildaire, ask him about the arguments. Possible motive.”
Before Rideout even finishes speaking, Matteo’s voice—quiet, calm, and without a hint of being prompted—comes out from the TV screen, “You were fighting. Fighting about what?”
Casey Junior shrugs, and for a moment I glimpse the younger man he must have been when his father was alive. Not the big bullish businessman but the awkward teen. “I was fifteen. We fought about everything. His comics. His eccentricities. How embarrassing it was to have me invite friends over and have him show up in a cape and tights. About this kid he had live with us for a little bit. He just brought people in off the street and fed them and stuff. It was stupid and dangerous. Though he’d never invited any to live with us before. I had to nip it in the bud.”
Rideout watches the TV screen like a hawk now. “Use the journal,” he growls. We talked about Casey Junior possibly being the culprit, but my stomach clenches at the fervor in Rideout’s voice. He’s like a hound on a scent. If this is how Rideout questions people, no wonder Matteo does the interview first.
Matteo gives an almost imperceptible nod. “And did you fight about how he was ending the comic?” Matteo’s words slide home, and Casey Junior’s jaw tightens.
“What do you mean, ‘ending the comic’?” Casey Junior’s face has shuttered, his features completely controlled.
“We found evidence that your father planned to end the comic after the current story line. Did that make you angry?”
“You found—how could you know that?”
“We found a journal for an issue of THF that shows the Falcon retiring.”
Casey Junior’s face floods with color, and his hands move to grip the table. “You found a journal? Show it to me.” It was an order. A demand.
“We can’t share evidence—”
“If you want me to say another word, you show it to me.” Casey’s face is a dusky red, his voice shaking. I’ve never seen him unhinged like this. He is . . . furious? Scared? I can’t tell which.
Matteo doesn’t say a word but rises from his chair and exits the room.
My heart races a mile a minute, and I know Matteo is coming in here even before the door opens.
“We need that journal. There’s something here. Something he knows. Something he’s not willing to share for some reason.”
“It’s at my friend’s house,” I stammer. I hate using L’s name right after he was mentioned in the questioning.
“I’ll send an officer to go get it.”
Oh crap, oh crap. Not only have I not told Lawrence about the case or about telling Matteo I’ve seen the journal; now Matteo wants to go get it by force. My best friend won’t be my best friend anymore if that happens. I need to fix this. Lawrence would end up a suspect, and it would all be my fault. My mind flies to my messenger bag where I tucked the copies.
“How about the copies I have?”
Matteo’s eyebrows draw together over my withheld information, so I plunge ahead with my explanation. “We can just tell Casey that we can’t show him the whole journal, but this will prove we have it. I’ll ask to borrow the journal tonight and bring it to you tomorrow.”
Matteo thinks for a moment, then nods and accepts the copies before walking out the door, saying, “This will work in a pinch. Thanks.”
I wait with anxious breath for him to reappear on the TV screen.
“Interesting how much inside information you keep coming up with,” Rideout comments, not removing his eyes from the screen.
My stomach plummets. “Happy coincidence,” I manage to respond, following his lead and keeping my eyes on the screen.
“There are a lot of happy coincidences where you’re concerned—” Rideout continues but is interrupted by Matteo’s arrival back on the screen.
I didn’t miss the veiled accusation from Rideout and just pray he is the only one who thinks I am involved further. Matteo must know there’s no way I could actually be the Golden Arrow.
“Here are a few pages from the journal.” Matteo hands the photocopies over to Casey Junior, who studies them.
“Where did you find this? I’ve been looking for years for my father’s journals. Where are the rest of them? I need to see them. All of them.”
“We only have one. Are you telling me there are more?”
“Yes.” Casey Junior rubs his hand over his head so hard, he’d yank out hair if he had any. “Yes, and I need them. Where did you find this? It’s important.”
“Why have you been looking for the journals? To hide the fact that your father planned to stop a comic that put millions in your pocket?” Matteo drops the bomb like it’s no big deal, but Casey Junior explodes.
He stands up, knocking over his chair, and I think for a moment he’s going to rush Matteo. “I loved my father, and I didn’t know he was serious about ending the comics. I could never find his notes after he died to wrap up the story line. But this!” Casey Junior returns to the table and grabs the photocopies. “This proves that he had notes. Detective, you have to find them. The other journals. I don’t know how this ties in to your current case. Really and truly, I don’t. But these journals contain the identity of the perso
n I think killed my father.”
Goose bumps race down my arm, and I gape at the TV screen. Killed his father?
Rideout, on the other hand, is in his element. Calm. Steely. “Chase it, Kildaire.”
“Murder? Mr. Casey, your father died of a heart attack.”
“That’s just what the police report says.” Casey Junior has regained some composure and sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this at the beginning. It just sounds so ludicrous. I don’t expect anyone to ever believe it, but it’s my firm belief that my father was killed by the man he was following. The man he intended to write into his comic book as a villain. I’ve been searching his belongings for thirty years to find clues.”
Rideout grimaces. “Kildaire, this is starting to sound implausible. I suggest . . .” Then he throws the headset at the TV because Matteo has taken out his earpiece and leaned toward Casey.
“You believe your father was murdered? For writing a comic book?”
“Yes.”
“And that the police covered it up?”
“Yes.”
“And you think these journals hold the notes including the identity of the person who killed your father?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Casey, I have to ask . . . If you suspected murder, why didn’t you file a report?”
“I-I think it was a double agent. A cop he saw dealing drugs.” Casey runs his hands over his head, then places them back on the table. His eyes harden. “He was going to publish the cop’s real name when he unmasked the other superhero in the comic, but I could never prove it. I heard my dad and the kid arguing about it once, and I was afraid of coming forward without an identity or proof. In case . . . you know.”
“In case the cop who took over was the double agent and killed you too?”
“Yes.” I think I hear a note of relief in Casey’s voice. Like he’s just removed a splinter that has been a pain in his ass for thirty years.
“Okay. If we can find this kid, we’ll bring him in for questioning. We’ll do what we can, even though the time to search for him would have been right after your dad’s death. Can you give me a name?”
“I’ve tried to find this guy for years. Never knew his last name. I only know his first name is Lawrence.”
Fear curdles my stomach, forming a pit of doom. Lawrence not only worked for Casey Senior; he was a part of the shenanigans that got Casey Senior killed. At least that’s what my boss believes. I guess I’m not the only one keeping secrets, but this could get Lawrence sent to jail. Or killed by the drug lords if they figure out he is involved. I frown. Unless Lawrence is the Golden Arrow and is avenging Casey Senior’s death, but wouldn’t he have told me that?
Matteo clears his throat. “Lawrence. Okay. Description?”
“We were both pretty young, but he would probably be a big black guy these days. Over six feet probably. That’s all I know. I don’t know why someone has been following drug dealers or making reference to the White Rabbit. Maybe the White Rabbit was a real person too. We won’t know until we find those journals. I’ve looked everywhere in my father’s belongings for them. Will you please let me know if you find more?”
Matteo’s face doesn’t give anything away, but I’m already dying inside. He jots in his notebook, then tucks it into his shirt pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Casey. I appreciate you weighing in on this. We’ll take your counsel seriously in this matter. Would you mind giving a written statement?”
Casey Junior hesitates. “Is it necessary?”
Matteo sits forward in the chair, bringing him within inches of Casey Junior’s face. “Mr. Casey, I assure you this case is my number-one priority. The safety of citizens is at stake, the safety of your employees, and now possibly the solution to your father’s death. I need a written statement.”
Casey blows out a breath. “Okay.”
“Excellent. In light of your new information, may I also have permission to look at your father’s office?”
“Sure. I’ve looked through there a million times, but be my guest. I hope you find something I’ve missed.”
Matteo shakes Casey Junior’s hand and stands up to leave. He tosses a look at the camera that is clearly meant for me. “Stay where you are; we need to talk” is written all over his face.
He arrives shortly and shuts the door with a click behind him. Rideout starts yelling about how Matteo removed the earpiece, but Matteo has eyes only for me. “MG, did you know about this?”
“Of course not. I had no idea he thought his father was murdered.”
“That wasn’t what I was talking about. I’m talking about your best friend being a person of interest in this case.”
I chew my lip. “Not really. Lawrence did say he’d worked for Senior. It’s why he had the journal, but that’s it. I didn’t know the rest. I promise.”
“We’re going to have to bring him in for questioning.”
“Can’t we just—”
“MG, he’s a suspect. You should be thankful I’m not saying we need to arrest him.” He pauses to study my face. “Do you think he knows more than what he told you?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I didn’t even know to ask. Matteo—he’s not the Golden Arrow. I know him.” I’m outwardly vehement, but . . . do I really know Lawrence? Look at all I’ve learned in a week about my so-called best friend. Talk about secrets and lies on all sides these days. I bite my lip. “But . . .”
“But.” Matteo looks less than thrilled.
“Well, it’s just that Lawrence called me earlier and thought maybe someone had been in his shop. And, well, the day you came over to my house? I thought maybe someone had been in my room.”
Matteo’s mouth presses into a line, a clue to his suppressed fury. “And you’re just mentioning this?”
“I-I didn’t think about it before.” Which is stupid since Matteo increased patrols at my house and I’ve been feeling for a week now like the Golden Arrow is taking my involvement personally.
“Was anything taken from your room?”
“No, maybe just some comic books moved around. And really, I’m not even sure about that. Lawrence said the same thing. If nothing was taken, it’s not a big deal, right?”
“What if someone is trying to find out what you know about the case? Or found out about your friend’s journal and suspects that he has something to do with the case too? Did you think about that?”
I frown. “Well, now I’m thinking about it.”
“That’s why you’re not a cop,” Rideout says with a pointed look at Matteo.
Matteo runs his hands through his hair. “And keep me in the loop next time, will you? We need that journal. We need to question Lawrence. And now that I know that someone could be watching him, it may be safer to take him into custody.”
My hands make fists of their own volition. This has gone sideways so fast. “Don’t do that. Don’t put him in custody, Matteo. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” I hope.
Matteo looks unconvinced. He glances at Rideout, who gives him a shrug that I read as “It’s your own funeral.” “Fine, we won’t put him in custody unless something comes out of the questioning. But we are going to bring him in to the station. He’s a bigger player in this than we thought.”
I nod, but inwardly I’m dying. If the police show up at Lawrence’s door before I can tell him what’s been going on, I’ll never forgive myself. Also, I want to see the entire journal before the police have it. What if the crooked cop loses it on purpose? A plan hatches in my head. I need to get to Lawrence before the police.
Rideout seems oblivious to my plight. He’s staring at the TV screen with a scowl that would make any comic book villain jealous. “This just keeps getting more complicated. Now we’re trying to solve a thirty-year-old possible murder as well?”
I chance a look at Rideout, then address Matteo, “I think it’s all related. The last issues, including the journals. The drug dealers. The White Rabbit. We just have to put it all together. We’re ge
tting close. I can feel it.” Even if it looks like my friends—no, my family—are involved and their lives are at risk.
Rideout makes a sound of derision in the back of his throat and pushes the TV screen and cart into the corner of the room before stalking out into the hallway. He grabs the arm of the younger officer, Officer James, the one I saw pocket evidence at the crime scene. I recognize the thinning sandy hair. He and Rideout have an intense discussion, and my interest piques. The younger officer looks angry about something, and I can’t help my brain from going back to the warehouse. Two more officers walk by in the hall. One looks vaguely familiar too. This is the problem with my paranoia. Until we have a way to pinpoint the double agent, it could be literally anyone at this police station with knowledge of the case.
Matteo’s fingers snap in front of my eyes, and I’m brought out of my thoughts and back to the interrogation room. “Hello? Get your coat. You and I are going to go look at Casey Senior’s office while your boss is making his statement. I’ve told Officer James to take a very long time to complete this task so that your boss won’t know you’re our informant. Casey mentioned he’s shipping many of the items in the study for a charity auction tomorrow, including the costume. It’s likely our only chance.” He motions to Officer James, who still looks cranky, but now I understand the heated exchange with Rideout. I would be upset too if I had to stay at the precinct and do paperwork while my partners went to search a suspect’s office.
Rideout sticks his head back in. He barely gives me a glance and addresses Matteo, “Let’s get this show on the road. We only have an hour tops before this guy heads home.”
“Oh goody,” I mutter under my breath. Instead of a cozy conversation in the car, I get to enjoy the dulcet tones of Detective Rideout singing all the verses of subtle jabs about why MG shouldn’t be here. All the better for me to stew about Lawrence on my own.
Lawrence didn’t just work for Casey Senior. He was a confidant. He lived with the man. If Casey Junior is right and his father was murdered, odds are Lawrence has seen his killer. Not only that; if there is a leak in the LAPD, it’s only a matter of time before Lawrence becomes the number-one target. We need to wrap this up yesterday.
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 15