by Stalker
No one spoke for a moment.
Hayley changed the subject to give him time to think. “How’s it going over there?”
“We’ve located some torn bits of clothing.”
“Hers?”
“I don’t know, Hayley.”
His voice sounded flat. She said, “But…you know…you haven’t found her.”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if we had.”
“It was a stupid question.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Oliver softened his voice. “It was a very normal question. I’m real testy.”
“Understandable. How’s the lieutenant?”
“Stuck in hell.”
The conversation was playing hard on Hayley’s already overwrought anxiety level. She felt her throat swell. “So what should I do?”
“You’re close to Beaudry’s house?”
“Five minutes.”
“Go check him out. Call if you find out anything.”
“Likewise.” She disconnected the line, and started the motor of her car—a ten-year-old Mustang that had been giving her problems of late. Something about a nervous transmission. But she couldn’t afford to repair it. She had renamed the wheels “bucking bronco.” Sure enough, when she put it in drive, it hesitated before lunging forward. Seconds later, she was on her way to Beaudry’s.
Graham lived in a simple one-story house in a residential area of one-story houses. The neighborhood was hilly, and the streets moved up and down like a baby roller coaster. Since the suburb was near the ocean, the homes at the top had a nice view. But Beaudry lived at the base of the knoll in a white, wood-sided home with flower beds lining the walkway. No skyline or ocean view, but the area was not at all unpleasant. She parked across the street and was about to get out when a car in his driveway came alive with red backup lights. There was just enough light for her to make out the license plate.
Bederman.
She let him go for a half block, and followed him without headlights until they were on Venice Boulevard. Then she popped the illumination switch and dropped back a couple of car lengths, following him east for several miles. When he turned into the residential area of Culver City, she again tailed him without headlights. His particular block was a flat street with a gated condo development on one side, and faceless one-story homes on the other. Bederman pulled into the condo driveway, inserted a card into the magnetic slot, and the mechanical arm lifted upward, allowing him entrance.
Hayley continued on for another half block and then parked the car, thinking about what to do next. If Bederman had been at Graham’s for the past two hours, he couldn’t have been with Cindy unless Bederman and Beaudry were in on it together. Nothing surprised Hayley anymore. She had seen the best of fathers brought down for diddling their daughters, she had seen pastors who were wife beaters. She had arrested rich kids for shoplifting candy bars, she had seen poverty-stricken illiterates do the most amazing heroics. Appearance meant nothing and lots of times first impressions were wrong. Still, there was something off-kilter when she tried to picture Bederman and Beaudry hanging at a Sunday barbecue planning Cindy’s demise. She called up Scott and told him what had happened.
She said, “He was driving the Camaro. I found that somewhat encouraging. Mainly because it’s harder to hide a body in a car that small. Even the trunk is small.”
“Yeah.” Except that Oliver was discouraged. He would have been far happier had Hayley found Bederman with Cindy—alive and gagged and whatnot. Instead, the verdict was still out, the terror of the uncertain rotting away his ability to think.
“Are you there, Scott?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” In body, he was there. But his mind wasn’t processing.
Hayley said, “I don’t think Bederman’s going anywhere for a while. Maybe I should concentrate on Graham.”
Oliver thought about that. “Maybe Bederman’s switching cars and is going to go out again.”
“Do you want me to wait here?”
“As opposed to…”
“Going to Beaudry’s place. I’m just thinking that if Bederman did something nasty, maybe he went to Graham’s to confess or something.”
“Maybe he went there to ask Graham to give him an alibi,” Oliver said. “What do you hope to accomplish by talking to Beaudry?”
“I have a better relationship with Graham than I do with Bederman. And he is Cindy’s current partner. On the surface, they seem to get along. I’m just thinking that I’d get more out of Beaudry than I would out of Bederman.”
“What do you expect to get out of Beaudry?”
“If there’s something off about Bederman.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not a detective. How about a little guidance?”
That was always Hayley’s style—straight out with it. Oliver said, “Nothing much is happening here…which I suppose is better than finding something. Look, Hayley, I’ll do Bederman, you do Beaudry. I should be there in…twenty minutes.”
“Want me to wait for you?”
“Yeah…wait for me.” Silence for several seconds. “Any word from Tropper?”
“No. I called about three minutes ago. Maybe we should put out the APB on him?”
“It’s the same problem, Hayley. We don’t have anything on him. Not answering your pager isn’t a crime. Also, if he’s in a cop car, putting an APB on his civilian car won’t do any good. It might even hurt because Tropper has tactical lines on the car’s radio. If he has Cindy and hears that we’re looking for him, it could panic him.”
Hayley agreed. “So maybe we should crash his apartment or something?”
“Yeah, who needs due process—Hold on. What?”
Hayley heard muffled speech in the background. From what she could tell, there was excitement in the voices. She rubbed her hands together as she waited. It was getting cold in the car and the coffee she had purchased an hour ago was a mass of cold mocha and congealing cream. A moment later, Oliver came back on the line.
“Hayley, do you know if Tropper or any of them has anything to do with CHP?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”
“We think whoever took Cindy was using an official cruiser—maybe a CHP vehicle. Do you know anyone in Hollywood who has a CHP officer as a friend?”
“No. But I’m sure there’s someone out there who fits the category.”
“What do you know about Tropper?” Oliver asked.
“Not much. He’s been with Hollywood for at least ten years. Hard-nosed kind of guy. He’s got a good record.”
“How many times has he gotten bagged with an excess force complaint?”
“Nothing to tag him as a problem.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, I’m not sure.”
“Married?”
“Divorced.”
“Kids?”
“I’m not sure. We’re not buddies.”
Oliver said, “I’ll go to Tropper’s. You might as well talk to Graham.”
“You know, all these dudes live within twenty minutes of each other. Do you have Tropper’s civilian license plate? Just in case?”
“Yeah. But if you happen to come across it, don’t even think about going after him by yourself!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Hayley lied. “But who knows? Maybe I’ll get extremely lucky and bump into the car. If I have the license, I can call you up.”
“I think that’s unlikely.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
But Hayley did not get extremely lucky: not that she didn’t try. She drove around for a half-hour trying to second-guess where Tropper might be, but she came away empty-handed. She was stippled with anxiety—fearful for Cindy’s safety, for her own safety as well. Hayley couldn’t help wondering if she was the next victim on some psycho’s list.
It was close to one when she finally arrived at Beaudry’s house. The windows were dark, but the porch light over the door was on. Approaching the place, she felt trepidation. On the
one hand, she wanted Graham to be a good guy. On the other, she had to view him as a potential psycho.
She rang the bell. Several minutes elapsed before a light went on from the inside, someone peering out the peephole. Beaudry opened the door, his hair a carpet of cowlicks, his squinting eyes made into slashes by the harsh light from the porch. He was clad in robe and slippers. With his fingers, he tented his brow so he could see her better. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Cindy’s missing—”
“What!” His mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“Can I come in?”
He retreated and she came into his house. His mouth was still agape. “What’s going on?”
Hayley regarded his expression—projecting the proper image of being shocked and appalled. “Did you know she was having trouble, Graham?”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Male Chauvinist Pig trouble.”
Beaudry blinked several times. “From who?”
“From lots of people. From your friend, Bederman, for starts. Then there was Clark Tropper—”
“Tropper gives everyone a hard time.” He stared at her. “Do you think Tropper hurt her?”
“I don’t know.” Hayley was amazed at how cool and casual she sounded. “She’s missing, and he’s not answering his pages. Any idea where he might be?”
But Beaudry sidestepped the question. “How long has she been missing?”
“About three hours—”
“That’s not too bad.”
“Lots can happen in three hours, Graham.”
“I know that.” He started pacing. “What happened?”
“She was en route to her father’s. She never showed up. Her car was left abandoned on the shoulder of the freeway—”
“Oh my God!”
From the way he responded, Hayley couldn’t keep accusation out of her voice. “Do you know anything about it?”
Beaudry stiffened. “I don’t like your tone, Marx.”
“That’s because I’m fucking scared, Beaudry!”
A female voice called out. “Graham? What is it?”
The wife. Hayley had woken her up. She cocked her head in the voice’s direction. “Take care of her.”
“Oh my God! What a horrible mess!” Graham rubbed his face. “Hayley, I’m on your side—”
Hayley interrupted him, her fury barely under control. “If you fucking A are on my side, then tell me what you know!?”
“Graham?” The voice was very plaintive this time.
“Hold on! I’ll be right there!” he shouted. To Hayley, he said, “Lemme get rid of her, then I’ll tell you everything. I’ll make it quick.”
After he disappeared down a dark hallway, Hayley looked around the living room. Matching muslin slipcovers, white sofa and love seat. A glass coffee table rimmed with brass matched the side tables. Wall-to-wall carpet in a low pile weave. There were landscapes and seascapes on the walls. Everything matched, but looked plastic. Or maybe she was just jealous because the house seemed so perfect and her life was so messy. Ten minutes later, he returned, dressed in proper street clothes, a gun in his hand. “Shouldn’t we be doing something to help? Like look for her, maybe?”
“Look where, Graham? Look in Rick Bederman’s Aerostar?”
“Rick’s been with me for the last couple of hours.”
“Doing what? Establishing an alibi?”
“Maybe.”
The admission shocked Hayley. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much.” Graham’s voice was tense. “Bederman has a problem with Cindy. I told him he should lay off her, but he’s got this problem with her.”
“He wants to fuck her?”
“Rick wants to fuck everyone, but that’s not the problem. It had to do with the Armand Crayton case. You remember that—”
“Go on.”
“Rick was fucking Crayton’s wife. They had like a two-year affair. She’s got pictures.”
“Who does?”
“The wife. Lark.”
“Lark has pictures of Rick and her fucking?”
“Actually, they’re videos. You wanna know the stupid thing? Rick took the videos, not her. That guy is such a fucking moron—”
“But you’re still friends with him?”
“Because he’s got a wife who is my wife’s best friend. Because he’s got children. You partner with a guy for a long time, he does you favors, you do him favors!”
“It’s nice that you’re a loyal friend, but what does this have to do with Cindy?”
“The Crayton case is still an open file. Right after the murder, Bederman broke off the diddling with Lark, but the two of them were still tangled up. First off, Rick had invested in Crayton’s business and lost money. Money that he didn’t want his wife to find out about. Second, there were the videos. So he struck some kind of deal with Lark. She’d keep her mouth shut about the two of them and he’d do her favors—”
“What kind of favors?”
“How to handle the cops when they questioned her.”
“You mean how to lie to the cops.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“Lark had her husband killed, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know that. Rick doesn’t know, either.” Beaudry was adamant. “But he was worried enough to help her out when she asked for help. You gotta understand the position he was in. He was scared about his wife finding out about the affair. He was terrified about being implicated in Crayton’s murder—”
“Did he do it?”
“He swears up and down he didn’t do it. Mostly, I believe him. But not entirely. There was a reason I didn’t partner with him after he came back to day shift.”
“But you stayed his friend.”
“Yeah. I stayed his friend.”
“You’re an idiot!”
“Tell me about it! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Eighteen years on the force and I still feel…sorry for people.”
“How about feeling sorry for Cindy?”
“I feel horrible for her, Marx! If Rick hurt her, I’ll nail that motherfucker.” Beaudry stared at the ceiling. “Rick thinks that Cindy somehow found out about the affair. He thinks she’s gonna tell her dad and blow the case open. Then the cops are gonna come looking for him, and plant the murder charge on him. He’s especially worried because he knows that Cindy doesn’t like him.”
“When did he tell you all this?”
“Today. I was at his house for a barbecue. He made some stupid comments to Cindy. I told him time and time again to lay off Cindy. He shouldn’t be talking to her especially if he’s worried about her and her daddy. So what does the idiot do? He goes over to her place! He said he made it right! He said it was all worked out, but he was nervous, Hayley. All I can tell you is that he’s been with me for the last two, three hours.”
“But the timing is perfect, Graham! She was going to see her dad. Maybe she did have something on him. So he doctors her car, follows her on the freeway, and waits for her to stall out. Then he pulls over in his cruiser—”
“Rick wasn’t working today. Why would he be driving a cruiser?”
“The Dees on the case seem to think that the perp was driving a cruiser. Because Cindy left her gun behind when she went out to meet him.”
“You’re telling me that Rick signed out a cruiser just to kidnap Cindy?”
“You’re the one who’s telling me he’s a moron!”
“Let’s go see Rick.” Beaudry took a coat out of the hall closet. “You want to drive?”
“Yeah, I’ll drive.”
Beaudry opened the door and locked it behind them. “You say her car was found on the shoulder of the freeway?”
“Yeah. The 405 going into the Valley.”
“And when was the last time they heard from her?”
“Around nine. Why?”
“I’m just trying to figure out the timing.”
Hayley unlocked her car and they both got in. Beaudry said, “If he did do it, he’d be working on a real tight schedule. He left my house after the barbecue around eight. Then he’d have to drive down to Hollywood to get a cruiser, then drive to Cindy’s house and doctor her car. That means he has to know that she has plans to go out. Then he has to follow her, take her off the 405, and do something nasty to her. Then to make it back to my house by nine-ish—”
“You said nine, nine-thirty.”
“It’s still a very tight schedule.”
He was right. It was a squeeze. Hayley started the motor. “Maybe he had already checked out the cruiser.”
“And what did he do with it? Park it in his garage? You know you just don’t go in and check out a cruiser. They keep records, Hayley. If he was gonna do something nasty using a cruiser that he checked out, it would kinda mark him.”
“So someone down there did him a favor and let him borrow one without checking it out.”
“The mileage wouldn’t match.”
“So maybe he stole a cruiser.”
“Then someone would have reported it missing.”
“Graham, I don’t even know that Cindy was pulled over by a cruiser. Matter of fact, Scott Oliver…he’s the detective on the case…he thinks it might have been CHP—”
“CHP?” Beaudry hit his head. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? You know how the government auctions off old stuff to raise money? You know, you can buy old buses or fire engines or cop cars. Course the vehicles are labeled not in service and all that jazz, but if you know what you’re doing, you can restore it in a snap. It’s against the law to do that—”
“And the point is?”
“Tropper bought a deacquisitioned CHP cruiser around a year ago.”
36
Decker hung up the radio mike. “He only has plates for his civilian car. No CHP-type vehicle registered under his name.”
Oliver said, “He’s gotta have something if he’s driving the vehicle.”
“I’m sure he has a couple of bogus ones. Plates aren’t hard to make.”
“Bastard!” Oliver glared out the windshield. “The Camry that Cindy was following…it had a plate from one of our early jacking victims. Maybe he stole some plates from the evidence room.”