by Todd Borg
I looked at the lights of Reno.
In time, Tyrone blew his nose.
“You still think Glory’s death was a mistake? That the killer was trying to kill you instead?”
“Yes,” Tyrone said. “It goes back to me being set up for Willard Kilpatrick’s murder. I’m alive and asking questions. Someone knows that and wants me to disappear.” Tyrone looked around at the house, the grounds and gardens, the view. “When mom went into the home, Glory came here and lived with me.” His voice was thick.
“You picked Nevada because it was as close as you dared get to California,” I said.
“Partly. I’ve been in California many times since, but I don’t want to live there. There are too many people in the Bay Area who knew that Luther Washington was wanted for murder. Too many people who might recognize me and decide that Luther didn’t die after all.”
“What is the other reason for picking Nevada?”
“Because I think that is where Willard Kilpatrick’s real killer lives. Being in Nevada has enabled me to get close to him and try to obtain enough information to send a convincing case to the Attorneys General of California and Nevada.”
“You know his name?”
“Yes. Senator Richard Stensen.”
FIFTY-FOUR
“Why do you think Senator Stensen was Willard Kilpatrick’s killer?” I said.
“After I’d been hiding in Minnesota for two years, I started to do some research. I posed as a freelance magazine writer doing a story on gang violence. I learned that Stensen had grown up poor in East Palo Alto and had some gang connections there. So it made sense that Stensen knew who to call when he wanted Kilpatrick out of the way.”
“You spoke to gang members in East Palo Alto?”
“Former gang members. I hooked up with one guy who remembered Stensen very well. I met this guy in a club down by the docks. Plays mouth harp in a blues band. His name is Danny Jones. He said Stensen was an outcast kid who didn’t fit in anywhere. The black and Hispanic kids ridiculed him for trying to hang out with them. And the white kids made fun of him for his efforts to fit in with kids who weren’t white. His mother managed a stable at a Palo Alto riding club not far from Stanford. Stensen worked there after school. Danny Jones said the rich white kids teased Stensen. He remembered their line. ‘Hey, Stensen, clean my tack, clean my horse, and when you’re through, clean my shorts.’”
“Danny Jones have anything to do with Senator Stensen today?” I said.
“No. He said Stensen went off to college at Sac State and later moved to Nevada. Jones never saw him again. But he recalled that Stensen was always vowing revenge on those who wronged him.”
“Willard Kilpatrick wronged Stensen by being hired by Stensen’s opponent? Not much motive for murder.”
“That’s what I thought,” Tyrone said, “until I found out that Kilpatrick was also originally from East Palo Alto. So I did some more digging and found out that he went to the same high school as Stensen. Then Kilpatrick’s dad struck it rich in the computer chip business. The family moved to the other side of the tracks. They even joined the riding club, and young Willard really took to horses. A lot of coincidences, don’t you think?”
“I agree. But it is a stretch to go from a coincidence to murder.”
“There’s more,” Tyrone said. “Jump ahead about twelve years. Glory was doing a show in Vegas not long after I’d been in Oakland talking to Danny Jones. I always worked her shows from backstage, managing the band, checking her costume changes, giving her psychological support. Glory was shy and suffered from terrible stage fright. There was a little Haiku that calmed her. I always recited it to her before she went out through the curtains.
‘You walk out on stage,
A flower in the winter,
Waiting for spring sun.’”
Tyrone sipped his beer and paused, seemingly unaware of his segue. Then he continued. “The last night of her gig some guys showed up outside of the stage door. Zip and Redman, our road managers, saw them and told me about it. Said they looked like TV bad guys. Black leather pants and leather vests over bare skin. Bulges under the vests like shoulder holsters.
“So Zip stayed with me. He’s a big guy you don’t want to mess with. Has a thing with throwing knives. Redman went out and watched them. When the concert was done, Glory and Zip and I went out the front of the casino into a cab. Redman stayed outside the stage door and watched while the leather boys got frustrated and finally left. Redman followed them out to a distant lot where they got into a white limo. He got the license number. I called a producer I know who is dialed into a computer network. He traced the license to Senator Stensen.”
“You’re thinking that Senator Stensen found out you were digging in his past, and he sent two guys after you?”
“Yes. Same for when Glory died. Stensen knows I’m after him. He probably suspects I’m Luther Washington. He knows that if I can make a reasonable case that he set me up for Willard Kilpatrick’s death, his career could fall apart. He also knows his enemies would jump on the idea. The resulting investigation might send him to prison instead of me.”
I drained the last of my beer and wondered if getting into the hot tub would ease my head pain. I decided against it. “I have a friend who is a sheriff’s deputy in Douglas County. His name is Diamond Martinez. I’d like him to come over and hear your story.”
“He can be trusted?”
“Completely. If you’re telling the truth, he will keep your confidence. If not, we’ll bring you down together.”
Tyrone’s eyes darted from the hot tub to the lights of Reno and up toward the dark hulk of Mt. Rose. His hesitation seemed too long.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
I still had my cell phone in my pocket. I got Diamond on the line and explained the situation.
After I hung up, I told Tyrone about Camp Twenty-Five and the golf course development. I explained my theory that Faith Runyon and Eduardo Valdez and Monica Lakeman had all been killed to help make the golf course a reality. “Golf courses are a long time in planning,” I said. “It’s possible that Willard Kilpatrick wasn’t killed because he was working for Stensen’s political opponent, but because as a member of the T.R.P.A. he was in a position to prevent the golf course from happening.”
Tyrone said, “If these deaths were because of the golf course, why would they be trying to kill me?”
“Possibly because your pursuit of Kilpatrick’s real killer threatens to expose the golf course scheme and the other deaths as well. They could be after me for the same reason.”
A chime rang. Tyrone stood and walked to a speaker phone. It was Diamond at the gate.
We spoke in the conversation pit that wrapped around the fireplace with the huge copper hood.
“Problem is,” Diamond said when Tyrone was done explaining his story, “you’ve got no evidence. Your scenario makes sense. So does Owen’s scenario. But without hard evidence connecting the senator to either Kilpatrick or the golf course, you’re both stuck. The senator’s been a great promoter for Camp Twenty-Five. He’s even having a fundraiser for it on Saturday night. But he might be a sucker, innocently helping out a fake cause while the real golf course developers are cheering their good fortune. What do you think, Owen?”
I was about to answer when my cell rang in my pocket.
“Hello?” I said in a cheery voice in case it was Street.
“I’ll make you a deal, McKenna,” the robot voice said.
FIFTY-FIVE
I pointed to the telephone and mouthed the words ‘the killer.’ Tyrone leaned over from my right while Diamond scooted around behind the couch and leaned in from behind me.
“I don’t deal with scum,” I said into the phone.
“You’ll make this deal, tall boy.” The synthetic voice grated. “Come to Senator Stensen’s fundraiser on Saturday. You’ll get to see who I kill next. Two people are on my list.”
“I talked to a shrink about you,” I said.
“He told me you could be one of two kinds of guys. The first is a self-confident boaster, a really smart guy. So smart he’d tell me who he’s planning to kill because he’d know I wouldn’t be able to stop him.”
“Clever, McKenna. Okay, I’ll take the bait. Who’s the other kind of guy?”
“The other kind is a guy who won’t give me any clue about his next victim. This killer isn’t as smart, and he has a sexual problem that makes him more reserved. Which guy are you?”
“Screw you, McKenna. I’ll tell you who one of the victims is. You.” He hung up.
Diamond came around from the back of the couch.
“Sounds like the guy has an artificial voice box,” Tyrone said. “An electronic larynx.”
“How do you know about that?” I said.
Tyrone’s eyes flashed left, then right. “I don’t know. Read about them, I guess.”
I glanced at Diamond. He was staring back at me. I turned toward Tyrone. “Curious that you would read about something like that.”
“I read a lot. Must have been in a magazine or something.”
There was a long silence.
“You go to the fundraiser,” Diamond said, “you maybe get a chance to stop this guy. But you might also get dead. Probably you are the person he most wants to kill.”
“He knows I’ll go,” I said, “because it’s my best chance of catching him.”
“How you gonna get in?” Diamond asked.
“With this new threat? I’m sure I can get on the list along with a whole contingent of deputies. Either that, or they’ll cancel the fundraiser.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Diamond shook his head. “Just because this guy calls you doesn’t mean he isn’t working for the senator. The whole point of the fundraiser may be to get the next victim or two in a place where it will be easy to kill them. You included. The fact that the killer calls you might be part of the plan. Or maybe he’s a rogue and calls you on his own. Even so, there’ll be no way to trace him to the senator.
“As for getting the fundraiser canceled,” Diamond continued, “don’t senators and presidents have to deal with threats all the time? If they canceled speeches and appearances and fundraisers every time another wacko made a threat, we’d never see politicians at all. Instead, they just beef up security, right? Make the speech from behind bullet-proof glass.”
“I’ll make some calls,” I said, “and warn the senator’s people. If they won’t cancel the fundraiser, then yes, you’re probably right. If the senator is innocent, he’d stay away from the fundraiser or stay behind a shield.”
“But if he’s connected to the killings,” Diamond said, “then he’d know he wasn’t the target and would feel free to mingle with the guests.”
“He might stay behind a shield anyway to create the illusion that he’s innocent,” I said.
Tyrone spoke up. “Owen, you notice the car those guys stuffed you into?”
“Just that it was a white limo.”
“A Cadillac. I didn’t see the license number, but it was just like the one the senator owns.”
Diamond nodded. “All the deputies in Douglas County are alert to it. But the casino hotels in South Lake Tahoe as well as Reno also use white limos. Without a plate number, we don’t know it’s his.”
“My guess,” I said, “is that the senator is not going to have a limo he owns be used to kidnap me, even if they didn’t expect me to survive to tell about it. And I imagine that he can’t be directly connected to the golf course, only to Camp Twenty-Five.”
Diamond nodded. Tyrone stared at the fireplace. It was the longest I’d seen him hold his eyes in one position.
“The guys up on the mountain,” I said to Tyrone. “You get a look at them?”
“No, it was too dark. All I saw is two guys, although I heard four doors close. One guy was big, one small. Dark clothes.”
“Not much to go on,” I said, picking up my cell phone. “What do you think, Diamond? Should you give this information to your colleagues, or would it be better coming from me?”
Diamond clenched his jaw. “Truth is, my suspension would only exacerbate the situation. You tell ’em.”
I got the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office on the phone. “Hello, this is Owen McKenna calling. I know it’s late, but I’ve got some information the sheriff is going to want to hear directly from me. Can you get him on the line? Wake him up if necessary.”
“Hold on, Sergeant Bellamy wants to talk to you.”
I waited until he came on the line.
“Waiting for your call, McKenna,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“Tell me why you called,” he said. “Then I’ll explain.”
“The man who’s been trying to kill me has a synthetic voice. This is the same man who shot up Diamond’s house. The same man who killed Wheels Washburn, the mountain biker. He just called me to say he is planning two murders at Senator Stensen’s fundraiser for Camp Twenty-Five. I wanted to alert you so that you can help in persuading the senator’s people to cancel the fundraiser. I also...”
“Whoa, McKenna,” the sergeant interrupted. “Slow down. Why don’t you come on in and talk to us. Where are you now?”
“You don’t need me in person. You only need to...” I stopped as I realized what was happening. “I’m not coming in, so you may as well tell me what you’re after.”
The sergeant didn’t speak for a moment. “The senator’s office just called. Said you’d been disturbing the senator. In fact, they even knew what your ruse would be. They said you’d call to say that the senator was in danger. That someone was going to commit murder. They also said that if the fundraiser wasn’t canceled, you’d try to finagle an invitation to get in yourself so you could bother the senator more.”
“And why am I bothering the senator?”
“Apparently, you don’t believe that Deputy Martinez discharged his sidearm near Violet Verona and her daughter, and you’re trying to discredit her and the senator, too, for taking up her case.”
I took a deep breath. “I’d like to talk to the sheriff.”
“No need. I just got off the phone with him. He’s the one who says to bring you in.”
“You think I’m making up this threat?”
“Look, McKenna. This is a United States Senator you’re pestering. What don’t you understand about our response?”
I said, “How do you know that the person who called wasn’t impersonating someone from the senator’s office?”
“Because they identified themselves by name and position.” He exuded frustration.
“If something happens at the fundraiser, you’ll have that on your watch.”
“No, the senator’s office will. They’re the ones who called us. Anyway, I’m retiring. I’ve taken just about my last order.” He hung up.
I put my phone in my pocket.
“Sounds like a problem,” Diamond said. I gave him and Tyrone the gist of it, leaving out the part about Violet Verona and Diamond firing his weapon.
I slid down in my chair so I could rest my pounding head on the seat back. “Here’s an idea. Diamond, you remember the search and rescue dog you met who helped me during the forest fires?”
“Yeah. Little German shepherd named Natasha. Belongs to the trainer down in Placerville.”
“Ellie Ibsen,” I said. “What if I could get Natasha and sneak her into the senator’s estate the night of the fundraiser?”
Diamond’s eyes were suddenly on fire. “Do you still have your desk lamp, the one the guy in the mask sat on?”
“Yes. I can scent Natasha on it. I also have a piece of shirttail from the night the two men attacked us. It had ripped off on your gutter. If Ellie will let me borrow Natasha, I just need to get into the Senator’s estate. Natasha could find our man. I assume there is plenty of security.”
“Very much so,” Diamond said. “A year ago, Douglas County issued concealed weapon permits for several of the senator’s security detail. Senat
or claimed he’d received threats. In our review we found that the senator has a complete security installation. The estate is fenced with a brick wall, and the fence is wired with sensors. There is a locked entrance gate and a guardhouse. The beachfront has video cameras and motion detectors. Just inside the fence is an asphalt path that rings the perimeter. The guards patrol on golf carts. In fact, now that I think about it, about the only thing they didn’t have when we were there is guard dogs. I wonder why.”
“Maybe the senator is allergic to them.”
“Maybe,” Diamond said.
“How big are the grounds?”
Diamond thought a moment. “Probably five acres. Most of it is wooded, but the area around the house is all lawn.”
Tyrone spoke up. “Are there floodlights in the woods?”
“Don’t know,” Diamond said. “Probably. Why?”
“If the woods are dark, then mountain bikes are the answer.”
“How do you mean?” Diamond said.
Tyrone stood up, took three steps away, about-faced and came back. “It sounds like the only way in is through the main gate. So imagine that one of the guests pulls up and flashes his invitation. The guard opens the gate. Off to the side is someone in the dark. As soon as the gate opens, he tosses something noisy over the fence to cause a distraction. The guard looks to see what it is. Maybe he even walks into the woods a bit and shines his flashlight. Meanwhile, the guest is pulling through the gate. We follow on mountain bikes, fast and silent. By the time the guard turns back around we are off in the woods. If the woods are dark, we can get this German shepherd up close to the party.”
Diamond turned toward me. “This guy thinks like a crook.”
“Maybe I do,” Tyrone said. “But I think it’s a good plan.”
“I agree,” I said. “But you spoke in the plural. This would be a solo operation. Just me and the dog.”
Tyrone walked a few steps away, shaking his head. “No. We do it my way.” He spoke in a forceful voice. “You try to leave me out and I’ll blow your cover. I’m the one whose life has been on the line for a dozen years. I’m the one who is wanted for murder because of the senator. Besides, you’ll need help. You needed it up on Mt. Rose.”