The Big Hit

by James Neal Harvey

  “Yeah, I’ll let you know what that turns up.”

  When the flight landed it was past midnight. Walking through the terminal, Sam promised to set up a meeting between Barker and a ballistics expert at the forensic lab. She said the tech might be able to supply some good information on the fléchettes.

  Sam would also see what could be done about identifying the man they’d seen on the Crystal Palace videotape. The two cops wished each other good night and Barker walked to his car.

  He thought Dana most likely would be asleep by now. So she wouldn’t be happy to have him pop in on her. Or have him call and say he wanted to see her.

  On the other hand, maybe she would. He got out his cell and called her number.

  When she answered, her voice didn’t sound at all sleepy. “I was hoping you’d call,” she said.

  His spirits took a decided upward bounce. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Wonderful. Can’t wait to see you.”

  He put the cell back into his pocket and walked faster.

  34.

  The Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center was on the campus of the California State University at Los Angeles. The crime lab was the largest and best equipped in the United States and served both the LAPD and the Sheriff’s Department.

  Sam Benziger called Barker to tell him she’d contacted a ballistics expert there who could help him.

  “His name is Deke Edwards,” she said. “If anybody can answer questions about those fléchettes, he can.” She then gave Barker directions to the college.

  To get there he drove eight miles east on Route 10. When he reached the campus he saw that it sprawled over many acres.

  There were more than twenty academic and administrative buildings, plus a library and a theater and athletic facilities. The Forensic Center was at the south end, a large five-story building that was said to have cost over a hundred million dollars to construct. As he walked in, Barker could believe it.

  At the desk in the lobby he showed his ID and said Deke Edwards was expecting him. He was directed to take an elevator up to the floor where Edwards’s workstation was located.

  The ballistics expert was a lanky guy with a gray buzz cut. He had on a white lab coat, jeans, and cowboy boots. When Barker approached, Edwards was crouched over an electron microscope. He got up and the two shook hands.

  The first question he asked was the usual one: “I just made coffee. You want some?”

  “Thanks,” Barker said. “That sounds good.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Black.”

  There was an assured manner about Edwards that reminded Barker of some of the lifers he’d known in the Marine Corps. Edwards stepped over to a table on which a large urn rested and poured two mugs full. He handed one to his visitor.

  Barker had expected the coffee to be strong, but this stuff was downright powerful. And bitter. As he sipped it he took in the activity in the area.

  Like Edwards, most of the techs wore white coats. They were using various pieces of equipment, including a magnaprobe and a centrifuge and chemical processors and a number of other devices Barker couldn’t identify.

  “Looks like you’re busy,” he said.

  “Yeah, we always are. Big as this place is, it still ain’t big enough for all the work that needs to get done.”

  Edwards led the way to a corner where there was a small desk and two chairs. The desk was piled with folders and papers and held a computer terminal.

  “So how are things in New York?” he asked.

  “We’re busy too,” Barker said. “The Delure case has us all scrambling.”

  “I expect it would. I never been to New York. Hope I never have to go.” He picked up a fax that showed a fléchette with a ruler alongside it. “Sam Benziger sent me this. Said you wanted to ask me if I could tell you anything about it.”

  “I hope you can,” Barker said. “The perp used two of them to kill Delure and her manager.”

  Edwards looked at the fax. “I can tell you right off, it’s not like any fléchette I ever saw before. I spent twenty years in the Army before I came on the job here. I was in Ordnance, and we developed artillery shells that could scatter thousands of fléchettes when they hit. We called the shells ‘beehives.’ They were effective against infantry and were used in Afghanistan. We also bundled them in shotgun shells, twenty fléchettes to a shell. But all those were much thinner than this one.”

  “I was in the Marines,” Barker said. “We had some of them too.”

  “Then you probably know we’re the only country that ever used the small-bore type in combat. They produce serious wounds, but they’re only good at short range. After that they go off course pretty quick. You saying this was fired by itself?”

  “Right.”

  “In the Army we experimented with shooting a single fléchette from a shotgun, but it didn’t work too good. We found out a round ball was more accurate. So the idea of firing one fléchette at a time was abandoned.”

  “Okay, but this photo was taken right after the ME performed the post. He took a fléchette like that out of Delure’s heart.”

  “So it was probably fired from up close. Then accuracy wouldn’t be a problem. The stories in the papers and on TV just said both women had been shot. Didn’t say anything about fléchettes.”

  “No, we didn’t release any information about the killer using them. We’ve kept that under wraps, for obvious reasons. I think I know why he used them, but I’d like to hear your opinion.”

  Edwards drank the last of his coffee. “First off, the perp had to know putting one in somebody’s heart would kill them in a hurry. Second, he probably had a way of firing them so it wouldn’t make a lot of noise. A loud report would’ve caused an uproar, and then he would’ve had a tough time getting away with the jewelry.”

  “Assuming robbery was the motive.”

  “That’s what you guys think too, isn’t it? I saw your boss on TV, and that’s what he was saying.”

  “I’m not so sure. But what could the killer have used to propel this if he didn’t fire it with gunpowder? Would compressed air work?”

  “Sure. A really heavy charge of compressed air could shoot it with plenty of power. That would make some noise too, but not as much. And just like the beehives, it’d be accurate for only a short distance.”

  “Anything else occur to you about it?”

  “Yeah. From what I can see, this thing is homemade.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  Edwards opened a drawer and took out a magnifying glass. He held it over the fax. “Take a look here. See how the fins aren’t exactly the same size? How one of ’em’s just a hair bigger than the others? Also, the way they’re joined looks to me like a spot weld. So this thing wasn’t manufactured, it was hand-built.”

  “That’s interesting,” Barker said.

  “Another thing. A fléchette is usually encased in a sabot to make the propellant more efficient. Soon as the fléchette leaves the gun, the sabot falls away. I don’t see any mark on this that would indicate it was in a sabot. That’s another way this one is crude.”

  “Okay, I’m with you,” Barker said. “But here’s the key question: Is there anybody you know of who could make this? Anybody in LA?”

  “Oh, I suppose there’s gunsmiths or machine shop operators who could do it. But they wouldn’t, because fléchettes are against the law in California.”

  “That’s probably true in a lot of places, isn’t it?”

  “No, only in Illinois and Florida, besides here. Every place else they’re legal and available. You can even buy ’em by mail. They’re nothing like this one, though.”

  “So who are the people who could have made it?”

  “Well, we know of a few gun dealers that buy and sell weapons illegally. Just haven’
t been able to catch ’em doing it.”

  “Would any of them have the capability to make a fléchette like this? And provide a weapon that could fire it?”

  “Hard to say. Mostly they’re just dealers. But there’s a few who can repair and modify guns, and some of ’em are pretty good at it. So it’s possible one of them could make fléchettes along these lines, if somebody waved enough money at ’em.”

  “Wouldn’t somebody in a machine shop do it too, for the money? Or a gunsmith?”

  “Maybe. But you want to look at guys who’ve got a rep for smuggling firearms and doing conversions. Somebody who takes semiautomatics and turns ’em into full automatics, things like that. They’re the ones to look at.”

  “Can you give me names, and addresses?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Just have to take a few minutes to see what I can come up with.”

  “Sure, go right ahead.”

  Edwards sat back and stroked his jaw for a moment, then began tapping his computer keyboard.

  Barker had given up on the coffee. He resumed watching the activity in the lab. If anything, the place was busier than when he arrived.

  As he sat there, a uniformed cop and a young woman wearing a business suit came in and began talking with one of the techs. The woman was probably a DDA, he thought, and she and the cop would be looking for information on a case. Just like what you’d see in New York, except that this lab was a hell of a lot bigger. And no doubt better equipped.

  “Okay,” Edwards said. “Here’s the ones I’d suggest you look into. There’s four of ’em, and if there’s any more I think of I’ll let you know. Or I’ll let Sam Benziger know and she can pass the word on to you.”

  “That’s great,” Barker said.

  “Let me send this to the printer.” Edwards hit the keys again, and then he led Barker over to a large Xerox machine.

  Someone else was using it and they had to wait a few minutes, but then Edwards had the machine spit out a sheet of paper. He handed it to Barker.

  “Thanks, Deke. Hope to return the favor. Maybe when you come to New York.”

  For the first time, Edwards’s face split in a grin. “Fat chance. Good luck with those guys.”

  35.

  Dana’s phone rang, and she was quick to pick up, hoping the caller was Barker.

  It wasn’t. But the voice was familiar. “Dana Laramie?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Alex Haynes. I was Miss Delure’s lawyer.”

  “Yes, I know. Hello, Alex.”

  “I hope you’re holding up well under the strain. I’m sure her loss was a terrible experience for you. I understand you were with her when she was shot.”

  Hearing it put that way was like having her nerves sandpapered. “I was in the suite, yes.”

  “You have my sympathy. Reason I’m calling, besides that, has to do with settling her estate. Ironically, her manager had her sign a will. I say ironically because poor Penny was killed too.”

  “It was all very sad.”

  “The will is fairly simple. Leaves proceeds to her family, and her brother, Roger, is the executor. I’m handling the details here, and I’m busy inventorying her possessions. It’s quite a task, as you can imagine.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Catherine was a dear person,” Haynes said, “but she wasn’t very careful about keeping track of transactions, or of what she owned. Even though Penny tried to help her with that, too. I went to her house recently and took some of her papers. I’ve been going through them, but how complete they are, I have no way of knowing. You have some of her records as well, don’t you?”

  “Yes, although I doubt that what I have is any different from what you found. What I have are just copies of business correspondence. The same as what was in her files at the house.”

  “And perhaps some personal items? Notes, and things like that?”

  “Only a few bits and pieces that don’t amount to anything.”

  “Fine, but I have to be sure. I wouldn’t want to overlook anything. So I’d like to get together with you, and we can go over whatever you have.”

  “I guess that would be all right.” It wouldn’t be, but she could hardly refuse.

  “How about lunch today? Are you free?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. Let’s say one o’clock at Mario’s, on Rodeo Drive.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “Incidentally, you’ll be pleased to know Roger has instructed me to tell you that you won’t have to worry about your income being cut off. He’ll continue paying your salary until you decide what you want to do next.”

  “That’s very kind of him.”

  “He’s a kind man. And he loved his sister. He’s aware that Catherine and you were close.”

  “We were. I was very fond of her.”

  “I’m sure you were. So I’ll see you at Mario’s. Bring any and all papers that relate to Catherine.”

  “I’ll bring anything I can find.”

  “See you then.”

  After putting the phone down, Dana went into her bedroom and opened the drawer in her dresser where she’d stored the material she found in Catherine’s bedroom.

  She’d be damned if she’d share this stuff with Haynes. Most of it was just too personal. Although she’d shown almost everything to Barker, so what was the difference?

  Haynes was a lawyer, that’s what. And she’d learned not to trust lawyers. So except for a few really innocuous receipts and letters from Catherine’s women friends, it would all stay right where it was. Everything else was stored on her laptop, and as she’d told Haynes, that material was all business correspondence.

  She sat on the bed and wondered if she was being silly.

  She wouldn’t trust a lawyer, but she’d trusted a cop. For that matter, if anybody had told her a few days ago that she’d be having a red-hot relationship with a police detective from New York, she’d have said they were crazy.

  And now? Maybe she was the crazy one. She’d rarely felt the way she did about Barker with anyone else, although some of her lovers had been pretty nice guys.

  She still had fond memories of the first one, a kid she’d known in high school who had long blond hair and played the guitar. His name was Christopher and he claimed that someday he’d become a famous musician. He’d been accepted at the Berklee College of Music in Boston and had gone there to study. She had no idea what had happened to him after that.

  There were others she’d thought a lot of too: a fellow student when she was an undergrad at UCLA, a French instructor who was working on his PhD, a poet who could recite Shakespeare’s sonnets by the hour. Thinking of the men now called up pleasant memories.

  There’d also been some creeps, of course. Including her most recent boyfriend, the actor. What could she ever have seen in him?

  Okay, so he was good-looking and could make her laugh. But after she’d discovered he was also busy screwing other people, she couldn’t stand to be near him.

  And he wasn’t the worst, either. There had been a few she could hardly believe she’d had anything to do with. Including one who was another actor, a guy who’d played guard for the 49ers before picking up bit parts in movies. At first she’d been captivated by his raw strength, his tremendous sex drive. But after only a couple of nights with him, she’d concluded it was like sleeping with a bear. A horny bear with a huge, smelly, hairy body. Whereupon that relationship had come to an abrupt end.

  Seemed funny now, but it hadn’t at the time.

  Jeb Barker, on the other hand, was different from anyone she’d known before. He had an easygoing manner, and a direct, open way of addressing any subject, regardless of how complicated it might be. She felt that he never tried to mislead her.

  What it came down to, she supposed, was that there was
nothing phony about him. And she’d been around the movie business long enough to encounter phoniness on a grand scale. In fact, she could write a book about it.

  But that wasn’t all she found appealing. Barker was strongly masculine and had great confidence in himself. He didn’t parade any of it, but to her it was almost palpable.

  And she had to admit it: in bed he was wonderful. Never rushed, knew how to take her as high as she’d ever been, and seemed to care more about pleasing her than himself.

  So what was the bottom line? It always came back to the same thing: she trusted him. That might appear a little nutty too, when she considered how suspicious she’d been at first, and how brief a time she’d known him.

  But nutty or not, her instincts told her he was rock-solid dependable.

  She took one more look at the pile of scraps Catherine had left behind and closed the drawer. She’d pick out the ones she’d show Haynes later.

  One thing the lawyer had told her was a welcome bit of news. Roger Delaney would continue paying her salary. That was really very good of him. As Haynes had said, Roger was a kind man. She’d have to thank him.

  She looked up the number of his office and called it. A secretary said he wasn’t in, but when Dana explained who she was, the woman said he could be reached at his home in Connecticut.

  Dana had that number as well, and when she called it, a maid answered. Again Dana explained, and at last Roger came to the phone.

  “Dana! How nice to hear your voice. I have a note here to call you, but you beat me to it. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thanks. And you and Mrs. Delaney?”

  “Oh, we’re all in reasonably good shape.”

  “I’m glad to know that. Alex Haynes told me you’d continue paying my salary until I decide where I’ll go from here. I wanted to thank you. I really appreciate that.”

  “Don’t mention it. If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know. Catherine thought highly of you, and that makes you special as far as we’re concerned. Alex is handling the legal matters out there, probate and so forth. At the moment he’s making an inventory of Cat’s things.”