The Big Hit

by James Neal Harvey

A caution sign went on in Dana’s head. “Yes, it would.”

  “And yet the rumor mill is grinding away. You’ve heard about that, haven’t you?”

  “If you mean rumors about Catherine’s love life, nothing could be worse than what’s printed in the supermarket magazines. Rational people know it’s all crap.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about.”

  “Then what were you talking about?”

  He lowered his tone, as if he were letting her in on a dark secret. “Anything I say you must hold in complete confidence. Is that understood?”

  “Sure.”

  Before he could continue, their lunch arrived. The waiter fussed about, filling their glasses again and offering fresh pepper, which they refused.

  When they were alone once more, Haynes said, “Before she died, Catherine was planting stories about Ron Apperson, claiming he and Zarkov were involved in a fraudulent business conspiracy. There wasn’t a shred of truth in the stories, of course. Her real motivation was to damage her former husband. Were you aware of that?”

  “No, I wasn’t. And what’s more, I don’t believe it.”

  “Oh, come on, now. You must have known she hated Apperson, working with her as closely as you did.”

  “Sorry, Alex. I didn’t know any such thing.”

  She took a bite of her salad. So this was the new strategy, she thought. Cover anything that might come out about Zarkov’s scheme by attacking Catherine, who was dead and unable to defend herself. Why would Sturgis tell Haynes about it? So it would get to me, of course.

  Around a mouthful of crabmeat, the lawyer said, “There’s also another subject I wanted to discuss with you. It’s a bit distasteful, but I have to do it, because it’s part of tying up the loose ends of Catherine’s estate.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “This came to light during a conversation with her accountant, Julia Brecht. According to Julia, there was always a large amount of cash in the house. Sometimes as much as fifty thousand dollars. Were you aware of that?”

  “I was aware there was cash, but I had no idea how much. That sounds like a lot to me.”

  “It did to me too. Although when you consider it in terms of the total value of the estate, it’s a pittance. Nevertheless, I have to run it down. So I went back to the house yesterday and asked Anna about it. She confirmed that cash was doled out to her whenever she needed it for small household expenses. I asked Anna if she knew where the money was kept, and she said all she knew was that it was in Ms. Delure’s bedroom. She thought in the desk.”

  “I have no idea where it was kept,” Dana said. “Anything to do with money was in Penny’s bailiwick.”

  “Yes, Julia said the same thing. But what troubled me was that I also found out that the only person besides Catherine who had keys to that desk was you.”

  For a moment, Dana was speechless. Then she said, “Is that an accusation, Alex?”

  Haynes put his fork down. “Not at all. I’m just trying to locate the money. I thought you could help me with that.”

  “Afraid I can’t. The only reason I went into the desk the last time I was in the house was to get Catherine’s notes.”

  “Which you’ve given to me.”

  “Right.”

  “All of them, of course.”

  “Do you doubt that?”

  “Just making sure. And as far as the money is concerned, frankly I’d prefer not to pursue that at all. It could become messy, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes, I can imagine that, Alex. And now I have to move along. Thank you for lunch.” She grabbed her bag and left the table.

  On the way out to the street, her face was flushed with anger. She was also a little woozy from the wine. But not so much that she couldn’t think clearly.

  What Haynes had conveyed was a warning, no matter how subtly put. Subtly? Hell, it was as if he’d run over her with a truck. The miserable son of a bitch was telling her to back off. Keep her mouth shut, and if she’d held out on any of Catherine’s notes, she’d better destroy them. If she didn’t, she’d be hit with an investigation about cash missing from Catherine’s desk.

  But why was he doing this? Was he tied in to Zarkov’s scheme? His discussion with Tyler Sturgis about smearing Catherine certainly suggested he was.

  Lawyers were charming, weren’t they? They smiled while they stuck knives into you.

  39.

  On his way to Dana’s apartment, Barker stopped off at a supermarket and bought vodka and vermouth. This had been a good day, and his plan was to have drinks with her and then take her out to dinner. Not a celebration, exactly, but close.

  When she opened her door, however, he found her distraught. She tried to explain why she was upset, but her words tumbled over one another.

  He kissed her and told her to relax until he could mix a couple of martinis. He made stiff ones for both of them, and when they’d taken long swallows, she seemed to calm down a little.

  She then told him about her lunch with Alex Haynes.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he said.

  “Nothing? How can you say that? He practically came right out and accused me of stealing money from Catherine’s desk. Maybe as much as fifty thousand dollars. And I shouldn’t worry?”

  “Of course not. Who’s to say Catherine kept money in that desk? And if she did, that only you and Catherine had a key to it? The housekeeper might have had one. And didn’t you tell me the maid took off? She could’ve had a key as well. Haynes was just trying to scare you.”

  “But what if he wasn’t? What if he went to the police and reported it?”

  “Reported what? That maybe there was money in the desk? Maybe as much as fifty thousand dollars? And maybe you were the only one beside Catherine who had a key? And maybe you went into the desk and stole the money that maybe was there? First the cops would say that’s a lot of maybes, and then they’d ask what evidence he had to back up the charge. When he couldn’t produce any, they’d laugh at him.”

  Dana paused. “I see what you mean.”

  “And here’s another thing. Penny Ellis took care of money matters for Catherine, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes. That was part of her job. She screened all the bills, and she had the authority to sign checks. Also she and the accountant regularly reviewed everything so the tax returns could be prepared properly.”

  “Then how much cash did Catherine usually have on hand?”

  “Come to think of it, only a little. I mean, she spent plenty of money, but she never paid cash for anything, as far as I could see. Whenever she went shopping, she paid with credit cards.”

  “So whatever cash was in the house was provided by Penny. True?”

  “Yes, it would have been.”

  “And therefore it wasn’t Catherine who gave Anna cash to use for household expenses, it was Penny. Also true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why would Catherine have kept money in that desk? And not just some money, but as much as fifty thousand bucks? Sounds to me as though your friend Haynes was stirring up a big pot of bullshit.”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “No, I’m sure he’s not. But the bullshit part is correct, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Apparently it is.”

  “So just as you thought, his objective was to convince you that revealing anything to do with Catherine’s suspicions would be a very bad idea.”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Okay, and now let me bring up another question. Why don’t you go to the DA’s office and tell them what you know? Why not tell them there’s a good possibility Zarkov and Catherine’s former husband are involved in a scheme to defraud investors?”

  “For the same reason you just talked about. I have nothing but a bunch of maybes.”

  “Yeah, but with
the DA people it would be different. It would encourage them to do some investigating of their own. And by going to them you’d be doing one other thing. You’d be protecting yourself. So go, okay?”

  “I don’t know, Jeb. Everything you say makes sense, but I have this fear of becoming involved.”

  “All right, I understand that. But will you at least think about it?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Good. And for now, let’s put it aside. We’ll drive out to the beach and have dinner.”

  “No. That is, it’s very nice of you, but I’d rather not go out. I’ve had enough of restaurants for one day. We could have something here.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I don’t have much.”

  “What do you have?”

  “A package of spaghetti.”

  “Hey, pasta’s my favorite food. Got any tomatoes?”

  “Yes, in a can.”

  “What kind?”

  “Italian.”

  “Perfect. How about bacon?”

  “A few strips.”

  “And an onion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Garlic?”

  “Sure.”

  “Parmesan cheese?”

  “I have some of that, too.”

  “Then we’re in business. I’ll make the best damn sauce you ever tasted. Your job will be to cook the spaghetti. Can you boil water?”

  For the first time that evening, she laughed. “I think I can handle that.”

  “Great.”

  “I also have a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.”

  “Sensational.”

  “Nothing for hors d’oeuvres, though.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I do?”

  “Sure. Come with me, and I’ll show you.” He took her arm and led her into the bedroom.

  “What about dinner?” she said.

  “We’ll do that later. First things first.”

  As it turned out, Barker thought the evening was wonderful. Good food, good wine, and good love. What more could you ask?

  40.

  In the morning Dana made breakfast for them, and Barker was pleased to see that her confidence had returned. But when he again brought up the idea of her going to the DA, she stubbornly refused. He had a second cup of coffee, kissed her, and left the apartment.

  This promised to be another productive day. He was looking forward to enlisting Sam Benziger’s help in putting more pressure on the mechanic. For one thing, Sam could get a warrant to search the guy’s shop.

  When he reached his room in the Sunset Inn, he changed into fresh clothing. As he was pulling on his pants his phone rang. He answered: “Barker.”

  “Jeb, it’s Sam Benziger.”

  “Hey, I was just going to call you.”

  “One of the names Deke Edwards gave you was a guy named Culebra, right?”

  “Yeah, I went to his shop yesterday. I think he’s the one who made the fléchettes the killer used. At least he’s somebody to check out.”

  “Not anymore he’s not. Late yesterday, the shop burned down, and apparently he was in it. Firefighters put out the fire, but they found a body in what was left.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “My sentiments exactly. I’m going down there now.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

  Once he was dressed he got back in his car and retraced his route of the day before. One of the problems with LA, he thought for the dozenth time, was that it was so damn spread out. Took forever to get from one place to another.

  When at last he arrived at the scene, he found it blocked off by police barricades. A fire engine was there, along with an LAFD sedan, an LAFD van, two LAPD patrol cars, an ambulance, a Chevy sedan, and Benziger’s Honda. Barker parked and clipped his shield to his shirt pocket as he stepped closer.

  Culebra’s shop, and both the adjoining buildings, had been reduced to smoldering piles of ashes. The framing around the metal door had burned and the door had collapsed. Some of the exterior walls were still standing, probably because they were built of brick, but the interiors were mostly rubble. The usual crowd of rubbernecks were gaping at the wreckage, while two cops kept them behind the barricades.

  Looking weary, a half-dozen firefighters were packing up their equipment. Several others, wearing protective gear and heavy boots, were poking around in the ruins. The cars Culebra was working on had burned until little remained but blackened shells. Twisted and melted chunks of metal were also strewn about, apparently what was left of the mechanic’s tools.

  Two men in civilian clothes were standing near the Chevy, no doubt detectives who were part of the division squad. One was making notes, the other was on his cell phone.

  Benziger was in the driveway, talking to a firefighter whose helmet insignia identified him as a lieutenant. Barker joined them.

  “We were lucky,” the lieutenant said. “Got here early enough so we could keep the fire from spreading. If we hadn’t, the whole neighborhood could’ve gone up.”

  “The shop must’ve burned fast,” Sam said.

  “It did, and it looked to us like a set fire. Which would make the death a homicide. So we waited for the medical examiner to get here and examine the body. He said the guy had been shot.”

  Sam asked him if he’d told that to the division detectives.

  “Yeah, and they weren’t much surprised. They get at least one a day, sometimes more.”

  “Where’s the ME now?” Barker asked.

  “Over there with the ambulance guys.”

  “What made you think it was a set fire?” Sam asked.

  The lieutenant pointed. “See that long scorch mark there on the ground? Runs from the fire all the way out to the street. It was most likely made by a high-speed fuse.”

  Barker said, “Such as Primacord?”

  “Right. You familiar with the stuff?”

  “Yeah, we used it in the Marine Corps. It’s actually a form of explosive.”

  “That’s why it burns so fast. An ordinary fuse wouldn’t leave a mark like that. I think whoever set the fire used Primacord to get it going. That made it possible for him to be far enough away to be safe when he lit the fuse.”

  The detective who’d been making notes came over to them.

  Benziger asked him whether he’d found anything else that would help the investigation.

  “Besides the tools,” he said, “there’s a lot of guns in the place. Firefighters found them in a hidden cabinet, and they didn’t get burned as bad as the other things.”

  “Did you know the dead man?”

  “Yeah, name’s Culebra. We questioned him a few times but could never pin anything on him.”

  Barker left them and went over to where the ME was watching two members of the ambulance crew put a body bag into the vehicle. Barker asked the ME what he’d found when he inspected the victim.

  Unlike the guy who’d examined Delure’s body, this one had no problem answering. “Burned to a crisp,” he said. “And his head was gone. Or mostly gone, anyway. Looked to me like it was blown apart by a high-caliber bullet, probably from a rifle. A very big rifle. Entry was in front, and the slug shattered the skull. It went on through and carried away the parietal and occipital bones. Then the fire fried what was left.”

  “So he was shot before the fire started.”

  “No question. Probably the fire was to cover it up, don’t you think?”

  “Could be,” Barker said. “You notice anything else?”

  The ME smiled. “Wasn’t much left to notice.”

  Barker returned to where Benziger continued to talk with the lieutenant and the detective. He asked if he could borrow some boots.

  “Yeah, I can fix you up with a pair,” the lieutenant said. “But if you want to
walk around in there, be damn careful.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  The lieutenant went to the fire engine and got a pair of heavy boots. He handed them to Barker, who took off his shoes and pulled on the boots. The lieutenant also gave him a pair of gloves with cuffs that ran almost to the elbow.

  Stepping cautiously, Barker went over to the firefighters who were in what remained of the shop. “Good morning,” he said. “I hear you found some guns.”

  “Yeah, they were in a cabinet over near that wall,” one of them said. “Seems like there was a layer of wood on the outside, and then behind that was metal. The wood burned away, but the metal protected the guns. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The firefighter was carrying a short pry bar. He went to the place he’d indicated and pulled back a blackened metal panel with the bar. “Some collection, huh?”

  Inside the space were racks holding submachine guns, long arms, and pistols. By and large they appeared to be intact, although Barker could see cracks in the stocks of some of the weapons, probably caused by the heat. Boxes of ammunition were stacked on the floor, and he was surprised the fire hadn’t set them off.

  He also noticed a metal cylinder that was lying near the boxes. He picked it up. The cylinder was made of heavy-gauge aluminum, expertly welded and buffed.

  He knew at a glance it was a silencer. During his years on the NYPD he’d seen a number of them that had been seized from criminals. All were built on the same principle. When a gun was fired, the violent escape of gas made a loud report. To suppress the noise, a silencer provided a space beyond the muzzle of the weapon that would contain much of the gas and let it escape more slowly.

  “What’s that thing?” the firefighter asked.

  “Silencer,” Barker said.

  “Huh. So there’s no noise when the gun goes off?”

  “There’s noise,” Barker said. “Just less of it. But the higher the caliber of the gun, the bigger the bang. So even with one of these, a .45 would be louder than a .22.”

  Barker then checked the attachment end of the device and saw that threading had been cut into it. Next he inspected the muzzles of the firearms in the cabinet. None bore threads, so the silencer could not have been attached to any of them. He walked back to Benziger and the lieutenant, carrying the cylinder.