I repeated the process on the other side before letting the body settle back into the tub. It was time to leave. I took a moment to wipe down the places I knew Riley had been, hoping like hell I wasn’t covering for the asshole that had murdered Michael Stratford. Riley had leaned back on the couch and appeared to be sound asleep. That wasn’t a good sign.
As I walked toward her, I caught a glimpse of several DVD cases that had either fallen or been thrown behind the TV cart. They were empty, but the minute I saw the name of the video store on the spine, my pulse started to race.
“Reel Family Entertainment? What the fuck?” Surely that store wasn’t a chain.
Almost as soon as I considered that possibility, I knew the answer. It made perfect sense that the video store would somehow be related to all of this. Was someone trying to get revenge for Canniff’s death? Had I been the target, this whole time? And what of Stein and the others on the list? I hadn’t known any of them before, I was sure of it. The only connection was that Smitty had arrested Stein before I became his partner. And Michael had known something about a kidnapping case that Smitty and I had been working. Now Michael was dead, Stein had disappeared, and Smitty had committed suicide. These thoughts thundered through my mind in seconds, confirming the fact that I had to get Riley and myself out of there. I had to think, had to regain my composure, otherwise I could be putting us both in even more danger.
“Riley, sweetheart?”
Riley blinked at me as if I had just roused her from a deep sleep. Riley wasn’t the type of person to fall asleep with a dead body in the next room regardless of how little sleep she got the night before. She was definitely going into shock.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and helped her to her feet. “We’re going to get you home.”
Alarming questions clamored around in my head. What had Marcus stumbled onto, and was it somehow the cause of Smitty’s suicide? Did the person who killed Marcus also kill Michael? And what about the still missing Stein? Was he somehow responsible for this, or was he also dead somewhere?
I didn’t want to risk an anonymous 911 call, I just wanted out of there. So I closed the gate behind us and half carried, half dragged Riley to the car. I would like to say that I left Barstow at a decent rate of speed, but it would be a lie. I drove like I was in a race with Death himself. In truth, perhaps I was.
Chapter Twenty-One
I had to practically force Riley to eat some warm soup before I tucked her into bed without a fight. I asked if she might consider seeing a doctor but she refused, claiming that her pulse was normal and she was fine. She said she just needed to rest. I thought it was more than that, but I didn’t argue. Regular folks could go through a full lifetime without seeing what Riley saw dumped in that bathtub.
I sat at the table and stared blindly at three pieces of paper. On them I had drawn boxes linked by common elements. Michael Stratford aka Michael Albert was a driver. He had Reel Family Entertainment DVDs in the house he’d holed up in. He knew something about a kidnap case involving a small white boy.
Harrison Canniff worked in, or owned, Reel Family Entertainment. I couldn’t be sure, because I’d done what Smitty wanted and let go of the case. Smitty had covered up the killing and paid off the uniformed cops who were at the scene with us. Someone had provided the money for that payment, and Smitty seemed to be afraid of that person. Smitty had then killed himself. Maybe.
Someone wanted to shut me up. Whoever it was had also hired a couple of street thugs to beat me up. Later, Wilson and McClowski had tried to arrest me for Canniff’s killing before they procured a warrant. They cited phony evidence they’d obtained from who knows where—a plastic bag with my prints on it, supposedly found with the body but not mentioned in the coroner’s report. It sounded desperate, almost amateur. They had nothing on me, so they created evidence to arrest me.
Pistol Pete had the DVDs that led us to Reel Family Entertainment. But he also had a video we didn’t recover. Someone had taken it from his room by the time we got there. The motel owner said an African American cop had gotten there ahead of us.
How were the other names on the list, Nathan Stein and Eric Ann, connected to all of this? What had Marcus found that I was obviously missing? Whatever it was, he’d been killed over it. And what, if anything, had Smitty known that made him desperate enough to kill himself? Or had he been silenced, just like I was supposed to be?
I jotted down stray loose ends. Smitty had arrested Nathan Stein for a case that didn’t stick, and he was still interested in the guy. Why? Nathan Stein’s neighbors loathed him. Caroline Stein hadn’t returned a family heirloom platter to Zelda, and she was possibly having an affair with her pool boy. Mr. Dooley had seen Nathan in a white commercial delivery van, driven by an African American man, coming and going from the Stein home.
Wilson and McClowski held the key to what was going on. They’d interviewed Alicia, they were assigned to the missing person inquiry for Nathan Stein, they’d replaced me and Smitty, and they’d tried to arrest me. Someone had to have put them up to that. Since when did two detectives appear in the division and decide to arrest another cop of their own volition? I thought about Captain Simmons. She hated me. Was she involved somehow? Had she given the orders? Whatever was going on, Wilson and McClowski were in on it.
I needed to talk to them, preferably with a gun to their heads.
I checked Riley once more, noting the even rise and fall of her chest and that the color had returned to her face. I’d been sitting here for hours, but I wasn’t ready to go to bed. Pistol Pete had worked at Reel Family Entertainment, a fact I’d tended to overlook because I was focused on the DVDs. Maybe he could fill in some facts. I felt like an idiot. I could have had Chandra researching the company. Instead I’d been pushing the place out of my mind, unable to confront what I’d done. My own guilt had blindsided me.
I kissed Riley on the forehead, whispered to her that I loved her, and left the theater. As I drove, the unease that constantly stalked me caught up with a vengeance. I eased up on the gas. What was I doing? For the first time in my life I had someone who genuinely loved me, despite all my faults. Every time I left her behind or followed another lead, it felt like I was putting our future happiness at risk. Was the truth really worth that? Would Smitty or Marcus ask that of me? No, they wouldn’t, but I couldn’t live with myself if they’d died in vain. Besides, I was getting too close to give up now. I would just have to be extra careful; I had a lot to lose now.
*
I found Pete much as I had the previous afternoon, except he now had three empty wine bottles lying on their sides next to him. I hoped he’d gotten something to eat, too.
“Hey, Pete.” I kicked at his foot and he woke instantly.
“Oh, it’s you.” He picked up one of the empty bottles and turned it up to his lips before dropping it in disappointment. “What do you want? Can’t a man sleep?”
I hated myself for propping up his habit, but took out several twenties anyway. I waved them in the beam of my flashlight. His eyes gleamed. I had his attention. “I have a couple more questions for you, Pete.”
“It’s all you ever do. Ask questions.” He reached for the cash, but I held it back.
“When you worked at the video store…the place where you found those DVDs, what kind of work did they have you doing?”
He scratched his body in the routine manner of a man who shared his sleeping quarters with parasites. “I moved boxes. Put them on the pallet. Bring them to the van. Load them. Unload them.”
“The owner of the store paid you for this work? Harrison Canniff?”
He give me a blank stare. “Was that his name?”
I reached into my back pocket, took out the picture Alicia Alexander had given me, and handed it over to Pete. “This guy look familiar to you?”
Pete found his broken glasses and studied the photo, his lower lip slack. There was no sign of recognition. I hadn’t really expected anything else, I was just runnin
g with a hunch. As I reached out to take the picture back, Pete’s mouth closed and he moved the picture until it was almost on his nose.
“That’s him, alrighty. That’s the guy that paid me to move the boxes.”
“Are you sure?” The money had probably been a mistake. Pete could be telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. “Did you say the owner of the store paid you to move the boxes?”
“He did.”
I pointed to the picture. “But he’s not the owner.”
Pete shook his head like I was asking trick questions. “It’s him,” he insisted. “He had a big white van that had the name of the store printed on the side.”
“A big white van, huh?” I imagined I heard a click as two pieces of the puzzle slid into place. I handed Pete the twenties and asked, “Do you have anywhere else you can stay? I’m not sure you’re safe here anymore.”
Pete looked around, too. “Why not?”
“Remember those cops I told you about? They’re looking for you, and I think they’re bad news. You got somewhere to go just until everything blows over?”
Pete counted the cash and tucked the bills away. “Yeah, I guess I got someplace. What do they want me for, anyway? I haven’t done anything.”
He began to sniff. I rolled my eyes. All I needed was an emotional drunk to make my day complete.
“I know, Pete. So do us both a favor and hide for a few days.”
He gave a mournful nod and I left him gathering his possessions. An accountant…I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. When Pete had first slurred out the information I had wondered how someone with an education and a respectable profession could fall so low. I understood how it could happen now. One bad turn, one bad decision, one risk too many, and you could find yourself looking for a way to anesthetize the pain.
*
When you’re wanted, you can’t afford to speed. You can’t afford to call attention to yourself for any reason. The drive back to the theater, to Riley, was pure torture. By the time I’d parked the Blazer and locked the doors, fear had settled over me. I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of, but I nearly ran down the stairs and into the small apartment. Riley was as I had left her. Only the top of her head was visible beneath the comforter. I quickly shucked my clothes and boots, and climbed into bed with her.
“Are you warm enough?” she asked in a sleep-blurred voice.
“No,” I lied and she pulled me close, just as I knew she would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I left Riley asleep when I left early the next morning. I wanted to talk to Nathan Stein, and if I had to threaten his wife, I would. I had nothing to lose. All the way to their house, I planned my conversation.
The antique knocker slammed against the door with a satisfying thwack. I took great pleasure in the fact that Caroline Stein was probably in the house having a conniption fit. A quick detour to see Mr. Dooley had already confirmed my suspicions. Michael Albert Stratford was indeed the driver of the late-night delivery truck, but I was still no closer to figuring out who had killed him, or why. On the fifth release of the door knocker, I heard the dead bolt turn, and Terry the pool boy, or whatever, inched the door open.
“Good morning, may I help you?”
Oh, and he’s polite, too . “I sure hope so.” I stuck my foot inside the entryway and hoped like hell he didn’t slam the door on it. “I need to speak with Mrs. Stein again. There are a few more questions I was hoping she could answer for me.”
“Caroline isn’t here…”
“Well, perhaps you and I could—”
“No, I was just about to leave.”
“I see. Well that’s too bad. Question. Does she often leave you in her house alone while she’s out?” The panicked look on his face made me go in for the kill. “Or do you live here? I had assumed that you only came for Mrs. Stein’s workouts.”
“Caroline’s afraid to be here alone after her husband’s disappearance, so she asked me to stay.”
“Interesting. I had no idea. As I was saying, I really would like to talk to you. It should only take a few minutes.”
Terry must have gotten a backbone, because he narrowed his eyes and asked almost triumphantly, “Do you have a warrant?”
Now I had two options. I could either wallop this boy toy over the head with my 9, or I could sweet-talk my way into the Stein residence. I was already reaching for the gun when a voice from farther inside the house saved his ass.
“Let her in.” Caroline Stein walked up behind Terry, swept me with a dismissive stare, and repeated more sharply, “Let her in, I said.”
This time Terry jerked as if she’d slapped him. He moved aside and I followed Caroline across an expanse of Berber carpet to the living room. Everything looked pretty much as I remembered: large, expensive, and new.
Caroline wandered to the fireplace and rested her arm on the mantel as if she was posing for one of those home décor magazines. Her emerald green velour sweatsuit looked like it would disintegrate at the first sign of moisture. It did show off her breast job to perfection, though.
“Caroline, I don’t think…” Terry started to speak as soon as he had shut the door behind me.
“You don’t think what? You don’t think I should have allowed Officer…I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Caroline shook her head in a superb imitation of me. I panicked, because for half a second I couldn’t remember the fake name I had given her before.
“Jones,” I said with a smile that, to my surprise, was returned.
“Ah, that’s right. Officer Jones, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I have a few more questions about your husband.”
“I see, and what exactly would those questions be?”
Normally, I would have launched right into it, but Caroline Stein was looking a bit too relaxed in my presence. I had expected cynicism, even outright anger, but not the amused self-assurance that seemed to pour from the woman.
Disconcerted, I watched her closely as I asked my first question. “You mentioned your husband’s business interests. I understand those include Reel Family Entertainment. Is that so?”
“And if they do?”
“The business isn’t registered in his name.” I was bluffing. I didn’t know if it was or not.
“So perhaps he was a silent partner. Many of my husband’s parishioners don’t believe in attending movies or even renting them. They feel that it’s giving money to the devil, so to speak.”
“But even as a silent partner, his name would be on the paperwork. If he was making money on this store, or even losing money, the IRS would have to know.”
Caroline Stein smiled again, and this time I really felt nervous. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask him about that. Oh, but for that, I suppose you’d have to find him first.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, ma’am.”
“Are you now? Well, that’s odd, because it seems to me that about the only thing you’ve been doing is wasting my time.”
This woman was really starting to get on my nerves, and it was time to play a bit of hardball. “Your neighbors claim that on several different occasions, a white van from Reel Family Entertainment came to your home during the night, loaded some boxes, and left. Do you have information about what it was carrying?”
The condescending smile froze on Caroline’s lips. Terry’s doleful blue eyes begged me to stop pushing her buttons. “Why don’t you answer a question for me, Officer Jones?” she said through the tight lips that I would forever associate with her name.
“Detective,” I corrected from long-standing habit, and then could have kicked myself. The triumph on her face was enough to tell me that the jig was up.
“I made some phone calls, one of which was to the two detectives that you seemed so interested in the last time you were here. They informed me that there was no Officer Jones working my husband’s case. So I figure you’re either out of your jurisdiction, or you’re impersonating a cop. Which
is it?
“Did you tell them I was here?”
“Why should I?”
“If I thought someone at my front door was impersonating a cop, I would call the real thing in a heartbeat.”
“Well, maybe I’ll do just that if you ever come around here again. Terry. The officer, or whoever she is, was just leaving.”
I relaxed instantly. She was hiding something, and for once that was a good thing. I decided to push her buttons for a change. “Tell me, Terry, you were the personal trainer two days ago and before that the pool boy. Now you’re the butler?”
We both turned to Caroline, who wisely chose to ignore the question.
“You knew it was me banging on the door,” I taunted Caroline. “Why didn’t you call the cops right then? In fact, let’s call them now. Ask for Captain Gail Simmons.”
Terry made a grab for my arm as if to escort me to the door. I swatted his hand away.
“I didn’t call the police because I was curious about what you wanted,” Caroline said.
“If I was curious, I would ask a lot more questions than you have.”
Terry took another step, and Caroline held out her hand as if signaling to a dog. He stopped, obedient and well-trained pet that he was.
“All right, fine, I want to know who you are and why you want to speak to my husband.”
“Who I am isn’t important,” I said. “I’m investigating the murder of a close friend. I think your husband may have information that could help.”
Caroline pondered that and seemed to relax, as if deciding she would believe me. “Is that what this is about? You think my husband had something to do with your friend’s death?”
It didn’t escape my notice that she’d changed the context of what I’d said. Having information and having “something to do” with a murder were two different things. I followed the usual interview formula, turning the question back to her. “What do you think?”
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