Our new best friends, Curry and Amy, were there, talking to a dark-haired, good-looking man of about forty-five. He looked a lot like the Ike Rose I had seen on the cover of Fortune, except this guy was only about five-foot-four.
“Detectives,” he said, striding over and shaking Terry’s hand, then mine. “I’m Ike Rose. Thanks for coming over to the house.” His voice was strong and deep and commanding. The voice of a linebacker inside the body of a jockey.
I said hello without mentioning that he was shorter than his pictures, and silently marveled that he lived where he lived, I lived where I lived, and we both referred to where we lived as “the house.” Either he should have said, “Thanks for coming over to the hundred-million-dollar mansion,” or I should start saying, “Thank you for visiting my embarrassing little hovel.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked my assistant Richard to sit in and take notes.” Richard was sitting in an armchair with a pad on his lap. He was about Rose’s age and was wearing a buttery yellow, V-neck cashmere sweater and a pair of casual cream-colored slacks that cost about ten times what I pay for pants at The Gap. He also had on a thousand dollars worth of shoe leather and a Patek Philippe wristwatch that cost in the general vicinity of a year of my hard-earned salary. Assistant, my ass. More likely, Richard was Rose’s wealthy attorney sitting in on the meeting off the record, so his name wouldn’t show up in any official police reports. He did not get up to shake hands.
Rose offered us refreshments, and we said, No thank you. Then he invited us to sit down in one of the many seating areas that peppered the room. We did, and the foreplay was over.
CHAPTER 36
“Gentlemen,” Rose said, “Brian and Amy have filled me in on where we are. What I’d like to know from you is where we’re going from here.”
“Sir,” I said, “I’m sure there are politicians who count on your company for tax dollars and on you personally for campaign contributions. And I’m sure they would like me to spend the next ten minutes giving you the politically correct speech on how we are doing everything we can to bring to justice the person or persons who are responsible for committing these heinous crimes, blah, blah, blah. But since you’re a busy man, let me just assure you that this is a Priority One case, we are doing everything we can, and I’ll save you nine minutes and fifty seconds of political rhetoric.”
Rose smiled. “Thank you. If the politicians ask, I’ll tell them you gave me the full ten-minute song and dance. Go on.”
“The top line is that when Elkins turned out to be a convicted sex offender, we thought the killer might be someone whose life he contaminated. But after Ronnie Lucas and the second flipbook, we focused on suspects who might want to damage your company.”
“Did you talk to Danny Eeg?” he said.
“Not yet, but he’s high on a list we got from Brian just a few hours ago.” I opted not to tell him that my own father had pointed to Eeg while Ronnie Lucas was still at home, having dinner with his kids and making love to his wife.
“I find it hard to believe that any man would solve his problems with the corporation by murdering our people,” he said, “but it looks like somebody is gunning for us, and I guess Eeg is as good a place to start as anyone. How soon do you plan to question him?”
“He lives in upstate New York,” I said. “I spoke to the Ulster County Sheriff’s Office this afternoon. They’re going to send someone to talk to him.”
His face stiffened and his voice kicked up a notch. “A county sheriff? Why… why the hell don’t you fly out there yourself?”
Considering all the cop movies Rose made, he knew nothing about police procedure. “Sir,” I said, “if he lived nearby, we would. But we can’t spend the taxpayers’ money on airfare till we at least talk to him and see if he has an alibi.”
“Screw the taxpayers’ money. Take one of our corporate jets,” he said. “Two first-class seats. No charge.”
Fat chance, I thought. The D.A.’s office would scream Conflict of Interest, and tell me to go coach on the Redeye. Better to clear it with Kilcullen, who won’t care how I go as long as I come back with a collar. “We may take you up on that,” I said. “For now, there are too many names on the grudge list for us to meet them all face to face. We’re looking for evidence that will point us toward one of them.”
“What if Eeg hired someone?” It was Amy. “Check his bank records. He may have left a paper trail.”
I didn’t want to elaborate on the futility of getting our hands on people’s financial records. Not to mention that you don’t pay your hit man by personal check. “We’ll look into it,” I said. “Mr. Rose, let me ask you a question. You’re a busy executive. Surely you didn’t invite us here to have us fill you in on where we stand twelve hours after we’ve concluded these are serial murders. Your staff can give you updates any time of the day or night. So… why are we here?”
Amy jumped up. “Why are you here? Do you know who this man is? You’re here because Mr. Rose wants you here!”
“Amy,” Rose said. That was all. Just the one word. He communicated the rest by looking down at the rich leather sofa. She sat. I can’t get Andre to sit that fast, and I know damn well that Amy is a lot harder to train.
“Good question, Detective Lomax,” Rose said. “Three reasons. First I wanted to meet you gentlemen. I’ve read your bios, or whatever you cops call your résumés, but I wanted to meet you face to face. I’m sure you know that I have enough clout to pull you off the case if I don’t like what I see.”
“If we’d have known we were auditioning for the head of a studio, we’d have dressed better. Apart from my partner’s brown suit, how are we doing?”
Rose laughed and the others followed. Except Richard. He was playing the assistant, and I guess assistants don’t participate in Executive Laughter. “You got your work cut out for you,” Rose said, “but so far, you’re doing okay.”
He was full of shit. That wasn’t why he sent for us. I nodded a polite thank you for the empty compliment.
“Second,” he said, “I wanted to reiterate what I said earlier on the phone. We’ll do whatever we can to help. This company has resources no police department ever dreamed of. We have over sixty thousand employees around the world. My personal Rolodex has corporate CEOs, international celebrities, presidents, prime ministers, princes—I don’t know how any of these people can possibly help you, but if they can, they will. We also have deep pockets, which means if you need a plane to get somewhere, we’ve got twelve of them. If you need a satellite to spy on someone, we’ve got one of those. We are ready to do whatever we can to help you stop these murders from going past this…” He held up two fingers in a V. Just like the second flipbook.
Now he was really full of shit. He had already told me over the phone that his universe was at our disposal. We didn’t need a face-to-face to repeat it. I waited for him to get to the real reason he asked us over.
“Daddy.”
All eyes turned to the opposite end of the room, where a pretty little girl, about eight or nine, was standing in the doorway. She had dark eyes, dark curly hair, and was dressed in a pink nightgown that was hand-painted from collar to hem with a giant Rambunctious Rabbit.
Rose dissolved from Corporate Mogul to Fawning Father in half a second. A big grin fanned out across his face, and he stretched out both arms and said, “Hannah Banana.”
The little girl came running across the room and jumped into his arms. He fell backward on the sofa and cuddled her. “Are you staying?” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Not tonight, sweetie. I have to go to New York. I just came home to tuck you in.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, wagging her finger like she’d seen more than a few Shirley Temple movies. “You’re not tucking. You’re having a meeting.”
“You caught me,” he said, standing up from the sofa. He lifted her in his arms and introduced her. “Folks, this is my daughter Hannah. Hannah, you remember Mr. Curry
and Ms. Cheever from Daddy’s office, and this is Mr. Lomax and Mr. Biggs. They’re working with Daddy on a special project.”
“Boring,” she said, and squirmed out of his arms to the floor. Then she turned to me and Terry. “Please let him go soon, so he can tuck me in.”
“Yes ma’am,” Terry said. “You’re the boss.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, giggling. “I’m the boss’s daughter.” She put both hands on her hips and did another Shirley Temple move. Then she waved at the assistant. “Hi, Uncle Richard.”
I had to give Richard credit. He didn’t blow his cover. He just waved back and said, “Hi, Hannah,” as if he were just one of those lucky assistants whose boss’s daughter calls him Uncle. Hannah bounced out of the room yelling, “Good night, everybody. Hurry up, Daddy.”
Rose beamed. “You were right, Detective Biggs. She is the boss. Where was I?”
“The third reason we’re here,” Terry said.
This time Rose sneaked a less overt look at Richard, but he might as well have waved a red flag. I’m a cop. I took Furtive Glances 101 in Police Academy.
Rose sat up straight on the sofa, making himself as tall as he could without standing. “I feel terrible that a man like Elkins wound up working for us. I can assure you it will never happen again. I feel a million times worse over Ronnie Lucas’s murder. He was such a sweet kid and a major talent. My heart goes out to his family. But my biggest concern is how do I protect the company.”
Amy, corporate kiss-ass that she is, was wagging her head in agreement. But at least she had the good sense not to open her mouth.
“We’re all concerned about other people being targeted,” I said.
“I agree that we have to protect our people, but I’m more concerned with protecting the company. This is a business of images, and we need to keep the Lamaar image from being tarnished. I thought about offering a reward for the apprehension of Ronnie’s killer, but that would only link Lamaar closer to Ronnie, and we need to downplay our connection to these murders.”
“Reward money brings out the crazies,” Terry said. “So we’re fine if you don’t offer any. But now that we know that these murders are linked, you should warn your employees that…”
Rose cut him off. “Our employees are not the same as the general public. They work for us. No matter what they do, they ultimately get paid to enhance our image. They bring laughter and music and joy to the world. They do not get strangled in a tunnel under the park. It’s bad for ticket sales, and it’s really bad for our image. I want the Elkins’s murder swept under the rug. You can investigate, but the world doesn’t have to know there was a sexual deviant inside the Rambunctious Rabbit suit. Lucas, on the other hand, is major news. But he was not a Lamaar icon—not the way Rambo was—so I’ve asked Amy to see how much distance the company can keep from the victim.”
“Sir, this seems like a business decision. What role do we play?” I asked. I knew the answer, but I wanted him to go on record with his lawyer in the room.
“Quite simply, if you know where we stand, you can help us reach our goals. Keep Elkins’s murder under wraps. If it should come out, don’t go public and announce the alleged connection between the two murders. Don’t talk about Ronnie as a Lamaar employee. He’s a Hollywood star, stalked and killed by a rabid fan. Just do what it takes to keep the company out of the limelight.”
“Even though the company is the target?” Terry asked, his voice edgy.
“That has yet to be proven.” Rose gave us an icy stare, and I wondered what happened to the person who was just snuggling with little Hannah.
Terry looked ready to blow a fuse. “Mike,” he said. “Got a minute?” Without excusing himself he walked toward the far end of the room. I followed.
When we were out of earshot, he whispered, “Fucking little Napoleon. Do you believe the balls on that guy? Sweep Elkins under the rug, and, if we don’t play ball, he calls the Governor, and we’re history.”
“Actually, I don’t think he’d call the Governor,” I said.
“Right,” Terry said. “His assistant would do it.”
“I don’t know his name,” I said, “but I’m guessing Uncle Richard goes for about six hundred bucks an hour.”
“It’s Richard Villante. He’s with Villante, Coleman, and Somebody, and he’s more like a thousand an hour. Major smart lawyer, except he apparently underestimates his opponents.”
“Since when did we get to be the opponents?” I said.
“Since they want these homicides settled out of court and out of the press. They’re making our job even harder. What the fuck should we do?”
I tapped my piece. “Shoot ’em.”
“I thought about it. I needed a sane solution, which is why I called you over here.”
“You still want this case?”
“Fucking-A right I do. Now more than ever.”
“Fine. Bend over and grab your ankles. Tell Rose we’re on his team. Otherwise, your cell will ring before you get back to the office, and it will be the Governor inviting you to Sacramento for a special assignment cleaning latrines.”
“At least I’d have my integrity,” he said with half a heart.
“Right. Two daughters in college and a shit bucket full of integrity.”
“Grabbing ankles now,” he said. We rejoined the group.
“Sir,” I said, looking squarely at Rose. “We understand your need to keep this low profile. Lucas was killed outside a soup kitchen, so there’s no reason for us to drag the Lamaar name into the investigation… for now.” I knew I had said what he wanted to hear, except for the last two words. I kept going. “On the other hand, the Elkins homicide and Familyland are all wrapped up in one package. There’s no getting around that, but we’ll do our best to keep our investigation under wraps. That said, don’t underestimate the press. I’ve seen them dig up much better kept secrets than this one.”
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “that’s the best I can hope for. I appreciate your understanding, gentlemen.”
“Can we ask you a favor, sir?” I said.
“Get the fucking Governor off your backs?” he said, smiling that cryptic smile that Men of Power do so well.
“I was going to put it more delicately,” I said, “but yes. It gets our boss all gooned up, and since he doesn’t have a dog to kick…”
“Done.” Then to make sure we knew he still was holding all the cards, he added, “For now.” He turned to his quasi-assistant. “Richard, remind me to call the Governor on the way to the airport.”
“Yes, Mr. Rose,” Richard said, and efficiently made a note on his pad.
Now that Uncle Richard had been drawn into the conversation, I decided it was time to go after him. “We don’t want to make Mr. Rose late for his flight,” I said, as if Ike Rose were flying on a plane that could possibly leave without him. “What time is it, Richard?”
He looked at his wristwatch. “Eight…” he said, then stopped abruptly. He was staring at the face of a $50,000 platinum-and-diamond Patek Philippe. He knew it. I knew it. And now, he knew I knew it.
In a lame attempt to cover up for his sudden inability to give me the correct time, he squinted at the watch as if it were hard to read. “Eight thirty-seven,” he said, his blurred vision finally recovering. He looked away. Rose hadn’t seen me nail him, and I was sure Richard wouldn’t bring it up. I love fucking with lawyers who think they’re smarter than cops.
“One last question,” I said. “You’re doing a joint venture with the Camelot Hotel. Is there any bad blood between the two companies? Some of these Vegas folks have been known to settle their business differences outside of the conference room.”
Rose laughed. “C’mon, Detective. The gambling business is like any other business. The big players are all tough, smart, even ruthless, but do you think guys like Merv Griffin, Steve Wynn, or Donald Trump solve their problems by rubbing people out?”
“No sir, but the Leone family was rubbing peop
le out before they got into the casino business.”
“I don’t buy your logic,” he said. “If your grandfather was a horse thief that doesn’t mean you’re a horse thief. Arabella Leone is a total professional. Don’t waste your energy thinking about the Vegas connection. Concentrate on people who might have a grudge with the company. Brian, give them the folders.”
Curry handed me a large, fat, gray envelope with a Lamaar logo in the corner. “We pulled together backgrounder files on our top contenders.”
Brian was a good cop, but four pounds of backgrounder material pulled together on short notice had the fingerprints of a CEO. “Thanks,” I said.
“Anything we can do,” Rose said. “I put together a Task Force to be at your disposal until these crimes are solved. Brian and Amy will act as liaisons. Whatever you need, call them. On behalf of the entire company and Ronnie’s poor family, I do appreciate your coming over tonight. Thanks.”
He was dripping with sincerity. It reminded me of Big Jim’s favorite joke. How do they say “Fuck you” in Hollywood? “Trust me.”
Rose shook my hand, then Terry’s. With movie-perfect timing, the door opened, and Mr. Lu appeared, ready to escort us out. Some people have silent alarms to call for the cops. Rose apparently had one to get rid of us.
Amy and Brian were dismissed as well, and the four of us followed Mr. Lu. I slowed down so Terry and I could have some distance from the others. Then I stopped to gawk at an abstract on the wall. “Look at that,” I said loudly to Terry. Then I whispered, “Divide and conquer.”
“Fantastic,” Terry said, for everyone to hear. Then he muttered. “You take the girl. Marilyn will be happier if I take Curry.”
Once he realized he had two stragglers, Mr. Lu stopped and turned to keep a well-trained eye on us. We pretended to love the artwork for a few more seconds, then caught up with the group. “Great painting,” I said to Mr. Lu.
“Thank you,” he said, as if he had painted it.
Actually, it looked like it was painted by a chimpanzee. Total crap. It probably cost millions. There’s no people like show people.
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