Total Sarcasm

by Dan Ames

  “What about office politics?” Mary said. “Seems no matter how likeable you are, there’s usually someone who doesn’t like you.”

  The Hargold woman shook her head. “Not here. Everyone loved Craig, cared about him. In fact, most of us knew that our livelihoods were closely connected with Craig and his ability to bring in clients. There are some worried people here, wondering how well IdeaGen will continue without him.”

  Before Mary could launch another question, the woman stood.

  “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got time for.”

  Mary slowly stood. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. If you ever take on clients with lower budgets, let me know, I might hire you,” Mary said. “I could use some new clients.”

  The woman just smiled and Mary let herself out.

  Chapter Ten

  Mary was on her way to the office when her cell rang. It was Jenni Mulderink.

  She had remembered the name of the psychologist who they’d heard on the radio that had caused the reaction from Craig Locher.

  The name of the psychologist was Dr. Frank. As in, Dr. Frank Fallon. Mary had heard of him. That was part of his deal, a pun on the word ‘frank.’ As in, Dr. Frank will be blunt and tell you what he thinks.

  Dr. Frank had a radio show, and had even done a brief television show, or had it been Internet-only? Mary couldn’t remember. In any case, she seemed to recall that the show had only lasted a few episodes. Maybe it turned out the doctor was better on the radio than in front of the camera.

  Mary called a friend who knew everyone there was to know in celebrity Hollywood. The friend called back within minutes with Dr. Frank’s office number.

  Mary called, and despite being told that the doctor would not talk about anything specifically regarding a former patient, Mary was able to set up a meeting for the next day.

  She went back to her office, spent two hours filing paperwork, billing a client for services rendered, and reading the first of a batch of articles she’d downloaded about Dr. Frank.

  There was a knock on the door and Jake came in.

  “Hey,” he said, plopping into the chair across from Mary’s desk. She checked the clock. It was just past four o’clock. Close enough to five for her taste.

  She went to the small fridge and retrieved two Point beers.

  Jake held up a hand, “None for me, thanks,” he said. “My partner just dropped me off here while he does a return.” Mary’s office was next to a row of shops in Venice.

  Mary cracked the first beer. “What makes you think one of these was for you?” she said. “You know I’m a two-fister.”

  Jake nodded. “How goes the guy-in-the-diaper case?” he asked. He went to fridge and found a Diet Coke, cracked it.

  “Nothing just yet. A successful, charismatic guy, who according to his girlfriend had no interest in wearing diapers,” Mary said.

  “I’m still going with the kinky sex angle.”

  “Of course you are,” Mary said. “It just seems weird that it would be going on in the middle of the street, though.”

  “Maybe our victim broke out of his bondage costume, and made a break for it.”

  Mary took a pull from her Point beer. She had it shipped all the way from Wisconsin.

  “Could be,” she said. “A lot of people don’t tie up their submissives as thoroughly as I do you.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Want me to put another call into the detectives who are handling the case? See if they’ve got anything new to report?”

  Mary nodded. “That would be great. What do I owe you?”

  He got to his feet.

  “Buy me a drink tonight?” he said.

  “Working for alcohol,” Mary said, tipping back her bottle of Point. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As Mary expected, Dr. Frank Fallon’s office was in Beverly Hills, in a section known as Couch Row. It was a quiet street filled with some of Hollywood’s most famous and most expensive psychologists. Rumor had it you could bump into at least one celebrity going through rehab issues any time you paid a visit to one of the offices. And, indeed, there were two limousines with tinted windows at each end of the block.

  Fallon’s office was a square block of a building with just enough angles and slabs to qualify as a modernist’s architectural statement.

  Mary went inside, and rang the doorbell to the main office. After confirming her appointment, the door buzzed and she stepped into an austere yet somehow comfortable waiting room featuring a thick rug, leather armchairs, and abstract paintings.

  She took a seat and waited approximately five minutes. There was no one else in the waiting room, and there were three light switches on the far wall, each with a little light above them. All three lights were bright red. Mary assumed the office had three doctors, and all of them were in session. She also figured there was a separate exit so patients didn’t have to parade through the waiting area, their faces covered with tears, hands shaking from emotional upheaval.

  Five minutes after when her appointment should have started, Dr. Fallon’s red light went off and moments later, the door opened.

  A tall, muscular man with close-cropped salt and pepper hair, dressed casually in khakis and a tight-fitting blue dress shirt that showed off his powerful upper body, smiled at Mary. His teeth were a dazzling white that made them look especially large, like a wolf’s.

  “Ms. Cooper?”

  Mary recognized him from his brief stint on television.

  “Dr. Fallon?” she asked.

  He nodded, then gestured toward an office at the end of the hall with an open door.

  She walked past him and Mary knew he was following her. She did not like the feeling.

  Once inside the office, Fallon closed the door behind them. Mary sat in a large leather club chair, still warm from the patient before her.

  “How can I help you, Ms. Cooper?” he said.

  He smiled, and Mary was struck again by the perfect white teeth, the expensive designer eyewear frames, the Panerai watch. Business was good for Dr. Frank.

  “I wanted to ask you about a patient of yours. As you probably know, Craig Locher was murdered several days ago.”

  A flash of irritation crossed the doctor’s face.

  “So you’re not a patient. What are you, a reporter?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” Mary said.

  Fallon bowed his head, as if saying a silent prayer for his deceased patient. But Mary could tell he was pissed.

  “Yes, I did hear about Mr. Locher’s death. But you realize that I can say very little. Patient confidentiality still exists even if the patient is no longer living.”

  “I understand that, doctor,” Mary said. “I’m just curious to know if you can tell me anything that might help in my investigation.”

  “Who hired you?” the doctor said.

  Mary smiled. “Client confidentiality, I’m afraid.”

  His look told Mary that he wasn’t surprised at her answer.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to say, Ms. Cooper. Yes, he was my patient, but nothing in our work together would have given me concern that he might be involved in anything dangerous. His issues were quite normal, and very commonplace. If he had been in danger, or if he had been a danger to someone else, then I would have been lawfully required to report it. I did no such thing because I saw no cause for concern. If you have any other questions, I suggest you forward them to my attorney.”

  Fallon looked at his big watch. A not-so-subtle hint to Mary that the time he would allow her was drawing to an end.

  “No idea who might want to hurt him?”

  Fallon shook his head. “I really won’t say anymore. At least, not here.” He gave her another not-very-subtle appraisal, his eyes lingering on her chest area. “Perhaps over a drink you might be able to loosen my tongue.”

  Mary felt like groaning. The reference to his tongue was intended. It was probably supposed to turn
her on. But it did just the opposite.

  “If your tongue is stiff, it could be an early sign of mad-cow disease,” Mary said. “Might want to have a doctor look at that.”

  Dr. Frank gave her a disappointed look that did little to disguise his anger.

  “Like I said, it would have been my duty to report any signs of harmful intent regarding Mr. Locher. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ve got a patient waiting.”

  Mary wondered if it was true, and if so, how did he know that? She didn’t see a corresponding red blinking light anywhere.

  He showed her out of his office without a word and she left through a different door than the one she’d entered.

  It took her down a narrow hallway that led back to the main hallway. As she passed the door, a woman with a shock of white hair, cut short, and dressed to the nines, did a double take when she saw Mary’s face.

  “Hello,” Mary said.

  “Hi,” the woman answered, then ducked into the doctor’s waiting room.

  You came to the right place, Mary thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mary sat three blocks away from a group of police cars with their lights flashing. The squad cars were in front of a tony home near Beverly Glen and Westwood.

  She ordinarily would have walked right up to the crime scene and talked her way past the crime scene tape, but when Jake had called her he had mentioned two things. The first was that a body had been discovered that might have something to do with the case she was working on. And two, Sergeant Amanda Davies was there and Mary should hold off on arriving until The Shark was gone. For once, Mary agreed, sort of. She actually, desperately, wanted to go up and give Davies a few zingers. But Mary also didn’t want Davies to know that she was working on the case. It would just cause interference.

  Besides, there would be another opportunity to insult Davies. And if there wasn’t, Mary would create said opportunity.

  So she waited for the text message from Jake that it was all clear.

  Mary wondered how Jake knew that this crime might be related to Craig Locher’s murder.

  She looked up and saw The Shark climbing into an unmarked cop car. It was easy to pick the woman out, she was always so pale she practically glowed in the dark. Like a ghoul. Davies drove away in her unmarked car and Mary climbed out of her own car.

  Her cell phone buzzed at the same time and she smiled. Jake was right on time, as usual.

  She locked the car, and walked up to the crime scene. A uniform stopped her, but she told him she was working with Detective Cornell and he let her through.

  Mary found Jake standing next to the body of a woman. Mary immediately saw why Jake had called her.

  The woman was dressed up like a doll. Pig tails, giant freckles painted on her face, kid shoes with white socks pulled up high, and a ridiculous doll’s dress, hiked up above her body, showing that she had nothing on underneath.

  “No need to state the obvious,” Jake said.

  “No.”

  “However, a techie checked her phone and there were a lot of calls between her and your other murder victim, Craig Locher.”

  “Ah,” Mary said. “Thanks for calling me.” She took a careful look at the dead woman, noted the bruising around the victim’s neck.

  “Strangled?”

  “Looks that way,” Jake said. “No other signs of trauma. But the medical examiner will tell us more,” Jake said. “The Shark put this one on the front burner, now that she knows there’s most likely a pattern.”

  Mary looked at the dead woman. She had been a beautiful young woman, with dark hair, and a classic face.

  “Yeah, there’s a pattern all right,” Mary said. “But what the hell does it mean?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mary plugged the address of the house where the body had been discovered into her reverse database. The information that came out revealed the home was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Toomey. Mary used another service to confirm they still owned the home and that the Toomeys had no children and were aged 77 and 79.

  The dead woman had been in her early thirties, Mary figured.

  Jake was being Mr. Goody Two Shoes and not giving her the name of the vic. He had brought her to the crime scene but he wouldn’t give her the name. What kind of sense did that make? Mary thought he just wanted to lure her to dinner with the information.

  Her phone rang and she looked at the caller.

  Mary picked up the phone and spoke before he could get a word out.

  “Yes, Jake, dinner is fine. Just be sure to bring that name with you.”

  She locked up the office, then drove to a little cantina a block from the ocean.

  Mary ordered a Modelo, Jake a Dos Equis and guacamole. A woman with a gorgeous skirt came to the table and made the guacamole fresh.

  “You like it spicy?” she said.

  “Absolutely,” Mary answered. The woman threw in some jalapenos, finished the guacamole, and put it on the table.

  Mary dug in with fresh chips.

  “Delicious,” she said.

  Jake scooped up some guacamole with a chip and shoveled it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then looked at Mary, alarmed.

  “Wow, that’s hot!” he said, and gulped some ice water. A line of sweat had broken out across his forehead.

  The funny thing was, Mary knew that he loved spicy food, he just couldn’t handle it.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “You and spicy food don’t go together. You should stick with mashed potatoes.”

  “I love spicy food, it just doesn’t love me.”

  “Is that the attraction?”

  Jake smiled at her.

  “Are we still talking about food?”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. She had no problem with the guacamole. Her threshold for hot food was very, very high.

  “So what can you tell me about our victim?” she said.

  Jake signaled the woman in the pretty skirt back and they both ordered. He chose the enchiladas, Mary the green chile tacos.

  Once the woman had replaced their depleted beers with fresh ones, he finally answered.

  “Valerie Barnes,” he said.

  “Vitals?”

  Jake shook his head. “All I can tell you is that she had a DUI two years ago, otherwise her record is clean. Her employer was an accounting firm and she was apparently a partner. That’s all I’ve got so far.”

  “What is the size of the accounting firm? She seemed pretty young to be a partner.”

  “I’m sure the detectives are looking into it.”

  “No sign of mental health issues?” Mary asked.

  “Only the DUI.”

  Mary leaned back as the tacos were placed in front of her. She could smell the fiery chiles.

  “Have you heard anything else?” Mary prompted.

  Jake was putting salt and pepper on his enchiladas. Why, Mary didn’t know.

  “Not a peep,” he said. Jake began splashing hot sauce all over his dinner.

  “This is going to end badly,” Mary said.

  “Yeah, but if I’m going to go out, I’m going to go out in style.”

  He shoved a forkful of enchilada into his mouth and began sweating.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jake was assigned stakeout duty for a case he was working on, so Mary went back to her condo.

  It was late, and she changed into sweats and a UCLA sweatshirt.

  It was a long shot, but Mary was feeling lucky. She dialed the number of Dr. Paulette Blevins, her client, and waited for voicemail.

  “Doctor, this is Mary Cooper. I wanted to run a name past you. Valerie Barnes. She was recently murdered and I’m calling to see if you have ever heard of her, especially with regard to Craig Locher. Please call me back when you get a chance.”

  Mary thanked the woman and hung up, then went into her office and fired up her computer.


  She fed the name Valerie Barnes into the various person locator programs she had on her desktop. Some were legal, some weren’t. One of the best programs now had a slightly outdated database because its creator, one of Mary’s former clients, had once again fallen off the grid. He was a hacker and lived life in the shadows. When he reappeared, if he ever did, Mary would see about an update. She was guessing it wouldn’t be high on his list of priorities.

  The collective programs spit out a lot of information on a variety of women named Valerie Barnes. It was something private investigators knew all too well: no matter how unusual a name might sound, and Valerie Barnes wasn’t all that unusual, there was always more than expected.

  In this case, seventeen names alone in the greater Los Angeles area.

  Mary collated them into a spreadsheet with all of the pertinent details and began editing.

  She cast a wide net with ages. For one thing, it wasn’t always easy to tell exactly how old a person was, especially in Los Angeles. Secondly, the woman had been cut up pretty thoroughly. Nonetheless, Mary was fairly confident in placing the age of the victim between twenty-five and forty. Forty seemed a little on the high side, but again, this was Los Angeles. Botox, surgery, crazy-ass diets, and health food. She’d met some women who were fifty that looked no older than thirty-five.

  With that age frame in mind, Mary was able to throw out eleven of the seventeen names.

  That left her with six.

  Next, she checked ethnicity. Her Valerie Barnes was definitely Caucasian. She was able to eliminate two African-American Valerie Barneses.

  Down to four.

  One Valerie Barnes was currently incarcerated in a minimum security prison near San Bernadino.

  Three.

  Mary studied the details.

  Two had DUIs.

  She threw out the one that didn’t.

  That left two.

  Mary printed out the names and addresses. She would run them down first thing tomorrow morning.