Gross Sarcastic Homicide: (A Private Investigator Mystery Series) (Mary Cooper Mysteries Book 3)

by Dan Ames

  “What’s up Crystal?” a voice said from the hallway. Mary turned to see a tall, lean, rawboned woman with a shock of bright red hair and shoulders that looked like they could double as a boat hoist.

  “I’m sorry, what was your name?” the receptionist asked Mary.

  “Mary Cooper.”

  “Kelly, this is Mary Cooper; she’s a client of Craig’s.”

  “Oh.” The woman came forward and shook hands with Mary. “I’m Kelly Hargold,” she said. Mary felt her hand smothered by the woman’s giant paw. Now, face to face with the woman, Mary guessed her height to be at least six foot three or four.

  “Maybe I can help you,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to my office?”

  The woman led Mary down a hallway where walls were filled with advertising awards, newspaper articles regarding the “innovative” company called IdeaGen, and a large cactus in a terra cotta pot.

  The woman entered an office and Mary thought the woman might have to duck to avoid hitting her head on the door frame, but she made it through, barely.

  Mary followed her into the office and saw a slim desk with a top made of a slick birch veneer. Two white plastic chairs sat on the other side of the desk and Mary guessed they had come from Ikea for forty bucks each, or some contemporary furniture store in L.A. for about four hundred bucks each.

  There was a bookshelf behind the desk and on top sat several basketballs, each encased in a Lucite cube, all of them autographed.

  The woman dropped into a Herman Miller desk chair, and Mary took one of the white plastic deals for herself. Definitely Ikea.

  “So you’re a client?” Hargold asked. “What company?”

  “I’m not actually a client, yet,” Mary said. “But I had talked to Craig on several occasions and was considering signing on with you guys.”

  “What’s your company called?” the woman said. She had taken out a legal pad with a pen.

  “Cooper Investigations,” Mary said.

  The woman paused, put down the pen, glanced up at Mary.

  “Investigations?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Are you really a client, or are you something else?” the woman said.

  “Well, I would like to have my own ad agency, but I don’t think I have the budget for you. However, I’ve been hired to look into Mr. Locher’s death, so I thought I would drop by, see what kind of minimum budget you require for a client, and maybe ask you a few questions.”

  “A million.”

  “Well, I don’t have a million, but I do have a lot of questions about what Mr. Locher did here.”

  “Why should I answer your questions?”

  “Because someone killed your business associate and you want to help, maybe?”

  “I’ve already talked to the police,” she said. “And I don’t know anything about you.”

  The woman’s face was a giant slab of sheer stone. If Mary got into a fight with her and threw a punch, Mary would probably break her hand.

  “All you need to know about me is that I’m working for someone who cared a great deal about Craig Locher and I’m going to try to help find out what happened to him. Plus, I’m a very quick questioner, you should know that, too.”

  Hargold contemplated Mary for a moment.

  “So,” Mary said, filling the silence. “What did Mr. Locher do here?”

  The woman hesitated, eyed Mary warily, then sighed. “He was a rainmaker. He specialized in bringing clients in, and he was very good at it. Craig was smart, articulate, funny, and the life of the party. Clients loved him.”

  “Was there anyone who didn’t love him?”

  The woman shook her head. “No one here. I’m sure our competitors didn’t like him. After all, we’re growing fast. Tripled our billings in the past twelve months. Our new clients probably had other agencies doing their marketing before they hired us. One agency in particular lost three clients to us, all of them wooed by Craig. I’m sure some of those companies were none too pleased with us, or with Craig.”

  “What was the name of that agency?”

  “Argo & Partners,” she said. “But I’m sure they didn’t have anything to do with his death. They weren’t huge clients. And they’re still doing well themselves. Clients come and go. In fact they probably have one or two of our former clients.”

  “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 tonig
ht?” 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.”