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

by Dan Ames

  Mary went to the kitchen and grabbed a cookie from Alice’s fridge. On second thought, she took two.

  She went back into the living room and sat on the couch.

  A scruffy looking guy with a guitar was butchering a Bob Dylan song.

  “You take a lot of drugs, don’t you?” Mary said to Alice.

  “Used to,” Alice said. “Back when I was a hippie, I took all kinds of stuff until I wound up on the back of a Hell’s Angel’s bike headed for Temecula and an initiation. I lost him at a rest stop and never took drugs after that. Except ones prescribed by my doctor.”

  Alice went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of Coke. It probably had Crown Royal splashed in there, too. Alice called it her vitamin.

  “Why do you ask?” she said to Mary. “Looking for a new dealer for your female Viagra?”

  “Very cute, Timothy Leary,” Mary said. “I’m talking about prescription drugs.”

  “Well, I’ve been able to cut back on some of my medications now that I’ve lost some weight working with Sanji.”

  She shot a wink at Mary.

  “Of course, the money I’ve saved has all gone to buying more lube.”

  “Please stop,” Mary said. “So have you ever heard of someone getting drugs from a manufacturer and not a doctor?”

  “Can’t say that I have, Mary. Why? Are you looking into Botox? I hope for your sake?”

  “No, afraid not.”

  “You pay for your own health insurance, don’t you?” Alice said.

  “Sure do.”

  “That has to suck.”

  Alice drank from her glass and Mary popped the last of the cookie into her mouth. Damn, it was hard to beat a good cookie.

  “It does suck sometimes, Alice,” Mary said. “But back to the topic at hand. How would a woman get a bottle of pills directly from a manufacturer?”

  “How do you know she did? Did she tell you?”

  “No, she’s dead.”

  “I see. What if the manufacturer didn’t give them to her?”

  “I see where you’re going with that,” Mary said. “Maybe she stole them.”

  “Or maybe she was part of an experiment. Don’t drug companies test drugs all the time?”

  “Yeah, but they usually do it overseas. For legal reasons, you know. Not a lot of tort lawyers in Mongolia.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “And the truth.”

  “Something tells me they aren’t trying out drugs in Beverly Hills.”

  “Unless there are volunteers.”

  “I know plenty of women who would volunteer for drugs that made them lose weight, or wrinkles, or perk up their girls.”

  Mary thought about that.

  “Another possibility is that drug companies send their stuff to doctors, and the doctors give the stuff out, sort of as trial runs.”

  “I could see that happening,” Alice said. “Did you see in the news about that one doctor who just got arrested for billing hundreds of dead people? Some of those guys have no conscience. Like most private investigators.”

  Mary knew she had to talk to a doctor she could trust. But first, she wanted to scope out this drug company.

  Right after another cookie.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mary loaded up on Peet’s Coffee then guided the Accord out of Santa Monica toward Pasadena. She had waited until she was confident the office was open.

  She dialed the number, got an operator, and asked for the CEO’s office. She was transferred to a secretary, who answered the phone by saying, “Mr. Ward’s office.”

  “I’d like to make an appointment to see him this morning, preferably at about 10 a.m.”

  “So you don’t have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask what this in regard to?”

  “I’m a venture capitalist interested in investing in one of his new drugs. I’ve got about a billion dollars to burn through by the end of this month. That’s why I’m personally calling.”

  “I see,” she said.

  Mary knew she didn’t buy it.

  “Usually this kind of thing is handled by submitting your proposals in writing…”

  “Look, I’m not a venture capitalist. I’ve been seeing Mr. Ward for several months and I have some important news for him of a very intimate nature, if you know what I mean by ‘intimate.’ But he’s not returning my calls which means he’s either not horny, which I find hard to believe, or he’s avoiding me, which is much more likely. I will be at your office at ten o’clock. I’m a gorgeous blonde woman. My name is Cary Mooper.”

  Mary disconnected the call.

  This should be interesting, she thought.

  Traffic was quicker than she expected and she pulled up in the parking lot of Synergy Labs fifteen minutes before ten.

  The building was a collection of soulless cubes set back in the shadow of the Pasadena foothills.

  Mary had heard bears still roamed the foothills and could frequently be found in dumpsters looking for food.

  Mary parked the Accord and entered. She went to the front desk and told them she was Cary Mooper there to see the CEO.

  The security guard looked at her with recognition, pressed a button, and two security guards with a man dressed in a dark blue suit approached her.

  Uh-oh, she thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Ms. Mooper?” the guy in the suit said.

  Mary liked how that sounded. She kind of felt like a mooper right about now.

  “Yes,” Mary said.

  She turned to the three men. The two security guards were big guys and the gentleman in the suit was pretty large, too. She could tell they were aware of their physicality, and were using it as a way to intimidate her.

  It wasn’t working.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news,” the man in the suit said.

  “How about the good news first?”

  The man ignored her.

  “You will not be allowed to see our CEO today. In order to submit a proposal for venture capital, you need to fill out the proper paperwork and have all of this prearranged. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do, understand. But I also have some questions that are unrelated to venture capital. It’s more like venture criminal investigation.”

  The man’s face stayed blank, like a stone. Which also happened to be the material Mary guessed his face was made from.

  “You see, there have been a string of murders, and one of the victims had a large supply of drugs manufactured by your company,” Mary said. “The police don’t know about this yet, but I do. And if I don’t see your CEO, then the police will be hearing about the situation immediately.”

  The man considered her for a moment, then nodded to the security guards who stayed put.

  The man took out a cell phone and called someone.

  Mary waited, watching the two big guys.

  “Fellas,” Mary said.

  They ignored her.

  The third man quickly returned to her.

  “There’s someone you can talk to.”

  They rode an elevator to the top floor, and Mary followed the man to a conference room.

  She was shown in, and then the door closed behind her.

  Two men sat at the head of the table. They turned, and one of them, a man dressed in an expensive suit with a gold tie clip, pointed to a chair to his right.

  She sat down.

  The other man was dressed in a much cheaper suit, darker, with no gold tie clip.

  “My name is Xavier Rodan,” the man in the expensive suit said. “I’m head of the firm’s Legal Department. And this is Larry Coldwater, head of the firm’s security.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mary said.

  “And what is your name?” Rodan said.

  “My name is Mary Cooper and I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the death of a woman named Ann Budchuk who was found with a large supply of drugs made by Synergy Labs. I’m here
to find out how she got them, as they don’t appear to have been prescribed by a doctor.”

  “And who is your client?” Rodan said.

  Mary understood that Rodan was leading the charge here, and Coldwater was simply going to observe.

  “That’s confidential,” Mary said.

  The lawyer smiled. “I’m afraid most of what we know is confidential, as well. It appears we’re at an impasse.”

  “I see,” Mary said. “Can you at least tell me in general terms if you ever prescribe medication directly to a patient?”

  “I have never heard of a pharmaceutical company prescribing drugs to individuals,” the lawyer said.

  Mary noticed that wasn’t technically saying no.

  The security guy, Coldwater, got Rodan’s attention and tapped his watch.

  “I’m afraid this conference is over, Miss Cooper,” Rodan said.

  Three security guards appeared in the doorway of the conference room.

  “These gentlemen will see you out.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Mary returned to her office and was pulling out a Moleskin notebook to jot down ideas for the case, when she saw a man appear outside her door.

  He looked familiar.

  And then it hit her.

  It was Trey Barnes, Valerie’s brother.

  “Buy you a drink?” Mary said.

  Barnes followed her inside and she gestured toward the chair across from her desk. He sat down and looked around.

  “I’ve never been in a private eye’s office before,” he said.

  “Glamorous, isn’t it? Want something to drink? I’ve got beer and a few Diet Cokes.”

  “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” Mary said.

  “Well, I was finishing up with Valerie’s stuff and thought of something she had mentioned to me awhile back. I wasn’t sure if it was important or not.”

  “Sometimes it’s the little details that blow a case wide open,” Mary said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  “Val and I were talking on the phone once and she said she was going to group.” He made air quotes around the word.

  “And I said to her, like group yoga?” He smiled at the memory.

  “She said no, group as in group therapy, but not normal therapy,” he continued. “Sort of a support group, was the way she put it, as I recall.”

  Mary waited and thought about it.

  “Did she say anything else about it?”

  “No, that was it.”

  “So why do you think that memory stuck with you?”

  “I think it was the way she said it. We didn’t have many secrets between us, and I thought there was more to the story. But I didn’t press her. We never did. Of course now, I wish I had.”

  “Hindsight is always 20/20,” Mary said. She took a drink of cold coffee. “What do you think Valerie meant by it? What do you think it was?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I think it had something to do with therapy, but that it was maybe unconventional or something. If it was just a normal type of group therapy, I don’t think she would have been talking about it the way she did. That’s all I can guess.”

  Mary nodded.

  Barnes wiped his palms on his thighs, as if he was nervous about something.

  “Is there anything else?” Mary said.

  He shook his head.

  “No, I’m done with all of the arrangements. And heading back to San Francisco this afternoon.”

  He got to his feet and Mary did the same.

  She stuck out her hand.

  “Thank you for the information and I’m sorry again for what happened.”

  He smiled. “Valerie always said that’s why she liked numbers so much. They were always the same, you could always count on them to do what they were designed to do. Unlike people.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mary sat back down at her desk. She drank the rest of her coffee, which was now ice cold. She tossed the paper cup into her trash can, thinking about what Barnes had said.

  Numbers. People.

  Numbers vs. People.

  She thought about what would happen to Valerie Barnes’ huge house. The brother was probably going to put it up for sale. Mary felt a twinge of sadness. Valerie Barnes had been so young, she must have worked very hard to afford that house.

  Suddenly, Mary sat straighter in her chair.

  Numbers. Vs. People.

  Mary dialed Dr. Blevins, but got the answering service. She left a message for the psychologist to call her back as soon as possible. Mary wanted to know if Craig Locher had ever been involved with group therapy, and if so, if it had been prescribed by Dr. Blevins, or, later by Fallon.

  Unpredictable people. Dr. Frank Fallon would have loved the beautiful Valerie Barnes.

  Had she assumed he would act like a number?

  Mary retrieved Craig Locher’s file that had been dropped off by his fiancé.

  She had little hope that the information would be included but she decided to dive in, even though she had looked through the material once already.

  It took her more than an hour to look over every intake sheet, treatment order, and prescription order to determine that there was nothing included about a support group.

  Mary was tempted to drop it. What were the odds that the support group would turn out to have anything to do with Valerie Barnes’ death?

  Slim to none.

  Still, Mary was driving toward something only she could sense. But she hated the idea of taking her foot off the gas.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  In the morning, Dr. Blevins called back.

  “I can tell you that Mr. Locher was referred to a group therapist. I know this because that office contacted me about his records, wanted them forwarded.”

  Mary couldn’t believe it.

  “What can you tell me about the people requesting the records, the details of the support group?”

  Mary heard the rustling of papers.

  “The program was run by a medical services company named Altadena Alternative Therapies.”

  It clicked for Mary. Altadena was directly north of Pasadena. Literally in the shadows of Synergy Labs. Could they be one and the same?

  “Have you ever heard of them?” Mary asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” Dr. Blevins said.

  “Do you have an address in the paperwork?” Mary asked.

  “Sure do.”

  The doctor read the address off.

  Mary jotted it down.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They disconnected and Mary immediately began researching the web for any information on Altadena Alternative Therapies.

  It didn’t take long to find out the company did exist, but that they had no formal website, no newspaper stories, nothing official.

  Just a scattered presence on the Web in Internet chatter and the like.

  She plugged the address into Google’s street view function and saw that it was a private residence.

  But not just any private residence.

  It was a mansion.

  Mary grabbed her keys, hopped into the Accord, and headed for Altadena.

  Traffic was a nightmare and she drove side streets, avoiding the freeways and ignoring speed limits.

  As she drove, she thought about the case. Craig Locher seemed to have no enemies. Derek Pitts certainly did. But what about Ann Budchuk?

  Murder, in Mary’s opinion, always involved one of several things. Greed. Passion. Money.

  The majority of times, it was money.

  And only one of the victims, from what Mary could see, had money.

  But what sent tingles of electricity down Mary’s spine wasn’t that Valerie Barnes had money. Half of Los Angeles was rich.

  No, it’s that Valerie Barnes worked with money. She was a young partner in an accounting firm.

  So she handled other people’s money.
<
br />   It was nothing more than a guess, but Mary felt her instincts kick in.

  And when she pulled up in front of the address for Altadena Alternative Therapies, her instincts went berserk.

  Living in L.A., Mary was used to big homes. Beverly Hills, Malibu, etc., all featured some beauties and some monstrosities.

  She’d seen them all.

  But the mansion in Altadena was something she hadn’t quite seen before.

  She pulled the Accord into the circular drive and surveyed the acreage.

  The property itself seemed to be on its own – no sign of any neighbors. Mary had no idea how many acres the site was comprised of, but it would probably be the equivalent of a cattle ranch.

  Mary parked and went to the front door, noting the security camera discreetly mounted flush with the coved overhang above the front door.

  Mary pushed the button on the intercom.

  It took several minutes before the door opened and a man in a gray suit looked at her.

  “Hi, I’m looking for the support group Altadena Alternative Therapies,” Mary said. “I’m a nymphomaniac and I really am feeling the urge to act out. Is this the right location?”

  The man appraised her before answering.

  “Your name is Mary Cooper and you’re a private investigator,” he said.

  Mary hid her surprise and noted that he hadn’t moved, and that he had positioned himself with his hands free and she could almost see the butt of his pistol in a shoulder holster inside his suit coat.

  “Well, aren’t you a smarty pants?” she said. “So you know I’m looking into the death of a man who took part in AAT’s support groups. I’d like to get some information, please.”

  “May I see your license?” he said.

  Mary knew this guy was a professional. She handed him her private investigator’s license and he looked it over, then handed it back to her.

  “Mr. Torrance will see you in the study,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mary followed the big security man through a house that was ridiculous to even be considered a house. It was an auditorium. It was a convention center, disguised as someone’s home. The hallways were three times larger than a courthouse, the ceilings five times higher than a gymnasium.