Touched By Blood

by Craig Buckhout

  “Last night is easy. I was in a meeting with Councilman Foster regarding a zoning issue. And as far as last Thursday goes, I was where I usually am at that hour, here in bed.”

  “This meeting with Councilmember Foster, where was it?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t exactly remember the name of the place, but it’s an East Indian restaurant in downtown Saratoga. There’s only one.”

  “Did you have a reservation?” Nick asked.

  Forney showed the smallest hint of a smile.

  “Everything they say about you is true. You’re very, ah, thorough. No, we didn’t have a reservation. Mr. Foster is familiar with the owner so is usually able to get us a table without trouble.”

  Interesting, Nick thought. No reservation to record if they were there at 7:30, 7:45, or 8:00, and downtown Saratoga is only five minutes from the Empire Cottages, if that.

  “They say about me, Mr. Forney?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “People.”

  Nick decided to let it drop. It might be just BS anyway, intended to distract him.”

  “And what about Thursday morning? Is there anyone who can verify you were home?”

  “Yes, Leo can vouch for me.”

  “He’ll say you were in the house at five in the morning; that you didn’t go out and then return?”

  “Of course, he was with me the entire time. We’re partners, Sergeant. I think the current, politically correct term is domestic partners.”

  Nick hoped he didn’t betray surprise.

  “And his last name?”

  “Anderson. Leo Anderson. He’s twenty nine, born October 26th nineteen something.”

  “I’ll need to speak with him,” Nick said.

  “Of course.”

  Nick wasn’t sure if he came out on top of that exchange or not, but decided to push on anyway.

  “How long have you owned The Rack?”

  “Not that long, a couple of years. I’m a businessman. The previous owner found himself in personal financial difficulty, the place was showing a profit, and so I bought it at a good price.”

  “What other businesses do you have an interest in?”

  “Well, let’s just say I have a broad investment portfolio that includes used car lots, convenience stores, strip malls, and apartment buildings. I even own a limousine service.”

  “Did Carl Malone come with the club or did you bring him on-board?”

  “I hired him myself. He seemed perfect for the job and said he had experience with that sort of thing.”

  “Is he someone you already knew, did he apply for the job, how’d you come to hire him in particular?”

  “I’ll try to save you a little bit of time here, Sergeant. I met Carl in, shall we say, an upscale club for men. He was trolling, in other words. I wasn’t at all interested, I prefer men who are less defined, yes that’s a good way to say it, but I did feel he would fit nicely into this particular business. Since he was gay, he wasn’t likely to become involved in a personal way with the dancers. He was also big and very tough looking, so people weren’t likely to give him trouble. And since he said he had managed clubs and bars before, he’d probably continue to turn a profit. I made him an offer right there on the spot.”

  Forney was full of surprises. Nick never would have guessed Malone was gay.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Shortly after I bought the place, so about two years ago,” Forney said.

  “He wasn’t at either his club or his house last night. Do you know where I can locate him?”

  “It seems he’s disappeared, which means I now have to find someone else to manage the place.”

  “Have you ever seen him with a gun, Mr. Forney?”

  “Never, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he owned one. He just seems the sort, if you know what I mean.”

  “How about you, do you own a gun?”

  “I own a Browning shotgun if that’s what you mean. Never use the thing anymore. Bought it a number of years ago because a couple of men I was doing business with were into skeet and trap shooting, but it never really interested me. The business wasn’t all that good anyway.”

  “Were you aware that Malone was running a call-girl service out of the Rack?”

  Forney’s eyes narrowed and stared at Nick’s.

  “That surprises me Sergeant; really surprises me. What makes you say that?”

  “I can’t tell you anymore than it’s pretty solid information.”

  “Well, in that case, you’ve solved a problem for me. I’ll either sell The Rack or close it down. I do business in this community. I don’t need to have the reputation for that sort of thing. I hope you’re circumspect in how you treat the information.”

  “Of course, but you never directly answered my question. Did you know Malone was running a call girl service from The Rack?”

  “No.”

  “You never suspected it?”

  “Never.”

  He didn’t seem like he was lying, but Nick couldn’t say for sure. Behind this smooth, somewhat sophisticated exterior was a man who, no doubt, was a very tough and very smart businessman.

  “Did you ever have any direct contact with the women there, sexual, conversational, or otherwise?”

  “Hardly. I was not involved in the day to day operations in any way either. I left that up to Carl and my accountant. I will say this; I have taken some of my, ah …heterosexual business associates there before.”

  “Was Nolan St. Claire one of your business associates?”

  “I never even heard of him before reading about his murder.”

  “Okay, to speed things up, I’d like you to thumb through some photographs and tell me if you recognize anyone.”

  Nick opened a manila envelope and handed Forney the photographs he got from Westin.

  Forney quickly flipped through the stack of photographs.

  “Yes, I know some of these people.”

  He looked at the top picture again.

  “Wendell Gertz for instance. He bought a small property from me that bordered one he already owned. Made a nice return on that deal, but then so did Gertz.”

  “Who else do you recognize, Mr. Forney?” Nick asked.

  “Well, I recognize Peter Blaine and Roger Templeton. Blaine I know only slightly, in fact I’ve only had the briefest contact with him. The foursome I was with had some drinks with his at the San Jose Country Club, if I remember correctly. I’m pretty good with names, Sergeant. The person you meet on the golf course may someday be the person you do business with.”

  Nick wondered if Blaine lied to him when he denied knowing Forney. Everyone lies, a little or a lot, but in this case maybe Forney just has a better memory than Blain.

  “How about Blaine’s wife; do you know her?”

  “Wouldn’t know her if she was standing in front of me.”

  “What about Templeton? How do you know him?”

  “He’s an event planner, and I’ve used him several times to put events on. Some have been right here. I do an annual Fourth of July bash and a holiday party as well. You should come. Really. I’m sure everyone would be interested in meeting you. Business is boring when it’s all you do, police work now, that’d be something to talk about. Anyway, getting back to Templeton, there have also been some business related events he’s handled for me.”

  “Those businessmen you brought to The Rack, was Blaine or Templeton among them?”

  “Definitely not Blaine but I’m not sure about Templeton.”

  “One time, several times, what?”

  “Two times I think. It was right after I bought the place. I don’t do it anymore because if you go at the wrong time, the atmosphere isn’t all that great.”

  “Okay Mr. Forney, that’s all I have for now. I’ll probably want to speak with you again, however. Now, I’d like to have a word with Leo.”

  Leo was a fidgety sort and definitely less defined. He was taller than Forney, by a couple of inches at least, but very sli
ght of build.

  He did vouch for Forney’s presence on Thursday morning early, but Nick got the impression that good old Leo would have sworn that Forney was Christ resurrected if his sugar daddy asked him to.

  Outside in the car he took a call from Fran Decker. She informed him that she’d found the naked photograph of Melanie Blaine and Edna while serving the search warrant at the Blaine residence. Only the one photo had been located, strengthening Nick’s belief that blackmail was afoot. No weapons had been discovered in the place or any indication that weapons had ever been there. Also not found, was Peter Blaine. That was a bad sign, Nick thought. Another body somewhere?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Roger Templeton’s office building was the commercial real estate developer’s equivalent of a tract home. It was part of two square blocks of single story, lift slab, smoked glass office complex in north San Jose. The only thing that distinguished his door from those of his neighbors was the address; that and a white delivery van with the business name stenciled on the side parked out front, next to the ivy. Nicked rapped on the door twice and called the phone number once before he gave-up, thinking maybe he should have called ahead instead of trying to surprise him.

  Nick hadn’t even made it out of the parking lot before his phone rang.

  “Got his ass,” Rene said.

  “What do you mean? Malone?”

  “Yeah, Malone. We got him on The Alameda in Santa Clara. He’s got his cell phone on. The signal is near The Venetian Motel, so we think that’s where he is. A lot of shitheads hang out there. Special Ops is on their way to check it out, but we may have to turn it over to Santa Clara SWAT if they jam us on jurisdiction.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way. You going?”

  “Getting in the car now. The phone guy will call me with any changes, but right now they have him within a three hundred yard area. If he’s in that motel, the staff will definitely remember that ugly face of his.”

  “Keep me informed will ya? It’ll take me ten to fifteen minutes to get there.”

  It took twenty, and just as Nick arrived in the area, Rene called him again.

  “Room six at The Venetian.”

  “Is he there now?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah, housekeeping just had a conversation with him. He didn’t want his room cleaned.”

  “Somebody keeping an eye on it?”

  “Me and a Santa Clara guy, but I’m getting the feeling I’m on borrowed time. They said they’re going to take it, so we have to step aside until they have him.”

  “Okay, I gotta talk to ‘em before they do anything. Where’s their command post?”

  “It’s on The Alameda about two blocks west of Newhall. You can’t miss it; I think every on-duty Santa Clara cop is there and then some.”

  Nick found the Santa Clara command post and the Lieutenant in-charge, Nelson Wells.

  “We’ll get this bad boy for you, he isn’t going anywhere,” Wells said.

  At first glance, Well’s didn’t inspire a great deal of confidence. He was an old-timer, with a bald head and a bowling ball belly that stretched his buttons enough that his white tee shirt peeked through just above the beltline. The more Nick listened to and watched him, though, the better he felt.

  “I just want to make sure that when you take him, your guys don’t advise him of his rights or ask him any questions. I want to do that myself. If he says something spontaneously, though, they should make a note of it,” Nick said.

  “Not a problem. We generally don’t ask case related questions or Mirandize suspects in situations like this anyway. But I’ll make sure your instructions are passed on.”

  An officer wearing combat fatigues and a helmet walked up and said, “We’re ready to do it. Perimeter is set, everyone’s been evacuated, sniper’s in-place, and the arrest team is waiting. Just waiting for you to say when.”

  “As soon as you remind the arrest team not to advise the suspect or ask him any questions, you can go ahead,” Wells replied.

  The officer hesitated a minute, looking first at Nick and then at Wells.

  “What?” Wells asked.

  “It’s just that there’s the San Jose narc. She says she doesn’t want to leave.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know where she is and as long as she stays with one of our guys, she’s okay.”

  The officer left without any further conversation.

  Wells then turned to Nick.

  “This is how it’s going to happen. We’re going to place a call into the room and tell him to come out. If he tells us to go screw ourselves, we’ll put a negotiator on the line and try talking him out. If we feel we’re wasting our time, we’ll load the place up with gas. After we get him outside and the scene is secure, I’ll high-sign you and you can go on in. Got it?”

  “Yeah I got it, but I’d at least like to be in a position to see what’s going on.”

  Wells rubbed his hand back and forth across the top of his bald head.

  “I guess I’d want that, too. Okay, I’ll get someone to give you one of our jackets and place you. Once there, you may be stuck for a while, though.”

  “I’ll take that chance. Maybe you can spare a radio, too,” Nick said.

  They didn’t give him a radio, that was on the belt of the uniformed cop standing next to him, but Wells did give him a first class, box seat. He was in a second story window directly across from The Venetian and, more particularly, room 6.

  He rolled a chair over to the window just as the radio crackled out, “We’re placing the call now, standby.”

  The Venetian was a two story, L shaped building with all the doors facing out towards the parking lot. Number 6 was on the bottom level. There were five doors to its left, as Nick was now looking at it, and four to the right.

  “Contact made,” a voice announced over the radio.

  The manager’s office was in the short part of the L, with the top portion living quarters.

  “The suspect says he’ll think about coming out. Contact broken.”

  “Okay, let the negotiators handle it from here on out. Secure the car and hold the perimeter.” It was Wells’ voice.

  Nick saw three SWAT guys move up along the face of the motel. Two took a position that allowed a field of fire on the door and windows of room 6, while one belly crawled to a black Lincoln parked out front and knifed the back and front tires. After the car rested on its rims, the three officers withdrew out of the area.

  “The car’s secured,” was announced.

  Shit, Nick thought, it’s going to be a while.

  As he looked towards The Venetian, he saw the windows of room 6 vibrate, stop, and then vibrate again. A few seconds later the same thing happened. Nothing was broadcast over the radio. Nick guessed that Malone was probably barricading the door.

  A couple of minutes went by, and Nick saw the windows to room number 7, the one to the right of Malone’s room, vibrate several times. At the same time the windows in rooms 6 and 8 showed movement, just less so.

  Nick turned toward the officer assigned to him. “Did they evacuate the whole place?”

  “Yeah, and everything on this side of the street, too.”

  What the hell was Malone up to, Nick wondered.

  “Negotiators are ready to go on line. Everyone standby,” the radio announced.

  Now Nick saw the windows to room number 8 vibrate. To a lesser extent, 7 and 9 shook.

  “The phone’s ringing,” came from the radio again.

  Nick wondered why nobody was saying anything about the windows vibrating. It crossed his mind that maybe the sniper, because he was looking through his scope, couldn’t see the other windows moving.

  “Still no contact. Still ringing.”

  The windows to room number 9 started to shake.

  “Hey, are your radios encrypted?” Nick asked.

  “You got to be kidding, we aren’t big time like you guys are. We’re lucky to have radios.”

  Nick sprung out of the c
hair and started towards the door.

  “Come on!” he shouted.

  “You can’t go out there.”

  He could hear the officer coming after him.

  “He’s going to break your perimeter.”

  As Nick hit the stairs, he could hear the officer shouting into his radio something about the San Jose detective. By the time he reached the sidewalk out front, the windows to room 10, the end room, were vibrating. As he crossed the street towards room 10, he heard one of the Santa Clara SWAT guys shout at him to stop. At the same moment, he saw door numbered 10 open but no Malone. He started to question his decision until he saw the door move as though something had brushed against it. It became suddenly clear to him that Malone was low crawling out of the room toward one of the other cars in the parking lot. He has a second car, Nick said to himself.

  At a full run, with his gun out, Nick pointed at room number 10. The Santa Clara officers covering that end of the motel changed their positions to where they could observe where he was pointing. He could see the confused looks on their faces but he didn’t want to yell out and give Malone a fix on his own position.

  Now in the parking lot, Nick could see Malone’s hand with the key in it, trying to unlock the door to a gold Acura. Other than his hand, he was hidden completely from view.

  The uniformed officer who had been with Nick earlier, stopped on the sidewalk across the street, not understanding what was going on and not wanting to run into the line of fire.

  Just as the door to the Acura opened, Nick ran between it and the car next to it. He could see Malone, on his hands and knees, crawling into the driver’s seat while trying to keep his head below the headrest. Nick planted his foot in Malone’s ribs with his full weight behind it. He saw the gun then, it was in Malone’s right hand, but he didn’t want to shoot him, at least not until he had a chance to talk to him. Before Malone could bring his pistol into play, Nick kicked him a second time, which caused the weapon to fall from his hand onto the ground. Nick was going to kick him again, just for the hell of it, when he was pulled back and flung out into the parking lot by a burly SWAT guy.

  A car skidded to a stop right next to him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Wells shouted. “I told you …”