Fourth Wall (An Anthony Carrick Mystery Book 8)

by Jason Blacker

  “Well,” said Racquel, trying to throw mud in my eye, “I didn’t realize you’re such a vindictive man, Tony.”

  I didn’t say anything to that. There was no point. I was not vindictive and saying as much was pointless. I waited for more. She always liked to get the last word in.

  While I waited, I walked into the kitchen and looked at my calendar for July. The eighth of July was the Friday three weeks from the Friday just gone.

  “We’re still going to Disneyland, Tony, whether you like it or not.”

  “I expect to pick Aibhilin up from school on Friday the eighth. Can you make sure she’s got what she needs with her?” I said.

  “Fine.”

  And with that she hung up, and I was left with the taste of shit in my mouth. I stared at the calendar for a long while and then penciled in a note that Aibhilin would be with me.

  I had been more than fair with Racquel. I paid a thousand bucks a month when many months that was a hardship. I’d never asked for it to be reduced even though my income had fallen almost in half since Racquel had left and I’d resigned from the force. And yet every time Racquel got her head up her ass she took it out on me. I’d hoped that getting married again would have given her someone new to flagellate. But perhaps that was only true in good marriages. Her marriage was obviously on the rocks.

  I took a deep breath and went into the cupboard and pulled out a whiskey tumbler and a bottle of whiskey. A drink would soothe my flagging spirits. But just then the phone buzzed. I looked at it. It was Johnny Rotten.

  “What up, JR?” I said.

  “We’ve been busy. Got lots to tell you. I think what you’ve come up with is a solid plan, at least as I understand it from Beeves. But we’ve just got an anonymous tip from someone saying that the gun used to murder Orpen is buried in Labecki’s backyard.”

  “That’s helpful,” I said.

  “Yeah, we’re heading up there now. Just been waiting on a warrant just in case. It’s coming through now. Want to meet us there?”

  “Sure, it’s just up by Ancher’s place, right?”

  “Right, 2323 Vallendais Avenue.”

  “You sound happy,” I said, because he did.

  “Damn right, looks like we might be able to put this to bed, Sid. And the Chief will get off my ass.”

  “I like that.”

  We hung up and I put my bottle of whiskey away. And the tumbler. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. After last night’s binge, perhaps a sober evening was in order. I looked at my phone. It was coming on six thirty.

  TWENTY

  Woodland Ills

  THERE was a different guard on duty this time. He was a fat, short Hispanic man probably in his mid twenties. He didn’t fill me with confidence in his ability to keep Woodland Hills safe and secure. But he was just as polite and cordial as his colleague from a couple of days ago. He let me through without so much as a phone call. I figured that was thanks to Roberts letting him know ahead of time I’d be coming.

  If Ancher’s place was up towards the end of Vallendais Avenue on the right, which it was, then Labecki’s place was a couple of doors down but more centered as it was in the cul-de-sac part of the Avenue. It backed up directly against the embankment that led up to Serrania Park.

  I parked on the side of the road. It was almost seven and Roberts and Beeves were parked in their unmarked just in front of me and not on Labecki’s driveway. In his driveway was a white Land Rover that I had not noticed on Saturday morning. Most likely because it was not there and either in the garage or somewhere else. I got out and so did Roberts and Beeves. Roberts was putting some paper in his inside jacket pocket. It was likely the warrant. He grinned at me. He looked like a man much relieved of a heavy weight.

  “Alright, Anthony,” he said, patting his jacket where he’d recently just placed the warrant. “We’re going to use honey and not vinegar.”

  I nodded. I had lost some of my fight to Racquel just earlier.

  “But you’ve got the warrant just in case, I see.”

  Roberts nodded.

  “Now before we go in, I want to bring you up to speed.”

  “Terrific,” I said.

  “No need for sarcasm.”

  “That wasn’t meant sarcastically.”

  Roberts nodded, Beeves grinned at me.

  “Tomorrow we’re gonna bring all three of them in. I’m gonna let you interview one of them and Beeves and I will interview the other two separately.”

  “Do I get to choose?” Already knowing the answer.

  He shook his head, grinning.

  “I’m still the Captain here. The way Beeves and I figure it, Gudaitis and Penman are the main players. I think Labecki was pulled into something because of his connection to Penman which we’re coming too.”

  “And which I suggested. Am I right?” I said, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “You’re not wrong, but let me get everything in order. I’m gonna interview Penman. Gudaitis will be interviewed by Beeves and you’ll take on Labecki.”

  I nodded solemnly, not showing my delight with this outcome. If things were the way I thought they were, then Labecki was likely the easier one to crack.

  “Okay, let me fill you in before we get into the house,” said Roberts.

  I nodded. I was pretty sure he was gonna tell me that Labecki was Penman’s biological father. I waited, smiling at him.

  “We’ve had word from the NSA that they hacked into Penman’s account on JollyRogerLockerdotcom. At least we think it’s Penman’s account.”

  “They hacked into Millstones’ Revenge’s account,” I offered, helping him along.

  Roberts nodded.

  “Yeah. Obviously, she used a different name. What was it, Beeves?”

  Beeves opened up his notebook and didn’t have to flip back far.

  “Carrietta N White,” he said, shrugging.

  “Yeah,” said Roberts, “weird name. Anyway…”

  “Weird name,” I said, feigning astonishment. “You uncouth savages. That’s the character from Stephen King’s novel Carrie.”

  “Huh, I never knew that,” said Beeves.

  “Now you do,” I replied.

  “That makes more sense now,” said Roberts, thinking about it. “Makes perfect sense actually.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Foreshadows what she was up to.”

  “The thing is,” said Roberts, “she used a credit card to buy the ethylene glycol and arsenic and she had them shipped here. The purchase was made on May ninth. It arrived on Tuesday, May seventeenth.”

  “By here you mean to this house?” I asked, pointing to Labecki’s place.

  Roberts nodded.

  “Yup.”

  “And she didn’t use Bitcoin,” I said, looking from Roberts to Beeves.

  “Thank God she didn’t,” said Beeves. “Would have made it harder to track her, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “She seems like a bright girl, why so many mistakes?”

  “Maybe she’s hoping we’ll put it on Labecki or Guidaitis. I mean we’re about to find the handgun here, aren’t we?” said Roberts.

  “And maybe she just got lazy or she couldn’t keep on top of all the moving pieces. I mean, in fairness to her, the chance that we’d break into the JollyRogerLocker site was pretty slim, she just happened to use a reasonably weak password,” offered Beeves.

  “That’s probably what it was,” said Roberts.

  “Except that she should’ve used a PO box with fake ID,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, like Beeves said, she probably couldn’t keep track of all the moving pieces.”

  “She didn’t use Emmett’s credit card, did she?” I asked.

  “I was getting to that. Yes, she did,” said Roberts.

  “Maybe she hadn’t stolen another one,” said Beeves.

  “Maybe we should be asking Emmett to take a good look around his house to see if anything else has gone missing,” I offered.

  “We did.”<
br />
  “And.”

  “He has a handgun that he bought a few years ago that he never uses and that he never really checks on. It was in a safe but he used his wife’s birthday as the security code.”

  I was shaking my head. But then again, I used Aibhilin’s birthday for my safe too. Perhaps I needed to change that.

  “What kind of handgun?” I asked.

  “Beretta Cougar eighty-forty. Uses forty Smith and Wesson ammo. He can’t find it anywhere, but he says he hasn’t had a break-in. He’d know about that because of his security,” said Beeves.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, no break-ins because his shit got stolen during the after party.”

  Roberts was nodding.

  “Most likely.”

  “And that’s the gun we’re gonna find buried in the backyard.”

  Beeves and Roberts nodded in agreement.

  “It goes without saying that’s probably the gun and ammo that killed Orpen?” I asked.

  “Was forty Smith and Wesson according to your ME,” said Roberts, grinning. “As for the gun, they’d have to run tests to confirm. But I’m betting this is the one.”

  “And you like Labecki for it?” I asked.

  Roberts shrugged trying to take off a lead-filled backpack with the name of Chief Burton. At least that’s what I figured.

  “I dunno, Anthony. I’ll take whatever comes. I don’t think it was him. He doesn’t seem like the kinda guy capable of cold blooded murder like that. Specially considering he hardly knew Orpen. Plus, we’ve also found out that Gudaitis and Penman are knocking boots. Have been for some months now.”

  “How did you find that out?” I asked.

  “We asked around,” said Roberts. “Spoke to old high school classmates and her mother. They said Gudaitis had liked her since high school but he was in a pinch back then due to being part of the Y2K gang. Anyway, they bumped into each other at a coffee shop some months back and started dating secretly. Apparently nobody knew it. Penman’s mother says he was quite smitten with her.”

  “And maybe she saw her chance to exact revenge, having him in her back pocket. I wonder if she really likes him or if she’s using him?” I asked.

  Roberts shrugged.

  “Don’t know. That’s something we’ll be looking at as we interview her. Or as I interview her.”

  “Alright,” I said. “Let’s get to the juicy part. Is Labecki her father?”

  Roberts looked at me and grinned.

  “Your hunch was correct. He is her biological father. Apparently, she reached out to him shortly after high school, and they’ve kept it a secret.”

  “That’s a long time to keep a secret like that,” I said.

  Roberts nodded.

  “How old was he then, when she was born?”

  Beeves took a look at his notes.

  “Says the father, Kyle Labecki, was twenty at the time of Penman’s birth.”

  “And who was the mother?”

  “A Ms. Lisette Lockhart, an eighteen year old woman. She’s a lawyer now, lives in the San Diego area with her husband and two kids. Penman reached out to her but that didn’t go too well. Apparently they’ve only been in touch intermittently,” said Beeves.

  I nodded.

  “So there you have it,” said Roberts.

  “So it sounds to me,” I said, “like Labecki had an indiscretion back in the day before he became a famous actor. Perhaps she was holding that over him in order to get him to help her in her evil deeds.”

  Roberts nodded thoughtfully.

  “Could be, but do you think it really would have mattered that he’d had a child out of wedlock?”

  “I think it would have mattered a great deal to him,” I said. “How many famous actors are able to weather such a storm?”

  Roberts shrugged.

  “Can’t say I know of any.”

  “That’s exactly my point. You know how the tabloids are.”

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t even famous then. He became famous several years later in his late twenties. The baby was given up for adoption and he went on to live his life. By all accounts the Penmans were good people and gave Gina the best they could.”

  Now it was my time to shrug.

  “I guess we’ll have to find out. Maybe, like you said, he’s just a cold-hearted murderer underneath it all and didn’t need a reason to help Gina.”

  Roberts chuckled and shook his head.

  “I didn’t say anything like it. I’m just trying to feel the whole thing out.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Anyway, I’m sure that the news coming out that he fathered a child out of wedlock and gave it up for adoption when he was twenty probably won’t help his career.”

  Roberts kinked his head to the side and showed his palms.

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s go talk to a man about a gun,” I said.

  “Let me do the talking,” said Roberts, and we followed him to the front door.

  The Labecki home was a modern design with straight, angular lines, and lots of glass windows. It was a two story home, large in size, but hard to get a feel for just by looking at it from the outside. The front of the house was bordered with an iron fence behind which grew eight-foot hedges neatly trimmed. The gates to the driveway were open and the white Land Rover was as immaculate as if it were still in the dealer’s showroom.

  Roberts pushed the buzzer for the video intercom system which was on a side wall by the front door. The small rectangular screen showed a thin, colored, slightly wavy line that you might find on some of those smartphones with voice assistance. When the resident inside spoke, the line jumped up and down like a sound wave.

  “Who is it?” said a man’s voice from inside. The voice didn’t sound effeminate and as such I deduced that we were probably speaking with Gary and not Kyle. The bum had said Kyle was obviously gay. This guy wasn’t, at least not by the tone of his voice.

  “Captain John Roberts from LAPD Homicide, with Detective Gregory Beeves from LAPD Homicide and Anthony Carrick, consultant to the LAPD.”

  Roberts flashed his badge at what looked like a camera on the same intercom system.

  “Can you hold it up for a little longer please, Captain,” came the voice again.

  Roberts held up his badge for several seconds so that it could be inspected all the better.

  “Thank you, Captain. If you don’t mind waiting for a moment, I’ll need to verify that you’re supposed to be here.”

  Roberts turned towards me and raised his eyebrows.

  “I guess some people can’t be too sure,” I offered.

  “Who does that though in a gated community like Woodland Hills?” asked Roberts.

  “I guess Labecki and his partner,” I said. “Besides, you said honey and not vinegar, remember?”

  Roberts nodded. I lit a cigarette and turned away from the front door and walked back down the driveway a bit. When I reached the road I turned and faced the house again. It was an impressive house backed up against the dry green of the hill that led up to Serrania Park. I watched and waited. I heard the voice come over the intercom again, inviting us inside.

  I put out my cigarette and put the butt back in the pack and walked up to the front door. I was just in time to see it open to a younger man in his mid thirties or that’s where I pegged him. He had brown hair with blonde highlights. He was tanned and muscled and about six one or two. He had a pretty face with large lips and he wore an earring in each ear. He was dressed in board shorts and a knitted tank top through which I could see that he also had rings through both nipples. On his feet were deck shoes. I liked him immediately. And that’s sarcasm.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Digging up Dirt

  “GARY Verukin,” said the fitness model as he shook each of our hands in turn. “Please come inside.”

  We followed him into the home, down a long hallway into the back of the house and out onto the patio. The patio was shaded and butted up ag
ainst the hill of the park. There was a rectangular pool in an infinity style at the end of the patio, and stairs to its side that lead down into the garden. The garden was as green as crushed emeralds and vibrant with an assortment of flowers that would be the envy of any horticulturist.

  Kyle Labecki was standing by the patio furniture to greet us. He was a smidge shorter than his partner, slim but not muscled. He was also tanned and looked good for a man in his mid fifties, likely fifty-four if my math was right. Though I detected a hint of plastic surgery, but that could have been my sour grapes. He wore a yellow golf shirt and khaki pants with white deck shoes. He had jet black hair which was obviously dyed. He shook our hands in turn and offered us chairs around a rectangular glass table.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked.

  We all sat down around the table, which left no chair for Gary. He stood behind Kyle with his arms folded, not sure of us, and not sure if he was now a bodyguard or not.

  “No, thank you,” said Roberts, “we don’t want to take up much of your time.”

  “What is this all about then? The Ancher murder?” he asked.

  “We’re not really sure,” he said, feigning ignorance, “but we got an anonymous tip that there’s a handgun buried here in your backyard.”

  “A what? That’s absurd, I don’t own a gun.”

  “Yes, we know that, Mr. Labecki,” said Roberts. “Still, we’d like to be sure if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” said Labecki, “can’t you see the pride and dedication I take with my yard. Those roses are especially fragile, if you disturb the soil to any great degree you could ruin them.”

  “I promise to be very careful and diligent.”

  Labecki stood up and walked to the end of the patio. He was close to the stairs and it gave him an expansive view of his garden. He turned around.

  “What’s it related to?”

  “We think it might be the gun that was used to murder Mr. Orpen,” said Roberts.

  Labecki’s face turned upside down.

  “So you’re saying I murdered Mr. Orpen? I hardly knew him.”

  “Yes, we know all of that, and I’m not suggesting you murdered him, only that we’ve received a tip that the handgun used to murder Mr. Orpen is now buried in your backyard.”