Not bad, but I could improve on it. Holstering the Colt, I wrapped the clip that originally came from Chaladian’s gun in my handkerchief and pulled it from the lower pocket of my cargo pants. I’d gotten that clip back from Thompson because I figured I could do something mischievous with it someday. I’d never get a better opportunity. Pushed the release on the butt of the gun in front of Wellstein. Pulled the clip that was in there out. Inserted Chaladian’s clip. Wiping clean and then hankie-wrapping the clip I’d removed, I hustled behind the desk, cracked open a drawer on the right side, and dropped that clip into it.
Back to the reception area as I took out my phone. Trowbridge and Thompson were exactly where I’d told them to stay. I made a sweeping MOVE! motion with my right hand while I punched nine-one-one with my left.
“Out to the truck,” I told them. “Don’t touch anything in here. Go.”
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“A man has been shot at Wellstein Properties LLC. Looks like he’s dead.” I gave her the address.
“Are you with the body?”
“Negative. Afraid of who might still be in the area.”
“Where are you now?”
“In the parking lot outside the building.”
“Have you seen anyone armed or dangerous in the vicinity?”
“Negative.”
“All right. Stay there. We don’t want you looking around for anyone or doing any cops-and-robbers stuff, okay?”
“Got it.”
“Dispatching. Stay on the line.”
After a few seconds doing whatever operators do to dispatch cops, she came back on and asked for my name. I gave it. Then she had me repeat some stuff. By the time she was through with me, we could hear sirens.
I herded our cozy little group over to Thompson’s truck. I unclipped the Trooper’s holster from my belt and stowed it inside the cargo netting under the tarp in the pickup’s cargo bay. Then I pulled on the best attention-to-orders face I could manage and turned to Trowbridge and Thompson.
“We’re going to be here awhile. The police will want to talk to us separately. Tell them exactly what you heard and saw—not what you think or guess or imagine. Don’t leave anything out, don’t make anything up, don’t make any smart-ass cracks, don’t give them any shit. If they ask for your consent to search you or the car or the truck, the answer is yes. We will not insist that they get a warrant. We’re good citizens and we have nothing to hide. Clear?”
“Yo,” from Thompson.
“This is so not like the movies,” Trowbridge said.
A squad car boiled into the parking lot, lights flashing and siren wailing.
Chapter Forty-nine
The cops actually got it done pretty fast, considering. Just over ninety minutes all told. The uniform sized the situation up in a hurry, called for detectives and crime-scene folks and dead body folks, and secured the scene. He took short statements from each of us. When the detective got there, the uniform gave him the gist of our story. Then the detective took longer statements from each of us. Somehow the Colt didn’t come up, which saved me a lot of palaver about whether walking around with the thing was, strictly speaking, legal.
Without making a production out of it, I tried to get a handle on what the evidence techies were taking out of Wellstein’s office. Paper, lots of paper. Good. Computer. Good. They weren’t treating this like a cut-and-dried, close-the-file-and-slam-the-drawer suicide.
The detective—Detective-Sergeant Jalil Kinjaro, according to his card—saved me for last. He taped his chat with me, but made notes along the way. After we’d gotten through it he looked at the notes pensively, rubbed his chin with dark brown fingers, and glanced up at me.
“Former MP, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Ever do any CID stuff?”
“Nope. Strictly operational.” ‘CID’ is Criminal Investigation Division—basically, detectives in army uniforms.
“All this see-a-way-forward jazz you overheard Wellstein spouting about—are you sure about that?”
“Yep.”
“Sure doesn’t sound like suicide, does it?”
“Well, I’m an amateur, but I see your point.”
“How long did you say it took you to get into the office after the shot?”
“Hard to say, but I sure wasn’t in any hurry. As much as a minute, I guess.”
“Hear anything that sounded like someone crashing through a window?”
“Nope. All I heard until I was actually in the office was that gunshot ringing in my ear.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Anything else you think I should know?”
Yeah, you should know he’d been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease. But you’re going to have to dig that up on your own. Good luck.
“Nope.”
He thanked me, made sure he had my card, and headed for the squad car that had driven him out here. The evidence techs and the crime-scene guys and the first squad car had long since left. Another twenty seconds and we had the parking lot to ourselves again. I joined Trowbridge and Thompson back at the truck and fished my holstered Colt out of the cargo bay as I offered a comment.
“Eventful night.”
“Yeah.” Trowbridge seemed a little letdown, now that the excitement was over. “I talked to Saul. He thinks he can spin it into a huge positive. ‘Deeply saddened by the tragic death of Hollywood legend Sydney Brandeis Wellstein whose body Kent Trowbridge discovered when he came to speak to him about a major project.’ He’ll try to make it sound like Wellstein died in my arms without actually saying it. You know? But I won’t let him go that far.”
“Whatever.”
“You know. I mean, he wants to preempt anyone who’s tempted to take the other angle. The ‘isn’t it funny that Trowbridge just happened to be there?’ angle.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
We had made our way back over to the Mercedes by now. Trowbridge wasn’t through talking, though.
“So, what, get back to LA and pull an all-nighter talking about next steps?”
“There’s something we’d better take care of first.” I got the Colt out, cocked it, and held it casually beside my leg. “Come on out, Stan. We need to chat.”
I didn’t have to ask twice. The far door clicked open. Chaladian dove to the pavement on the other side of the car and rolled to his feet. He turned to face us, grinning like a PFC whose claptest just came back negative. I let him see the Colt, in case he had any fast-draw stuff in mind. He didn’t.
“Put your forearms on top of the car, palms up.”
“Careful.” He complied, but with an expression suggesting it was his idea. “If you piss me off I won’t tell you how to get Trowbridge off.”
“Stan, you need to listen and not talk. You’re in a very delicate situation.”
“Why don’t we just kill him?” This question came from Thompson, and I could tell she was serious. “Right here? Self-defense. He’s gotta be carrying.”
“Too much paperwork.” I put the Colt back down next to my leg again. “Now everyone please shut up. The tall guy has the floor.”
I paused and glanced around to make sure they’d gotten the message. Then I looked directly at Chaladian.
“You remember that big payment that Wellstein’s company made to one of your companies not long ago?”
“Payment in full.” Chaladian nodded vigorously. “Wellstein was a good man to do business with. It was a shock to see him wheeled into a meat wagon tonight.”
“Well, while I was checking for a pulse, I noticed bankruptcy papers on his desk. Looks like he was going to file for chapter eleven before long—specifically, less than ninety days after that payment in full he made.”
“So what? I’ve been paid. What do I c
are if he stiffs his other creditors?”
“Well, Stan, my wife the lawyer tells me that if Wellstein had filed in the next couple of months, a federal bankruptcy trustee could come knocking on your door and take all that money back. That’s probably why Wellstein insisted on paying an on-shore company that the trustee could serve process on without complications. It’s a motive Stan. A motive just for you. Doesn’t fit anyone else. By killing him before he filed, you’d get to keep all that money.”
The grin disappeared. I wasn’t going to miss it.
“I know nothing about this lawyer shit.”
“‘Just a coincidence.’ Try that one on the jury and see if it works. After all, O.J. Simpson and Robert Blake walked. Maybe you will too.”
“What are you saying? That the police will accuse me of murdering a man who obviously committed suicide?”
“Suicide? Not so sure. No note. Shot through the heart at close range but not point-blank. You would have had time to get out through the window before I entered the office after the shot. And you were found hiding in Kent’s car afterward, which you have to admit is pretty suspicious.”
“Fairy tales. The police will see through it like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“You’re probably right. Nothing for you to worry about. After all, apart from everything else, there’s the forensics. There won’t be any of your prints on the gun—unless Wellstein somehow managed to get his hands on your old gun. And how in the world would he do that?”
“Are you telling me you gave him the pistol you stole from me?”
“Of course not. That would be illegal. Besides, if I had done that I would have had to wipe the gun clean of all prints, including yours, because otherwise my prints and Thompson’s would turn up on it. Same thing with the clip.”
“You have a point. I’m feeling better.”
“On the other hand, there are the cartridges that you originally loaded into the clip. Those would have your prints and no one else’s on them, wouldn’t they? If it was suicide, that might be hard to explain.”
His face lost some of its color. He gave me a long, nasty stare.
“All right. What’s your price?”
“I’m incorruptible. Can’t be bought. So if I were you, what I’d do is, I’d keep my sorry ass as far away from Katrina Thompson as I possibly could. The farther you are from the United States, and the healthier Katrina is, the less chance you’ll find yourself in a San Diego courtroom facing a first degree murder charge over the death of beloved Hollywood legend Sydney Wellstein.”
He stood there, almost expressionless, for a good twenty seconds. It was almost fun imagining the calculations going on in his head. Then the grin came back, but more subdued than usual this time.
“Very well. I promise to be a good boy. From this moment I would not know Katrina Thompson if I saw her in People magazine. So. I can go now?”
“You can go on the condition that you ride that Harley of yours into Mexico as the first step on a one-way trip to Whatthefuckistan so that you can spend the rest of your miserable life hustling Central Asians.”
He started walking away, toward the dark-shrouded far edge of the parking lot. I braced myself. I didn’t have to wait long for Thompson to lay into me.
“Seriously? You’re just going to let him go? Give me that goddamn gun.” She reached across my body and started tugging at my right arm while I raised the Colt well out of her reach.
“Careful, Hurricane. It’s been a while since I slugged a Marine, but the last one I hit still remembers it.”
Chaladian had by now disappeared into blackness. He was presumably making his way down the steep hill beyond the parking lot that was supposed to add visual relief to the development’s layout.
“But we can’t just take his word for it that he’s going to leave us alone!”
“Of course we can’t. As soon as we hear that Harley roar off, we’re going to call the San Diego police and tell them that we flushed a suspicious character who was hiding in Trow’s Mercedes, and the last we saw he was hellbent for Mexico on a motorcycle. We’ll have a first-rate description of him and, incredibly enough, something pretty close to the Harley’s license number. If he doesn’t get himself killed trying to escape which, frankly, is my bet, he’ll be hauled back here in irons and held without bail.”
If I’d gotten a picture of Thompson’s face I could have sold it on eBay. I watched the waves of astonishment roll across her features one after another as her brain processed what I’d just said, one layer at a time. She finally dissolved into an amazed smile, like you might give a five-year-old who’d learned to tie his shoes.
“Well aren’t you just the cleverest boy in southern California?”
I was about to decline this compliment with my customary modesty when we heard the Harley’s trademark roar. A few seconds later we briefly glimpsed it in a sliver of moonlight, laboring up the far side of the hill toward the street. The next thing I heard was Trowbridge’s voice.
“Sorry, bro.”
Then he cold-cocked me. I didn’t hear anything else for about seventeen seconds.
Chapter Fifty
Trowbridge was already burning rubber out of the parking lot when Thompson’s ungentle pats on my cheek brought me around. She sort of came into focus after I blinked a couple of times.
“He’s gone after Chaladian, hasn’t he?”
“Sure has.”
“Where’s my gun?”
“He took it.”
“Oh shit.”
My head gave me an argument every inch of the way, but I made it to my feet. Thompson kept a concerned hand on my right arm and two worried eyes on my face.
“I’m gonna call an ambulance for you, and then I’m gonna have to leave you on your own. I’ve got to go after that boy.”
“We’re going together.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a debate, so I just started striding toward the truck. She had to run to catch up with me. When she did she still had enough breath left for further conversation.
“All right, then, but I’m driving. It’s my truck and my boyfriend. Gimme the keys.”
Seemed reasonable to me, to I turned them over and climbed into the passenger seat. After all, now that I thought about it, the whole thing was pretty academic. Trowbridge in a Mercedes wasn’t going to catch Chaladian on a Harley, and in a lumbering pickup truck we weren’t going to catch Trowbridge. All we had to do was be somewhere in the same time zone when Trowbridge got stopped for going ninety-five miles an hour or wiped out or just gave up the chase.
The Mercedes was nowhere in sight by the time we cleared the lot, so Thompson headed for I-5. I reached Detective-Sergeant Kinjaro’s voice mail and left the Chaladian-on-the-run message. Next job was to call Trowbridge and try to talk some sense into him. If he’d already lost sight of Chaladian—and odds were that he had—then he might come in off the ledge without a lot of aggravation.
I dialed his number and hit SEND. Three seconds later I heard an insistent BEEP! from the vicinity of Thompson’s thighs. She glanced over and rolled her eyes at me.
“That’s Kent’s phone. He had me fussing with the GPS app on the way down to help him find Wellstein’s place.”
“The shortest route to the freeway is Gardenia Street and you just passed it.”
“Screw the freeway, I’m following Kent.” Thompson said this in a normal tone of voice, as if it weren’t a clinically insane remark.
“What do you mean you’re following Kent?” I peered intensely through the windshield, wondering if I was somehow missing something. “Are you telling me you can see his Mercedes out there.”
“No, of course not.” She tapped the phone’s glowing screen. “I can see him on here. His Mercedes has a gizmo that sends out signals about where it is, in case it gets stol
en. He has an app on his phone that picks those signals up. So I don’t know where he’s going, but wherever it is, we’re going to the same place.”
“Perfect.”
“That didn’t sound sarcastic.” Thompson shared a puzzled glance with me. “It’s not like you not to sound sarcastic when you use a word like ‘perfect.’”
“Life is good again.” This was true. Even my headache eased up a bit. “He’ll never get close to Chaladian. We’ll find him, wherever he ends up. With any luck, San Diego cops or the California Highway Patrol will already have Chaladian in handcuffs by then.”
“Maybe.”
She sounded dubious. I didn’t see any point in pursuing it. We were within smelling distance of the Pacific Ocean by now, driving on dimly-lit commercial streets. I’d say we were at that for another ten minutes before Thompson spoke again.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you kicked my butt once we got back. You can start chewing me out right now if you want to. This is all my fault.”
“I’m no shrink, Hurricane, but if I were you I’d get out of the habit of thinking it’s your fault when a guy you’ve hooked up with does something stupid. Strikes me as a low-percentage play.”
“I hear you, but that’s not it.” She shook her head. “I was jawing at him about Chaladian all the way down here. About how I had to take him out and be done with it, ’cause he just wouldn’t ever give up if I came out on top after turning my back on him. ‘Nobody fucks with Mr. Ten Percent.’ That’s his motto. And I said I couldn’t leave it to the cops, ’cause like you said about OJ and that other guy, you couldn’t trust a California jury to convict Adolph Hitler.”
All this time she was twisting and turning and curving along the route beeped to her by Trowbridge’s phone—and I was getting a gut tingle. It didn’t look to me like a random course, as if Trowbridge were just driving around hoping that he’d stumble over Chaladian by blind luck. He had to think he was actually following the guy. But the only conceivable way he could be following him was if Chaladian wanted him to. And if Chaladian was leading Trowbridge on, then that was bad news cubed.
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