Family Secrets: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller

by Glenn Rogers

  I don't know how well the driver of the other car knew the streets of Studio City, but I knew them well, every street, every neighborhood, every business complex. Every turn he made, I knew what options lay ahead. If he went right, I knew what was there; if he went left, I knew what he’d encounter. I knew if I could keep up with him, he'd make a mistake. And he did. He turned down a street that led into a small industrial park. With me coming up behind him, he'd have to turn right and follow the road around the buildings. But there was no outlet on that road. The only place he could come out was at the left end of the complex. Instead of following him to the right, I went left and waited for him at the only spot from which he could emerge.

  I stopped. Both Monica and I got out, guns drawn and aimed, using the Jeep's open doors as cover. In a moment the Mercedes came around the corner. There was no place for him to go but straight at us, unless he tried to swing around in a tight circle and go back the way he came—which is what he tried to do.

  “Tires,” I shouted. “Go for the tires.”

  I shot twice; Monica fired three times. Two tires went flat and the car swerved and slowed. We each fired two more rounds into the car and it rolled to a stop. We waited a couple of seconds.

  “Out of the car,” I shouted.

  Nothing.

  The head of the shooter in the passenger seat was down, chin to chest. The driver was obscured.

  “Let's approach,” Monica said.

  “Carefully,” I said.

  The vehicle was about forty feet from us. We approached slowly, in a semi crouched position, Monica about twenty feet to my right. From about ten feet out, I could see that the passenger was dead. A good portion of the back of her head was gone. The driver, however, was moving. He appeared to be semiconscious. I could see in through the driver's side window. His hands were empty. I opened the door. The driver, a male about thirty, rolled his head toward me and opened his eyes for a moment before he passed out. I couldn't tell if he saw me or not. I looked him over. He was bleeding from the right side of his chest and from his right leg.

  The passenger side window had been shot out. Monica reached in to feel for a pulse on the woman whose head was only partially intact. I was pretty sure she wouldn't find one. She didn't. I called McGarry.

  “And you thought a high speed chase and shoot out in middle of the day on the streets of Studio City was a good idea?” McGarry asked. His tone was less than cordial.

  Monica, Frank, and I were standing a few feet from the Mercedes as we spoke.

  “They shot first,” I said. “Two rifle shots. They were going for both of us simultaneously, thinking Monica was June Morrison. It was the third attempt on my life. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing, Frank.”

  He looked away for a moment, watching the medical examiner taking the dead body from the Mercedes. An ambulance had already taken the wounded shooter away.

  Looking back to me, in a more subdued voice, he said, “Yeah, I would have.” Then he said, “At least we got one of them alive.”

  “Do you no good,” Monica said. “Even if he tells you who hired him, that'll just be a broker. Won't be the person who's actually behind all this.”

  McGarry didn't know Monica all that well. He knew she had a good reputation, but hadn't worked with her like he had me. He considered what she'd said and nodded.

  We all watched the ME some more. After a moment, McGarry said, “I don't suppose I could talk you and the real Mrs. Morrison into letting us take you into protective custody until we get this nut who's after you?”

  I studied him a moment and asked, “You really think your people are that much better than Alex and Monica and me?”

  In my peripheral vision I saw Monica smile at being included with Alex and me.

  McGarry shook his head. “You develop a little humility,” he said, “you might live longer.”

  “Alex is with June and Monica is with me. Can you honestly say that you've got better people?”

  McGarry didn't respond.

  “Besides,” I said, “we're way ahead of where you'd come into the case. There'd be no advantage in you taking over.”

  “Sure it would. I wouldn't have to explain so many dead bodies.”

  I shrugged. “Think of it this way: the more bad guys we kill, the fewer you have to chase down and arrest.”

  “Uh-huh. You're a thoughtful guy.”

  “Just a concerned citizen,” I said.

  “Yeah, well just try not to kill anybody else today. Okay?”

  We'd already given our statements to uniformed officers and McGarry said we could go.

  As we drove away, Monica said, “I guess being a former FBI agent carries a lot of weight with the LAPD.”

  “Doesn't hurt,” I said. “But in my case it's a little more than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “While I was still an agent,” I said, “we were working a case with the LAPD, a joint task force thing designed to enhance interagency communication, all that crap. Anyway, McGarry's son-in-law was one of the uniforms working with us. His first year on the force. McGarry had pulled some strings to get the kid working with us. Trying to fast track him. Get him out of the patrol car. The kid was working with me. During an arrest, things went south and somebody fired a shot. It got nasty real quick. I grabbed him and pulled him along with me, got him out of the line of fire. In the process I got winged. Not that serious. A few stitches. The kid told Frank that I saved his life, took a bullet for him, he said.”

  “So you've got a friend for life in Frank McGarry.”

  “Something like that,” I said. “And then Frank and I have worked together several times as well. So…”

  “Lucky you.”

  Chapter 54

  Monica and I went back to the Lindell Industries office and up to the top floor. I wanted to avoid Ms. Wentworth if possible, so we went to June's office. Monica was still in her June Morrison disguise and Ingrid was intrigued by the effect. When she finally turned her attention to me, she said, “June's not in. She and Alex are still with Mr. Lindell in his office.”

  “Thank you,” I said, then decided she deserved an explanation. “This is an associate of mine, Monica Nolan. She's helping with the investigation.”

  Monica offered her hand and Ingrid shook it.

  “Well,” I said, “we'll go on over.”

  We crossed the large reception area that separated the two office suites and went into Mr. Lindell's outer office. Ms. Wentworth sat regally behind her very large oak desk. She eyed Monica disapprovingly and then scowled at me.

  “We need to see Mr. Lindell,” I said, politely.

  “Mr. Lindell is in conference with Mrs. Morrison.”

  “I understand that. They'll want to see us.”

  “I'm quite sure, young man, that you are not in a position to make that kind of a determination.”

  I wanted to be polite, I was trying to be polite, but I was in no mood to put up with her silliness.

  “Ms. Wentworth, this is important.”

  “Important? Young man, generals, congressman, senators, heads of state, and even a president have stood where you're standing and waited for Lyell Lindell. I seriously doubt that whatever business you think you have with him is important.”

  “Ms. Wentworth,” I said, as seriously as I could without sounding angry, “I don't know what your problem is and I don't really care. One way or the other, my associate and I are going through that door. You can pick up that phone and let them know we're out here, or we can just go on in. Which would you prefer?”

  She was angry enough to spit as she stared defiantly at me. But she must have sensed that I wasn't going to wait long for her to decide because she picked up the phone and punched in Lyell's extension. She spoke, listened, and then hung up.

  “You may go in,” she said, barely containing her rage.

  Monica and I walked past her desk. I heard Monica say, “Thank you,” as she went by.

  As we stepp
ed into Lyell’s office, June looked at me but then noticed Monica who was dressed just like her. Monica was a younger version of June … sort of.

  June smiled. “What's this?” she asked. Lyell looked a little amused and waited for me to explain. Alex sat quietly, observing everyone in the room.

  “This is an associate,” I said, “Monica Nolan. I requested her assistance.”

  “And this assistance required that she impersonate me?” June asked.

  “Yes, it did,” I said. “I wanted to draw out the assassins.”

  “You made yourself targets?” June asked.

  “Better to get shot at on your terms than on theirs,” I said.

  “Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that?”

  “Because you would have been worried and I didn't want you to be worried.”

  She shook her head. Frowning, she asked, “You really think this is going to make a difference?”

  “It already has,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “They took a run at us.”

  “They shot at you?” June asked.

  “There were two of them,” I said. “Same white Mercedes that followed us the other day. We spotted them. I stopped for gas and they took their shot, one went for me and one went for you. Except it wasn't you. It was Monica dressed as you. Fortunately for us, they missed. Not by much, but enough. We pursued them and cornered them. One of them is dead, the other's in the hospital.”

  “This has got to stop,” June said, nearly frantic. “This has just got to stop.”

  Lyell asked, “Can the one who survived be made to talk?”

  “He can't tell us what he doesn't know,” I said. “I suspect that whoever's behind this is not hiring these people directly. He's contacting a broker who hires the assassins. The shooters won't know who's ultimately behind the hit.”

  “So what's to be done?” he asked.

  Having recovered herself somewhat, June said, “We keep looking for who the killer is.”

  “Are we so sure that it's someone in this company?” Lyell asked.

  “It has to be, Dad,” June said. “It's the only thing that makes sense. Everything points to someone within the company being willing to murder in order to keep our mistakes from coming out.”

  “Very well, then,” Lyell said. “We need to redouble our efforts. We need to work around the clock on the audits until we discover who's doing this.”

  As Monica and I got into the elevator to go back down to my Jeep I said, “We’re probably good for the rest of the day. I’ll take you back to your office.”

  “What about tomorrow? This is what, the forth attempt? They’re not going to give up.”

  “Probably not. But let’s take it one day at a time. I’ll call you tomorrow if I need you.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Whatever you need. It's what we do, right. Sometimes I need you, sometimes you need me.”

  “Right.”

  I didn’t have much to say on the drive back to her office. She knew having to shoot people upset me, so she didn’t try to get me to talk. But when I parked in front of her building, she sat for a moment, looking at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You said you’d call me if you needed me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if I need you, I can call you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Does that have to be limited to the official investigations kind of needing you,” she said, “or can I need you in other ways?”

  Even in disguise she was a beautiful woman. My heart was beating a little faster. I felt a little warm. Cautiously, I said, “I suppose it depends on what kind of other ways you have in mind.”

  “Most men find me attractive,” she said. “Don't you?”

  “I find you very attractive.”

  “Then what's the problem?” she asked.

  ”You know what the problem is, Monica. I'm just not ready yet.”

  A shadow fell across her face. She nodded. “Elaine.” She took a deep breath. “She’s a lucky woman …”

  I didn’t really have any response.

  “Well,” she said, “when you’re ready, you promise to give me a shot?”

  I smiled. “How could I not?”

  She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I'll hold you to that, Jake Badger.”

  She got out of the car, closed the door, opened it again and said, “Go get your windows fixed.” Then she closed the door and walked toward her office.

  I called Alex and told him I was going to get my windows fixed and that I'd be back to the Lindell Industries offices later.

  Chapter 55

  I took my Jeep to Rapid Glass Repair. They had two windows for my Wrangler in stock. The bullet had gone through one window and out the other. The installation took thirty-seven minutes. I value efficiency. From there, I went back to Lindell Industries and parked in the underground parking. It was six-forty. I took the express elevator up to the top floor.

  I assumed June and Alex would be in Lyell's office, so I went there first. Ms. Wentworth was still at her desk. When I came in, she stood up.

  I smiled and said, “I'll just go on in.” I got the distinct feeling that if she'd had a gun, she'd have shot me.

  I closed the door behind me. June, sitting next to Alex, smiled at me. She got up and came over to me. “I was upset before,” she said. “I wasn't thinking clearly.” She took my hands in hers. “You risked your life for me and I didn't even thank you.”

  “All in a day's work, little lady,” I said, in my best John Wayne imitation.

  June smiled. “Uh-huh. Well, when this is over, I'm going to thank you properly.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I said, “When this is over. In the meantime, though, I'm hungry. Have you guys eaten yet?”

  “No, we haven't,” Lyell said. “And I'm hungry, too. I'll order us dinner.”

  Lyell picked up the phone and I looked around the room. There was a spreadsheet on Lyell's desk and another on the table across the room.

  “Looks like you're up to your necks in spreadsheets,” I said.

  “The fun has begun,” Alex said. He was sitting at the conference table with a spreadsheet of his own. June sat down beside Alex and said, “Shall we get back to it?”

  Lyell hung up the phone and I went to his desk. I said to him, “May I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Lyell said.

  “Ms. Wentworth,” I said. “What's her story?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On three occasions now I've witnessed her behave in a very rude manner. Once even to June. Why would she do that?”

  “Lyell smiled. “She didn't want to let you in to see me, did she?”

  “No, she didn't.”

  “Doris has been with me for over forty years,” he said. “Over the years she's become very protective of me. She doesn't mean to be rude.”

  I nodded and smiled. I wanted to say that her behavior appeared to be quite intentional. Instead, I said, “I see.”

  He sat down and focused his attention on the spreadsheet. I found a nice comfortable chair for myself and sat down and waited for dinner to arrive.

  At seven twenty, a delivery guy showed up with fancy Italian dinners for each of us. There was a salad, warm bread and seasoned olive oil for dipping, a main course of lasagna, and a dessert for each of us. There were also two bottles of what appeared to be expensive red wine. I'm not much of a drinker, but given where I was and the people I was with, I had a glass with dinner. The wine was okay, I guess. I don’t know enough about wine to distinguish the good stuff from the cheap stuff. The food, however, was excellent.

  We finished eating at eight-ten. Lyell, June, and Alex went back to work. I went back to my comfortable chair to think. Monica and I had taken care of the two assassins we knew about, but the person behind these attacks had demonstrated himself to be unwavering in his determination. Previous assassins had been eliminated only to be r
eplaced by others. As Monica had pointed out, we couldn't assume that others would not be contracted and sent. June was still not safe. Neither was I, for that matter. The shot this afternoon had missed by only an inch and then only because I'd turned my head. Vigilance and caution were still required.

  It was ten-fifteen when Lyell said, “That doesn't make any sense.” He was analyzing Baker's corporate accounting and was talking to himself, but he spoke aloud. All three of us looked at him.

  “What doesn't make any sense?” June asked.

  “This item. Three hundred and ninety-two thousand and ten dollars for consulting coming out of my budget.”

  June went to his desk and studied the entry. “You didn't authorize that?”

  “I didn't authorize any expenditures for consulting.”

  “Question,” Alex said. June and Lyell looked at him. “Don't you have to approve the budget before it's official?”

  “Of course,” Lyell said. “But when you submit the numbers to begin with and it comes back for final review and signature you glance at it, looking mostly at the bottom line, and sign off on it.”

  “So if the bottom line that came back to you,” I said, “matches up with the numbers you submitted, how does three hundred and ninety-two thousand dollars get added in without someone noticing it?”

  “Someone would have had to changed other entries to absorb the excess.”

  “Do you have a copy of what you submitted?” June asked.

  “Certainly,” Lyell said. He turned to his computer, opened a file, and printed it.

  June retrieved it from his printer and began comparing the numbers. “Here's one,” she said. “A thirty-seven thousand dollar adjustment.”

  Lyell was studying it alongside her. “Here's another,” he said. “And another.”