"Until you bust my ass."
"Until I bust your ass."
"Or until I kill someone else."
"You're not gonna kill anyone else."
"Why?"
"Because we'll get you before that."
Another chuckle, then: "You were a Ranger."
"That's right."
"'If you are brave and bold, you, too, may wear the black and gold.'"
"Something like that." Tim started down the hall. "The safe-room steel caught you off guard. No time to go up through the floor?"
"I was thinking the roof down to get the drop, but yeah."
"Solid entry downstairs. And I bet you got some good information from Percy. But I think you fucked up killing Chase. You could've gotten more answers out of him."
"Are there more answers to get?"
"Why else you calling me?"
"What do you know about my sister? Or was that just bullshit for the news?"
"You might have to give to get."
"Why should I tell you anything?"
"Because you need me. For your investigation."
A long pause. Tim strained to hear anything in the background, but there was just the crackle of the line.
"She was raped at the kid's commercial shoot," Walker said. "Chase Kagan. Percy Keating and Dolan Kagan were witnesses."
A scenario came into rapid focus--the rape, the pregnancy, the lawyer, Tess's execution. Tim halted, his momentum carrying him to the threshold of Dean's study. Amid a bustle of subordinates, Dean issued directives.
"Dean had Percy take out a hit on Tess," Walker said.
Dean paused, homing in on Tim across the room. Their eyes met. Two men frozen in the midst of disorderly human movement.
"They were worried she'd press charges," Walker said. "Or she threatened them with blackmail--Tess was tough if she was anything. Percy ran the cash through Ted Sands, who set the drop at Game."
Phone to his ear, Tim withdrew from the doorway and Dean's stare, moving back toward the foyer.
"You got a name for this hit man?"
The line hummed for maybe a second. "Not yet," Walker said, but his pause was a poker tell. He would've pressed the Piper's tag name out of Percy, and his not giving it up now confirmed Tim's suspicion that the hit man was high on his list. "Now," Walker said. "Something you have that I'm missing?"
Tim hesitated, but not long. "For one, Tess was pregnant."
The silence stretched until Tim feared that Walker had hung up. Finally the rough voice came, so low Tim could barely hear it. "Adds up. What else?"
The evidence wasn't sitting right with Tim. The facts he and Walker had pieced together formed too neat a tale. Lacking were the rough edges, the chance reversals, and the dead ends that violent cases, once fully reconstructed, inevitably prove to have.
Walker again, a touch impatiently: "You think there's more to it?"
"Yup."
"Why? It's a clear picture."
"That's the problem. Plus, if you think Dean Kagan is going to risk going to San Quentin to avoid a he-said/she-said rape prosecution for his son, you're less intelligent than I've been trying to convince everyone you are." Tim pictured the blank screen on Tess's computer monitor, the missing hard drive. "Tess must have been coming at them with something different--and more threatening--than a rape and a pregnancy."
"I'm not following."
"You underestimate her."
Walker's anger was palpable during the pause. "I doubt that."
"Then you're a shitty investigator. Because the one guy who really knows what we want has his brains all over the master bedroom."
"For good reason. Now, what else can you tell me?"
Through the hole of the front window, Tim saw the marshal, now pacing in circles, talking into his Nextel, and gesturing apologetically. "A lot. But you're not as useful to me as I thought you'd be. So you'll have to work with me." In the silence on the line, Tim could hear Dray, his perennial voice of reason--What, Timothy, playing loose cannon didn't land you in deep enough shit last time around? He asked himself if he dared take a gamble this big, though he knew he'd already made up his mind that morning in the warehouse. Given Tess's rape, he needed the information more than ever. But was he willing to put his ass on the line to get it? And, maybe even more critically, was he willing to let his desire to nail Walker pull him out of bounds again? He strolled back outside.
He started cautiously. "Here's a sample: Your sister met with a lawyer the week before she was killed. She dropped him four days later--maybe she was threatened. Between a rape and a pregnancy inconvenient for at least one party, we can both use our imaginations as to what that was about. But the lawyer refuses to break confidentiality. If we want to know what else they may have covered in their meetings..."
"We do."
Tim pressed his lips together, a last-minute deliberation before the point of no return. "The files are in boxes at Richco Long-Term Storage in Van Nuys, under Esteban Martinez. Just sitting there. The problem is, there's nothing I can do about it. They're beyond subpoena."
"This is a problem." Walker clicked his tongue. "Only problem I have is I show up, maybe someone's waiting."
"You were with First Force Recon. I'm assuming you're not gonna stroll up and knock on the door. Besides, it would be a criminal conspiracy for me to suggest that you do anything like what you seem to be inferring. Blow my whole case."
"While I'm mulling that over, maybe you should check out the valet-drop security footage from The Ivy in Beverly Hills," Walker said. "Night of June first. It's archived off site, so call over and have them pull it."
Tim sat on a bench by the koi pond. "What is it?"
"Take a look. You'll recognize a couple people. The perpetrator refers to the rape in that conversation. Maybe we get a read on their body language. She makes a blackmail threat, he gets angry. Whatever. Maybe Chase's brother and father make a guest appearance."
"Okay, I'll call now. If you're playing straight, I'll nail these guys."
"Sure, rape prosecution with a deceased victim--and attacker--should be a breeze. Maybe you could get that broad from the Kobe Bryant trial to fly out, cinch things up."
"We don't need the rape. The murder case is reopened."
"Took what? A prison break to get that done? No one gave a shit to look into it until someone rich got killed. Tell me that ain't the truth." Walker snickered, an ugly, one-note laugh. "Don't fault me for not trusting the Establishment to handle it. Guys like this, you'll never hang 'em on the murder."
"Then I'll hang them on something else."
"Campaign promise. And besides, pardner, I'm gonna do it for you first."
"Listen--"
"Now's when you tell me I can't take the law into my own hands, right, Troubleshooter?" Walker chuckled.
A click, and the line disconnected.
Chapter 52
Tim turned off the phone, sat on the garden bench, and watched the fat, mottled fish wobble through the algaed water. Next he got The Ivy and put in a request for the footage, combating a snotty manager to get the information passed on to the security company. He gave his name and the comm center's callback number so his ID could be confirmed.
Guerrera came around the bend and whistled Bear over. Setting a boot on the bench, Bear leaned across one knee as Tim brought them up to speed, keeping his voice low so the deputies gathered behind the garden's stone wall wouldn't overhear.
"Something doesn't add up on motive," Bear said. "As far as we know, there's no rape kit anywhere. No hard evidence. A broke divorcee against a rich golden boy--she didn't stand a chance. With the Kagans' money, they could've hired O.J.'s dream team twice over."
"She was pregnant," Guerrera said. "A DNA test could've put Chase on the hook."
"So why wouldn't they just pay her off?"
"Rich people are assholes?" Guerrera offered.
"The prosecution rests."
"Didn't Freed mention that Chase was engaged?"
"Yeah, but still. You'd think you'd rather get caught with your dick wet than face a murder one."
"So maybe there was evidence. Maybe that's what they stole her hard drive for. Scanned photos or something."
Bear looked skeptical. He used his thumb to flick dirt from under a fingernail.
Tim said, "That hard drive housed something with more bite. Remember, Sam's participation in that drug study got Tess a full-frontal of Vector."
"Yeah," Bear said, "she had to have something that would make their shareholders pucker." He gestured at the mansion behind them. "Dean ain't risking all this to avoid a rape trial for his boy."
Guerrera took in the span of the massive house. "You think Walker'll strike here again?"
Tim said, "Not with the security Dean'll have in place here come tonight. He'll wait them out. They won't hide in their compound forever."
"Funeral?"
"'The Kagans aren't big on personal ceremonies,'" Tim quoted dutifully, "'nor public displays of private emotion.'"
"So where?"
They stood eyeing the ripples in the pond, and then Guerrera spit in the flowers, said, "Catch you at the post," and headed to his car.
Tim and Bear moved single file to cut through the workers still dissecting the crime scene. Dean was in his study where Tim had left him, but now he sat alone, the inevitable banker's lamp lending a nauseous tint to the dimness. Behind the desk a framed poster showed the miracle cure in a vial, floating through space. XEDRAL. THE FUTURE HAS ARRIVED. THIRTY DAYS AT A TIME. For once Dean had no paperwork, no phone calls, no assistants. Just a tired man sitting in the dark.
Tim said, "We'd like to assign some men to stay. For your protection."
"We can handle our own security."
"I understand that, sir, but we've spent a lot of time guarding judges and--"
"And I've spent fifty-plus years running businesses. To say I trust private sector over public servants would be an understatement."
Bear said, "I'm sure Keating would be flattered."
Dean took in Bear with an irritated sweep of the eyes before returning his focus to Tim. "Why do you think he's coming after me?"
Tim said, "We suspect you know why already. If you'd tell us, we could do a better job of apprehending him."
"You seemed awfully cozy when you spoke to him on my phone. You sure he didn't mention something?"
"Quite," Tim said. "I think you should stay holed up here for a while. With Dolan."
"I can't. We have our pre-IPO presentation in two days. Chase would've wanted us to see it through."
"That's where Jameson is most likely to make his next attempt. It's certainly where I would."
"Would you close down your whole operation in fear of some...terrorist, Deputy?" Dean waved his hand in a terse dismissal.
Tim debated asking where Dolan was but didn't want to put the old man on alert. Instead he nodded at Bear, and they left the study with the assertion Tim had gone there to get--the dog and pony show for investors would go on, hell or high water. Finally a point of reentry for Walker they could count on.
In one of the dark halls, they bumped into Speedy, the worker they'd interviewed after Walker's first assault on the house. Tapping down a pack of Marlboros, he told them how to get to Chase's and Dolan's former rooms on the second floor of the south wing. The directions involved more turns and half flights of stairs than seemed possible for a residence.
After twice getting lost and having to be redirected by various workers, available at every turn, they entered the immense game room. Bear leaned back on his heels, whistling as he regarded the high ceiling. The doors to both bedroom suites were ajar. Tim called out Dolan's name but, hearing no response, entered the room to the left. King bed, satin sheets, a walk-in closet deeper than some trailer homes Tim had kick-entried. A shaky penned dedication split a framed photo of the Greatest himself--To Chaisson, Sting like a bee. On a drawerless desk rested a laptop, a roaming James Bond Walther barrel as the screen saver. Cables snaked off to various peripherals. A line of glass cubes formed the mantel over the vast fireplace. Centered on it was an urn, Mary Chaisson etched in scrolled letters. Tim stepped up onto the hearth and raised the burnished silver lid. Cocktail napkins and glossy matchbooks filled the inside. Tim pulled out the top matchbook and flipped it open. Jenni. 451-1215. Peering in, he saw where ink had bled through the napkins--more telephone numbers rendered on the paper between beer-company logos and condensation rings.
Tim returned Mary to her rightful post and nosed through the nightstand drawers. The top held a variety of condoms and lubricants and a tray filled with single earrings. Tim wondered if whatever house Chase shared with his fiancee was as well stocked. A leather-bound notebook in the second drawer held an anthropological accounting that might have put Kinsey to shame. Silver-dollar areolas. Landing-strip trim. Faint blond down across lower back. Tim flipped through May and June searching for one name. No mention of Tess. Was Chase too smart? Did she not make the best-of reel?
When Tim glanced up, Bear was standing before the swung-open doors of the armoire, regarding a wall of gift-wrapped boxes. Pulling out the top package, he tilted it to show Tim the Frederick's of Hollywood logo on the paper. Lingerie. Outcall party favors?
Below, a carved see-no-evil monkey served as a bookend to a row of generic DVDs, his two simian cronies bracing similar collections on the shelves below.
Bear plucked out a DVD and plugged it into the player underlying a massive plasma screen. Chase's naked ass bobbing up and down, the limbs of a woman crabbing up around him. Bear regarded the footage as if considering Chase's form, ready to hold up a judging card. The woman's face popped into view over Chase's shoulder, her mouth open in a moan, but the DVD seemed muted. Bear raised the volume, but the bars already stretched across half the screen. Tim backtracked the camera angle to a wall-mounted mirror. He pressed his fingertips to the glass. No separation between his nails and their reflection. "One-way," he said.
"There goes the obvious motive." Bear ejected the disk. "I don't think Chase was worried about news of Tess leaking to his fiancee. Nor do I think a knocked-up broad from the high desert would throw his world into Puritan uproar."
"No, he doesn't strike one as the most discreet individual." Tim looked from the urn to the DVD in Bear's hand and thought someone could probably write a treatise on the psychology stretching between them. "Can we take the DVDs as evidence?"
Bear stared at the seventy or so unlabeled DVDs. "You're thinking Tess makes a guest appearance?"
Though the notion of enduring a review of Chase's humping through the twelve seasons was less than palatable, Tim nodded. "It'll give Guerrera something to do while his cafe cubano congeals."
"If there was footage, I doubt Chase would be reckless enough to keep it after Tess was killed," Bear said. "We can talk to the AUSA, but even at Camarillo Vet-n-Law, we know prosecutors won't green-light a warrant for the DVDs anyway. Not with the Kagan lawyers and various elected allies weighing in from around the country. Think ahead to how appalled--appalled--they'll be about the way our pursuit of unrelated sensitive materials undermines the murder victim's dignity."
"Unless the tapes themselves are illegal," Tim said. "Then we could seize them and avoid an ass chewing from Tannino." Bear shrugged. Also unfamiliar with state statutes, Tim flicked open his Nextel and dialed home. "Is it illegal to videotape yourself having sex with someone without their consent?"
Dray said, "Babe, all you have to do is ask."
Tim laughed, then said, "Seriously."
"That's one of those laws that makes you wonder what they're smoking in Sacramento. Video without consent is perfectly okay in California, but audio without consent is illegal."
"Clever prick kept the sound off," Tim said.
"Who's this clever prick you've been cheating on me with?"
Edwin floated into view at Bear's shoulder, and Tim muttered, "Gotta go."
"You seem to have lost your way en route
to the door?" Edwin suggested.
Bear slotted the DVD back into the row and closed the armoire. "We need to speak with Dolan."
"He's quite upset."
"Us, too. Distraught, even." Bear took a step forward, forcing Edwin's head to tilt back until his Adam's apple bulged out. But if Edwin was intimidated, he didn't show it. A man practiced at contending with the whims of plutocrats didn't scare easy.
"Mr. Kagan has gone to the indoor pool."
"Where's that?"
"I'll be happy to escort you." The impeccable white glove unfurled toward the door, and for not the first time, Tim wondered if Edwin might be holographic. L.A.'s rich loved their musty props, but even for the town that produced Citizen Kane, Edwin seemed a stretch.
Bear and Tim hung back on one of the endless halls that conveyed them soundlessly across the mansion.
"What kind of idiot has an indoor pool in Los Angeles?" Bear whispered.
"The kind of idiot who has an outdoor one already."
They arrived at an unimposing door off a dank corridor, and Edwin rapped on it once and pushed it open. Diffuse green light undulated around the dark walls like sheets of gauze. Dolan's form streaked through the water, swimming laps with punishing exertion. When he came up for air at the near end and spotted them, he was gasping.
Tim and Bear stepped down onto the tile, and Bear thanked Edwin and shoved the door closed in his face. They'd have limited time before Edwin's situation report would bring Dean's interference.
Dolan swiped his thin brown hair out of his face and squinted, handicapped without his glasses. "Hi."
Tim reached the edge of the pool and crouched, looking almost directly down into Dolan's face. "We know about the rape in the limo. We know everything. Your brother's dead. You can't protect him anymore. We want to hear your side of what happened--it's Jameson's motive, but it's also what makes you an accessory."
Dolan's chest was still heaving from the laps. For a moment it seemed he might cry, but then he slapped the water with both arms and sank down so his head bobbed on the surface. "Chase keyed to Tess the minute he saw her. Sitting outside her house with his stupid guitar. He likes older women. Milfs, he calls them. He told me Tess turned him on even more since she had"--he blushed at the memory--"a fuck trophy."
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