Slipknot: A Private Investigator Crime and Suspense Mystery Thriller (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series Book 3)

by D. D. VanDyke

  Thomas pulled into a shopping center parking lot and turned off the engine.

  “Yes,” Brody continued. “You merited a line in this morning’s briefing. The captain reminded us not to give out info to people not authorized to have it or show, as he put it, ‘unwarranted cooperation with amateur investigators like Cal Corwin.’”

  “Amateur!”

  “That’s the quote. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Listen, Tanner, I think the woman who offed Hade is a contractor called ‘the Old Maid’ in the biz. She tried to kill me and a deputy out in Granger’s Ford yesterday, but I think I’ve lost her for now.”

  “Crap. Keep your head down. Any idea where she usually works?”

  Chicago, Thomas mouthed, and I repeated that to Brody.

  “Okay. We’ll make inquiries out there.”

  “Thanks, Tanner. Check with you later.” I shut the phone. “Chicago, huh?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said.

  “Kerry Lindquist was from Chicago. Jerry Conrad is from Chicago. Frank Jackson’s blackmailer used a Chicago drop box.”

  “Cole Sage is also from Chicago.”

  “Where are you from, Thomas?”

  “Jolly olde England.”

  “I mean more recently. Where do you usually work?”

  He stared straight ahead through the windshield as if thinking for a moment. “Chicago, until lately,” he finally said.

  I turned in the bucket seat to look at him. “So Houdini originally hired you because he knew of you from Chicago.”

  “That seems reasonable, though I have no evidence of that.”

  “And you don’t know who Houdini is?”

  “If I did, I’d tell you.”

  I didn’t respond to that, because I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was true. I couldn’t let my attraction blind me to what he was and what he did. “Why haven’t you gone back?”

  “You know why.”

  “I’m not really comfortable with that.”

  Thomas turned to face me. “Why not?”

  “Because it implies this thing we have between us is more than it is.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not enough to move across the country for.”

  “If I were a working-class chap I’d agree, but I’m not. My job is entirely portable. I have very few friends and my social life is paper-thin. My assets are liquid and I’m used to cold, nasty climates. It’s no hardship to be here rather than there.”

  “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.”

  “Perhaps. Why overthink it?”

  “Because that’s what I do.” I sighed. “It’s a curse. My mind never shuts off.”

  “Almost never.”

  I chuckled, following his train of thought. “Except then. Speaking of that…you told me you thought I ought to figure out who was trying to screw me before investigating who killed Hade. Why?”

  “I thought I knew who killed her by the M.O. More importantly, the secondary case was muddying the waters for you. Now that it’s been clarified and set aside, we can focus on what’s important.”

  “Fair enough. Any idea on our next move?”

  “We need to trap the Old Maid, I’m thinking. Get some answers. Under enough pressure, she’ll give up what she knows. Then we can end the threat from her.”

  I grimaced. “You mean kill her?”

  “We must.”

  “There’s no other way?”

  Thomas sighed. “We could cripple her. Injure her badly enough she’ll be discredited and useless. That seems cruel, though.”

  “Better than killing her.”

  “She’ll always be a loose end. A source, a witness, someone with a grudge of her own. She could hire people to try again, just for spite’s sake. Leaving someone like that alive is a bad move. You’d never be safe.”

  I let out a long, pained sigh. “Why can’t people just be reasonable? ‘Listen, Old Maid, you’re blown. We beat you. Now go away. Give up.’”

  “You never give up.”

  “I don’t, do I?”

  “It’s one of your better qualities.”

  I mimed primping and put on my best Mrs. Howell accent. “Thank you, dahling. So how do we set a trap?”

  “The usual way. With bait.”

  “And the bait is me.”

  “Only one we have.”

  “Where?”

  Thomas started the car again. “Somewhere unknown to her where we can prepare, but it also has to seem innocent and natural that you’d be there. Somewhere the Old Maid thinks she has a chance to get you.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “How do we plant the info so it’ll get to her?”

  I grinned. “I have an idea about that, too.”

  ***

  Carol Conrad’s fundraiser for her city council campaign was overdone for such a small town, I thought. She was already so popular that I couldn’t see her failing to get elected even without the money this would attract. Probably this was actually a campaign event in disguise.

  It was being held within what Marilou had told me was the largest private building in Granger’s Ford, the fellowship hall of the local Presbyterian church, a structure big enough to fit a full-length basketball court plus bleachers within its walls. When Thomas and I arrived it was already half filled with at least two hundred people milling around the folding tables, mingling with glasses in their hands. As tasteful as our fashions were, others outshone us, notably the guest of honor herself.

  “I’d kill for that outfit,” Thomas murmured, staring at the tall redhead.

  “You might get your chance.” We’d walked in unchallenged, but there were name cards at most of the places, though not all. There didn’t seem to be any other controls on who got to eat, though there were two private, armed security guards along with Mike Davis, all in uniform.

  Davis hadn’t given me much detail on the actual party arrangements, just the place and the time. I’d made sure to call Marilou and casually mention I’d be there. I knew of no surer way to let the Old Maid know, and a social setting where she could blend in and try to poison me seemed like something she wouldn’t pass up.

  My blood sang with the rush of danger. Where would she hide? How would she disguise herself? “You certain she’s really a woman?” I asked Thomas under my breath.

  “Positive. However, it’s possible she’s brought in subcontractors now that she knows she’s been made. We have to be alert.”

  “Guns? Knives?”

  “Anything.”

  We’d altered our appearance slightly, sneaking into my office to change outfits. Now we wore coordinated cocktail dresses with heels, and both had black wigs. Thomas had also changed my makeup to make me look less Asian, less like myself, and his more, giving himself almond-shaped eyes and an olive cast to his skin. All of this was intended to confuse any potential assassins.

  A large, professional video camera sat on a heavy tripod in the center front, aimed at the podium on the stage, a scowling older man in an equipment vest fiddling with the controls. People avoided him and he ignored the chattering crowd, which was thickening fast as the 6 p.m. start time approached.

  “Let’s get drinks,” Thomas said, tugging me toward the set of tables that served as a bar. Several punch bowls rested on them, and servers were rapidly filling clear plastic cups to set out.

  “You sure?”

  “She can’t drug or poison common punchbowls, and we look out of place without something in our hands.”

  We got cups and sipped. It tasted like a dash of cheap Chardonnay had been added to a fruit-and-lemon-lime-soda mix. I noticed water pitchers for the teetotalers.

  “So we can’t eliminate anyone,” I said. “She could have hired anybody. She might not even be here.”

  “Oh, she’ll be here, somewhere. Watching. You look for her. I’ll try to spot the other contractors.”

  “How will you do that?”

 
“How do you recognize another cop?”

  “Understood.” I began to systematically examine every woman I judged thirty or older. The Old Maid was supposed to be in her forties, and it was awfully difficult to look more than ten years younger, even with perfect clothing and makeup. Older was much easier.

  I noticed Meat and Manson had arrived. They’d dressed as nondescriptly as two huge mixed-race men can in a crowd that was mostly white with a goodly dose of Hispanic presence and just a few black folk. They tried to blend into the background, backs to the wall, watching the crowd.

  Five minutes later, Thomas said “Got one, I think. At your eight o’clock. Young man in a bespoke suit, dark hair.”

  I rotated slowly, casually, nodding and smiling until I brought the target within sight. “How do you know?”

  “The eyes. He’s chatting up that pretty young thing, but he’s not really paying her any attention. He’s checking out every woman who might be you…including us at least once.”

  “Packing?”

  “I think so.”

  “What’s the play? Tell Davis?”

  “Only after we’ve identified the Old Maid. That’s our goal.”

  I’d briefed Davis by phone on what was going on, though not about Thomas or our disguises. Davis hadn’t liked it, but I didn’t give him a choice. “I’m not staying away,” I’d told him. “We need to take her out of action.”

  We avoided Carol and Jerry, who were working the crowd separately, pressing the flesh and flashing big smiles. Carol was clearly in her element, but Jerry’s demeanor seemed forced. Every time he changed who he was talking to, he seemed to check the room. Once, his eyes rested on us, but soon moved on.

  I spotted Brother John Studemeyer, who ran the street mission for the homeless, and resisted the urge to greet him. If the Old Maid were to identify me, she’d have to work hard for it – and harder still now that the space had filled to its capacity of around four hundred.

  After saying hello to Carol, Brother John stepped onto the stage and spoke into the microphone. “If everyone would take their seats, please?” He waited a full minute, until nearly everyone was settled before saying the blessing, a simple, non-denominational Christian prayer. In a small town like this, I couldn’t fault Carol for playing to the religious vote.

  I wondered what those folks would think of her past indiscretions with Frank and Kerry, and it occurred to me I had some leverage on her if I ever needed it. Maybe that was why she didn’t want me around…and if this was the belated launch of her political career, the higher she rose, the more damaging a scandal might be.

  The salad was already set out, so people began to eat and drink. At the head table I saw Jerry, Carol, Brother John and five men and women who must be some of the town’s movers and shakers, all on one side facing the crowd. Mike Davis sat at one end, looking uncomfortable. After a few moments he picked up his plate and joined Alice at a nearby table.

  Carol glanced his way and frowned briefly, but said nothing. I thought it was a political misstep not to have invited Alice to sit with Davis in the first place, respected small business owner that she was.

  Thomas and I slipped into two empty places with no name cards, evidently overflow for latecomers, and nodded to our neighbors, who glanced at us before turning back to their conversation.

  The man Thomas had fingered stood in a far corner near the back of the stage, and the two uniformed security guards stood chatting with each other near the main entrance.

  They wouldn’t be worth much if anything happened, I thought.

  The frowning cameraman seemed satisfied now, standing by his equipment, panning the big lens around the room from time to time but mostly focusing on the head table.

  When the servers had almost finished bringing out the entrees – choice of chicken, fish or beef, it looked like – Jerry Conrad walked up to the podium and said, “Hi, I’m Jerry Conrad. Some of you know me as the owner of the Old Mill, others as an avid bicyclist, but recently, most of you have come to see me as ‘Mister Carol Conrad.’ My wife is a woman of many talents, and when she puts her mind to it, she gets the job done. She’s raised money to improve this town’s parks, its schools and its community activities, but recently she’s decided to do more as, we hope, a member of the municipal government. So without further ado, let me introduce Granger’s Ford’s next city council member!”

  He clapped enthusiastically, sparking a standing ovation that seemed quite genuine. Carol Conrad might not like me much, but these people obviously respected her. She strode up the left side of the stage, away from us, and took the podium after receiving a peck on the lips from her husband.

  I tried to spot anyone who seemed unimpressed, but even the security guards were banging their hands together. The man in the suit clapped along with everyone else, though his eyes still roamed the crowd. When his gaze reached me, it seemed to settle. I lifted my hand to shield my face as if coughing, realizing after a moment that he wasn’t looking at me.

  He was looking at Thomas.

  “Your guy made you,” I said in his ear.

  “Yes, but who does he think I am?”

  “Takes one to know one?”

  “If so, I must be slipping.”

  “Well, something’s caught his eye.”

  “He’s heading this way.”

  I slid my hand inside my purse and wrapped my fingers around the compact automatic there, turning. The man was working his way toward us, eyes still roaming the crowd. They briefly rested on something over my right shoulder and I got the impression of a nearly imperceptible nod.

  “Stay on him,” I said. “I’ll watch our backs.” Looking in the same direction the man had glanced showed me nothing; or rather, everything: too much. Dozens of people were wrapping up their applause, nodding and chatting with their neighbors or slowly sitting again.

  Who or what had the man in the suit seen?

  Without warning, loud bangs shook the building.

  Chapter 15

  I brought my pistol out immediately, looking for a target. People turned, and yells and cries rang out as at least a score of men burst into the hall, clad in dark clothing – jeans and hoodies, mostly. I realized there had been no gunshots – yet – but the noises were the slams of doors kicked open or swung back against the walls.

  The men wore gloves and ski masks, and they wielded baseball bats. As the crowd dissolved into confusion, they smashed crockery, sending shards of glass, silverware and ceramics flying. They kicked over the folding tables and propelled chairs into the midst of the mob, enhancing the confusion.

  I saw Manson clothesline one guy, taking his bat away from him and slamming it across his ribs. Two others immediately charged the bigger man, taking him down in flying tackles, at which point I lost sight of them all.

  Everyone moved away from the attackers, toward the center, except us. Already near the back, we found ourselves on the outside of the mass.

  One of the masked men smashed a table in front of me and I raised my weapon. I would have dearly loved to shoot him but I couldn’t justify it, especially under California law, unless I was in imminent danger of grave bodily harm. Wrecking furniture and tossing a few folding chairs didn’t count.

  The man spotted my aimed firearm, checked his swing and backed up slowly, one hand raised and open. In that instant, I felt like I recognized the eyes behind the mask, but I wasn’t sure from where.

  The fire alarm rang then, which must have been a signal because all the masked men turned and ran out the doors. I felt something pluck at my dress in the back, presumably Thomas trying to get my attention. The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds.

  “That was a well-planned raid,” I said, turning toward Thomas. I found him on the ground, eyes bulging, pistol limp in his hand. “Oh, shit.” I crouched, trying to examine him for wounds with one hand while still watching for an assassin, gun up.

  The man in the suit was nowhere to be seen, and the stunned attendees were b
eginning to spread out and recover. Someone spoke loudly into the microphone but I couldn’t make out the words in the growing confusion.

  Cursing, I put both our weapons into our purses and clamped both under one arm, ignoring the itching in the back of my neck. Whatever had happened was over with, and the culprit had likely already escaped in the confusion. I focused on Thomas and his injuries. “Where are you hurt?”

  “Back…” he managed to spit out through clenched teeth. “Poison.”

  He was sweating and clearly in pain. I rolled him onto his side and found a spot of blood over his left kidney. I lifted the cloth of his blouse and saw a dart stuck there, such as animal control uses to tranquilize animals. Its reservoir was empty. I pulled it out and put it in my purse.

  I reached for my phone to dial 911, and then stopped. No doubt the call center was swamped right now and first responders were on their way, so me adding to the mix wouldn’t help.

  “Hang on,” I said, and ran for where I saw Meat crouching over his brother, who lay on the ground holding his ribs. “You gonna live?” I said to Manson.

  “Yeah. I’ve had worse.” He rolled to his knees and Meat helped him to his feet.

  “Good, because I need you guys.” I led them over to Thomas, who remained on the floor, looking sick. “He’s been stabbed in the back and poisoned. You guys carry him out, meet the first ambulance that shows and have them take him straight to Emmanuel.”

  “He?”

  I pulled off Thomas’ wig. “Disguise.”

  “The EMTs are gonna want to try to treat other people too,” Meat replied.

  “Do what you have to do, I don’t care what, but he goes, now. Twist their arms and look scary. If he doesn’t get to a hospital fast, he’ll die.” Whatever the Old Maid had used, I had no doubt it was lethal. Fortunately, unlike in spy movies, most poisons took a while to kill, and Thomas was young and strong. He’d make it.

  That’s what I told myself as Meat slung Thomas over his shoulder like a child and limped out of the building, Manson following, arms pressed to his sides. I was going to have to give the M&Ms a personal injury bonus for this job.

  I felt the urge to go with them, to hold Thomas’ hand, but there wasn’t any point. I couldn’t do anything about his medical condition, and hanging around the hospital would simply make me an easier target. No, if I had any chance of salvaging this fiasco, I had to stay here, so I began circling the floor, looking for something, anything that would give me a clue as to what happened.