“So?” Lucy shrugged.
“So, the first call was made a week before your husband was murdered. And the second call was made a day before Mervin Tuch got whacked. Now, we can’t just chalk that up to coincidence, can we?”
Lucy wasn’t fazed. “Anyone could have made those calls. I certainly didn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Jake said evenly. “And I guess you didn’t know the blond hitter who came aboard the yacht and murdered your husband. Right?”
Lucy shook her head. “I didn’t know her.”
“Her?” Jake said at once. “I didn’t say the hitter was a female.”
“Oh,” Lucy mumbled, thinking fast. “I thought you did.”
“When?”
“When you questioned all of us aboard the Argonaut.”
She’s good, Jake was thinking. Lucy Rabb wasn’t smart, but she was quick. And she knew how to lie. “Naw,” Jake continued. “You knew her. And you brought her aboard the yacht.”
“I did not,” Lucy denied firmly.
“Sure you did. And let me tell you how we know that.” Jake paused to light a cigarette, his eyes never leaving her. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs twice rapidly. “You ordered the caterers for your yacht party, didn’t you?”
“I believe so,” Lucy replied, being more careful.
“You arranged just about everything for that party. Right?”
“Just about.”
“Now, this hitter knew exactly when the caterers would be arriving at your party. And she knew what they’d be wearing, so she could put on a similar white jacket and blend in with them. That’s how she got aboard the yacht.”
Lucy remained silent. Let him talk, she thought. He’s got nothing. He’s guessing.
“How did she find all that out?” Jake asked, blowing smoke at the ceiling. He waited a moment before answering his own question. “Well, there’s only one way the hitter could have known all those details. Somebody on the inside had to tell her.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“It was you, all right,” Jake pressed on. “You brought her aboard the yacht and you introduced her to people who remembered the hitter from the photograph that was taken.”
“There were no photographs taken aboard the Argonaut that night,” Lucy countered.
“You’re absolutely right.”
Lucy nodded, pleased at catching him in a lie.
“The photograph we showed them came from the surveillance film taken in the parking garage where Mervin Tuch was murdered. The hitter was actually caught on film whacking Mr. Tuch. And the FBI did a great job enhancing her picture from the tape. Would you like to see her photograph?” Jake asked, and reached into his coat pocket.
Lucy turned her head away.
“No? Okay. Maybe later.”
Jake crushed out his cigarette in a Chinese porcelain ashtray atop the coffee table. He decided to push harder, but not too hard. He didn’t want her to lawyer up. “There’s a lot more that connects you to the hitter. You remember Mr. Clean? You know, the bald security guard who was on duty the night of the party. Well, his memory suddenly improved a lot. He recalls seeing you and the blond hitter and your husband talking and laughing together. It was almost like the three of you were old friends. Did you do the introductions?”
“The guard is mistaken,” Lucy said.
“I don’t think so.” Jake waved away her answer. “You see, he remembered too many details. Like he recalled how strange it was for you and your husband to be so chummy with the hired help.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Jake went on. “When Mervin Tuch got iced, we had to go through all the things in his office. He left some interesting notes and papers behind. And to tell you the truth, Mrs. Rabb, you don’t come out looking so good. There was a lot of real personal stuff that—Well, you know . . .” Jake let his voice trail off.
“There was nothing between us,” Lucy said hastily.
“There was plenty between you, business and otherwise.”
Jake decided that now was the moment to crack Lucy Rabb wide open. He’d have to tell some lies and half-truths, but that didn’t bother him. Just as long as she gave him the whole story. “And it was all spelled out in Mervin Tuch’s files,” he said. “He talked about the plans you and he had and how nice things would be once your husband was out of the way. You two would control Bio-Med, and all those millions would be yours. Hell, he even talked about old man Rabb’s plan to give Bio-Med to some charity. Boy, that must have been a shocker, huh? All that money flying out the window.”
Lucy’s face went ashen.
“Funny how a smart lawyer like that would leave something so incriminating in his files.” Jake shook his head at the lawyer’s made-up stupidity. He glanced over at Farelli. “It’s hard to figure why he’d do something like that, isn’t it?”
“Maybe he was covering his ass,” Farelli suggested. “Maybe he was worried she’d point the finger at him later and try to lay it all on him.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore,” Jake said, turning back to Lucy. “Because he’s dead, which leaves you, Mrs. Rabb, holding the bag.”
Farelli added, “You’re going to take the fall, lady. Big time.”
Jake waved a hand expansively around the elegant living room. “You can kiss all this good-bye. Where you’re going, they don’t have Renoirs on the wall.”
Lucy’s face came apart. Then the tears flowed. She tried to sniff them back. “It was Mervin Tuch’s idea. He planned it all. I knew nothing. Then he—he seduced me.” She reached for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “He took advantage of me.”
Right, Jake was thinking. Like the other two hundred guys who were there before him. “So he planned it all?”
“Everything.”
“He even hired the hitters, huh?”
Lucy nodded.
“Set it all up by himself, did he?”
Lucy nodded again. “Every detail.”
“Then who had him killed? Who set that up?”
Lucy’s mouth opened, but she said nothing.
“It was you. It had to be.”
“No!”
Jake leaned forward, staring her down and making her squirm. “Why did you do it? Was he blackmailing you?”
“I think I’d better call my lawyer.”
“Fine,” Jake said hoarsely. “But you’ll make the call from downtown.”
Lucy looked at her cell phone but didn’t reach for it.
“Tuch was in the process of getting a loan for a half million from his bank,” Jake continued. “We know all about that, and we know you were going to sign your Bio-Med stock over as collateral. That sounds like blackmail to me.” He looked over to Farelli. “What do you think, Lou?”
Farelli nodded. “That’s how most juries would figure it.”
Lucy Rabb suddenly saw a way out of her predicament. “It was blackmail, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Tuch was going to put everything off on me. And I knew nothing. That’s the honest-to-God truth.”
“How was he going to set you up?” Jake asked.
Lucy shrugged. “You know how smart lawyers are. They know how to screw people but good.”
“Yeah. Right,” Jake said flatly. “He was so damn smart he got himself killed.”
“I didn’t have him killed! I swear it!”
“Sure you did.”
“No! I swear—”
Jake waved away her lies and glanced over at Farelli. “Read her rights. Then cuff her.”
“Don’t! Don’t do that!” Lucy cried.
“You’re not leaving us much choice.”
“What if I told you everything?” Lucy bargained. “Could I get immunity?”
“Immunity from what?”
“The murders,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I can’t promise you anything,” Jake said. “But I’ll talk to the DA.”
“What does that mea
n?”
“That means you stand a chance of getting out of prison before you’re an old, wrinkled-up woman.”
Lucy hesitated, trying to read the detective’s face. “You promise me you’ll talk to the DA?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Lucy’s head dropped to her chest. “Okay,” she said resignedly.
Farelli read her her rights slowly and carefully.
Jake took a small tape recorder from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. He turned it on and then looked at Lucy Rabb. “Start talking.”
38
Joanna furiously punched numbers into the wall panel, still looking for the right combination to open the door. She was now up to 60-50-42.
The sound system came back on. Brennerman and the guards had returned to interrogate Nancy Tanaka again.
“Just a few more questions,” Brennerman said soothingly.
Nancy started sobbing. “Please help me.”
“We will,” Brennerman promised. “But only if you give us the right answers.”
Joanna glanced hurriedly over her shoulder, hoping she was looking through a one-way window. It had to be one way. That’s why Nancy didn’t recognize me when I was pounding on the window. She couldn’t see through it.
Joanna turned back to the wall panel and punched in 60-50-43. There was no click from the door’s locking mechanism.
Brennerman was asking, “Let’s go back to the fetuses Mirren was working on. You knew all about that, didn’t you?”
“He never told me anything,” Nancy said, her voice trembling.
“Sure he did,” Brennerman coaxed her along. “I’d appreciate your telling me the truth. Otherwise we’ll have to let the snakes out again.”
“No! Please!”
Joanna punched in 60-50-44. She waited. No click.
“That’s how the police found the abortion clinic where Mirren got the fetuses,” Brennerman was saying. “He told you and you told Joanna Blalock, and she told the police.”
“No! I swear I didn’t!”
“We think Joanna knew all about the fetuses,” Brennerman said. “And I’ll bet she’ll tell us everything when we question her in a few minutes. She won’t be as brave as you because she knows the agony one goes through before dying from a rattlesnake bite.”
Joanna was up to 60-50-46. Still no click. Her hands started shaking at the thought of a rattlesnake bite and the horrible death it caused. Calm down, damn it! Calm down or you’ll never open this damn door. More deliberately she pushed down on the numbered buttons. 60-50-47. The door remained locked.
“And you knew exactly where the data book on the fetal research was hidden,” Brennerman pressed on. “Mirren must have shown you where it was located.”
“No! I just guessed.”
“Are there other data books hidden away?”
“I don’t know. He never showed me.”
“Crap!”
“Please help me,” Nancy begged, and started crying again. “Don’t let me die.”
Joanna was up to 60-50-48. There was still no click. She swallowed hard, wondering if the numbers she had recalled were correct. If they weren’t, she was dead. Her heart began to pound in her chest. She punched in 60-50-49. Nothing.
Brennerman was asking, “And what about the extra two hundred and fifty dollars a week Mirren was giving you?”
“That was for overtime work,” Nancy answered.
“That was your share of the blackmail money,” Brennerman snapped.
Joanna concentrated her hearing. Was Nancy really in on the blackmail? She entered a new set of numbers as she listened.
“No,” Nancy protested. “It was for overtime.”
“You’d better tell the truth,” Brennerman warned. “The longer the venom stays in your system, the less chance the antivenin will work.”
“Please!”
“Tell the goddamn truth!”
“I am!”
Joanna was now at 60-50-50, and the door was still locked. Her hands were sweating profusely and she rubbed them against her arms to dry them. She stared at the panel, thinking about the last numbers of the code and wondering if she should not go to the uppermost number, 99, and work her way down. Maybe that would change her luck. No, she quickly decided. Keep it in sequence. She punched in 60-50-51.
“Put Nancy in the animal room,” Brennerman told the guards. “She can re-think her answers while we question Joanna Blalock.”
A guard asked, “Do you want Blalock strapped down on the table, too?”
“Do her the same way you did Nancy,” Brennerman ordered. “And get two more rattlesnakes.”
Joanna shuddered. Oh, Christ! They’re coming for me!
Frantically, Joanna kicked against the metal door, but it hardly budged. She quickly scanned the room, looking for something that could be used as a weapon. But the walls were bare and there was no furniture. Nothing was made of glass.
Joanna glanced back through the Plexiglas window. The guards were lifting Nancy Tanaka off the surgical table. Her body was limp and offered no resistance. She’s dying, Joanna thought. And I’m next.
Joanna turned back to the wall panel and tried to remember the last numbers she had punched in. Was it 60-50-50? Or 50-50-51? Oh, Christ! Stop wasting time! She quickly entered the numbers 60-50-50 and waited. There was no click.
“She’s heavy as hell,” one of the guards complained.
“That’s because she’s like dead weight,” the other guard explained.
“Oooh,” Nancy moaned weakly.
“Hurry it up!” Brennerman barked. “And get Blalock in here.”
Joanna hastily punched in 60-60-51. No! Damn it! The middle set of digits should be 50. She entered the code 60-50-51. The locking mechanism made no sound. Joanna kicked futilely at the metal door and then glanced over her shoulder at the Plexiglas window. The guards had Nancy’s body halfway through the door.
Joanna’s hands were shaking again. She clasped her fingers together to steady them; then she turned back to the wall panel. Oh, God! Let this be the right number! Please!
She punched in 60-50-52.
The locking mechanism clicked. The door opened automatically.
Joanna dashed out, closing the door behind her. Quickly she surveyed the expansive area and tried to orient herself. She was on the side of the Bio-Med plant. To the left she saw the dimly lighted parking lot. Nancy’s car was still there. Joanna ran toward the car, but her progress was slow because her boots were sinking into the sand and gravel. She prayed that Nancy had left the keys in her car. It was Joanna’s only chance. Oh, Lord! Let them be there! Joanna’s hopes started to rise. Let those keys be in the ignition switch. I’ll crash through the front gate. And then I’ll come back. With Jake Sinclair.
Joanna tripped in the loose gravel and almost fell. She regained her balance and raced on, reaching the pavement of the parking lot. Pausing to catch her breath, she glanced over her shoulder. It was dark. There was no commotion. The guards hadn’t discovered her missing yet. But they soon would.
She ran to Nancy’s car and flung open the front door. There was no key in the ignition or under the floor mat or behind the overhead sun visor. Joanna’s hopes quickly faded. She was still trapped. In front of her was a high fence topped off with barbed wire. Behind her was the plant and the guards. She couldn’t go to the left because there was a guarded gate in her way. And to her right was desert. Nothing but desert.
I’m trapped, Joanna thought hopelessly. Trapped with no way out. Except east through the desert. And that is certain death. I’d never survive that. I’m as good as dead. Any way I turn, I’m dead.
Joanna noticed the automatic trunk release inside Nancy’s car. Maybe Nancy had a hidden set of keys there. Joanna pulled the lever and the trunk popped open. She hurried to the rear of the car and looked inside. All she found was the woolly blanket she’d hidden under and a small plastic bottle of water that was half empty.
The side door to the
Bio-Med plant suddenly swung open.
A guard stepped out yelling, “Get the dogs!”
Joanna quickly grabbed the blanket and small bottle of water. Then she ran for the darkness of the desert.
39
“You’d better warn the doc,” Farelli said.
“I tried to, but there was no answer at her lab or her condo,” Jake told him. “I’m going to run over to Brentwood real quick and see if Joanna is home.”
“And I’ll ride downtown with Mrs. Hot Pants and make sure she’s booked right.” Farelli gestured with his head to the backseat of the black-and-white unit where a handcuffed Lucy Rabb was sitting. “Can you believe it? She was screwing old man Rabb, Mervin Tuch, and this guy Brennerman all at the same time. She was a busy girl.”
“Not that busy,” Jake commented dryly. “She still found time to have two of them whacked.”
Farelli moved away from the patrol car and lowered his voice. “When we get her downtown, you know she’s going to lawyer up.”
“Let her,” Jake said, unconcerned. “We’ve got a nice, clear tape recording of her confession.”
“They’ll say we coerced it out of her.”
“You can bet on that,” Jake grumbled. “And then Brennerman’s lawyer will say she’s lying to save her own ass.”
Farelli shook his head. “It’s going to be a goddamn circus.”
“Tell me about it,” Jake said, and reached for the door to his car.
Jake drove down the winding road that led out of Bel Air and into the Brentwood area. The narrow road was poorly lighted and there were frequent deer crossing signs, so he had to go slow. He kept thinking about Farelli’s comment that the case was going to end up being a circus. A goddamn circus. He was right on that score. Oh, Lucy Rabb would end up going to jail, but they would plea-bargain her sentence way down. And they would point all the evidence at Mervin Tuch and leave him holding the bag. And nobody would give a shit about that because Tuch was dead and would soon be forgotten.
But Eric Brennerman was another matter. It would be his word against Lucy Rabb’s. Other than Lucy’s statement, they had nothing to really show that Brennerman was involved in the murders. He would probably walk, although he was surely in it up to his ass.
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