Dangerous Games

by Prescott, Michael

  Still, while Tess might not like Abby’s approach, she had to admit she didn’t like having Kolb running around loose, either. He’d been insanely fixated on a woman he’d known only as a driver in a traffic stop. He’d explained his plans to kidnap her, and acquired most of the necessary accessories for the job. If Abby hadn’t stopped him, Madeleine Grant would be dead now.

  “And if he is the Rain Man,” she murmured, “and I don’t follow up…”

  She couldn’t take the chance. She had to look into Kolb. And having burned her bridges with Michaelson, she had to do it through unofficial channels.

  Well, it didn’t get any more unofficial then Abby Sinclair.

  She picked up her cell phone, not wanting to make the call from the hotel phone and leave a record for Michaelson. Already she was thinking like a lawbreaker. Leave no paper trail, cover your tracks.

  She dialed the number on Abby’s business card. The phone was answered on the second ring.

  “Yo.” Abby’s voice.

  “All right, we’ve got a deal.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “You were so sure I’d say yes?”

  “I know how to read people. Anyway, it only makes sense. Now I need to see the report.”

  “You can see it, but you can’t have it. I’m not letting it out of my possession.”

  “Fair enough. Where are you staying?”

  “You’re not coming here. I don’t want to be seen with you.”

  “Like you’re under surveillance or something?” Her tone was humorous.

  “I’m not taking any chances.” But of course she was taking a chance—a big chance—just getting involved with Abby. “I can meet you at the Boiler Room again.”

  “You don’t think it’ll seem a little odd if we go there twice in one night?”

  Tess realized she wasn’t very good at this sort of thing—sneaking around, keeping to the shadows. “What do you suggest?”

  “Santa Monica Pier. Twenty minutes. I’ll meet you by the carousel. I’ll wear a white carnation so you’ll know it’s me.”

  “That’s funny. Really.”

  “Yeah, I’m a hoot.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  “Okeydoke, artichoke.” Click, and the call was over.

  9

  Tess parked on the Santa Monica Pier, finding a space without difficulty. It was nearly midnight, and the pier was occupied only by a strolling couple, a band of kids in absurdly loose-fitting pants, and the usual vagabonds. The rides were closed, the roller coaster and Ferris wheel looming in skeletal silhouette against a moon-streaked sky. A breeze gusted off the ocean, chilly and damp, making Tess glad she was wearing her trench coat.

  Near the pier’s entrance she found the carousel building, a turn-of-the-century pavilion in a faux Moorish-Byzantine style. High, mullioned windows looked in on the carved, gaily painted horses. The doors were locked, the lights out.

  “Good place to meet, huh? No prying eyes.”

  Tess turned to face Abby, who’d somehow managed to come up behind her without a sound. “I wish you’d stop taking me by surprise.”

  “You’ll get used to it.” Abby noticed the folder in Tess’s hand. “I assume that’s the goods.”

  “Yes.” Tess didn’t hand over the folder just yet. “There’s a question I forgot to ask before. Why wouldn’t the police listen to Madeleine?”

  “Like I told you, they’re overworked, underpaid—”

  “I don’t mean last year. Madeleine said she called the police detective who put Kolb away and gave him the tip about the Rain Man. And the cop wasn’t interested. Why not?”

  Abby shrugged. “You got me.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. It’s a strong enough lead to be worth following up, but apparently they just gave her the brush-off.”

  “The LAPD works in mysterious ways. That’s all I can tell you. Now, am I going to get my hands on those top-secret documents or not?”

  With a last twinge of reluctance, Tess surrendered the report.

  Abby hooked a penlight to the front pocket of her leather jacket, keeping both hands free to flip through the document. The pencil-thin beam wavered on the Xeroxed pages.

  Tess turned away. She looked through the rippled glass of the pavilion windows and watched the pale blur of the horses. In the dimness they looked unreal—ghost horses, frozen phantoms on parade.

  “This place looks familiar somehow,” Tess said.

  Abby glanced up from her reading. “It was in The Sting.”

  “I never saw The Sting. I think I saw the sequel.”

  “You never saw the original Sting, but you saw the sequel? The one with Mac Davis and Jackie Gleason?”

  “I think so.”

  “That’s like saying you’ve never seen The Godfather, but you’ve seen Godfather Three.”

  “I’ve never seen any of the Godfather films.”

  Abby stared at her. “Well, that’s just bizarre.”

  “I don’t like movies much.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong town.”

  Tess sighed. “Don’t I know it.”

  Abby went back to reading. “Hmmm. Carpet fibers found in Angela Morris’s car. Short nap, burnt orange. They aren’t hers, so they could be his. That’s useful to know.”

  “Useful because you’re going to check Kolb’s carpet when you break into his residence?”

  “That’s the idea.” Abby turned a page. “Interesting how he gets paid, isn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s say you’re going to kidnap someone for ransom. The obvious thing is to snatch a wealthy victim. No shortage of high earners in this town. You stake out a mansion in Beverly Hills, grab the hausfrau, then demand payment from her husband. But our guy doesn’t do that.”

  “No. He doesn’t.”

  “He snatches two relatively low-income victims. He doesn’t care about their personal assets, if any. His ransom demands are submitted to the city. He wants the municipal government to pay.”

  Tess nodded. “It could be an antigovernment thing. We’ve been working that angle.”

  “With no results, I take it. What other angles are you looking at?”

  “Links between the victims. Somebody who would have known them both.”

  “That’ll never pan out. The guy we’re after isn’t settling scores with ex-girlfriends. He’s playing a different game.”

  Tess was inclined to agree. “And he’ll keep playing.”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t he? He’s already two million dollars ahead. Anyway, it’ll be instructive to see if Kolb has turned antigovernment.”

  “He wasn’t before?”

  “Before, he was the government. A cop, an authority figure with a badge—like you. Now things might be different. He probably feels the government screwed him.”

  “Because they wouldn’t let him kidnap and kill a woman?”

  “I’m just telling you how he may see it. Getting inside his head a little. Now this is interesting.”

  Tess realized that Abby had kept reading throughout the conversation. “What is?”

  “The bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “It gives me something else to look for—records of Kolb traveling to the Caymans. Or, more likely, some correspondence between him and a bank there. That would be the easier way to set up the accounts. These days you can handle it all by mail. But no matter how you do it, it’s not cheap. Two or three grand, minimum. That’s the standard fee, and it’s charged for each and every account you set up. If Kolb has multiple accounts, he spent some serious cash, and he did it before he’d gotten any ransom money.”

  “I take it Kolb isn’t wealthy.”

  “No one gets wealthy on a cop’s salary except crooked cops. And Kolb wasn’t crooked. Besides, I’d bet he used all his liquid assets to pay for his legal counsel. So where’d he get the bucks to set up the accounts?”

  Tess shrugge
d. “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s not the one we’re after.”

  “Or if he is, he could’ve pulled some small-time job to get his seed money. Knocked over a minimart or something. Or…”

  “Yes?”

  “Never mind. Passing thought.” Abby flipped through the pages. “Here’s another tidbit. The Rain Man left Paula Weissman’s note on the dashboard of her illegally parked car. He took the plates off, too.”

  Tess saw what she was aiming at. “He knew that if the car had no tags, a cop writing a ticket would have to look at the vehicle identification number on the dash. That’s how he could be sure the note would be seen. So the Rain Man might be a cop.”

  “Or an ex-cop. Like Mr. William Kolb. I assume you guys tumbled to that.”

  “I, uh, I think the inference was that he took off the plates just to call attention to the vehicle, make sure it would be ticketed.”

  “Oh.”

  Tess was feeling a little stupid all of a sudden. She tried to rectify the situation. “He uses handcuffs to secure his victims in the storm lines—another possible cop link.”

  Abby was unimpressed. “Sure, that’s obvious.”

  Miffed, Tess pursued the point. “Didn’t Kolb have handcuffs in his apartment?”

  “Yeah. And duct tape. And lookie here, the Rain Man’s vics get their mouths sealed with duct tape. Kolb mentioned a stun gun in his e-mail. Any burn marks on the two women?”

  “None on Paula Weissman. The autopsy results on Angela Morris haven’t come in yet.”

  “Oh, yeah, here’s Weissman’s postmortem. No taunting wounds. No antemortem injuries except abrasions on her wrists from the handcuffs…”

  Tess wasn’t ready to change the subject. “Why did you ask about the stun gun? You didn’t find one in Kolb’s apartment, as I recall.”

  “No, I didn’t…but maybe Kolb just hadn’t acquired that particular accessory yet. According to this, Weissman wasn’t raped. I take it you don’t know about Morris yet.”

  “There was no obvious evidence of it.”

  “If it’s Kolb, I wouldn’t expect him to commit rape. He’s not the type.”

  “He was planning to rape Madeleine,” Tess objected.

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  This time Tess was sure she’d caught Abby in a mistake. “In several of the e-mails he made specific references—”

  “Sure, sure, I know. But that was all bluster. Remember when he laid out his game plan? He said Madeleine’s ankles would be taped together. He even had the tape to do it. Pretty tough to rape a woman when you’ve trussed her legs shut.”

  “Unless we’re talking about…anal abuse.”

  Abby chuckled. “Nice euphemism. I need to remember that one.”

  Tess simmered.

  “Anyway,” Abby went on, “there wouldn’t have been any abuse, anal or otherwise. It’s not in character for him. He’s a dick, but he doesn’t think with his dick. Which actually puts him a cut above a lot of guys I know.”

  “You’re a fairly cynical person, aren’t you?”

  “You noticed?”

  “Have you always been so…”

  “Delightfully insouciant? Nope. I was once all earnest and Girl Scoutish like you. Events have a way of changing a person.”

  “What events?”

  Abby lifted her gaze from the report. “Betrayal. You know the saying: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But when your friends turn out to be your enemies, what are you supposed to do then?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Keep everybody at a distance. Trust nobody. That’s my solution.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a solution to me.”

  “Well, it’s kept me alive so far.” Abby smiled, but there was sadness in it. “Our line of work isn’t exactly conducive to trust. Haven’t you ever been betrayed by someone you believed in?”

  Tess couldn’t deny her an honest answer. “Yes.”

  “Then you know the score.”

  “I guess I do. But maybe I’ve handled it better than you.”

  “Maybe you should run self-help seminars. There’s big money in them.” Abby returned her attention to the report.

  So much for the heart-to-heart. Tess got back to business. “So Kolb talked rape, but didn’t plan on doing it.”

  “Right.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s a control freak. Can’t allow himself to be driven by lust or any physical need. Always has to be in control of his body.”

  “And the Rain Man…”

  “Is a control freak too. He scripts the drama, stage-manages the situation. Plays with the authorities, yanks their chain, makes ’em dance.” Abby shut the folder and handed it back. “All done.”

  Tess tucked it under her arm. “Speed-reader.”

  “Salutatorian at Sierra Canyon High.”

  “Not valedictorian?” As digs went, this one was pretty weak, but it was the best Tess could manage.

  Abby shook her head. “Amy Malkovic beat me out by a tenth of a point on her GPA. Little snot. She never would’ve aced Trigonometry if she hadn’t bribed the teacher with cupcakes. I just saw a story on her in the alumni newsletter. She’s married to a chiropractor, drowning in rugrats, weighs more than a sumo wrestler. Revenge is sweet.”

  “You sure you don’t envy her?”

  Abby tilted her head quizzically. “What would I be envying, exactly?”

  “Home, family, children. A normal life.”

  “I’d go crazy living that way. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ever been hitched?”

  “No.”

  Abby watched her. “But you were close.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Saw it in your eyes. It ended badly.”

  “Yes.”

  “He cheated?”

  “He died.” Tess’s voice was low.

  Abby put a hand on Tess’s arm. “Sorry. I didn’t…”

  “You didn’t know?” Tess almost smiled. “I guess there are some secrets you can’t read from body language. How about you?”

  “How about me, what?”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “Not even close.”

  “No serious relationships?”

  “I don’t necessarily make the best choices in that department. But who does?” She saw Tess’s face and added, “Oh. You do. Or you did—with him.”

  “He was a good man.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Abby broke it by clapping her hands in a businesslike fashion.

  “Well, what we’re interested in right now is a bad man—Mr. William Kolb. Thanks a mil for the sneak peek.”

  “Was it worth it? Did you learn anything helpful?”

  “Bits and pieces. Some possible connections between Kolb and the Rain Man—duct tape on the victims’ mouths, handcuffs, the way he covered the dashboard VIN with the ransom note. Then there’s stuff for me to look for—the carpet fibers, a Caymans connection. None of that is the main thing, though.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Nothing in here rules Kolb out. See, that was a possibility. There might be some detail that’d tell me I’m wasting my time looking at him.”

  “You don’t think I would’ve caught a detail like that?”

  “When you read the report, you weren’t looking for it. Besides, you don’t know Kolb. I do. Let’s say the postmortem on Paula Weissman had turned up taunting wounds—you know, nonfatal knife sticks. That would eliminate Kolb right there.”

  “He’s not a sadist?”

  “No—or at least, not that way. He could lose his cool, beat the hell out of somebody in a state of rage, but he wouldn’t go in for torture. It’s not the way his mind works. Same with rape, as we discussed. Or if the Rain Man was sending private messages to the police or the Bureau, then I’d know Kolb’s not our guy.”

  “Why not? He sent messages to Madeleine.”

&nb
sp; “You’ve answered your own question. He made that mistake before.”

  “Offenders frequently repeat their mistakes.”

  “Not Kolb.”

  “He’s smart, then?”

  “Street-smart. His IQ is probably nothing special—ten, maybe twenty points above average. But there are skills an IQ test can’t measure. And there’s one other thing that could’ve ruled him out. The Rain Man’s attitude toward women.”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty damn negative attitude.”

  “Obviously. But negative how? Anger—or contempt? See, anger is always based on fear. A guy is afraid of women, so he strikes out at them. That’s not Kolb. And it’s not the Rain Man, either. He doesn’t brutalize his victims. He doesn’t fixate on them.”

  “Kolb fixated on Madeleine.”

  “Madeleine pissed him off in a specific context—the traffic stop. That made it personal. Grabbing these women more or less at random—it’s business. If Kolb’s doing it, he’s not exorcising any demons. He’s just doing a job.”

  “Dumping them in the storm sewers…”

  “Exactly. Dumping them—like garbage.”

  “Which is all they are to him.” Tess remembered making the same point to Crandall at the river.

  Abby nodded. “And you don’t hate garbage. It’s just something to be gotten rid of. That’s how Kolb would see it. And it looks like that’s how the Rain Man sees it, too.”

  “You’re drawing a lot of inferences from a pretty slender database.”

  “I go with my gut. It hasn’t failed me—at least not often.”

  “Okay…So when are you going to start?”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  “How?”

  “A little meet-and-greet. I’ll run into Kolb and renew old ties.”

  “Any idea how you’ll accomplish that?”

  “Don’t worry about strategy and tactics. I can handle that end. I’m a pro.”

  “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks.”

  “My whole job consists of unnecessary risks.” Abby grinned. “That’s what makes it fun.”

  “Take care, anyway.”

  “Always do. Night, Tess. And, hey—don’t lose any sleep over this, okay? Whatever happens, your fingerprints won’t be on it. You’ll be clean. I guarantee it.”

  She walked away. Tess thought Abby might be right—but at the moment she didn’t feel clean.