Flipping Out

by Marshall Karp

  Central LA on her own than accept help from a cop.'

  'Even her husband?'

  'Especially me. She grew up around some real badass cops in Mexico. It left her with some old wounds that never healed.'

  I nodded.

  'Anyway, I did phone therapy with Dr J. for maybe fifteen minutes. Then I yelled downstairs to tell Marisol I needed another five, and we could go. No answer. She had left without me. So I threw on some clothes and I drove to the flip house.'

  'You didn't shower?'

  He shook his head. 'No, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I wanted to show up all hot and sweaty and read her the riot act. I was really pissed. Then when I got to the flip house I saw her car and Martin's.'

  'And what did you think?'

  'I figured they were working out what to do about the business now that Nora was dead.'

  'So you thought it was strictly business?' I said.

  His eyes ignited, and he bolted forward in his chair. 'Jesus, Mike, I know you have to go into dark places, but give me a fucking break. If you're asking do I think there was anything going on between my wife and Martin, the answer is no. She was a bitch on wheels, but I loved her, and we were happy, and if you go down that road again, the interview is over.'

  'Tony, I'm sorry, but it's part of—'

  'I know, I know, it's part of the job to treat the husband of the dead woman like he's guilty of something... anything.'

  'Hey, Tony,' Terry said. 'We went through this with Reggie, and then Charlie, and now you. We're just asking what we've got to ask, and believe me, Mike was lobbing them in as easy as he could. IA won't be that gentle. Now, get back on track. What happened once you got to the house?'

  'I was agitated.' He smiled. 'Like I am now.' He eased back in his chair. 'So I sat in the car for a minute trying to calm down, doing my best not to run into the house and have a domestic dispute in front of Martin.'

  'And then what?'

  'I heard a shot from inside the house.'

  'Just one?'

  'That's all I needed. I jumped out of the car and ran for the house.'

  'Did you call for backup?'

  'My wife was a target and I heard a gunshot. No, I didn't stop to call a cop. I couldn't wait for backup.'

  'Had you heard anything from the house before the shot?' Terry said. 'Like arguing?'

  'No.'

  'What happened once you got to the house?'

  'I threw open the door and ran in, screaming, 'Police. Drop your weapons.' A guy comes running out of the bedroom with a gun in his hand. It's Martin. I couldn't believe it. He shoots. It misses. But the second one hits me. I go down, but I managed to return fire. Three shots.'

  'From the looks of it, you only needed one,' I said.

  'Yeah,' Terry said. 'Nice shot group.'

  'Thanks. You know what they say...the only difference between the good guys and the bad guys is that we spend more time at target practice.'

  'What happened next?' Terry said.

  'I crawled into the bedroom. Marisol was face down on the carpet. I turned her over, but she was dead. I just laid there, held her in my arms, and called 911.'

  'Do you have any idea why Martin would kill your wife?'

  'Same reason he killed all the others. I don't know what that is, but Marilyn is lucky. She had to be next.'

  'You're probably right,' Terry said. 'Thank you for preventing that from happening.'

  'You're welcome, amigo, but a thank-you is not really necessary. It's what we do for each other.'

  'I know,' Terry said. 'I only wish I could've done it for you.'

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Terry and I returned to the scene of the latest crime. We walked through the flip house one more time to see if the physical evidence jived with Tony's account of what happened. It did.

  'We have everything we need to start writing up all this paperwork,' I said.

  'Everything but the stomach,' Terry said. 'Do you really want to go back to the office on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in September and spend the rest of the day hunched over a keyboard? Or would you rather go home and hunch over the woman you love?'

  'As long as you put it that way,' I said.

  'Besides, the perp is dead. All we have to do is crank out a report for the mayor.'

  'Which Mel Berger said is due the day before yesterday.'

  'So we've already missed the deadline. One more day won't make a difference.'

  'Except for the fact that the later we are, the more we'll piss off Berger.'

  'There you go. Yet another excellent reason to put it off. Look, the case is wrapped up. We're not the guys who cracked it, but we can still celebrate.'

  'On one condition,' I said.

  'You name it.'

  'We don't celebrate together.'

  I called Diana and told her about my sudden availability.

  'Thanks for the warning,' she said. 'That gives me time to get rid of the other guy. Did you eat?'

  'I had a bagel at ten o'clock.'

  'How about I pack some sandwiches and take you on a picnic?'

  'Where?'

  'It's a surprise.'

  'Knowing you,' I said, 'I'll bet it's quiet and serene and romantic.'

  'It's not,' she said. 'That's the surprise - it's a construction site.'

  We drove out to our new house. It's a sweet little three-bedroom on Hill Street in Santa Monica. It's in a perfect spot - close enough to the ocean so we can walk there, but far enough away that we can still afford the house. At the moment, it was suffering from a bad case of urban blight. Hal Hooper had left construction debris from one end of the property to the other. We found a clean patch of lawn and some late afternoon sunshine in the backyard, and spread out a blanket.

  'Enjoy the rubble while you still can,' she said. 'Kemp starts the transformation tomorrow morning.' She unpacked the picnic basket. 'I have sandwiches, chips, and beer.'

  'I'll have the beer.'

  She handed me a bottle of Amstel Light.

  'That's girl beer,' I said.

  'Maybe you can get your feminine side drunk, and take advantage of yourself.' She pulled two sandwiches out of the cooler. 'Do you like ham and Swiss?'

  'What's my second choice?'

  'Swiss and ham,' she said handing me a sandwich. 'Look, there's something you should know before we move in together. I'm not as domestic as Marilyn Biggs. I'm quite adept at putting packaged meat on pre-sliced bread, and I'm relatively competent at applying heat to frozen items or certain cuts of beef. But fair warning - once we start living together there will be no freshbaked figgy scones in your future.'

  'I'll settle for a roof, indoor plumbing, and a backyard that doesn't look like springtime in Fallujah.'

  'Are you nervous about buying this house together?'

  'Totally,' I said.

  'Me too. Thank you for being honest.'

  'Actually, I'm lying. I'm not nervous at all, but I didn't think you'd believe me if I said no. Why are you nervous?'

  'It's a girl thing.'

  'Try me,' I said. 'I'm drinking girl beer. Maybe I'll understand.'

  'I'm afraid of losing you.'

  'I co-signed the mortgage. Where would I go?'

  'These murders really got to me. Three of the men you work with lost their wives. I spent a couple of hours listening to Marilyn the other night. She was petrified.'

  'She's safe now.'

  'I know, but my mind is filled with images of couples who get ripped apart. I haven't been this happy in a long time, so there's a little voice inside me that says something terrible is going to come along and destroy it.'

  'That's not a girl thing. It's called fear. Even manly-man cops get it. Can I give you three words of advice?'

  'Carry a gun?'

  'Let it go.'

  'That's easy for you to say. You have a gun.'

  We talked, drank two beers apiece, split a brownie for dessert, curled up on the blanket, and fell asleep. When we woke up, the sky was
dusky, and the air was chilly.

  'Want to go home?' I said.

  'Yes,' she said. 'Our home. Grab the blanket. I have a key.'

  We went to the bedroom and spread the blanket on the floor under a section where Hooper had not yet gotten around to finishing the roof. Moonlight spilt gloriously through the beams.

  'Our very own moonroof,' I said. 'I guess there are times when it pays off to have a bungling idiot for a contractor.'

  Diana stretched out and stared up at the sky. 'Wow, this is some fantastic view. I can see a star.'

  'Make a wish,' I said, wrapping my arms around her. 'Don't have to,' she whispered. 'I've already got everything I need.'

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Terry and I got to the station at seven on Monday morning. Eileen Mulvey was sitting at the front desk. Mulvey is one of the good guys. She knows everybody, hears everything, and goes out of her way to protect the detectives' asses. She also enjoys busting our balls.

  'You're late for church, boys,' she said. 'Father Kilcullen has been looking for you since the crack of dawn.'

  'Good morning to you too, Officer Mulvey,' Terry said. 'My weekend was excellent. How was yours?'

  She leant forward across the desk. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Detective Biggs. I didn't realise you wanted foreplay with your messages.' She blew him a kiss. 'This is the best I can do when I'm on duty. Maybe later we can hook up for pizza and a Coke.'

  'Thanks,' Terry said. 'And for the record, we're not late. He's early.'

  At 7:01 we were in Kilcullen's office, it's about time,' he said. 'How're you doing on the mayor's paperwork?'

  'Moving right along,' Terry said. 'We interviewed Tony yesterday.'

  'I'm putting him up for a Medal of Valour.'

  Neither Terry nor I said a word.

  'No comment, Biggs?' Kilcullen said.

  'No sir. I'm just grateful my wife no longer has to wear Kevlar to the supermarket.'

  'How about you, Lomax?'

  'Lieutenant, I think it's a smart move for the mayor to offset the murders of three cop wives and a famous author by anointing a public hero.'

  'Very astute,' Kilcullen said. 'Mel Berger had the same thought.'

  'We've always thought of Mr Berger as an ass-toot kind of guy,' Terry said.

  'Get the hell out of here and finish the paperwork,' Kilcullen said.

  Terry and I grabbed some coffee and sat down at our desks. He yanked open a drawer, rifled through some papers, and pulled one out. 'Listen to this. It's from last year's medal ceremony. "The Medal of Valour is awarded to officers who distinguish themselves by conspicuous bravery or heroism above and beyond the normal demands of police service." Conspicuous bravery? Above and beyond? The guy's wife was in the house, he heard a shot, he ran in.'

  'You sound jealous,' I said.

  'There's more. "To be awarded the Medal of Valour, an officer would have performed an act displaying extreme courage while consciously facing imminent peril." Am I missing something here, Mike? How extreme is it for a cop to enter a house when he hears a gun go off? Do firemen get a medal every time they run into a burning building?'

  'You're beyond jealous,' I said. 'Excuse me, but the message light on my phone is blinking. Kilcullen probably left it just in case Mulvey didn't catch us at the door.'

  I dialled the code to access my voice mail.

  'You have one new message,' the robotic phone-mail lady informed me.

  I tapped the play key. The next voice I heard made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  'Good morning, Detective Lomax. This is Martin Sorensen.'

  For a split second I thought it might just be a lame joke, but this was not the kind of case the office pranksters would rag us about. I pressed the phone to my ear, and Sorensen continued.

  'You told me to call you if I thought of anything else. It's almost midnight, but I figured this is your office phone, so I won't wake anybody up. I hope you're sitting down, because I found something that could crack this case wide open.'

  And then the phone went completely dead. There was no background noise, no hum, no Martin. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. I whispered into the silent phone.

  'Talk to me, dammit, talk to me.'

  And then he laughed. It was the evil cackle of a cartoon villain, except Martin's laugh was laced with alcohol.

  'I guess I got your attention,' he said. 'I pushed the mute button, and gave you ten seconds of silence to build the suspense. Works every time.'

  Charlie once told me that Martin had a reputation for drinking and dialling, so I knew I wasn't his first victim, but I'd bet I was his last. He stopped talking again, but this time I could hear ice clinking as he sipped his drink.

  'Anyway, I remembered that Nora left her laptop in the trunk of my car, so I decided to do a little digging, and guess what? It looks like Charlie Knoll will be getting a payday after all. And a pretty big one at that. That's all I'm going to say over the phone. I figure you won't get this message till Monday morning, so why don't you give me a buzz then? If I don't hear from you by around noon, I'll call you. Cheers.'

  This time he really did hang up, and the automaton message taker droned out the day and time of the call. Friday, 11:49 p.m. About eight hours before he killed Marisol Dominguez.

  'You won't believe the voice mail I just got,' I said to Terry.

  'You look like you just heard from a Nigerian government official who will give you thirty million dollars if you help him transfer the funds of a deposed African leader out of the country. I get that all the time. Usually e-mail, but a phone call would be a refreshing—'

  'Turn off the Comedy Channel and listen to this,' I said.

  I redialled my voice mail, put the phone to his ear, and watched his expressions. Surprise, followed by anticipation, then a scowl during the ten seconds of silence. When Martin started talking again, Terry mouthed the word asshole. When it was over he hung up.

  'Holy shit,' he said. 'Dead man talking.'

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Muller, our resident computer genius, was at his desk tinkering with a Blackberry. He gave us the usual greeting.

  'What's happening, dudes?'

  'Rush job,' I said. 'We need you to hack into a computer for us.'

  'This is a treat. You guys don't usually generate emergencies till five minutes before I'm ready to go home.'

  'Can you drop what you're doing now?'

  He held up the Blackberry. 'Irv Ziffer in narcotics took this off a drug dealer. I'm cataloguing everything in it. Names, numbers, e-mails, and some really piss-poor video game scores. It's totally tedious, and if one of you guys would call Ziff the Sniff and tell him that homicide trumps drug trafficking, yes, I'll drop what I'm doing.'

  'Deal,' I said.

  He dropped the Blackberry on his desk.

  We filled him in on the details as we drove to Martin's apartment.

  Nora's laptop was on his desk. Muller booted it up. 'Sorensen said it was about a big payday. I'll start with her Quicken file.'

  He double clicked on the application. A window popped up and asked for a password.

  'How long will it take you to figure that out?' Terry said.

  'Normally, I'd say let's take it back to the office, and I can hack it in a couple of hours. But if you're in a hurry, I may have a faster way.'

  'Fast is good,' Terry said. 'Do it.'

  'OK. It's experimental. I haven't done this before, so bear with me and try not to talk.'

  Muller closed his eyes and rested his fingers on the keyboard. And then he sat there.

  He didn't move for nearly a minute. Finally, Terry couldn't keep quiet any longer. 'What the hell are you doing?'

  'Channelling,' Muller said. 'I'm getting in touch with Nora.'

  'Are you on crack?'

  'No. I've been studying paranormal phenomena.'

  'You're yanking my chain.'

  'Really, I've been working with a medium. Don't knock it. If I can channel Nora,
it's the fastest way to get her password.'

  'You're gonna conjure up the dead? What kind of bandwidth do you need for that? Mike, talk to him.'

  'I'm fascinated,' I said. 'Give him a minute. This is cool.'

  'You're both nuts,' Terry said.

  'I can tell you one thing,' Muller said. 'Nora is not happy about being a murder victim. She definitely wants to help.'

  'I can't believe this,' Terry said.

  Muller opened his eyes. 'Dude, police departments all over the world hire clairvoyants and people with ESP. Is it so hard to believe that maybe one already is a cop? Trust me, it's gonna happen. Just give me some room.'

  He sat rubbing his fingers on the keyboard. Finally, he said, 'the password is crime pays. No space between the two words.'

  'You sure about that, Kreskin?'

  'I'd bet a dollar on it, Detective Biggs,' Muller said.

  'How about ten?' Terry said.

  Muller came right back at him. 'Make it twenty.'

  Terry, as smart as he is, is a lot less smart when he gets frustrated. And Muller had really pissed him off. He bit.

  'It's a bet, geek boy,' Terry said. 'Move over. I'll type.'

  I tried not to smile, but I already knew the outcome. My grandfather once said to me, 'Mike, if you're watching raindrops roll down a windowpane, and somebody bets you that one drop will beat the other to the bottom, you've got a fifty-fifty chance of winning. But if the same guy bets he can cut a deck of cards, turn over the jack of spades, and that jack will jump up and spit in your eye, don't get suckered, because, boy, that guy knows something you don't.'

  Terry poked at the keys, then hit return. Quicken welcomed Nora in.

  'Son of a bitch. How the hell did you do that?'

  'Ancient geek boy secret,' Muller said. 'Pay up.'

  Terry handed him the money.

  'Fun's over, boys,' I said. 'Let's find something that looks like payday. Try starting with the last stuff Martin looked at.'

  'How about this?' Muller said. 'On June thirtieth Nora Bannister gave her daughter Julia a million dollars. And since Julia is now deceased, I think that qualifies as a payday for Charlie.'