'Are you sure?' Terry said.
'A one with six zeroes? Yeah, I'd bet a dollar on it, dude.'
Terry ignored the dig. 'Do you know what the rest of this crap means?'
The words OTO gift and file form 709 were typed in the memo field.
'OTO is one time only,' Muller said. 'The IRS has a rule that says that once in your lifetime you can give away a million dollars, and nobody pays taxes. Not the recipient. Not you. All you have to do is file a gift tax return, which in case you haven't figured it out yet, is a form 709.'
'I can barely afford the twenty bucks I just lost,' Terry said. 'How do you know about million-dollar gifts?'
'My wife's uncle is an accountant. I do computer troubleshooting for him.'
'So Nora gave Julia a million bucks, and it's tax free?'
'That's what it looks like. Actually, you can give the entire million to one person, or you can split it up, like give a hundred thousand apiece to ten people - whatever you want.'
'Who do I have to know to sign up to be on the receiving end?' Terry said.
'At this point, I guess you could start sucking up to Charlie Knoll,' Muller said.
'Funny, he didn't mention the million bucks yesterday when we talked to him,' Terry said. 'I think we should go back to Cedars and have another little chat with Detective Knoll.'
'Drop me off at the office first,' Muller said.
'Take the laptop back with you,' I said. 'Spend a few hours seeing what else you can find.'
'Or maybe I can just conjure up Nora and save time,' Muller said laughing.
'Kiss my ass,' Terry said.
'Deal with it, Biggs. Today I'm the dog, and you're the hydrant.'
'OK, you conned me, but for my twenty bucks, are you at least gonna tell me how you came up with the password?'
'When Nora was working on a new murder mystery, did she ever ask for help?' Muller said.
'Constantly. She'd call or e-mail or even come to the station and bombard me with questions about guns, interrogation techniques, homicide procedure, you name it. Mike and I were always helping to make sure she got her facts straight.'
'Yeah, Nora asked a lot of people for help,' Muller said. An impish grin spread across his face. 'Who do you think installed all the software on her laptop?'
Chapter Forty-Five
We weren't ready to tell Kilcullen about Martin's voice mail from the grave or Charlie's million-dollar windfall. So we dropped Muller off at the station, told him to dig deeper into Nora's computer files, but to keep it under the radar. Then we drove toward Cedars-Sinai.
A few blocks shy of the hospital Terry pulled into Tully's, a Starbucks clone. We not only needed the caffeine, we needed to regroup before we met with Charlie.
The morning rush was over. Half a dozen loners were reading the paper or working on laptops. We ordered coffee and sat down in the back.
'What do you think?' I said.
'I think it was really nice of Martin to give us a lead after the case was solved, but he was totally dicking us around. Charlie didn't have a solid alibi for Julia's murder. Martin was making sure we knew Charlie also had a motive.'
'There's only one small flaw in his logic,' I said. 'Why call and leave a message pointing the finger at Charlie, if he was planning to shoot Marisol the next morning while Charlie was still in the hospital?'
'Because he was drunk? Because he was a wannabe mystery writer who thought he was smarter than real cops? Because he was hoping to earn a special place in our Really Dumb Fucking Criminals file? Stop me when you hear something you like.'
'OK, I expect a mass murderer to lie to us,' I said. 'But why did Charlie lie? Remember what he said? If it was his case he'd follow the money, and he told us to start out by talking to Martin. What about the million dollars he's inheriting from his wife?
'Technically, he didn't lie about it,' Terry said.
'No. He just left out a shitload of truth.'
'This is getting messy,' Terry said. 'Charlie is a poker buddy, a fellow cop, someone we trusted. And now we find out that he was boning some chick, probably at the very same time his wife gets murdered. On top of that, Julia is a starving poet who suddenly comes into a million dollars right before she gets whacked, and Charlie collects that. And as soon as her funeral is over, he's going to get on a boat and sail to the other end of the world.'
'What's your point?'
'Do you really want all that incriminating shit in a report that Mel Berger is going to use to kiss some political ass?'
'If it's not relevant to the case,' I said, 'we can leave it out.'
'Of course it's not relevant. Charlie's innocent. He didn't kill anybody.'
'Not Marisol, but are you convinced he didn't kill any of the others?'
'I'd bet a dollar on it, dude.'
'Would you bet your reputation on it?' I said.
Terry sat back in his seat and mulled over the question. 'I don't have a reputation,' he finally answered. 'We do. And if you're not sure, then I'm not sure.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'You may be right that technically Charlie didn't lie to us, but we're investigating a multiple homicide, and he held back two major pieces of information. Let's try to find out why.'
Terry bought a cappuccino to go. 'For Charlie,' he said, it feels less adversarial if you have coffee with a guy before you interrogate him. It's a little technique I learnt from the mafia.'
The cappuccino was still hot when we got to Charlie's hospital room. Unfortunately, his bed was cold.
'He checked out a few hours ago,' the nurse said.
'I thought he was having an angiogram this morning,' I said.
'He did,' she said. 'They took him at six. They didn't find anything wrong, so he left. Is there anything I can do for you?'
Terry handed her the cappuccino. 'Here,' he said. 'Hold this till a cop comes.'
We walked back to the car, and I dialled Charlie's cell phone.
'I'm out on Reggie's boat,' he said.
'Can we get together and talk?'
'Can you swim?'
'Come on, Charlie.'
'Look, Mike, my wife's murder is solved. I'm free to roam. So I'm out here where I can clear my head. What's so important you need talk about?'
'The million bucks.'
He took a few seconds before he answered. 'What about it?'
'You never mentioned it.'
'It was a gift from Nora to Julia on her fortieth birthday. There was no reason to mention it. How'd you hear about it anyway?'
'Martin Sorensen.'
'I thought he was dead.'
'His anal-retentive legacy lives on,' I said. 'Living or dead, he's very efficient. Apparently you're going to inherit the million Nora gave your wife.'
'I only inherit half a mill. One half is already mine. It's jointly held - invested in the market. You think I killed my wife for money we already had? You're way off base, Lomax.'
'I didn't say that.'
'I'm waiting for Julia and Nora to be released from the morgue, so I'm spending the day with Reggie because I've got funerals to plan, and he's got a lot of experience.'
'Look, Charlie, I just want to—'
'I'm losing the signal, Detective Lomax. If you want to arrest me, I'll be back tonight. You can meet me at the dock.'
He hung up.
'From what I could hear,' Terry said, 'that didn't go well, did it?'
I shook my head and closed my eyes. I remembered how I felt almost two years ago when my wife was newly dead. Angry. Non-communicative. Not willing to reach out for help, even when it was offered. If anyone could appreciate what Charlie was going through, it was me. I'd talk to him some other time.
But damned if I'd bring him cappuccino.
Chapter Forty-Six
We drove to the morgue. Eli Hand, our favourite pathologist, was assigned to do the autopsies on Marisol and Martin.
As a young man Eli trained as a rabbi, but he quickly realised he was missing one of the key qualities of an effective spi
ritual leader. He couldn't stand people.
At least, not the live ones. So he went to med school and has spent the last forty-plus years working with the dead.
'I don't understand why more doctors don't work with dead patients,' he tells every new detective who steps up to his autopsy table. 'They don't call you at home in the middle of the night. They don't have a shit fit if you show up late to cut out their vital organs. And they never ask for a second opinion.' Then he gives one of those borscht- belt comic shrugs. 'Sure, they smell bad, but it's a small price to pay.'
He's a total curmudgeon, but a very funny one. The public would be horrified to hear how much laughter comes out of his autopsy room. He's known around the morgue as the Jewish Cutup.
'It's going to take most of the day to do both of them,' Eli said. 'You guys need to stay for the whole thing?'
Normally, Terry and I are in the room for the entire autopsy, in case we have to testify in court. But there would be no trial for Martin Sorensen, at least not here on Earth.
'We've got a lot to do,' I said. 'Why don't we stay long enough to get a top line. We can read the rest of the gory details in your report.'
'Fine by me,' Eli said, walking us to the steel table where Marisol was waiting to be dissected.
For all his crustiness, Eli still has the compassion of a rabbi.
'Such a beautiful young woman,' he said after he confirmed that Marisol was shot in the head with a low- velocity hollow-point .22. 'Same basic wound that killed the others. Such a tragedy. It's a shonda.'
Then his lips moved silently. It was a Hebrew prayer for the dead. He never says it out loud. I once asked him why.
'You know what happens if someone who works for the county gets caught drinking on the job?' he said. 'They send you to rehab. But if you get caught praying, they fire you on the spot, because they know there's no cure.'
His initial findings on Martin Sorensen confirmed Tony's story. 'Talk about overkill,' Eli said. 'Any one of these bullets would have done the trick. But, in this guy's case, I'm glad Detective Dominguez made triple sure.'
To his credit, Eli also mouthed a prayer for Martin. His philosophy: let God sort them out.
We got back to the office at 4:00 p.m.
'The lieutenant told me to remind you about the paperwork,' Wendy said.
'Where is he?'
'He's out at an antiterrorist meeting, but he'll be back. He's been getting pressure from city hall to close up this case.'
'City hall?' Terry said. 'That's where all the real terrorists hang out.'
We checked in with Muller.
'Just the cops I wanted to see,' he said.
'You've got "interesting news" written all over your face,' I said.
'Maybe. You know Gaffney McDonough, right?'
McDonough is a baby-faced detective who retired from LAPD and took the path of least resistance. He became a PI. Now he spends most of his time peeping through windows watching middle-aged rich guys get their knobs polished by girls with a chest full of silicone and a head full of dreams. LA is full of opportunities. You just have to find your own special niche.
'The Gaffer?' I said. 'He's a good guy. Terry and I have been known to reach out to him every now and then. Especially when we need to dig up some sensitive information, and the judge won't cooperate unless we can show cause. A private cop has a lot more latitude.'
'Right,' Terry said. 'McDonough bends the law, they call it free enterprise. We do it, and it's a felony.'
'Tell me about it,' Muller said. 'Hacking into the Pentagon's mainframe is cake. Getting a warrant is the bitch. Anyway, Gaffney McDonough's name pops up a bunch of times on Nora Bannister's Quicken file. She was paying him a literary consulting fee.'
'Paying?' Terry said. 'Nora picked our brains for free, but I guess Gaffney does nothing for nothing. How much was he charging?'
'Most of the payments are small,' Muller said. 'He got six consults in the past year. Five hundred, seven-fifty, four and a quarter, ten thousand...'
'Run that last one by us again,' I said.
'That's what I thought,' Muller said. 'The last cheque was for ten Gs. Nora cut it two weeks before Jo Drabyak was murdered. Unless Nora's next book stars Gaffney McDonough, Private Investigator, I'm wondering what kind of literary consulting he was doing for ten thousand bucks.'
'We should definitely give him a ring,' I said.
Muller handed me a piece of paper. 'I just happen to have his number handy.'
I called.
'We can do it in a couple of hours,' McDonough said. 'I'll call you back with a time and place.'
There was no sense driving back to the Valley, so we decided to hang out and work on our report.
Kilcullen came back at seven.
'You guys got the paperwork wrapped up?' he said.
'Almost. We're waiting for one last autopsy report,' I lied. 'Plus there are a few loose ends.'
'This case is locked up tighter than a witch's butt crack,' Kilcullen said. 'What do you mean by loose ends?'
'Martin Sorensen left me a middle-of-the-night voice mail. I picked it up this morning. Julia's murder is going to leave Charlie a much richer man. A million dollars richer.'
'His wife dies, he gets her money,' Kilcullen said. 'Who gives a shit? Sorensen was yanking your dick. The case is done, finished, kaput. We've got a killer. We've got a hero cop who put him out of business. Are you jealous because Tony is front page, and you're staying late to crank out the paperwork? Get over it.'
'There are a few things we'd still like to look into,' I said.
'Perhaps you didn't get my drift. Let me spell it out for you,' he said. 'N-O.'
'No?'
'As my good friend and classmate from the academy, Frank Faluotico, is fond of saying...and I quote...'When dead bodies stop piling up in LA, you can go back and take another look.' But since we've got fresh ones coming in every day, finish the paperwork and move on to the next assignment.'
He turned around and walked out the door.
'Do you realise that he only came back here to check up on us?' I said. 'He walked in, got in my face, tore me a new one, and walked out.'
'I couldn't believe it,' Terry said. 'All these years I thought he only had a hard-on for me.'
Chapter Forty-Seven
Twenty minutes later Gaffney called. 'There's an Italian restaurant on Melrose between Alta Vista and Poinsettia. It's called Angeli.'
'You buying?' I said.
'Sorry, guy,' he said. 'We're not eating there. We're just sitting in a van half a block away, gathering incriminating evidence on some lying, cheating bastard husband who is eating there.'
'Where are you parked?'
'Northwest corner of Poinsettia. It's a white Chevy Express tricked out to look like one of those cable TV vans.'
It was easy to find. But even if there had been a dozen white vans parked on that corner, we could have picked out Gaffney's. The logo on the side said it all: Fidelity Communications.
Inside, the van was part living room, part CNN control booth. Gaffney and an assistant were at a command console, staring at a cluster of monitors. He took off his headset and pointed to two leather chairs. 'Have a seat. It's not easy to stand up in this place. Good to see you guys.'
'What are we watching?' Terry said, pointing at one of the monitors.
'Same old soap opera crap. Rich Hollywood asshole, cheating on his devoted wife, who will in the very near future wind up with all of the children, half of the money, and none of the asshole. We've got one camera in the van pointed at the restaurant window. You can't see much detail, but I still get a clean picture of the couple I'm tailing.'
'You're lucky they sat at that table,' I said.
'Let's just say the hostess is lucky I paid her a hundred to sit them at that table.' He smiled. 'But then you knew that, didn't you?'
'Actually I did, but I don't know how you're getting that close-up on the other monitor. Where's the second camera?'
'T
here's a couple at the next table. Friends of mine, Matt and Daniella Smith. She use to work vice for LAPD, but she left to become a pastry chef.'
'Vice and pastry,' Terry said. 'Your buddy Matt is a lucky guy.'
'Anyway, Daniella's purse has a pinhole camera and an omnidirectional mic. We just sit in the van and record it for posterity. When the target and the bimbette leave drunk and horny, they'll go back to her apartment, which we've already wired.'
'How do you know ahead of time where they're going?'
'Cell tap,' he said. 'Did I mention that Matt is a supergeek? So, how can I help you boys?'
I pointed at the young guy sitting at the console listening to the dinner chatter at Angeli on his headset.
'That's my assistant, Todd Hoza,' McDonough said. 'You can trust him. His nickname is Iwazaru.'
'If only we spoke Japanese,' I said.
'You know the three monkeys - see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil? They have names. Iwazaru is the one who speaks no evil. Todd sees and hears a lot of funky shit, but his lips are sealed.'
'Even so, Gaff...'
'I get it,' he said. 'This is hush-hush police business. Top secret.'
'Actually, this is not a department call. Terry and I are flying under the radar, which make it hush-hush personal business.'
'No problem,' he said. He pulled the headset away from Hoza's right ear. 'Hey, desk monkey, what's happening?'
'He's starting with the grilled eggplant. She's having the roast beet salad.'
'Besides that. Any friction? Any bickering? Any anything?'
'No sir. They're happy as clams,' Hoza said. 'Which is what I would have ordered.'
'You'll have to settle for pizza. Albano's is across the street. Bring us back a large pie. You guys OK with mushrooms and extra cheese?'
'That's fine,' Terry said. 'Just tell Iwazaru to speak no pepperoni.'
'All right,' McDonough said, once Hoza was gone, it's just the three of us under the Cone of Silence. You want to talk about that multiple homicide you just cracked, right?'
'You knew most of the principals,' I said.
'That Sorensen dude always struck me as weird,' Gaffney said. 'Kinky weird, but not shoot-you-upside-the- head weird.'
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