Follow the Money

by Fingers Murphy

  I tried to gasp a response, but my insides had seized completely and nothing would come out. I looked up at the two of them as they grinned down at me. The big guy turned and walked away while the Ferret stood there. Then he laughed and raised his foot. I cowered almost immediately, preparing for the kick. But all he did was put his shoe against my shoulder and push. I lost my balance and collapsed as he turned and walked away.

  14

  It took me awhile to calm down. I sat on the floor where they’d left me and waited to feel normal again. I was scared, but they hadn’t really hurt me. The punch to the stomach seemed designed to immobilize me and keep me from screaming. I wondered how they’d found me. How they knew who they were looking for. How it was that everyone under the sun seemed to know who I was.

  As I walked the rest of the way to the elevators and rode up the sixty-eight floors to my office, I realized I was puzzled more than I was scared. Matt’s mother and sister could have provided a physical description. One of them might even have seen me get back in my car, so they’d have known what I drive. They could have told Matt. Matt could have told his tough guys.

  But would two people just wait outside the entrance to the garage forever until they saw me? These didn’t seem like disciplined professionals to me, not that I knew what I was talking about. They seemed like punks. Guys who would rough someone up, but who weren’t necessarily in the business of roughing people up. I thought of the big guy’s words — Keep asking questions and someone is likely to get hurt. And that someone is you — the phrasing seemed too slick, too clever. There was something odd about it, and it was that oddness that dulled the fear.

  When I got back to my office I left a message for Reilly, telling him what had happened and how wrong he’d been. Then I checked my own messages. There was only one. I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Uh, hello, this is Dan Kelly returning your call from yesterday. You said you were looking for information about Matt Bishop. I haven’t seen Matt for a few years, so I’m probably not much help. But I’m happy to tell you what I know.” He left a number and hung up.

  When I called back, he answered on the first ring, like he was sitting by the phone. I told him I was looking for people who knew Matt Bishop when he was a kid. He spoke like a guy who’d been kicked in the throat by life a time or two.

  “Yeah, I knew Matt back then. We used to do some crazy shit together. What’re you trying to find out? His family’s all still around somewhere. They’d probably have what you’re looking for. ‘Course, his old lady’s crazy. But whose isn’t, know what I mean?” He chuckled. “Yeah, his ma’s fuckin’ nuts, far as I’m concerned.”

  Dan Kelly was the kind of guy who would keep talking if I let him. A guy with his brain in neutral and his mouth in drive.

  “Actually, I’m really interested in Matt’s relationship with Becky Steele.”

  Dead silence. I could hear Dan Kelly breathing, thinking. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and suspicious. “Who is this?”

  “I told you—”

  “No, I mean who the fuck is this?” Though it was the same question, I understood the subtle distinction. It was a question that declared: any bullshit and this call is over, forever.

  “I’m trying to find out where Matt was the night Sharon Steele was murdered.” I hesitated. Then I bluffed. “You know what I mean.”

  Then Dan Kelly said, “I think maybe we oughta meet in person.”

  ***

  Dooley’s was a shit hole. Located on Third, just west of Vermont, there was little else it could be. I drove around the block twice until I found street parking in front of a dying apartment building with broken toys littering a yard full of dirt. I got out and walked up the street hoping no one would notice me. But this was the kind of neighborhood where people noticed everything, especially a white kid with new shoes and a leather bag who looked a little too much like a lawyer to actually be one.

  I thought of the two guys in the parking garage as I approached the bar. Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe Dan Kelly hadn’t called at all. Maybe those two guys were waiting inside, or maybe they’d followed me. I hesitated for a moment, standing on the sidewalk like an imbecile, before convincing myself that the reason they’d roughed me up in the first place is because they didn’t want me to find people like Dan Kelly. And if they were going to beat me up again, why meet me in a bar?

  I opened the door and went in. It was cool and dark and smelled like a cellar. I could hear voices and the loud thwack of pool balls scattering. I lingered near the door until my eyes adjusted. The bartender and the two people he was talking to were staring at me, wondering which wrong turn I had taken.

  “Help you?” the bartender asked in a voice that assumed I was in the wrong place. I had an urge to explain away my appearance. I was from Riverside. My old man was a construction worker. I wasn’t as out of place as I looked. I took a seat a few stools down.

  “I’ll take a Bud. Draught if you’ve got it.” The bartender scowled and went to get the beer. I nodded at the two guys the bartender had been talking to. “Hey.”

  The bartender brought the beer and I sipped it quietly, waiting, wondering why there was no music playing or television on. Between the soft crack of colliding pool balls, a consuming silence permeated the room. I glanced around, but tried to look like I wasn’t looking for anything, or anyone. There were movements in the shadows, hands raising glasses, people leaning back in chairs. There was no obvious source of light anywhere and it felt like 3:00 A.M., as though everything in the room, even the air, was about to fade away entirely. I had no idea what Dan Kelly looked like, but I figured it was a safe bet that Kelly would be able to spot me without much trouble. After a few more minutes, a voice behind me said,

  “You Olson?”

  I turned to see a skinny blonde guy with a pony tail. He had a week of beard growth, wore oil-stained jeans and a wrinkled, black, short sleeve Marine Corps shirt with a skull on the front that had a snake weaving through its eye sockets. He smiled and stuck out his hand. I shook it and thought I smelled gasoline.

  “Man, don’t you stick out like shit in a snowstorm in this place.” Kelly glanced over my shoulder at the bartender. “Hey Bobby, how ‘bout a Mickey’s?” I heard movement behind me and a bottle being set on the counter. Kelly took the beer and spoke as he turned and walked toward a booth at the back of the bar. “C’mon over, we might have something to talk about.”

  I followed. Dan Kelly had large cobwebs tattooed on his elbows and the back of his shirt read, “Mess with the Best, Die like the Rest!” He seemed ten years older than me, but I knew we were nearly the same age. He swaggered, taking heavy, confident steps. We slid into a booth in the back.

  “So, what are you, like some kind of young Republican or something?” He flashed me a big grin, revealing a missing incisor. Kelly slouched into the corner and took a long pull from the squatty green bottle of malt liquor.

  I said, “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Ah, shit man, I knew it.” Kelly took another drink. “When I saw you walk in I knew it.”

  I took a swallow of my beer and watched his movements. He was fidgety. He spoke with ease and confidence, but shifted in his seat, drummed his fingers on the table, and looked around where there was nothing to look at.

  I figured I might as well get to the point, so I said, “So tell me about Matt Bishop.”

  “Ain’t much to tell, really. Like I told you on the phone, we used to hang out in high school. Skate punks, getting drunk, doin’ stupid shit, you know.” I did not really know what qualified as “stupid shit” among people like Matt Bishop and Dan Kelly, people who started drinking before noon, attacked women with knives, had cobweb tattoos, missing teeth, and had done hard time.

  “Did you know Becky Steele?”

  “I didn’t know her. I mean, I probably never even spoke to her. I’m sure I didn’t. But I knew who she was ‘cause Matt was all up in that chick’s ass. He used to talk about
her all the time. I didn’t get it. I mean, she was good looking and all, but I was selling weed at the time and could get all the pussy I could eat.” He slapped the table with his palm and laughed. “You know what I’m sayin’?”

  I had no idea what he was saying, but I smiled and nodded right along. Then I uncapped my pen, trying to look like I was all business. Kelly drank more beer and continued.

  “But yeah, I knew who she was. I knew Matt had it pretty bad for her. But that was about it.”

  “What kinds of things did he say about her? Becky, I mean.”

  “Shit man, it’s been a long time. I don’t remember much other than he talked a lot about her. He used to go over to her house and they’d hang out. I don’t know what they did. I don’t think he ever even fucked her or anything like that. Not that he didn’t want to. Believe me, he wanted to. He said their house was amazing. They lived over in Hancock Park, so I’m sure it was a great pad. I never went inside, but I saw it from the outside. It was huge.”

  “Anything else you remember, just generally.”

  “Not really.” He held his head back. He exhaled, thinking, tapping his bottle lightly on the table. “I mean, Becky’s mom didn’t like Matt, I remember that. She’d tell him never to come over and shit. Matt hated that old bitch. I remember sometimes he’d call over there and she’d get on the phone and start screaming at him. It was funny. He’d make faces at the phone. Shit, you could hear her all the way across the room, just fucking screamin’. Pissed off.” Kelly took another drink and shook his head. “Man, what a bitch.”

  “Are you aware that they had a fight like that the night Becky’s mom was killed?”

  “Sure. I was there. It was just like all the other times. Same story. That old hag got on the phone and started screaming that she’d kill him if she ever found him in the house again, if he ever came near her daughter again. You know, typical angry mom shit.”

  “And you remember that?” I set my pen down and leaned forward. My heart was starting to pound. It was the first time anyone other than Steele or Becky had confirmed any aspect of Steele’s story. Even if just a minor detail, it felt significant. Kelly continued.

  “Sure. I can remember Matt sitting there getting all red in the face going ‘Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well not if I kill you first you old bitch!’ You know, shit like that.” Kelly was laughing to himself. “You know, back and forth. It went on for like five minutes like that. It was hilarious. Kenny and I were just dying, rolling on the floor we were laughing so hard.”

  “Kenny?”

  “Yeah, Ken Stevens. Ken thought that shit was hilarious. I mean, it was, but Ken always hated his mom so I think he really dug it, you know, he wanted to talk to his mom like that.”

  “Where is Ken now?”

  The smile evaporated from Dan Kelly’s face and he shook his head. “Dumb fucker got all coked up and tried to outrun the cops one night down in Long Beach. They shot him.” He stared down at the table, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ cops.” He whispered, then emptied the Mickey’s. “But fuck it. Shit happens, right?”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I nodded, trying to find some kind of commonality. “And so, was anyone else there that night? Did anyone else hear the argument? Was Matt’s mom or sister there?”

  Kelly shot me a confused look. “You mean in Ken’s bedroom? Why would they be there?”

  I thought of the note under my door and got chills up the back of my neck. I struggled to conceal my surprise, to remain calm, and to keep the conversation rolling, loose and casual — but I knew I might have something without knowing entirely what it was. “So you and Matt were over at Ken’s when Matt was arguing with Becky’s mom?”

  “Yeah. We used to hang out over there all the time ‘cause Ken’s mom worked nights. So yeah, we were both there and Matt was going on about Becky this and Becky that and he wanted to go see her that night and blah, blah, blah. So he called over there and the old lady says Becky’s out, Matt calls her a liar, and the rest is history. Funny though, she got killed by her old man right after that. Everyone must have hated that old bitch.”

  “So how do you know she was killed right after that?” My head was racing, trying to recall the details from the police reports, the 911 calls, Steele’s story, Becky’s story.

  “Shit man, we were over there!” Kelly waved to the bartender for another Mickey’s. “Matt called me like twenty minutes after he left Ken’s and said that all hell was breaking loose over at Becky’s. You know, sirens, lights, cops everywhere, all kinds of crazy shit. He was like, ‘Dude, you gotta check this shit out!’ So Ken and I met him over there and we watched it all. There were people all over. Neighbors coming out of their houses, cars stopping. It was a madhouse.”

  “So wait.” I put my palms out in front of me, trying to slow the information down somehow, trying to gather my thoughts. “So, Matt wasn’t at home the night of the murder. That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “Fuck no. Matt wasn’t home that night. Matt was never home. He hated it there.” The bartender brought another Mickey’s over and set it on the table. “Look,” Kelly leaned in and whispered once the bartender was gone, “I know Matt told the cops he was home all night. Shit, why tell the truth? Why get involved? He made me swear to tell them the same damned thing. Ken too. I was nervous about it. Shit man, I was fifteen and this was a big time murder investigation, it was scary shit. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to lie.”

  Kelly took a long pull from the beer, wiped his mouth, and smiled his big, toothless smile. “Funny thing is, I never had to. I couldn’t believe it. The cops never asked me a single question. Ken either. Nothing. No cops, no investigators, no PIs, nobody ever came around.” He took another drink and went on. “I figured I just lucked out. Hell, I was just a kid. But now I know a thing or two about cops and investigations.” He winked at me, “If you know what I mean. And I know that’s pretty fucking weird. These days somebody so much as takes a shit in this neighborhood and the cops come asking me questions.”

  I sat there, stunned, dazed, trying to think of what to ask next. I wrote some meaningless notes on the legal pad, took a drink of my beer and spoke. “Okay, let’s back up. Now you and Matt are over at Ken’s house when Matt has this fight with Becky’s mom. Do you remember what time that was?”

  “Ahhhhh.” He rubbed the top of his head and ran his hand down the back over his ragged pony tail. “Shit, well I don’t remember exactly, but it would have been ten or fifteen minutes before we left. Let me put it this way, Matt and I both left Ken’s at 8:30 to go home, so I’d say 8:15, 8:20, something like that.”

  Kelly leaned into the corner of the booth. I wrote the times down and noted the corresponding events. “Why did you leave Ken’s?”

  “His mom came home. She was usually out until two or three in the morning, but she was sick or something. That’s why I remember the time. We were watching TV and one show was over and another was about to begin. I remember thinking I could make it home before it started. Matt and I only lived like a minute away from Ken’s.”

  I made more notes. We both drank more beer. “So you get home and Matt calls you?”

  “Yeah, I’m watching TV and he calls and starts telling me about all kinds of cops and lights and shit over at Becky’s and told me I had to come check it out.”

  “What time was that?”

  “That was around 8:45. I remember because I looked at the clock and I remember thinking it would take me fifteen minutes to get over there and if I hurried, I could make it by nine or just a little after. I called Ken real quick and we met and went over.”

  “What about Matt?”

  “He was already over there.”

  “So you and Ken met him there?”

  “Yeah, Matt must have called from a phone booth on Larchmont right after he got there. Like I said, it took fifteen minutes to get over there. He left around 8:30 and called at around 8:45.”

  “Why would it take fifteen minutes to get there? She di
dn’t live that far away.”

  “Yeah, but we were all skateboarders.” Kelly shook his head and laughed. “Hell, we were fifteen. None of us had cars, we couldn’t drive. We rode our skateboards everywhere.”

  I made more notes. Kelly smiled, his eyes distant, reminiscing about his youth. “So, okay,” I asked, “what happened after Matt called? You went over to Becky’s? What time did you get there?”

  “Well,” he exhaled, thinking again. “Like I said, Matt called around 8:45, so we got there about five after nine or so. Just like Matt said, all hell was breaking loose. Cops, ambulances, lights flashing everywhere. Crazy shit.”

  He smiled and waved to the bartender for another bottle. I smiled back, certain that Dan Kelly had no idea of the importance of what he’d just said.

  15

  Dan Kelly told a damned good story, but it was inconceivable to me that Garrett Andersen had never tracked him down. It was also inconceivable that Garrett Andersen would agree to meet with me. But I was surprised on both accounts.

  The lobby of Andersen, Simpson & Sanders was decorated with rare books, displayed open-faced and under glass. With the dark wood and dark leather furniture, it felt like a museum. I waited in front of an original 1884 fascicle of the Oxford English Dictionary. I was staring at the open page and the definition of pettifogger when the secretary came and got me.

  She led me through a back hallway and then leaned into a doorway. “Mr. Olson is here,” she said. I could hear a response I couldn’t make out. Then she turned and waved me in.

  The corner office was huge, with floor to ceiling windows providing a panoramic view of the Hollywood hills and the ocean. Garrett Andersen stood and came around from behind his large desk to shake my hand.

  “Mr. Olson, good to meet you.” His voice was surprisingly deep, his handshake firm, and he filled his tailored suit with a large, muscular frame. His bio made him fifty-seven years old, but he looked a decade younger. He offered me a seat and returned to the chair behind his desk.