He pointed at the video camera on the wall behind and above the counterman.
“The police gave me a copy of the tape. On the tape your father’s watch is seen. I have had it enhanced. If your mother has not reset the watch since… she started wearing it, then there is a way I can get the time I need.”
“You don’t need the watch. The time is on the tape. You said you had the tape.”
“The police say the time on the tape is wrong. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Will you call your mother for me?”
The girls came over to the counter then. The man didn’t answer McCaleb as he silently took their money and gave them change. He watched them walk out before looking back at McCaleb.
“I don’t understand this. It makes no sense to me what you want.”
McCaleb blew out his breath.
“I am trying to help you. Do you want the man who killed your father to be caught?”
“Of course. But this watch business… what does it have to do with anything?”
“I could explain it all to you if you had about a half hour but-”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
McCaleb looked at him a moment and decided that it was going to be the only way to go. He nodded and told him to wait while he got a photo out of the car.
The young man’s name was Steve Kang. Riding in the front passenger seat, he directed Buddy Lockridge into a neighborhood just a few blocks from where Graciela Rivers and Raymond Torres lived.
McCaleb had convinced him with his long version. The young man had then thought enough of McCaleb’s theory to put a Be Back Soon sign on the door and lock up. He normally walked to and from the store, but Lockridge’s car would save them time.
When they got to his home, Steve Kang led McCaleb inside while Lockridge waited in the car. The house was virtually identical in design to Graciela’s and had probably been built in the early fifties by the same developer. Kang told McCaleb to sit in the living room and he then disappeared down a hallway leading to the bedrooms. McCaleb heard muffled talking from the hallway. After a few seconds he realized the conversation was in Korean.
While he waited, he thought about the similarities in the houses and envisioned the two different families grieving on the night of the shooting and the days after.
Steve Kang came back then. He handed McCaleb a remote phone and the watch his father had worn.
“She did not change anything,” he said. “It’s just the way it was that night.”
McCaleb nodded. From the corner of his eye he noticed movement. He looked to his left and saw Steve Kang’s mother standing in the hallway, just watching him. He nodded to her but she didn’t respond in any way.
McCaleb had brought the hard copy of the enhanced video frame in with him along with his notebook and phone book. He had told Sieve Kang what he planned to do but was still uncomfortable carrying it out in front of him. He was about to impersonate a police officer, which was a crime, even if that officer was Eddie Arrango.
From his phone book he got the number for the Central Communications Center in downtown L.A. He’d had the number since his days with the L.A. field office, when he would at times need to coordinate intra-agency activities. The CCC was the dark, cavernous dispatch center four floors below City Hall from which all police and fire department radio communications were transmitted. It was also where the clock was from which the official time of the murders of Gloria Torres and Chan Ho Kang had been set.
On the drive from Hollywood to the market McCaleb had pulled out the Torres file and gotten Arrango’s badge number from the homicide report. He now placed the watch Steve Kang had given him on the arm of the couch and dialed the nonemergency number of the CCC. An operator answered in four rings.
“This is Arrango, West Valley homicide,” McCaleb said. “That’s serial one four one one. I’m not on the radio. I just need a ten-twenty for a surveillance commencement. And could you give me the seconds with that, too?”
“Seconds? Why, you’re a precise man, Detective Arrango.”
“Precisely.”
“Hold one.”
McCaleb looked down at the watch. As the operator spoke, he noted the watch time was 5:14:42P.M.
“That’s seventeen fourteen thirty-eight.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “Thanks.”
He hung up and looked at Steve Kang.
“Your father’s watch is running four seconds ahead of the CCC clock.”
Kang narrowed his eyes and he came around the side of the couch to look over McCaleb as he wrote numbers down in his notebook, referred back to specific times listed on the timeline he had put together earlier, and then did the math.
They both arrived at the same conclusion at the same time.
“That means…”
Steve Kang didn’t finish. McCaleb noticed that he glanced over at his mother in the hallway and then back at the time McCaleb had underlined in the notebook.
“That bastard!” he said in a hateful whisper.
“He’s more than that,” McCaleb said.
Outside, Buddy Lockridge started the Taurus as soon as he saw McCaleb leave the house. McCaleb jumped in.
“Let’s go.”
“We giving the kid a ride back?”
“No, he’s got to talk to his mother. Let’s go.”
“Okay, okay. Where to?”
“Back to the boat.”
“The boat? You can’t go there, Terry. Those people might still be there. Or they might be watching it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have no choice.”
35
LOCKRIDGE DROPPED McCALEB off at the curb on Cabrillo Way, about half a mile from the marina. He walked in the rest of the way, keeping to the shadows cast by the small shops that lined the boulevard. The plan was for Buddy to leave his keys in the Taurus and then go to his boat as if everything about his life was routine and normal. If he saw anything unusual, anyone hanging around the marina who wasn’t recognizable, he was to flick on the mast light on the Double-Down. McCaleb would be able to see the light from a good distance away and he would keep clear.
When the marina came into sight, McCaleb’s eyes scanned the points of the dozens of masts. It was dark now and he saw no lights. Things looked good. He glanced around and spotted a pay phone outside a mini-market and went to it to call Lockridge anyway. It also gave him a chance to put the heavy leather bag down for a spell. Buddy picked up the phone right away.
“Is it safe?” McCaleb asked, remembering the line from a movie he had enjoyed some years before.
“Think so,” Buddy said. “I don’t see anyone and nobody grabbed me on the way in. I didn’t see anything that looked like an unmarked cop car out in the lot, either.”
“What’s my boat look like?”
There was a silence while Buddy took a look.
“It’s still there. Looks like they got yellow tape strung between the piers, like you’re not supposed to go on it or something.”
“Okay, Bud, I’m coming in. I’m going to go into the laundry first and stick my bag in one of the dryers. If I go to the boat and get jumped by them, you come get the bag and sit on it until I get out. You okay with that?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, listen. If everything goes okay on the boat, I won’t be staying long, so I’m going to say this now, thanks for everything, Buddy, you’ve been a big help.”
“No sweat, man. I don’t care about what these bastards are trying to do to you. I know you’re cool.”
McCaleb thanked him again and hung up, then picked up his bag and started carrying it under his arm as he headed toward the marina. He first ducked into the laundry and found an empty dryer in which to stow the bag. He then made it all the way to the boat without problem. Before unlocking the slider he took one last look around the marina and saw nothing amiss, nothing that raised an alarm. He noticed the dark form of Buddy Lockridge sitting in the cockpit of the Double-Down. He heard a wah-wah tremolo from a harmonica and he nodded t
oward the shadow figure. He then slid open the door.
The boat smelled stuffy and stale but there was still a lingering scent of perfume. He guessed Jaye Winston had left it behind. He didn’t turn on a light but rather reached for the flashlight clamped on the underside of the chart table. He flicked it on and held the light down at his side and pointing at the floor. He headed below, knowing he had to move quickly. He just wanted to grab enough clothes, drugs and medical supplies to last him a few days. He figured, one way or the other, it would be all the time he would get.
He opened one of the hallway hatches and got out the large duffel bag. He then went into the master stateroom and gathered the clothes he would need. Doing it surreptitiously by flashlight slowed the process down but finally he had what he needed.
When he was done, he carried the bag across the hallway to the head to gather drugs, medical supplies and his clipboard. He put the open bag on the sink and was about to begin laying in the pharmaceutical boxes and vials when he realized something. When he had crossed the hallway, there had been a light on topside. The galley light. Or maybe one of the overheads in the salon. He momentarily froze and tried to listen for any sound from above while he reviewed his own movements. He was sure he had not put on a light when he had come in.
He listened nearly half a minute but there was nothing. He quietly stepped back into the hallway and looked up the stairway. He stood stock still and listened again while trying to weigh his options. The only way out besides going back up the stairs was the deck hatch in the roof of the forward stateroom. But it would be foolish to think that whoever was topside didn’t have that escape route covered.
“Buddy,” he called. “Is that you?”
The answer came after a long beat of silence.
“No, Terry, it’s not Buddy.”
A female voice. McCaleb recognized it.
“Jaye?”
“Why don’t you come on up?”
He looked back into the head. The flashlight was inside the duffel bag, illuminating little else but its contents. Otherwise he was in the dark.
“I’m coming up.”
She was sitting on the cushioned swivel chair near the teak coffee table. He had apparently gone right past her in the dark. He slid into the matching chair on the other side of the salon.
“Hello, Jaye. How’s it going?”
“I’ve had better days.”
“Same here. I was going to call you in the morning.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“And where are your friends?”
“They’re not my friends. And they definitely aren’t your friends, Terry.”
“Didn’t sound like it. So what’s going on? How come you’re here and they’re not?”
“Because every now and then one of us dopey locals turns out to be smarter than the bureau boys.”
McCaleb smiled without humor.
“You knew I’d have to come back for my medicine.”
She returned the smile and nodded.
“They figure you’re already halfway to Mexico if you’re not there already. But I saw that cabinet full of drugs and knew you had to come back. It was like a leash.”
“So now you get to take me in and get the bust and get the glory.”
“Not necessarily.”
He did not respond at first. He thought about her words, wondering how she was playing this.
“What are you saying, Jaye?”
“I’m saying my gut is telling me one thing, the evidence something else. I usually trust my gut.”
“Me too. What evidence are you talking about? What did you people find in here today?”
“Nothing much, just a baseball hat with the CI logo on it. We figured out it means Catalina Island and it matches the description James Noone gave of the cap the driver of the Cherokee was wearing. Then nothing else-until we opened up the top drawer of that chart table.”
McCaleb looked over at the chart table. He remembered opening the top drawer and checking it after the intruder had been scared off the night before. There was nothing in there amiss or that could hurt him.
“What was in it?”
“In it? Nothing. It was underneath. Taped underneath.”
McCaleb got up and went to the chart drawers. He pulled the top drawer out and turned it over. He ran his finger over the adhesive residue left by pieces of heavy tape. He smiled and shook his head. He thought about how quickly the intruder could have come in, taken a pretaped package and slapped it up under the open drawer.
“Let me guess,” he said. “It was a plastic-”
“No. Don’t say anything. You say anything and it could come back to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, Terry.”
“I’m not worried about that. Not anymore. So let me guess. Under the drawer was a bag-a Ziploc type of bag. Inside it was the cross earring taken from Gloria Torres and a photograph of James Cordell’s family. The one taken from his car.”
Winston nodded. McCaleb returned to his seat.
“You left out Donald Kenyon’s cuff link,” she said. “Sterling silver, in the shape of a dollar sign.”
“I didn’t know about that. I bet Nevins and Uhlig and that asshole Arrango put on six inches apiece when they found that bag.”
“They were strutting all right,” she said, nodding. “It made them very happy.”
“But not you.”
“No. It was too easy.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“You know, Terry, you don’t seem very concerned that evidence linking you to three murders was found in your boat. Not to mention the obvious motive you have for those murders.” She nodded toward McCaleb’s chest. “No, you look like, at best, you are maybe moderately annoyed. You want to tell me why?”
McCaleb leaned forward, elbows on his knees. This brought his face more fully into the light.
“It was all planted, Jaye. The hat, earring, everything. Last night somebody broke in here. He didn’t take anything. So he must’ve left things. I’ve got witnesses. I’m being set up. I don’t know why, but it’s a setup.”
“Well, if you’re thinking Bolotov, forget it. He’s been in Van Nuys jail since his parole officer picked him up Sunday afternoon.”
“No, I’m not thinking Bolotov. He’s in the clear.”
“That sure sounds like a different tune.”
“Events have overtaken the possibility of him being a suspect. Remember, I figured him for that burglary near his work in which the HK P7 was taken. That would have given him the right gun to make him a suspect in Cordell and Torres. But that burglary occurred in December, near Christmas. Now add Kenyon. He was killed with a P7 in November. So it can’t be the same gun; even if Bolotov did the burglary. So he’s clear. I still don’t know why he went ape shit on me and ran, though.”
“Well, like you said, he probably is good for that Christmas burglary. You went in there and spooked him, made it sound like you were going to put a couple of murders on him. He ran. That’s all.”
McCaleb nodded.
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“His boss is going to drop his complaint in lieu of restitution for the window that was broken. That’s it. They’ll release him after a hearing today.”
McCaleb nodded again and looked down at the carpet.
“So forget about him, Terry, what else have you got?”
He brought his eyes back up and looked intently back at her.
“I’m close. I’m just one or two steps away from putting this all together. I know who the shooter is now. And I’m just a few days away from knowing who hired him. I’ve got names, a list of suspects. I know the person we want is on that list. Trust your gut on this one, Jaye. You can hook me up now and bring me in and get the bust, but it’s wrong and it won’t fit. Eventually, I’ll be able to prove it. But in the meantime, we’ll miss the chance we’ve got right now.”
“Who is the shooter?
McCaleb stood up.
“I have to get my bag. I’ll show you.”
“Where’s your bag?”
“In a dryer in the marina laundry. I stashed it there. I didn’t know what to expect when I came in here.”
She thought a moment.
“Let me go get it,” he said. “You’ve still got the pharmacy here. I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t trust me, come with me.”
She waved him off.
“All right, go. Get your bag. I’ll wait.”
On the way to the laundry McCaleb met Buddy Lockridge, who was holding the leather satchel taken from the laundry.
“Everything okay? You told me to go get this if I saw anybody put the moves on you.”
“Everything’s fine, Buddy. I think.”
“I don’t know what she’s telling you, but she was one of them that was here today.”
“I know. But I think she’s on my side.”
McCaleb took the bag from him and headed back to his boat. Inside, he turned on the television, put the Sherman Market tape in the VCR, and started playing it. He fast-forwarded the image and watched the jerking motions of the shooter coming in, shooting Gloria Torres and the market owner, then disappearing. Then the Good Samaritan came in and McCaleb put the tape on normal speed. At the moment the Good Samaritan looked up from his work on Gloria’s stricken figure, McCaleb hit the pause button and the image froze.
He pointed at the man on the television screen and looked back at Jaye Winston.
“There. There’s your shooter.”
She stared at the tube for a long moment, her face betraying none of her thoughts.
“Okay, tell me, how is that my shooter?”
“The timeline. Arrango and Walters never saw this as anything more than a common robbery and shooting. That’s how it looked-who can blame them? But they were sloppy. They never bothered completing or verifying a timeline. They took what they saw at face value. But there was a problem between the time on the store video when the shooting went down and the time on the big clock downtown when the Good Samaritan called it in.”
“Right. You told me. What was the discrepancy, a half minute or so?”
“Thirty-four seconds. According to the store’s video, the Good Samaritan called in the shooting thirty-four seconds before it happened.”
Blood Work Page 32