“All right, Drew, let’s do it,” Ham urged.
Drew stood, ready to comply, but first issued an order of her own. “Russ, you wait here until I return. We’ll go to your place together. You can pack then.”
Russ, taken aback a bit, reminded her that “I am not a target. Am I?”
“I’m not going to take anything for granted. Not with a loony who kills a cop just to make a point to Ham. You stay here.”
“Well,” Russ sighed, “looks like we’re both prisoners, Blake. Guess I’ll get me a beer. I may as well at least try to enjoy my last remaining hours here in Hawaii.”
“I’ll join you. I never unpacked, so there’s little to throw back in.”
“It’s always been so,” Russ affirmed. “Never been with you on the road where you unpacked so much as a pair of socks.”
Ham left them to their memories as he and Charlie headed to their respective rooms, Charlie to pack, Ham for privacy. The first call he dialed was to an old college buddy made good, a captain with the California Highway Patrol. Bypassing the main lines in Danny’s Sacramento office, Ham hit the speed dial for the captain’s cell phone.
“Sanchez.”
“Hey, Danny, it’s Ham.”
“Well, I’ll be darned! Ham On Rye! How the hell you doing, buddy?”
“Wasn’t funny at UNLV, Danny, and it’s still not.”
“I don’t know,” he mused. “I always made me laugh.”
“Well good for you,” Ham chortled. “But I’ve got a problem and I’m a bit pinched for time. So maybe we can get together for a few drinks in the near future and you can entertain yourself into a coma then. Meantime, I need some help.”
Danny was instantly all business. He was not only a friend of long standing, but a good cop, one of the best in Ham’s opinion. And Ham didn’t hold such opinions lightly.
“You got it. Whatever you need.”
Ham paused for emphasis before he began, alerting Danny to the seriousness of his request. “You still got your ’56 Corvette?” Ham asked.
Danny sounded puzzled but game. “Yeah, still do and always will. I’d never give up that cherry machine. Why do you ask? I thought you were hell bent on time and all.”
“Just this. What I’m involved in is dicey at best and not a word of this can ever get out. So here’s the deal. I tell you, you tell anybody, and I will, in the dead of night, come by and take that fucking car apart bolt by bolt. That’s a promise.”
“Jeez, Ham, Hold the Mayo, I could get a heart attack at the mere thought of it. Why don’t you just burn down my house.”
“You heard me, Danny. The car. Bolt by bolt.”
“Okay, okay, I got it. So what’s this big secret thing you need my help with that I can’t even breath a word of to my wife of twenty years standing?”
“This involves Truckee River.”
“The band? Are you serious? You have to be—“
“Bolt by bolt, Danny. Someone is threatening Blake Garrett. I’m working for him and I need you to check on a few people for me.”
Danny whistled, softly but long. “You do get around, my friend. Damn but your life is more exciting than mine. Why is that?”
“Here’s a list of names. You ready?”
Ham heard the rustle of paper and assumed Danny was rounding up pen and paper. His expectation was realized when Danny said, “Right, I’m ready.”
“I’d like as much as you can get for me on the financial profile of Russ Porter, Eric Sheppard and Duncan Taylor. Should be easy to do, they’re all members of the band.”
“You don’t got it.”
Ham shook confusion from his mind. “What does that mean?”
“It means, dear boy, that to get that I’d need a warrant. I could do that, I know several malleable judges, that’s not the problem. The problem is that they’ve got pretty big mouths in their community. It’d be all over town by morning and poof, there goes my car.”
Frustration colored Ham’s voice as he demanded, “Well then, get some of your guys to do a quick background investigation. Although come to think of it, I’m not sure Sheppard and Taylor are Californians. Could be Nevada. But Russ Porter is. He lives up at Tahoe, on the California side, like Blake.”
“Nevada’s not the problem. The problem is the same as with the loud mouthed judges. If I ask my men do BI’s on Truckee River, I couldn’t shut them up with duct tape and superglue. No way would it not get leaked that the CHP were investigating rock stars. It’s just too sexy. Somebody would impress their wife, their girlfriend, maybe both. You know how that goes.”
“Well hell, Danny. I really need this. You can’t help?”
“I didn’t say that. I just have a better way. I’ve got this sleazy P.I. in my back pocket, someone other than you.”
“Har har.”
“He’s a slime ball but a useful informant. I could use him with the threat that if breathed a word I’d take him down, talk a lot about San Quentin, make sure he understood that selling his story will only earn him years of misery.”
“Good. I like it,” Ham agreed. “The others I’ve got you don’t have to be so circumspect about. I need whatever you can dig up on Carla and Barry Warren—she used to be Carla Hollister, though I don’t know how many husbands ago that was—who are presumably in Los Angeles, and on Gordon and Lindsey Galey of Tahoe City. Also Carson King of Honolulu.”
“Jeez, Extra Mayo, you think we got no crime here, or what?” Apparently not expecting a reply, he hurried on. “How soon do you expect a miracle?”
“There’s almost no time, Danny, I’m sorry. Tomorrow?”
“I can get basic information by then I guess. If you want more than that it’ll take a couple, few days at least.”
“That’s too late. Just give me whatever you can get by tomorrow. And I need one more thing.”
Danny groaned and said with little humor, “I’m beginning to regret our friendship. If I get caught using department resources for a P.I.’s benefit, my ass is gonna burn.”
“Then don’t get caught. Call Las Vegas P.D. and find out who’s been asking about me and what their reasons were for asking.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Danny announced, “I’m having my cell number changed. And maybe the Department’s number, too, make it unlisted.”
“Thanks, Danny, I owe you one.”
“If I had a dollar for every time you said that…”
After the obligatory “fuck you very much,” Ham hung up and turned his attention to the now more complicated task of packing his case. Coming out, he’d had a hang up and a small rolling case that were both now in danger of bursting at the seams. His trip to the tourist shop with its resultant excess of Hawaiian clothing and artifacts taxed his limited ability and interest in neat arrangement. Now it was a matter of just wrestling the bags to a close, a match he was dangerously near to losing. Finally, with one last determined slam of the lid and a knee to the midsection of the offending bag, he zipped around and stood back to admire his handiwork. Though the bag sported an ugly bulge that didn’t lessen his pride at his success.
Only the hang up now. Ham struggled to stuff hangers into the top latches but finally admitted that his overly adventurous purchasing had made this task impossible. With a regretful sigh, he took his Magnum shirt off the hanger, folded it as neatly as possible, and followed suit with the remainder of the newly purchased clothes. Though he regretted treating his special shirt this way, he reasoned that these were the absolute last garments he’d need in snow covered Tahoe. Which reminded him: his first stop at the other end would have to be at the airport. He’d need something, whatever they had in the way of warmth, to get him out of the airport and over to Blake’s. And then, how the hell he’d pack for Vegas when that time finally came? Better buy another suitcase, too.
After all, he could afford it, he grinned. With $150,000 in his pocket he could buy out the whole airport if he was of a mind to. Which evoked a sigh of frustration as his mind immediately
returned to Blake. Forget the goddamn check, he cursed himself. He’d be more than willing to return every penny of that if it would assure Blake’s survival. Since it wouldn’t, he’d keep it, sure, but his focus would remain where required. On the job at hand. Not the freaking cash or his precious souvenirs.
Ham left the bags where they sat and returned to the veranda to find Blake and Russ laughing over something or other. Charlie had not yet returned, nor was there any sign of Drew and Carson.
Blake waved him over. “Get yourself a beer, Ham. Nothing much left to do now but wait. May as well wash the time down with a cold one.”
Ham shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I need to keep my head clear. It wouldn’t do much for you if something develops and I’m in a fog. So, tell you what. I’ll leave the drinking to you and Russ and I’ll do the alert bit,” Ham added with a grin.
“Don’t see the point,” Blake shrugged. “You’ve got the place, and us, on lock-down. Unless you expect another shot through the window, nothing much can happen before we get home.”
“By the way,” Ham said, ignoring Blake’s implied suggestion, “where do Eric and Duncan live?”
“Well, they both have small cabins on the south shore of the Lake, at Camp Richardson, where they summer. Eric splits the rest of his time at his house in Daytona Beach, and Eric in Key West. Why?”
“Idle curiosity.”
“I doubt that,” Russ drawled. “You may be a lot of things, but idle does not appear to be one of them.”
The ping of the elevator, despite its normalcy, under these circumstances startled them to instant attention. Ham reached for his weapon, pressed a finger to his lips for silence, and crept toward the foyer. Before he rounded out of sight, Drew came charging down the hall, Carson trailing close behind, and loudly announced their presence. Apparently, she was well aware of the commotion the now jarring bell would produce.
“Don’t shoot,” she yelled, “it’s only us.”
Charlie, no doubt alerted to the elevator’s arrival, bounded into the room just on their heels, looking winded from the effort and slightly disheveled from the rush. “Anything?” she gasped as Drew threw her purse on the closest table.
“Not a damn thing,” she muttered. “Here’s the video, for all it’s worth. Charlie was right, by the way. The guy in the elevator—who did use a key, which was clear in the garage images—was dressed all in black. He also apparently knows the location of the security cameras because before he came into view he slipped on a black ski mask. Must have been hotter than hell, but it did the trick. He shows clearly with the ‘bomb’ but there’s nothing to identify in his features. Nevertheless, we can figure he’s been here before, at least enough to scout out the security features.”
“I talked to Jake and Hal, the two security men on duty,” Carson added. “Unfortunately, they weren’t of any help at all. Neither noticed anything out of the ordinary in the past few days. Not even any delivery men during that time. Just nothing.”
“Right,” Ham sighed, more irritation than resignation, “so we move. You do have the tapes?” Ham asked Drew as an afterthought. When she held them up he relieved her of the package. “I’ll pack these in case they should prove useful later, though I can’t see how.” Remembering his bags and their sagging situation, he handed the package to Charlie and said, “Maybe you could do the honors. I’m out of room.”
Drew blanched, slightly offended by his manner, but nodded understanding. “I might have made the same call,” she admitted to Ham, “were the situation reversed. Still…”
“You know better than that, Drew. I just don’t want them out of my sight while you and Russ head across the street. Call it superstition, nothing more than that.”
“The old hit by a car thing,” Drew grinned. “Your hip.”
“My hip, the old car thing,” Ham affirmed. “Anyway, if we’re ready, I’d like to get rolling. Blake, is everything arranged?”
“Yeah, the jet’s standing by, Lindsey is already on her way out there and the flight plan has been filed. We can leave as soon as we can get there.”
“How long?” Ham demanded of Drew.
“Russ?” she asked.
Russ drained the last of his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “If we start right now, I’d say give me a half an hour. That ought to do it.”
Russ and Drew stood to leave, Carson with them. “Hang on a minute,” he instructed Carson. “Blake, I’d like you to write a check for $5,000. Make it out to Carson King.”
Blake feigned a moan. “You’re pretty generous with my money, aren’t you? What’s that for?”
“It’s easy for me to be generous, and a lot of fun, when it’s not my money,” Ham grinned. “It’s for his first week’s salary. There’ll be another for the same amount when this is over.” Turning to Carson, Ham asked, “That okay with you?”
“Oh hell, yeah,” Carson beamed. “That’ll buy that surf board I’ve had my eye on. That and a lot, lot more,” he mused. “I’m in.”
“Yeah, about that. No more surfing, no coffee breaks, no damn nothing except paying attention to business until this is over and I say so.” Carson nodded agreement and Ham continued, “Here’s what you do. You’re staying here and you’re going to wait until we leave before you go to the Honolulu PD to talk to Phillips. Explain to him why I had to leave, tell him about the fake bomb, and get him a copy of those tapes from the garage and elevator. With those and the shells, that’ll give him something to chew on and maybe keep him off my butt for a while. Also, tell him why Kane was killed and that the guy from the elevator is undoubtedly the killer.”
“He’ll ask where Martina is, you know,” Carson pointed out. “What should I tell him?”
Charlie seemingly had information, for she started to answer. “She said that—” but Ham waived her off. “You can find her, can’t you?” he asked of Carson. I mean, what with you being her ghost trainee and all.
Carson seemed to intuit Ham’s unspoken assertion. His wry smile announced that understanding. “You bet I can. Any time I want.”
“Fine. Then tell him. With the tapes, the shells and Martina to look forward to, maybe that’ll keep him busy. If not, find something else for him.” At Carson’s inquiring look, Ham spat, “I don’t care what. Find something, make up something, accuse some of the guys who work here. Whatever works.” Ham snapped his fingers, a thought that dawned. “Which reminds me, talk to the rest of the security staff here, interview residents, whatever you need to do. It’s not logical that nothing, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Blake’s window was shot, a bomb was delivered, fake thought it was, and a man in black skulked through the property. There’ll be other things. Go back as far as you need to. Whatever we’re looking for, it needn’t have happened only in the last few days. Hell, the planning of this thing, it’s meticulous, it could have been months ago.” As Carson sat there, Ham urged, “Well? What’s the problem? Get going.”
Carson reddened but stood his ground. “My check?”
Ham shooed Drew and Russ out the door as Blake wrote out the largesse, then personally escorted Carson to the elevator. “I want you to keep you cell phone on and charged at all times, twenty-four-seven. I expect you to answer my every ring, no matter the time, day or night. Now get going, and…” Ham extended his hand, “Good luck.”
Carson returned the gesture. “Give ‘em hell, my friend.”
Ham smiled, ice amid the grimness. “Oh I’ll give ‘em hell all right,” he affirmed. “I’ll give ‘em hell and a hell of a lot more.”
13
PURPLE HAZE
As the plane banked gently over Oahu and turned west for the long ride home, Ham sat mesmerized at the beauty passing below. The sun kissed water fought with the lush mountain greenery for island splendor, for the eye of the beholder. Either was worthy of applause, the two together escalated appreciation to outright awe. A gentle sadness invaded Ham’s heart as he mentally said goodbye to a place he’d n
ever seen before but now wished he called home.
The islands passed out of sight, replaced by the stretch of never ending blue now far, far below. He reclined further into the captain’s chair he occupied and glanced around the cabin of the luxury jet. By his count, if filled to the max, with both couches holding their maximum seating of four per sofa, the plane could accommodate sixteen passengers—fifteen if the rear seat was occupied by an attendant, as this one was.
The lavishness of the décor and the comfort of the accommodations nearly rivaled the splendor of the receded scenery. The chair he sat sprawled in was not just huge and hugely comfortable, but soft beyond any leather seat he had previously enjoyed. Each of the eight swivel captain’s chairs were thusly adorned, and each couch as well. Blake had invited him to convert one of those couches into a bed were he inclined to nap, but Ham had little interest in wasting this precious experience with oblivious slumber. Never had he anticipated seeing the inside of one of these beauties, much less travel on one, and no doubt this once in a life time opportunity would be just that, a onetime deal. He wanted to savor it, remember it, relay the feeling, the mood, the atmosphere—and the famous company—to his drooling buddies from the force. As he casually dropped a photocopy of the check he’d earned for his work on the Blake Garrett case, an accidental slip from wallet to table.
Ham grinned at his own childish fantasy, but still inhaled the moment. If he’d thought flying first class to Hawaii had been the height of decadence and pleasure, all he’d accomplished was a demonstration of his ignorance. Ignorance of a world that lay light years beyond his command. Such wealth, such unimaginable self indulgence as a life style, something taken for granted as so routinely normal that it warranted neither thought nor comment, sent chills down his spine. He’d known such people exist, he’d lived in Vegas for far too long not to know in an intellectual sense, but to witness it, see it up close and personal as the slogan goes, was disorienting to say the very least. To say the most, it was a descent into incomprehensible hilarity.
The Ghost of Truckee River (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 1) Page 18