A Deadly Legacy

by Julie Vail

  “Someone’s got to.”

  She stared at me. “I see.” She turned for the door, and before she opened it, she went into her purse, slammed around for a bit, then picked it up. She opened the door and turned around.

  “I’m introducing him, John. I’m getting up, and I’m speaking for ten minutes about Arthur McGann, and about why he should be our next mayor.” She stared at me for a long time. “I have to go.”

  I nodded. “I see that.” We stood apart from each other, only about six feet, but when you were arguing, the distance could be cavernous. “Let me tell you a little about Arthur McGann. A couple of years ago, a guy walks in to the Yacht Club in the marina with a bomb strapped to his body, because his wife, who was hosting the party, was leaving him. There were 140 people at the party, all hostages now. Following me?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Make a long story short, SWAT managed to get him out, and the bomb squad removed the bomb, set it inside a detonator box. Routine. They exploded the bomb, but the detonator box malfunctioned. The squad lieutenant was killed, and two SWAT members sustained career-ending injuries. The lieutenant’s name was Clive Armstrong.”

  “I’m sorry, John, but what does this have to do with Arthur McGann?”

  “McGann was the DA at the time, and he refused to prosecute the company that manufactured the detonator box. The county spends millions a year for equipment that should never fail. You know why he didn’t go after the company?”

  “Why?”

  “Because Arthur McGann was, and probably still is, an investor in the company. The media will report for days on the pop star who drives the wrong way down the freeway with drugs in her purse and a baby in her lap, but this story somehow doesn’t even make the back page of the paper. Clive Armstrong’s widow ended up filing a civil suit, and won. But she didn’t get close to what she deserved for losing her husband. She works for us now, and as long as she’s breathing, she’ll have a job at our station. We’re taking care of her now because the guy who should have, didn’t. And now he’s running for mayor.” I finished off my scotch. “I don’t know how it works in the world you come from, but in my world you don’t forget this stuff. Or forgive it.”

  “In the world I come from, you do what you have to do, and sometimes that includes kissing an ass that isn’t as clean as you’d like. That’s life. I’m really sorry about Lieutenant Armstrong and the others. I can’t imagine what his wife goes through every day. I wish I could live in your black-and-white world, but I see gray a lot, and unfortunately that’s my world.”

  “A cop’s world is mostly black and white, Gennaro. It has to be. There’s no room for gray, and there’s no room for compromise.”

  “That must be nice. To live like that,” she bit out, “Get out more, John.”

  “So, if I ‘got out more’ I’d understand this better? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. I have to go.”

  “Go.”

  She turned for the door, then turned back. “The thing is, John, we live in two different worlds, you and me.”

  “We live in the same world, Gennaro. We just live in it differently. While you were drinking champagne at the Bel Air Country Club before you were old enough to drive, I was trying to get through high school and make sure my mother was getting what she needed because she didn’t have a husband anymore.”

  “John, I . . .”

  “No. Don’t you dare tell me we live in two different worlds. What, you put the blinders on while you deal with carved-up homeless people and abused children? You think I’m not right there along side you? They smell the same to me as they do to you. This is a decision you are making to attend this fundraiser and raise a glass to this prick. I’m choosing not to. Respect that decision.”

  “Then respect mine. I have to go.”

  “Go.” I said quietly. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  She shook her head. “Fine.” She gave me one last look, then she turned around and walked out.

  I poured myself another drink and paced. I tore off my tie and paced some more. I grabbed the remote and switched the TV to a sports news station. I sat on the couch and glared at the TV. I stood and paced some more.

  “You go and you raise your glass to this cidrule,” I said to the empty room. My drink was empty again, so I poured another one. I considered whether it was a good idea to even be here when she got home.

  I started for the kitchen in search of dinner, and decided if she wasn’t well stocked, I’d take myself, tux and all, over to the Stone Cantina. I could find someone to feel sorry for me there, I was sure if it. The small table in the entry way near the front door was crowded with stuff I assumed she took out of her purse before she left. Several 3 x 5 note cards sat on the table.

  Her introduction speech. She’d forgotten it.

  “Aw, Christ.” I read it. It was a list of facts, mostly. A few quotes. Details of McGann’s past, glossed over. And then I got to the part where she thanked him for the trauma center . . . and then she goes on to thank him for the donation to the free women’s and children’s clinic in Venice that Karen and a few other doctors were going to run. She was excited about it, and now I knew where the operating funds were coming from.

  He had her over a barrel. She had to go. She’d had no choice.

  I downed my drink, grabbed the note cards, and stuck them in my pocket. Then I called a cab. I was in no condition to drive. She’d been gone almost half an hour, and I didn’t know where the fundraiser was being held, except that it was at the Beverly-something. The Beverly Wilshire? The Beverly Hilton? The Beverly Hills? I spent fifteen minutes on the phone while the cabbie drove in circles. Once I told him where to go, it took him almost an hour to wend his way through traffic to get me there. The ride, and the adrenaline did nothing to sober me up, but I managed to put on my tie before I went inside.

  I had no idea what I was going to do next. I scanned the lobby, and the place was deserted, but the sign directed me to the Grande Ballroom to the right. I took a deep breath, huffed a breath into my hand and didn’t pass out, and opened the door. Applause erupted, and I saw her cross the stage to the podium. Her grace, her style, was overwhelming to me, and I leaned against the back wall as she introduced herself. She talked about Arthur McGann. She was funny and animated, and she spoke for close to ten minutes, following very little of the speech I had sequestered in my breast pocket. At last, she introduced him as the ‘next Mayor of Los Angeles’, the place erupted in applause again, and he greeted her with a warm embrace as he came up to the podium. I knew I was in no condition to venture further into the room. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her. Next to that, I had no desire to listen to him.

  I walked out and crossed the lobby to the lounge area, where I found a place at the bar and ordered an Oban—neat. Lights were dim, the pianist was playing Gershwin, and couples were matched up on couches and club chairs, enjoying after—or before—dinner cocktails. A young girl, blending into the woodwork in her black-and-whites, delivered drinks and snacks with a painted-on smile. Tuxed and begowned people drifted in and out of the lounge, forgetting, perhaps, that they had a bigger, better party going on at the other end. Those that weren’t agog over Mr. McGann sat at the bar, or on a couch, and ordered drinks.

  I ordered another and realized that I had the bar to myself again. The pianist played Coltrane—or was the music coming from the ceiling? I pondered Coltrane on the piano, and decided that it could be done, but maybe not by this pianist, when she walked by. Oblivious to everything around her, she disappeared into the ladies room. I checked her out as she passed, and decided that in this case the dress didn’t make the lady, the lady made the dress. Dame, broad, lady . . . it all applied. God, she was fantastic.

  The Ladies Lounge, as the sign read, was located across from the bar where I was sitting. I sat on the edge of the barstool, and waited. In about five minutes, she came out. I wondered what in hell wom
en did when they disappeared inside a Ladies Lounge. Jesus, it takes me three whole seconds to pee, run water over the hand that touched my privates, and get the fuck outta Dodge. Five minutes she was in there.

  She walked out, and just as she passed the bar, she looked up.

  “Hey, lady. Can I buy you a drink?”

  She stopped. She didn’t want to, but she smiled. Not big, but it was there.

  “Hi.” She moved toward me. She held a small clutch in one hand, and a thin something was draped over her right arm. I remembered that it had been across her shoulders when she entered the bathroom.

  “You busy tonight, pretty lady?”

  “Not really.” She reached me and slid her fingers under my collar. “Where’s your tie?”

  I thought for a moment, remembering finally that I had removed it again somewhere between ‘Naima’ and ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’. I patted my breast pocket.

  She stood between my knees. “Rakishly subdued, devil-may-care. That’s you. Isn’t it, detective?”

  I set my hands on her hips, trying desperately to keep them off her behind. We were in public, after all. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry.” She straightened my collar, and ran her finger along my jaw. I tightened my hold on her, and in a moment she sat on the stool next to me.

  “Goose-rocks with a twist for the lady,” I said to the bartender.

  He nodded and set a napkin down in front of her.

  “I saw your speech.”

  “You did? When?”

  “When you were giving it.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Standing in the back of the room.” I kissed her fingertips. “I said to myself, ‘I know that lady up there. I know what she thinks, what she feels . . . what she smells like after a shower, and after I make love to her. The lady’s mine.’ That’s what I was thinkin’, while you were up there . . . speechin’.”

  She smiled. “You’re drunk.”

  “Me? Nah . . . well, maybe a little.” I was nursing my sixth scotch. If I wasn’t drunk, I sure as shit should be. I pulled the note cards out of my pocket. “You left these behind.”

  “Is that why you came?”

  “It’s the excuse I’m using.”

  She tossed them on the bar.

  “You didn’t need them, obviously.”

  “Flying by the seat of my pants is something I learned how to do in med school.”

  I looked her over quick. “I think maybe you left those behind, too.”

  “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

  “Here?”

  “Mmmm . . . probably not a good idea.”

  “No, probably not.”

  She sighed. “Did you read it?”

  “Um hum. You’re in a jam, I can see that.”

  “I’m not going to take money from him for the clinic.”

  “I noticed you didn’t mention it.”

  “Maybe you can get me some more information on that company he’s involved with . . . there are other doctors invested in the clinic. The more I can bring to their attention . . .”

  “Anything you want, lady. You know that.”

  “I do.” She caressed my cheek. “It was good of you to come. Incredible, in fact. When I saw you, sitting here, I . . .” she stopped and looked into her drink, then dipped a manicured finger, taking the ice for a spin.

  “You what?”

  “I was . . . happy. I was so happy to see you, sitting here without your tie on, holding a scotch in your hand, like you owned the whole goddamned world. That look in your eye that dares anyone to tell you differently. No one fucks with you, do they?”

  “You do. You’re brave.”

  “But, you see, I know you. You don’t fool me. It’s right here, big as the world.” She placed her hand over my heart.

  “I love you, lady.” I closed my eyes and the room started to spin. I opened them quickly.

  “You’re no good to me like this,” she whispered. “You see that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Let me have a little . . . nap, and I’ll be . . . new as good.”

  She giggled. “Aw, sweetie. Let’s get you out of here, before a cop comes along.”

  “Finish your drink. You need to say some goodbyes?”

  “And leave you here to your own devices? Nothin’ doin’. They’ll understand, believe me.”

  “I don’t think that’s exhibiting professional behavior, lady. Not to mention, it’s downright . . . ruuude. Finish your drink, then go.” Cotton filled my mouth. “I’ll wait . . . right here. I’ll have some water.”

  She took a few minutes to finish the last of her drink. “I’ll be two minutes. Don’t move . . .” I staggered on the barstool and she giggled. “Please.” She kissed me on the cheek.

  I ordered some water and some coffee. She was longer than two minutes, and it was a good thing, too. By the time we got into the limo, I was sober enough to become acquainted with that backseat girl I always knew she was, deep down inside.

  NINETEEN

  He sat in the office of his new commanding officer. Riding a patrol car with the NYPD was only the first step.

  You have nowhere to go but up, Testarossa, he said. But everyone will be watching you. Like father, like son?

  What do you think? he asked

  The Organized Crime Unit has been waiting for you, John. You’re gonna help us get these pricks finally. Shutting these guys down. That’s your legacy.

  Whether I want it or not?

  Yeah. Whether you want it or not. You owe us.

  It had been over a week since Rob Chambliss went missing, and Kevin Meyers was out and about as well. The information from Susan Creighton, the young woman who was at the boathouse the night David Crane went missing, checked out—meaning, she was there, and it sounded like what she saw was Meyers grab Crane and force him into a shell. The tearing that the coroner found around the shoulder area of the arm that came off went well with what the Creighton girl said. Like peas and carrots.

  We had retrieved David Crane’s belongings from the boathouse with the key Kim Monroe had provided. A large duffle with clothes inside, sports bags and gear were all that were found, as we suspected. We performed a quick search through the duffle and through the other bags when we got back to the station. That was a week ago. It was on my mind again, so I told Alex I was going down to the evidence room.

  “We’re missing something, bubba,” I said as we walked downstairs. “What did Crane have that Chambliss and Meyers wanted?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe they just needed to shut him down. He knew too much.”

  “Yeah, but what of ‘too much’ did he know?”

  “Enough for both Chambliss and Meyers to want him gone.”

  I found the box where David Crane’s things were kept. I pulled out the duffle and rechecked every pocket and pouch. Then I removed every article of clothing, and went through every pocket again, even feeling the seams. The last thing I picked up, folded tightly into a small side pocket of the large duffle, was a red nylon jacket. Why I didn’t notice this before was a mystery. Campbell Crew was embroidered on the left breast. In a waterproof pouch inside the left chest pocket was a flash drive, about the size of a disposable lighter, but thinner. I’d missed it.

  “Bingo.”

  Alex nodded. “Yup.”

  ††††

  We sat in front of the computer. The list was long.

  “Jesus, Johnny, he was onto something big here.”

  “I think we’ve got motive now, pal.” Members of the Campbell College Crew team were listed, along with members from other sports the campus offered. Three other universities in the city were also represented. But the coup de grâce was the two dozen or so names of professional athletes. The names listed were all customers of Rob Chambliss’s. David was planning on naming names, starting with the seller himself, then moving on to the buyers. The careers of a few potential hall-offamers were on the line, and Chambliss knew it. So did Davi
d Crane.

  ††††

  I was looking over forensics reports on the case when the phone rang. It was Karen.

  “Hi, love,” she cooed.

  “Hi. You alright?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you never call me at work.”

  “Bad time?”

  “You calling makes it good, babe. What’s up?”

  “I’m going out of town tomorrow. It’s sudden.”

  “Yeah, I don’t like sudden. I guess we haven’t discussed that yet.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe we can get together tonight. I’d like that very much.”

  “Me, too. Where are you going, sweetheart?”

  “Listen, can we talk about it tonight, maybe? I don’t leave until noon tomorrow. How about dinner?”

  “Good. I’ll come to you?”

  “Yeah, that would be easiest on me. I’d like to wake up next to you tomorrow morning, if that’s possible.”

  “It’s possible. I’ll see you tonight.” As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. Alex got it before I could. I went back to the forensic reports on my desk.

  “Yeah . . . where? . . . Yeah, got it. The boat’ll be where? . . . Yeah, okay.”

  Evidence found in the yellow shell . . .

  “T? Gotta hop. Body found hung up on the rocks of the jetty in the marina. Johnny?”

  “Yeah.” I reviewed the list again. Something was there, but it wasn’t jumping at me.

  Blood, hair, metal filings a f . . .

  “Johnny.”

  “Yeah . . . okay.” I got up and grabbed my jacket. I knew if I left it alone a while, it would come to me.

  “Who called?” I asked when we stepped outside.

  “Lifeguard found the body. He was patrolling the area outside the break-wall and saw the body bobbin’.”

  We got in the car, Alex at the wheel. He started the engine and pulled out into traffic.

  “A bobbin’ body,” I said absently, staring out the window. She was going away now. We hadn’t been apart one night since the first night. Typically, I’d be looking forward to some alone time, but strangely, this time I wasn’t. It was throwing me sideways.