by Julie Vail
Did they begin after he met her at the park, or was it when he was being chased home every day?
As the waves of nausea hit, he knew that relief was right around the corner.
Big boys don’t cry, big boys don’t cry, big boys don’t . . .
Cops rely on hunches to get them to the next step. Without them, we’d never get a case solved. We couldn’t read minds, or predict the future, and we hardly ever got help from random people, who happened to see or read something to jog the cob webs (Junie Joo being the exception), and then give us a call. So, hunches it was. I had one. Alex hovered over me until I’d completed the call.
“What was that about?” he asked after I’d hung up.
“We have an unknown blood sample inside that storage bin at the dock where Kevin Meyers parks his boat.”
“Yeah?”
“So, I called Mick Reynolds and asked him if he ever saw anyone else hanging around the dock, especially on the day he saw Chambliss with Kevin Meyers.”
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“He said no.”
“Oh . . .”
“But I got to thinkin’. The names of those involved on the distribution end that Crane came up with were Chambliss, Meyers, and . . .” I lifted a palm, inviting Alex to finish me off.
“Dr. Stan Ondrak,” he correctly answered. “But his name was only listed, John. No details of any involvement, or we would have brought him in.”
“I know that. Just hear me out.”
He lifted a palm, indicating that I should snap it the fuck up.
“We went and talked to him, he confirmed that he treated David Crane for the arm problem, but Matt Chambliss told us that the whole reason why David got involved in this was because he overheard, or saw, Chambliss talking to the doctor, and he already believed that Jackson Bennett’s death was suspect.”
“I’m following . . . sort of.”
“Crane was dead three weeks before we got over to Westchester to meet the roomies. Suddenly Rob goes ‘roidal, and he finds himself in the slam. Suddenly, there’s a real good reason for Meyers to worry.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“But even more than Meyers, who has more to lose?”
“The doctor?”
“Yeah. And don’t you think he’d have come clean as much as he could—provided he was innocent to some degree—when we paid him a visit?”
“Johnny, just in our time together, we’ve seen more people lie for the stupidest reasons . . .”
“I know, but this guy is smart . . . at least I’m assuming he is. If he’s anything like the doctors I’ve come to know . . .” And yes, that stab was particularly painful. “If he had a chance to toss Chambliss or Meyers under the bus and remain stain-free, don’t you think he’d do it? Or at least say, ‘Yes, I sold illegal steroids to these people, but I’ll help you if you help me . . . ’ How many times has that happened? If he’s only involved a little bit, he wants to save his career, right? He’ll gladly cooperate. Right?”
“Yes, unless he’s involved a lot, and the money’s too good to pass on right away. Maybe he’s in deep, and Chambliss or Meyers can implicate him in some way. So, he keeps quiet and waits to see what happens.”
“Right, but with Chambliss in custody, he’s worried now. Because the longer Chambliss remains in custody, the more likely it is that we find out more, and he talks more, to save himself. In custody, Chambliss is a liability to everyone else involved. If the others—whoever they may be—think that Chambliss has the ability, and more importantly, the inclination, to talk and make all that sweet cash go away, that’s motivation.”
“You think Dr. Ondrak was on that boat with Chambliss and Meyers, don’t you?”
“I think it’s a possibility. Let’s go talk to him again.”
††††
We headed toward Santa Monica, and Stan Ondrak’s office. Alex knew something was wrong.
“What?” he said.
“What what? Nothin’.”
“Bullshit.”
I sighed. “Problems at home.”
“You live alone, jackass. You can’t even live with yourself now?”
I told him about the latest Shapiro incident with Karen and the car.
“So, he didn’t take the hint? He wasn’t intimidated by us in the least?” He shook his head in disgust. “See, I told Gonz he’s getting soft. You should have heard him. He gives ‘good cop’ a whole new meaning. Big Bird would make a more intimidating ‘good cop’ than Gonz.”
“You’re the ‘good cop’, just like with us. I’m the ‘bad cop’, you’re always the ‘good cop’. That crosses all partner lines. How did you let Gonz talk you into being ‘bad cop’. That was destined to fail. You see that, don’t you?”
“You done?”
I shrugged. “I think it might be over.”
“With Karen? Over this?”
“No, not over this. This started the ball rolling.”
“Yeah? And what sped it along?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay, is she saying it’s over, or are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Get back to me when you can stop acting like a pinche pito.”
“I should know what that means,” I muttered.
“Look it up, asshole.”
“Bravo six . . .”
“Six, go . . .” Alex answered.
“L.A. County Sheriffs office wants you to call ASAP . . .” and the dispatcher gave the number. I dialed, asked for the person who called, and then I listened.
“We got him,” I said after I hung up. “Meyers’ boat is stalled about six miles out. Coast Guard is on their way out, and an L.A. County Sheriff’s boat is waiting for us.”
“How’d they find him?”
“Navigation system on the boat automatically sends a ‘mayday’ whatever when the boat experiences mechanical trouble. Someone was paying attention to the BOLO.” I stared out the window. “One for the record books.”
He made a u-turn and gunned the engine, throwing me back in my seat. “Asshole.”
“Yeah . . .”
††††
We sped toward the marina, lights and siren blaring. We parked illegally, joining other patrol cars doing the same thing. One of the cars belonged to officer Randy Jakes, and his partner, Smythe.
“You’re like a bad penny, Jakes. Ready to rock and roll?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s go catch us a killer.” I slapped him on the shoulder and we ran toward the Sheriff’s department boat like Batman and Robin heading toward the Batmobile. If I hadn’t been so pumped to get Meyers, it would have been comical.
The boat took off full throttle once we passed the breakwater. Six miles out was far in sea miles, but soon enough I saw a boat bobbing in the wake of the Coast Guard boat that was circling. The Lindy Sue wasn’t moving. In fact, it was listing—starboard.
“Boat’s listing portside,” the sheriff’s deputy informed. Yeah, that’s what I meant. “It’s starting to take on water.”
The sheriff’s boat got close enough so that we could board. As we attempted to cross from our boat to the Lindy Sue, Meyers came up from below and swung a heavy chain in our direction. It missed by a mile, but now he was officially armed. Alex drew his weapon, and I lunged for Meyers.
Kevin Meyers was a big guy, but he was even bigger when you were going mano y mano with him. He slipped from the firm grip I thought I had on him, turned, and swung his fist. Again, he missed, and I was grateful. I hated to be hit, especially in the face. It pissed me off like you can’t believe. And just as I was thinking that I was going to get out of this without a scratch, he hit me with a left hook at the side of my head. I felt my right brow open up, and warm blood trail down my face. Before Alex could jump him, I returned the favor. His jaw was like lead, and it hurt my hand, and didn’t seem to faze him a bit. I swung again. Not only did he not go down, he stood up straight, and came right for me. Alex sti
ll had his gun drawn, and finally coming to the end of his patience, he jammed it against Meyers’ head.
“Give me a reason, dickhead. Give me the slightest reason to slide a bullet in your brain.”
Meyers stood perfectly still, looked from me to Alex, then he geared up like he was going to take a very large shit, let out a rebel yell to rival the most pumped-up jungle tribesman, and leapt over the side of the boat. Six miles out, where the fuck did he think he was going?
“Jesus Christ,” I grumped. I looked at Alex.
“Not me, brother,” he laughed. “That water’s about 58 degrees.”
“Well, I’m keeping track, amico, and it’ll sure as shit be your turn next time.” I removed my jacket, took my belt off and removed my gun, holster and all. I laid everything on the bench seat, and then I slipped off my shoes and socks. I thought for a moment, remembered that I kept extra shirts at the station, and vaguely remembered that I might have a pair of old sweats in my car. No need to strip down for this. I was already pissed enough. I jumped in.
The water was frigid and breath left my body as I went under. The salt water stung the open cut above my eye. Kevin Meyers was a big guy, as I said before, but boy could he swim. I wasn’t bad. I could hold my own in the water, and I had perfected my free stroke while I was dating a lifeguard last summer. But I was no match for this guy. I was certain I’d tire out before he did.
As he swam away from the boat, I saw a pole with a hook move over my shoulder, and then land on top of Kevin Meyers. It managed to make it’s way around his throat, and he stopped swimming suddenly. I grabbed him, feeling very confident now of my swimming ability. I turned around, after seizing him around that same neck with my forearm, and saw Alex, looking really smug, holding on to the rescue hook.
I hauled Meyers, who finally decided to cooperate after I forearmed him in the head, to the side of the boat, where two sheriff’s deputies and Alex, hauled him aboard. He was cuffed, searched, and seated before they finished helping me out of the water.
“I had him,” I said, taking off my shirt and accepting a towel and an L.A. County Sheriffs Department t-shirt from a deputy. I wiped my face and it came away bloody. I’d need a stitch or two.
“Sure you did,” about four of them said at once.
Diamonds shimmered off the water, and a school of dolphins followed the boat back, leaving us a few yards shy of the breakwater.
TWENTY EIGHT
The man stood at the window overlooking Wilshire Boulevard. Traffic was light. It was eleven p.m. according to the new Rolex watch she had given him just that evening. He wore a suit, cut perfectly to his body. She saw to that personally. He wondered how he got here, wondered if he ever dreamed in a million years that this would be his life. He had left New York to escape, and he made the escape with her. But had he escaped, really? Or had he exchanged one prison for another? She stood in the doorway to their bedroom and looked at him.
He likes you, John, she said. Her voice was strong and filled with conviction, something he used to admire in her and now just found irritating. Without looking at her he knew that she had lifted her chin slightly when she spoke, her haughty indifference to his wishes so evident now.
I like him, too. What’s not to like? he answered.
What did you tell him? She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He didn’t answer.
Head of security for the entire company. Close to half a million in total compensation, John. What did you tell him?
Her father owned the largest independent film company in the world, and one of the last in Hollywood. Head of security. Escorting celebrities to their bungalows, making sure employees had the proper ID before entering . . .
He turned to her. He came out here to be with her, and he realized that after tonight he would never see her again. And suddenly the weight was lifted.
I told him no, Eve. I’m sorry.
She let go of him and stepped away, the beginning of the end, he realized.
So am I, John. So am I.
We got Kevin Meyers into the station, and began the finger printing process. He hadn’t yet asked for a lawyer, and in our experience, at least half don’t. Getting him printed would take a while, so I returned to my desk. A note in Ginger’s hand sat front and center. Karen called. I set the message aside.
“Hey, if you can tear yourself away from 976-PHONE-SEX for a minute, we can go ahead and question this asshole. He hasn’t lawyered-up yet.”
I stood and followed him down the hall toward the interrogation room. “You know, when you retire, get the gold watch, the party, all that . . .?”
“Yeah?”
“Beg for more time. You’ll never make it as a comedian.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”
††††
We led Kevin Meyers into an interrogation room. A small table and three chairs took up most of the space. The walls were bare, and the white noise of a fan blowing warm air into the room was the only sound. A large mirror took up most of one wall, to give the impression we had a two-way mirror thing happening. We didn’t.
Alex took the chair behind the table, putting himself between Meyers and the door. I sat Kevin Meyers down on the other side of the table, out of reach of the door handle, a light switch, or anything else that would give him an ounce of control. He was a big guy, and the chair was hard and flimsy. I removed my jacket and remained standing.
“You okay? You good with the water?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Great. Hey, not for nothing . . . you’ve got a nice boat. Like one I owned once.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, for about five minutes. Expensive hobby. You go out often?”
“Yeah, every weekend.”
“Yeah, I did, too. Had it dry-docked right here in the Marina for a while—you know the place, off Fiji Way?”
“Yeah, I know it. I dry-docked there for a while myself.”
I nodded. “Cool, so, Kevin, look . . . we have a few problems we’d like to get straightened out. The whole fingerprinting thing . . . you know you resisted arrest, right?”
“Yeah, well I . . .”
“Now, buddy, I need for you to listen to me now, okay? You’ll have a turn to talk in a sec. I can make that resisting arrest thing all go away if you help us out.”
He nodded.
“You remember when we came to see you about David Crane? Remember that day?”
His eyes shifted to the right. “Yeah. I remember.”
“And we asked you a bunch of questions about David, when was the last time you saw him, and so on. Remember that?”
“Yes.”
I opened a small spiral notebook that contained phone numbers, random notes, and general scribble-scrabble that meant nothing. “And I have here that you told us you last saw David on August 3rd, the day before that tournament?”
His eyes darted to the right. Recalling. “Uh . . . I . . .”
“Hang on a minute, now. Remember, I’ll give you your chance in a sec . . . hang on . . .” I pretended to read my notes. “I’m sorry, I apologize . . . you said you spoke to David on the third, but you saw Rob Chambliss that night. Is that right?”
Eyes to the left. Thinking. “Yes.”
“You saw Chambliss get into a canoe with the girl, right?”
“Uh . . .” Eyes left again. “Yeah.”
I nodded and paused for a long time. “Problem with that, Kevin, is that Rob Chambliss can’t swim. It’s our understanding that getting into a canoe like that was something Rob Chambliss would never do.”
Lip tremor, hand to the face, scratching. “No, it was Rob. . . .”
“Someone was there. Kevin.” I kept my voice soft, friendly. “Someone saw you get into a shell, and you got into the shell with David Crane. In fact, the person who saw you said that there was a struggle, and that you forced David into the shell.”
“I . . .”
“You get into a fig
ht with him? You get into an argument? Cause, you know, David turns up dead down the creek, you’re the last one seen with him, so . . . what happened?”
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill David.”
“Well, you know, something else . . . we found David’s blood in that shell, along with one of your fingernails . . .” I lifted his right hand gently. The nail was still only half-grown. “That one.”
“I didn’t. . . .”
“We found the gun that killed David, in the creek below where his body was found. We also found a copper pipe in the creek, the same pipe we found in your garage when we searched your place. Had your prints all over it, Kevin. The pipe that caved David’s head in had your fingerprints all over it.” I was lying, of course. Nothing of significance was found on the pipe.
“My garage?”
“Yeah, Kevin. We’ve searched your house. Didn’t you hear me? That’s what happens when you lie to us. You never saw Chambliss get into that boat, did you, because you were the one in the boat, with David.”
“I didn’t kill him. You have to believe me.”
“I do believe you. I do. David found something out, didn’t he?”
Kevin Meyers bent forward and put his face in his hands. Confession time.
“C’mon. Tell me what he stuck his nose in to, Kevin.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I know you didn’t. Tell me who did, and why. Tell me about the steroids, Kevin. You and Rob were selling, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. How did David find out about it?”
“He knew from the beginning, for over a year. Most of the team did.”
“Okay . . .”
“And then a kid on the team, a guy named Jackson Bennett . . . killed himself.”
Eyes left.
“Uh huh. Why do you think he did that?”
“How should I know? He was ‘roided up’ all the time. He’d gotten into it with his girlfriend. Maybe he felt guilty about, you know . . . he smacked her around I think, so maybe that’s why.”
“Huh. Maybe. So you were making some scratch off this Bennett kid, huh? He buying a lot?”