The Killing of Bobbi Lomax (20 page)

His blood had dripped into the makeshift pot he’d improvised from a miniature jam jar he’d lifted the previous week from the campus hotel breakfast bar.
He’d already spent two hours practising the signature in pig’s blood on similar density paper. He’d thought of Robert Bright, thought of his life, how puffed up and sinfully proud he must have felt after almost two decades of gathering a flock which numbered in the thousands. The Faith’s increasing popularity and its Followers’ lives, lived on the flip-side of society’s rules, had provoked Bright’s frequent clashes with authority and made him a marked man.

Focused on Bright’s rage against authority, Clark had dipped his quill into his freshly drawn blood-ink and scratched Robert Bright’s angry oversized signature onto the page. Clark would say this was Bright’s own blood – it wasn’t as if they had anything to compare the blood to, just so long as it was human it would pass cursory tests. Clark stared at his creation. It was perfect. Just like Bright, Clark loved to seek perfection in artifice and, in so doing, make myth reality. Like Bright before him, Clark found it flattering when his creations spun him gold from air.

Clark studied Arnold Lomax’s face, brow furrowed, mouth opened as if trying to drink it all in as he looked at Clark’s Polaroids, the red blood signature just visible on the brown paper in the badly lit shot. Polaroids Clark had brought with him, ostensibly straight from the wealthy dealer’s house in Fort Lauderdale where, he gleefully told Lomax, he had spent the Fourth of July weekend in a house on the intracoastal waterway, opposite where the Bee Gees and a legion of other stars lived and where the weather was warm and the people smiley. He hoped Lomax wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t taken a photo of the house or the eighty-foot yacht moored at the bottom of the garden and facing out to sea. Or, for that matter, a pictorial memento of his tête-à-tête with his most generous host.

The Polaroids also included a handful of the three aged, worn letters that Clark would use to form part of the package he was preparing in order to verify the provenance of the
pièce de résistance
, the Letter of Accession – as it had been called by the Faith for over 150 years. The Letter that no one had ever seen, or seemed to have owned, but which everyone in the Faith was absolutely certain had existed. In the Faith’s telling of the story, Robert Bright had written this letter to Jeremiah, his son by Rebecca, passing the Prophet’s mantle to him. But Clark had other plans.

He had spent weeks researching back in his old haunt of Colorado State Library at Boulder
and running up a five-hundred-dollar hotel phone bill calling every major university library around the world, until he was convinced that nowhere in the American or European archives was there was a document that would one day rear up its head and claim to be the original Letter of Accession written by the Faith’s prophet and signed in his blood, not Clark’s. In its absence, Clark’s version would become
the
version.

‘But I don’t know the first damn thing about ancient stuff, manuscripts and all that. How can I tell what it’s worth?’ Lomax said, brow still furrowed.

Antique, not ancient, Clark wanted to say. Instead, he turned on the megawatt smile, ‘Well, that’s what I’m for, Mr Lomax.’ I’m your path to a quick buck and you’re the $500K I need to pay Dougie before his and Sanford’s deadline runs out and they pick another guy as co-investor for the Hollywood store and close me right out of the deal. Sometimes Clark tired of all the bullshit people told one another, instead of just coming straight out with the truth. But it was all a game, he guessed. People preferred games to truth. They always seemed so suspicious of the truth. Or frightened of it. ‘That’s just three of the letters. He wouldn’t let me take pictures of the entire collection.’ Clark knew there was no need to have created all eleven letters, not just yet. Not until his appointment with the Faith. They would most likely ask for details of them all and even to see the originals. Either way, Clark was already getting prepared.

‘So, let’s get to the nitty gritty, son. Nitty gritty I can do: you need five hundred K?’

‘That’s correct, sir, ideally the money would be in a lump sum.’

Clark needed the money paid into his account for two different reasons. The first, to pay Dougie for his share of the Hollywood store; the second, so that should the Faith get curious and task any of their spies with checking on Clark’s financial health, with Lomax’s money he could show he’d held and then paid the requisite deposit of $500K for the document, transferred to the account of Dougie Wild. The Faith wouldn’t know who the hell Dougie Wild was from Adam. But if they chose to find out, he would be listed all over as a documents dealer.

‘And my cut’s twenty per cent?’

‘Of net profit. I think it’s going to be quite a healthy net. I might be able to push the sale price to the Faith north of two mil.’

‘Two mil?’ Lomax whistled. ‘Well, how about this: I pay over a month or so?’

‘As long as at least one hundred K is the first part of the payment.’

Ideally, Clark wanted all the money upfront, so he could pay Dougie and, also, go to the Faith quicker. Now he’d have to wait a month. But a hundred thou should keep Dougie and Sanford quiet a while.

‘Twenty is no good to me. I want twenty-five percent.’

‘Twenty-two point five.’

‘You cut a hard bargain,’ said Clark. And
you’re
a greedy bastard.

‘When you gonna pay my cut?’

‘The faster I get the whole five hundred K, the faster I can get your money back to you. But you’ll get your original investment back thirty days after cleared payment for the sale, to the Faith or whomsoever. I’ll pay out your profit thirty days after that date.’

‘Why don’t I get it all the day the deal is done?’

‘There’s always a delay, gives the buyers – us and our eventual purchaser – a chance to pull out if they find anything amiss with the document.’

‘What do you mean, amiss?’

‘Sometimes things don’t always work out. Legally, people have to be able to change their mind.’

‘You been down there yourself, though, haven’t you? Fort Lauderdale, checked it out? Because I could go back down with you this week. Show them we’re serious and we’re not going to stand for any bull.’

‘I checked it out. I brought an independent assessor along with me.’

‘You did?’

‘Sure. Clifford Hartman. He’s particularly skilled in Robert Bright’s era.’

‘And this Hartman guy was happy?’

‘Very. This is his letter of authentication. And that of the dealer.’ Clark took two separate letters out of his attaché case.

‘You should have brought him today.’

‘Believe me, I wish I could. But he’s a very busy guy and he charges by the hour. Three hundred bucks. Five thou for the weekend in Florida, plus airfares.’

‘Damn, I’m glad you
didn’t
bring him. Don’t want to cut into the net.’

‘That’s what I figured.’

‘Five thou. Crazy. Who knew bits of paper could be worth so much. I followed my daddy into the property business. But if this pans out, I might switch to the paper business.’

‘Well, if you’re serious about that, we can do another deal after this one.’

‘What’s with the interest, the delay on that?’

‘That ensures your discretion.’

‘No flies on you, hey son?’

‘The stakes are high.’

‘Sure are. I should be able to get you the cash by Monday. I just got to find my shovel first.’ He laughed. ‘I got problems with my wife, we’re divorcing. She knows I got some money stashed away someplace, damn shame she doesn’t know where, but it’s not for the want of looking.’ He leaned back, laughing in his chair. He scanned the Polaroids, picked up one of the three letters Clark had created between Bright’s first and second wives. Clark had stapled transcripts of the letters to the shots. Lomax silently read one. ‘Three wives. And all at the same time? Bright must have been crazy.’

‘Either that or he was on to something.’

That made Lomax laugh again, even louder.

Clark leaned toward him. ‘This is a very delicate stage of the deal now, sir, so for the next couple of months or so, I’d be really grateful if we could keep this arrangement between you and me. I know that Peter’s your business partner, but . . .’

‘Colleague. Peter’s not an equity partner or anything.’

‘Good. Because I can’t emphasize enough how we have to keep this arrangement and deal secret, because if the Real Faith get wind of this, they will come in with a much higher price direct to the dealer, just to get their hands on this document, and we’ll lose it to them.’

‘Don’t worry. I can keep a secret. Do you really think Bright left everything to Rebecca’s son, Jeremiah? That the Real Faith really are that, the real Faith – and ours is . . .’

‘Nothing?’

Lomax nodded silently.

‘I believe what it says there.’

‘Then this document is going to stir up a hornet’s nest.’

That was the plan. That and to make a ton of cash.

‘Why would the Faith even want this old document, if that’s the case?’

‘Would you want your adversaries to own these? In effect to own you, probably hold you to ransom threatening to reveal the contents to the world?’

‘I get it. So you’re doing the Faith a favor?’

‘Simply providing a service.’

‘Why didn’t you go direct to the Faith for the five hundred thou then?’

Megawatt.

‘Because, as much as I’m a Follower and I love the Faith, I’m a businessman – just like you and those houses you’re building: I want to make a profit. Need to make a profit. And so, I have to stop the Real Faith getting hold of this document. Even if our own Faith finds out who the dealer is, they’ll cut us out of the deal. And we won’t make a red cent.’

‘And you’re not running a charity, hey, son?’

‘No, sir. I wish I could do it out of the kindness of my heart, but I have a wife and two babies to feed, and opportunities like this only come around once in a lifetime.’

‘Well, I have the ex-wife to feed, so I feel your pain.’

‘The high, almost instant, return for the investor is meant as a thank you. Without this money to buy the document I know I wouldn’t be able to do the deal. I’m sure the Faith will be very appreciative.’

‘Well, son, I rely on your discretion to ensure they don’t ever know that information. They might worry I’m
gambling
their Followers’ cash – a lot of their people invest with me. I’ll keep your secret, you keep mine.’

‘Speculating, not gambling,’ said Clark. ‘There’s no risk here, no reliance on chance. And you’ll have your money back within a few months. No one will even miss it.’

‘Are you done yet, honey? I want to go to the mall.’ Clark turned to see a glorious young girl in a dripping wet bikini, clutching a beach towel, standing in the doorway that led in from the garden. Clark had heard about Lomax’s domestic troubles from Peter Gudsen. Heard about the soon-to-be-former Mrs Lomax, and the newer, springier model now living for all intents and purposes as the second Mrs Lomax. Lomax’s face had lit up instantly when she’d appeared behind them.

‘This is my fiancée, Bobbi. Bobbi, this is Mr Clark Houseman.’ Lomax looked at Clark.

Clark nodded, we’re done.

Bobbi stood with her back against the aluminium doorframe, water still dropping off her bikini. She smiled at Clark. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘I’ve just been in the hot tub. It’s so relaxing. You should come over and try it sometime, shouldn’t he, Arnie?’

‘I’m sure Mr Houseman’s got better things to do than sit in hot tubs all day, Bobbi. Now, why don’t you go get dressed, and I’ll show Mr Houseman out.’

She didn’t move. Instead, she just stared at them as Lomax gathered all the Polaroids up and handed them back to Clark. Clark put them in his attaché case, stood up to leave.

‘Bye, Mr Houseman.’ She stared at Clark, waited for him to say his first name, so she could repeat it. Over and over. Trip it off her tongue. Try and make Old Lomax a little bit more jealous. Clark had north of two mil and his entire future riding on not allowing himself to take the bait, as tempting as it was. Instead, he just smiled politely. Bobbi didn’t smile again, just pulled the towel she was holding tight around her, tucked it into her bikini top and passed across the room. He guessed she knew they’d be watching so she cranked up her wiggle as she moved out and along the corridor. All she needed was heart-shaped sunglasses and she would be Lolita. A hundred and fifty years ago she would have made a great wife for Robert Bright.

Lomax swung the front door open for him. ‘Just give me ’til Monday. We’ll meet at one of the banks downtown. I’ll let you know what one, nearer the time. Now go confirm our deal.’

‘Thanks, Mr Lomax.’

‘Arnold, son. Call me Arnold.’ He clapped Clark on the back. ‘We’re friends now. Partners.’

‘Thanks, Arnold.’

With the mercury pushing one hundred, Clark stepped out onto the driveway and followed the shade of the trees on Lomax’s front lawn until he reached his car. Once, when he was a kid, he’d been given some advice by his mother’s uncle, a wily old dog, and a rich one to boot. Clark had never forgotten it: ‘There’s no friends in business, son . . . and as for partners, if they’d been a good idea God would have had one.’

The door opened. It was Audrey, the sister. Marty could see over her shoulder to the corner of the room where Lomax sat marooned on the couch, a crocheted blanket clutched around him, his head heavy, hair unwashed. The sister looked at them apologetically. ‘Who is it, Aud?’ said Lomax.

Marty held up the warrant, pushed it towards her. ‘May we, ma’am? That’s a warrant to search the premises.’

‘Search here? What for? Arnold, did you hear what they’re saying? They’re gonna search. They got a warrant.’

Lomax was standing up now, staring in their direction. ‘What do you mean, they got a warrant?’

‘Miss Lomax is correct, sir. We have a warrant to search the house and your business premises downtown.’

‘I already gave you a list of my investors that first day. The day Bobbi, Bobbi . . .’ his breath caught, faltered. He coughed, continued. ‘You wanna find Bobbi’s killer, you need to be looking at that.’

‘We are.’

Lomax was advancing on them. ‘Then you should be out there, searching. Interviewing the people who might have reason to kill her. What do you want a warrant for? You think I killed Bobbi?’

‘The warrant isn’t about your wife’s death, sir.’

‘It’s not? Then what in the hell are you doing here?’

‘For search and seizure of any evidence relevant to the case of the Investors versus Lomax Enterprises.’

‘The what!? Some kind of case I never heard of.’

‘It’s new,’ said Marty.

‘You need to be looking for Bobbi’s killer, instead of searching for money that isn’t here!’

Anger made Lomax seem more alive.

‘Maybe it’s two parts of the same whole,’ said Marty.

‘
That’s
why I gave you the investors list. You should talk to the people on that. They all blame me for the property investment plan running into trouble.’

‘What kind of trouble did it run into, sir?’

Lomax ignored him. ‘Someone on there must have wanted to kill me.’

‘What about your former associate Peter Gudsen, you think his death was linked to the collapse of that property company or do you think they were still trying to get just you?
’

Lomax didn’t say anything.

‘He was no longer a part of the business – that’s what confuses me. Why would anyone go after him? Mr Houseman? Mr Angel? Any of them connected to your company?’

Lomax shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not that I know.’

‘And Mr Gudsen was alone when he was targeted, you weren’t with him, were you? It wasn’t intended for you? An impromptu meeting perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘You were at the Hilton the morning your wife was killed. You’d had a row with her, the night before, taken off to the hotel, that’s what Detective Alvarez said.’

‘Don’t remind me why I wasn’t here, couldn’t help her . . .’

‘And there was no car in the drive?’

‘Mine was in the shop. I’d taken Bobbi’s with me.’

‘Why do you think your wife was outside so early that morning?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she heard, thought she heard, my car in the drive. But it was him.’

‘Who?’

‘Whoever did this. Maybe she picked up that box and thought that it had a present in it from me to her. Maybe to say sorry. Oh, God.’

His entire body seemed to crumple in on itself.

Audrey stepped in, caught him, put her arm around him. ‘It’s not Arnold’s fault the business failed. The land that they were sold up in the Old Canyons. It was no good. Something to do with the soil. Something wrong with it.’ She whispered now, ‘Somebody cheated him, the investors and a whole bunch of other buyers who bought tracts. Cheated them all and cleared out of town with their money.’

‘Is that right, Mr Lomax?’ said Marty.

‘He’s been warned not to say anything, who they are. Nothing. Haven’t you, Arnold?’

‘Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.’

‘I do so.’

‘Are you protecting someone, sir?’ said Marty.

Lomax didn’t say anything.

‘You can tell them, Arnold. They’ll protect you. They’re the police.’

Marty didn’t know so much about ‘protect’. ‘Your sister’s right, sir. You can tell us.’

Lomax looked up, doubtful. Marty saw Whittaker and his guys coming up the path. He thought he’d try a new tack. ‘Can you tell us if you’ve been in contact with your insurers to pay out on your wife Bobbi’s life insurance?’ Marty could see Lomax didn’t know how to answer. ‘The policy you took out on her.’

‘You never told me you had insurance on Bobbi, Arnold.’

‘Two hundred and fifty thou,’ said Al. Helpfully.

Audrey’s hand went up to her mouth.

‘You could see why we might consider that motive, Mr Lomax. That’s a considerable sum of money. Could you show us into your study please, sir?’ Audrey stood up with her brother. ‘Ma’am, if you could just wait here. With Mr Whittaker and his team,’ he beckoned them into the house, ‘they’ll begin to conduct a search out here. We need a witness to watch as we search each room.’

Audrey looked at her brother, he waved his hand at her. ‘Sure, if we have to, might as well keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t plant anything. Try and make me look guilty of something I’m not.’

Marty let the slight go. You’re guilty of something though. Aren’t you?

They followed Lomax into the study, Al tight on Lomax’s heels, the bag rolled up in his hand.

In seconds they were at the safe. The ribbon untied. A key in each lock.

‘Hey, where did you get those keys?’

Marty turned his head. ‘You wanna tell us where you think we got them, Mr Lomax?’

Lomax didn’t answer.

Marty nodded to Al, they turned their keys at the same time. The safe opened.

‘Hey, what are you doing? You can’t go in there.’

The safe was completely empty, except that flat on the floor of it was a piece of paper. Marty picked it up. A regular piece of paper folded over on itself. He opened it. Showed Al. A hastily scrawled IOU, and a tiny signature scrawled next to it in a different hand.

‘What’s this, sir? Must be pretty important as it’s the only thing in here.’

Lomax didn’t answer.

‘What’s this?’ He peered closer at it. ‘Six hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars, to include interest and other payments, inter alia. Whatever that means.’

Marty looked at Lomax. Lomax looked like a man deciding whether silence might be a good game plan.

‘Are you a licensed lender, sir?’

‘You know damn well I’m not.’ Not silenced, yet.

‘It’s a licensed
property
investment company, is that it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to tell me who this is, who owes you this money?’

‘It’s not my money.’

‘But it says at the top: “Payable to Mr Arnold Lomax”. And it’s got your address right here.’

‘I said, it’s not my . . .’

‘I guess it was your investors’, huh? This your writing, sir?’ Lomax was sat huddled on the chair to the side of the desk, almost shrinking after each question. Marty doubted he was their bomber, but ruin could make a man do crazy things. ‘It’s kind of difficult to read this signature, sir, but maybe you just forgot the name. Looks like a toddler’s scrawl. I mean, I could easily forget someone owing me almost three quarters of a mil. Hey, Al?’

‘Easy to forget their name,’ said Al as Marty passed the paper carefully to him. Marty watched as Al strained to read the handwriting, shook his head, handed the paper back to Marty. ‘What happened, did he forget he owed it to you?’

There was a very small movement of Lomax’s head towards Marty, maybe not even an inch, but Marty had noticed it. Knew he had to continue. ‘Is that what happened with your company, sir? You lent money you shouldn’t have to the wrong person, they couldn’t pay it back, not even when you were charging pretty hefty interest by way of incentive? Is that why your wife and those other folk are dead? And we got two maimed people in the hospital?’

Arnold’s silence condemned him. If it wasn’t true you’d deny it, in an instant, unless the truth was even worse. Marty picked up a magnifying glass off the desk, moved the paper around trying to get a good look at the almost indecipherable signature. Looks like whoever signed this didn’t want to. Arnold didn’t speak. ‘See that, Al, just there in the bottom corner.’

‘The blood?’

‘That blood, not much, just enough to catch what looks like a thumbprint. Al, get Whittaker in here.’

‘Sure.’

Marty moved closer to where Lomax was still sat. ‘Who’s Cliff Hartman, sir?’

‘Who?’

Was that a faint flicker of recognition in Lomax’s eyes?

‘Cliff Hartman.’

‘Cliff Hartman? I don’t know any Cliff Hartman.’

‘That’s not what it says here, sir.’

‘Where?’

‘Right here.’

‘What? Cliff Hartman? That’s impossible.
He
signed it, I saw him.’

‘Who, sir?’

Lomax stood up, grabbed the paper off Marty, strained to look at the tiny signature. ‘Hartman!? Hartman. The son of a bitch!’ Lomax, like a man possessed, lunged for the page, started to rip it up, but Marty moved fast, grabbed it back off him. Marty shoved Lomax back down into the chair. Held his hand on him to keep him there.

‘Would you like to tell us who this Mr Hartman is? And where we might find him.’

‘Do I need a lawyer?’ Lomax didn’t look at Marty. Marty could feel his heaving sobs under his hand.

‘I don’t know, sir, do you?’

‘Everything OK in here, Mart?’

‘It is now.’

Marty turned to where Al was standing in the doorway with Whittaker.

‘How long to search that card index for a thumbprint?’

‘Depends how good the impression is. And if he’s in the system.’

‘Oh, this guy’s on the system alright.’

‘Let’s hope he’s on ours, Marty.’

‘Let’s hope.’ Marty held out the card. ‘I think this is Hartman’s thumbprint.’

‘The mysterious Mr Hartman? Really?’

‘Yeah, him or the person who made him sign it. You on our fingerprint system, Mr Lomax?’ Marty looked at Lomax. Lomax head down, still sobbing, didn’t answer. ‘You got anything from the bomb sites you might match it to?’

‘No, Marty. Nothing.’

‘Let’s count ourselves lucky if we can even find out who he is.’

Al looked at the card again, passed it to Whittaker, who moved it quickly into the light and out again. ‘Not great, but not bad. If we got a few people, should maybe take a few hours. We’re not New York.’

‘Send one of your guys back with it. Al, radio in. Michaels should be down in Records, ensure you get him some help. If this guy’s in our system, the three of them should find him soon enough. And, Al, tell them to keep it quiet.’

Al’s pager buzzed. Marty watched as he took it off his belt, read it. ‘Grady Jnr.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘He’s awake.’

‘Who? Angel?’

‘No. Houseman.’