The Rabbit Factory (31 page)

"Well, it's a lot easier for me to ID a body," I said. "Every- ] body in L.A. is famous, so we recognize them even without their prints."> "Question about Eeg," he said. "I realize he's got a beef with Lamaar, but from what I know about him, he doesn't seem like the killer type." "O.J. won the Heisman Trophy. Not all killers have a killer profile."

"O.J. was innocent," he said.

I

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting. I reread Eeg's backgrounder on the plane. He doesn't look bad on paper. Life fucked him over a few times, but he has no criminal record, and according to you, since he moved to Woodstock he's become a model citizen, a Town Father, and a prince among men." "I don't know about the prince part," Falco said, "but people like him. They voted for him four times."

"He got a girlfriend?"

"He goes out with a couple of local women, one more regular than the rest, Loretta Clarke. She's forty-five, widow, makes

f

fwelry, sells it locally. She and Eeg play tennis, go to movies, liar usual. They don't live together, but they've been dating a couple of years, and while this is probably not relevant to the case, Eeg gives her the best orgasms she ever had."

"Excellent detective work, Sheriff. Would you mind sharing With a fellow law enforcement officer how you managed to dig up that last little item?"

He flashed a shit-eating grin. "I deputized the local hairH dressers."

H We exited the Thruway at Kingston, which, according to the I road sign, was the first capital of New York. We headed west on ™Houte 28, and Falco asked if I knew the people in Hollywood Hwho did the re-enactments for America's Most Wanted. He jthought he'd make a great TV cop.

BH Five minutes later we turned onto Route 375, a two-lane Hcountry highway that felt like it deserved a homespun name, Minstead of a three-digit number. Most of the houses along the B road were set back and separated from the traffic by trees. The driveways were spaced far enough apart to let me know that at icast some people in Ulster County had elbowroom. "Who lives icre?" I asked.

"It used to be middle class," F.X. said. "But we're only two ours away from New York, and, after 9/11, a lot of city people itaited gobbling up anything they could get their hands on. Drove the price of real estate to the moon. Lisa and I are lucky, 'e bought a fixer-upper before the boom."

We stopped at the edge of town where the Chamber of Commerce had posted a sign that said Welcome to Woodstock, Colony ' the Arts. It also reminded folks that there was a Halloween puny on October 31 and a Christmas Tree lighting ceremony on

I

The Village Green on December 24. Today was April 25.

"I heard this town was in a time warp, but I thought that meant they were stuck in the sixties," I said. "They don't seem to know what month it is either." "Oh, they know," he said. "No sense paying the sign painter to change it till there's something happening. Probably the Memorial Day parade." We turned left onto the main drag and drove past a bank, a convenience store, a walk-in doctor's office, a pizza joint, a tattoo parlor, and a strip of uninspired storefronts. "Somehow I expected a town that's famous for peace, love, and rock and roll to have a little more sex appeal," I said. "Sorry to disappoint you. Usually Richie Havens is in front of the hardware store singing "Freedom," but I guess it's his day off. Hey, if you're hungry, Vince makes a fantastic meat loaf sandwich," he said, slowing down and pointing at a sign that said Woodstock Meats. "No thanks. They fed me on the plane."

We turned right onto Rock City Road. "How's that for sex appeal?" Falco said, pointing at the windshield where a mountain loomed directly in front of us. We drove past a cemetery and a' rec field and then Rock City turned into Meads Mountain Road. Half a mile later we made another right. "This is California Quarry Road," Falco said. "Funny that Eeg should live here. I mean you being from California and him being your quarry and all." We drove about a mile up the mountain and pulled alongside a dark blue Ford that was parked on the shoulder. The driver, a baby-faced blond kid who barely looked old enough to be sitting behind the wheel of a car, rolled down his window.

-- 356 --

% f

I I._

l'lcg drove into town this morning," he said. "Got gas, bought I he paper, stopped at the post office. Been back in the house over since." F.X. thanked him and turned to me. "What's your gut?" he .usked. I had told Falco all about the ransom note on the phone the night before. "You sure you want to tell him everything?" Biggs had said. "It's a small town. You never know how close Eeg and I'alco could be." By now I was confident that Falco was a raight shooter and I was glad I hadn't held back. "My gut? Deep down inside I don't think Eeg is behind all I Ills. But he knows something. He knew there was more than one homicide." "You want me to keep quiet and let you do the talking, or on I jump in?" Falco said. "No offense either way." "Jump in. Otherwise he'll think you're my driver." Falco turned into the driveway. "You mean I'm not?"

1

-- 357

1

Eeg's house was set back about five hundred feet and couldn't even be seen from the road. It was large, two stories, white clapboard. Simple, but ample. The grounds around it were still recovering from winter, but I could see a few sprigs of yellow and purple popping up from a bed nl brown earth.

We stepped out of the car. The front door opened, and a Y< >rkshire terrier raced down the walk and began snarling at my I shoes. A man appeared in the doorway. "I see you're back, i Sheriff," he said. "Am I going to need a lawyer?" "Only if your dog bites us," Falco said. "At least you'd get to arrest me for something. Come, Tinker," he said to the yippy little hairball. The Yorkie squeaked out two more ferocious barks, then turned and ran back to let filer master know that she had it under control.

"Daniel Eeg," EX. said, "this is Detective Mike Lomax from .the-LAPD."

"Come on in Detective. I was expecting you. I spotted one i if the Sheriff's boys tailing me this morning. Having written my

share of cop shows, I figured he was keeping an eye on me so I didn't skip town before you showed up and put the screws to me. Wipe your feet on the mat." We followed Eeg into a large living room that was domi-1 nated on one end by a bluestone fireplace. A few cold, charred logs sat in the grate. The dog's basket was on the hearth and she had already curled up inside. Eeg was trim and tanning-salon bronze. I knew from my j cheat sheet that he was in his late fifties, but his weather-lined face and the pure white silky hair that hung down to the middle of his back added ten years. His family was Scandinavian by way of Minnesota, but he looked like a Native American Chief. I could picture him sitting around the campfire of tribal elders pitching ideas for cop shows. How come there no cop show with Indian? Me have idea for cop who is Head of Security at Indian casino. Call it Chief Snake Eyes. i

Eeg gestured for us to take a seat on the rust-colored sofa. He sat in a matching armchair. "I hear you have a grudge against Lamaar Studios," I said.Ś "I have a lawsuit against them, Detective. That makes me litigious, not homicidal. As pissed off as I am, I had nothing to do with those murders."

I wondered if I would have to trick him into saying "mur-j ders," or if I would just call him on the fact that he'd said it to Falco last week. He had saved me a lot of time. "Who told you there was more than one murder?"i He smirked. "I see. And because I know there's more than one dead body that makes me the guy who killed them."

"Or had them killed," Falco said.

"You got me, Sheriff," he said. "Before you haul me away,

1

The Rabbit Factory

y< >u want me to get you the cancelled checks made out to Murdrrers-R-Us?"

"It would save a lot of time," I said, "but we'll settle for an explanation."

"I'm suing a giant corporation. I keep tabs on them. I have friends on the inside who keep me posted. I knew about Elkins the day after it happened." "You're one of the few who did," I said. "I can't blame Ike Rose for keeping the whole thing quiet," Ik-said. "It's not good for business when your celebrity rabbits I get whacked." "How about when your customers get whacked?" I asked. He gave me a blank stare. It could have been a bogus reaction, but he didn't strike me as that crafty an actor. The look on I his face seemed genuinely guiltless. "There was a third homi ride," I said. "A guest at the theme park." Eeg shook his head. "I used to dream about killing Dean Lamaar, but I can't imagine getting even by killing his 'employees or his customers." "It gets worse. There was a ransom note. Pay the price or I the killings continue." I had just disclosed some highly confidential case information. But I knew what I was doing. At least 1 hoped I did. Eeg didn't say anything. I could see him turning the information over in his head. Finally, he said, "That's balls. How jliiuch did they ask for?" "I can't say. In fact, the ransom demand is also confidential." "Ah, yes. You fed it to me to watch my reaction. How'd I do?" I shrugged. When you've gone head to head with thousands of suspects, you develop a shit sorter. I can usually tell who's t

playing it straight and who's lying, but it wasn't easy with Eeg. He sounded like a badly written cop show. "Pay up, or I'll kill off your people," he said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"For a script," Falco asked, "or a way to settle your debts with Lamaar?"

Eeg laughed. "Do you think this is just a holdup, or do you think someone actually has a bigger grudge against the company than I do?" "Let's just focus on your grudge," I said. "Tell us about it."

"As if you haven't heard all about it from Ike Rose and his team of dickless lawyers." "I've only heard it from them. I came for your side of the story."

That softened him. He clucked to the dog, who hopped out of her basket and up onto his lap. She curled up and began licking his hand. "Alright," he said. "I've told it many times, but I've never had anyone listen to my beef with Lamaar so they could turn it into a motive for murder."

M

"y father wanted to be an artist. A real artist. Not a cartoonist," Eeg added, in case I didn't know .the difference. "He was studying fine art when I le got sidetracked by the war. You might think it was a blessing lliat he wound up in The Cartoon Corps with Dean Lamaar, l>ecause it was a lot safer making animated training films than i lodging mortar shells on a beach in France. But it was a curse, lamaar used my father. Cheated him. Did the nice folks at I jinaar mention that in their version of the story, Detective?" He knew better than to expect an answer. He went on. "Dean Lamaar was an entrepreneur, but he couldn't draw shit with a brown crayon. It was Lars Eeg who breathed life into that 5linking rabbit and all those lucrative little characters. Lamaar

: paid him chump change, sucked him dry, then spit him out."

"Who spit him out?" I said. "Lamaar the man, or Lamaar Siudios?"

Eeg shook his head. "Both. Back then, Dean Lamaar was the 'iludio, and if you didn't agree with him, you got canned. He's one who fucked over my father. But Ike Rose and Lamaar

fl

Marshall Karjj

Studios continue to perpetuate the injustice. They're the ones who have to pay. Do you know what ray father's share should be worth today? A billion dollars. That's billion, with a B. You know how much money he had in the bank when he killed himself? Eighty-nine hundred. That's hundred, with an H. My old man not only died broke, he died broken." It was a line I'm sure he had used before. "That's my grudge, Detective. Do you think I had anything to do with those homicides?" Anything? I knew he was in upstate New York when someone plunged a letter opener into Judy Kaiser's neck, but 1 wasn't ready to rule him out entirely. "No, I don't," I said, because that's what he needed to hear. "Well, you're right," he said. "I'm sorry you had to fly all the way across the country just to rule out one suspect." "That's not the only reason Icame," I said. "Quite frankly, 1 never really bought that you were behind this, but I thought you might be able to help." "Why the hell should I help Lamaar?"

"Not Lamaar, me. Innocent people got killed just because they happen to be connected to the company. I'm trying to prevent any more people from getting murdered." "Y'know, Danny," Falco said, leaning forward on the sofa. "You're connected to the company. The life you save may be your own."

Eeg gave Falco the finger.

"Look," I said, "you know this company inside out. Give me something."

He was a smart man with a big ego, an excellent combination for a cop who is trying to pump information from someone.,

The Rabbit Factory

fir rubbed his chin with one hand. "Do you think you could

Ślolve a murder in China?" he said.

"I'd need a translator, but, sure, a homicide's a homicide." I"Is it? Did you know that in China, thousands of parents kill I llieir newborn daughters, because the law only allows them to Jliive one child, and most parents want sons. If a lot of infant Llils died mysteriously in LA., you'd think there's a lunatic runŚmlng around the maternity wards. But if you lived in Beijing, Wou'd know the parents did it. Because you would know the vulture."

B He repeated the words. "You would know the culture. I Lsimaar is like a small country. They have the political clout to _ influence zoning, taxes, funding for roads, you name it. Yet the I only things you know about them are what they show you in I the movies and whatever they put in their press releases. You I want me to give you something, Detective Lomax? I suggest that you dig a little deeper into their corporate psyche." "Any particular area?" I asked.

I"The fish always stinks from the head down," he said.

. "Are you talking about Ike Rose?" I said. "The skeletons won't be in Rose's closet. They'll be in Dean Lamaar's." Ś"He's dead," Falco said.

"So is JFK," Eeg said, "but they dig up new dirt on him every day." I- 'Śft

"Do you have dirt on Dean Lamaar that might shed light on I his case?"

"Nothing I could prove. And even if I could, I'm not sure how it would help solve these murders. But I can tell you one Ihing. Uncle Deanie--the all-American guy who created FamiF Ś i