W Is for Wasted (38 page)

I closed the car door and locked it. I pulled a ten out of my wallet and pressed it into Miguel’s hand. “Keep an eye on the car. I’ll be right back.”

I double-timed it into the building and found a pay phone. I hauled out a handful of change, put a call through to the police department, and asked for Lieutenant Phillips. When I had Cheney on the line, I ran through a highly condensed version of what had happened the Tuesday before last and why I thought the presence of a .45 under my car seat was relevant. I could tell the story made no sense, especially given my attempt to downplay both the raid and my part in it. To his credit, he didn’t argue the point. He said he’d be there in twenty minutes and he arrived in fifteen.

•   •   •

I sat in his cubicle at the police department, the two of us eyeing one another warily while I went through my story for the second time. I’d left the Mustang where it was so Miguel could finish his work. Cheney identified the gun as a .45-caliber Ruger. Before he removed it from under the seat, he’d photographed it in place, donned latex gloves, and then eased a pencil through the trigger guard to keep the handling of it to a minimum. Once the Ruger was bagged and tagged, he’d asked me to accompany him to the station. I agreed so I’d appear to be morally upright. He said he’d drop me at the car wash later when we had a better sense of what was what.

The Ruger might not be the missing weapon. It might not be relevant to any ongoing investigation, in which case it could end up in the property room, forgotten on a shelf. But I didn’t see how it could be a miss. The stray casing found at the shooting scene was a .45-caliber ACP, which would have been a nice fit for the Ruger.

On our way to his desk, he dropped the weapon off in the lab, where a ballistics expert would test-fire it to see if the slug was a match for the one found at the scene. The Ruger’s serial numbers had been noted and someone in Records would run them through the computer in hopes the gun was registered. A superficial examination showed the weapon had been wiped clean of prints and a single round had been fired. When we finally sat down to chat, I said, “How soon will you know who owns the Ruger?”

“Assuming it’s registered at all, it may take a while. Records is backed up and I didn’t put a rush on the request. I’m fascinated to hear how it ended up in your car.”

“I’ll give you my best guess,” I said. I then laid out an explanation of Terrence Dace’s backpack being stolen by the panhandlers, Pearl’s spotting it, and her determination to get it back.

Cheney was more patient than I had any reason to hope.

In addition to recounting my participation in the raid and what I remembered of Felix’s actions, I used the occasion to talk about the Boggarts’ savage attack, which I was now convinced was because Felix had taken property that didn’t belong to him.

He said, “You think Felix stole the gun from them?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense. He was hunched in the backseat as we left the scene and he’s the only one who’s been back there. I think he was attacked because he came across the weapon at the camp and slipped it into the small of his back. I think the panhandlers bided their time and came after him. If he’d told them where he’d hidden it, they’d have come after me. The owner of that bicycle-rental shop down on lower State saw the whole thing and he’s the one who called 911. I talked to him a couple of days ago, hoping he’d be willing to identify the guy. He knows who it was because he’s seen the same three bums hanging out at the beach for years. He refuses to help because he’s worried about reprisals, and who can blame the man?”

Cheney made a note. “Let me find out who’s handling the case and we’ll see what we can do. You said three of them?”

“It’s the big galoot I’m talking about. Bald guy with a red baseball cap.”

“You have a name?”

“I don’t, but he’s not hard to find. Rush hour, he’s usually standing on the side of the Cabana Boulevard off-ramp with a cardboard sign. You can’t miss him.”

“You think he had a hand in Pete’s death?”

“Either that or he stumbled on the weapon after the fact. I can’t think how else he’d end up with it.”

“Might be completely unrelated,” Cheney said. “So far, we haven’t confirmed this was the gun used in the shooting. With all the firearms in circulation, plenty aren’t registered and can’t be traced.”

“I’ll tell you one thing. Those bums are badasses. They’ve put together that camp with stolen goods. They’ve tapped into the zoo’s water and electrical supplies and they’ve co-opted trash pickup. There must be half a dozen ways to bust them.”

“We’ll do what we can. If the fellow you describe has been in trouble with the law, it will give us some talking points.”

“I want to run something by you. I’ve been thinking about this and I’d be interested in your opinion,” I said. “Leaving aside the issue of how I came up with all this . . .”

“All this what?”

“Would you let me tell it my way? This is pertinent.”

“Fine.” He looked at me steadily. Instead of making eye contact, I found it easier to avert my gaze. I knew what I wanted to say, but I was organizing the story as I went along.

“This may take a while, so bear with me. Originally, Pete Wolinsky was hired by a fellow named Willard Bryce,” I said. Then I went through the entire sequence; Pete hiring Dietz, the surveillance, Dietz billing Pete, no pay. I told him about Mary Lee meeting with Owen Pensky, and her quitting her job the same day Pete was shot to death. I told him about the stolen charts. I told him about Eloise Cantrell, who made reference to gossip about Dr. Reed’s work. As I worked my way through the narrative, I could see Cheney putting together the bits and pieces. He gave no indication of what he was thinking, but I could feel my confidence erode as I went on.

“Pete had a shitload of debts and he was desperate for cash. I think he got wind of Dr. Reed’s problems and saw an opportunity to put the squeeze on him. You know, ‘Pay up or I’ll tell your boss and I’ll contact the NIH.’”

Cheney cut in. “Did Pete actually have evidence of wrongdoing?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. He might have suggested that even the
hint
of wrongdoing would tarnish Reed’s reputation and impact his career.”

“So you think he tried blackmailing Linton Reed over an issue of I-don’t-know-what without anything to back it up.”

“It doesn’t matter if he had anything to back it up. What matters is whether Linton Reed believed Pete would blow the whistle on him. What matters is Reed’s anxiety about the kind of trouble Pete could make.”

“Are you talking about scientific fraud?”

“That’s what it sounds like to me. He’s been in trouble before over lesser issues than this.”

“You told me Mary Lee Bryce quit her job.”

“She did. The same day Pete was killed.”

“If she quit her job, where’s the threat to Linton Reed?”

“She’s more likely to blow the whistle on him now. Besides, I have these medical charts Dace stole. Those should help. In the meantime, I did meet with Dr. Reed.”

That caught him short. “Why?”

“I wanted to hear what he had to say about Terrence Dace.”

“And?”

“He expressed regret about the deaths. He talked about how the study is set up and why he terminated Dace and his friend. Honestly, he made it all sound reasonable.”

“I’m sure he did,” he said.

“I’m trying to be fair about this, Cheney. That’s what I’m getting at. I’m not demonizing the guy. I’m not even saying he did anything on purpose. He had a theory about Glucotace. When he ran into a roadblock, instead of shutting the study down, he changed the data or deleted it.”

“Weak.”

“I know it’s weak. Most of this is circumstantial, but don’t sit there telling me it doesn’t count.”

“Speculation. No real basis in fact. You think doctors won’t stand together in a situation like this?”

“Indulge me, okay?”

He smiled. “I’m already doing that. This is me indulging you.”

“Just listen. Ruthie found a wad of cash that Pete stashed away. Suppose Linton’s prints are on the bills? Wouldn’t that suggest I’m on track here?”

“You’re grasping at straws. I don’t understand how we get from fraud to homicide.”

“Easy. Pete jacked him up for money. Reed paid him once, but he didn’t want to pay again, so he killed him.”

“Where’s the gun? Does Linton even own one?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t even know for sure Pete and Linton Reed knew each other.”

“Oh, but I do. Pete met with Reed on July 12 out at UCST. I saw his name in the appointment book, and Ruthie has the properly validated parking ticket, so don’t be a shit.”

“I am a shit. That’s my job. I’m telling you what will fly and what won’t. All a defense attorney has to do is come up with a plausible explanation. All he needs is a story that covers the same points but with a different slant. You make it look one way? Fine. He can make it look like something else. Right now, there’s no eyewitness and the motive is imaginary. Some guy says he’ll expose you, you tell him to take a hike. You don’t fork over a couple of thousand bucks and then shoot his ass.”

I reached for the bag I had placed at my feet and took out the shrink-wrapped prescription bottle. “This is one of Dace’s prescriptions. He believed they put him on Glucotace, along with Antabuse and another drug to reduce his craving for nicotine. I asked Dr. Reed straight out if Dace was taking Glucotace or the placebo. He thought about it briefly and said placebo. Can’t you get these analyzed and find out what they are?”

“Why would we do that? There’s no case.”

“But if the pills turn out to be Glucotace, it would support my argument, wouldn’t it?”

“Tenuous at best.”

“You have a better theory? You even have a suspect? Because I’m offering both.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying I can’t sell this. The DA’s tough. She won’t file if she doesn’t think she’s got something solid under her feet.” I could see him turn the issue over in his mind. “Promise me your access to this information is legitimate.”

“Of course.” I tucked the pills back into my bag.

“No breaking and entering.”

I raised a hand as though swearing an oath.

“You never impersonated an officer.”

“I didn’t impersonate anybody. When I talked to Willard, I said I was a former colleague of Pete’s, which is true. I gave him my business card, so no funny business there.”

He shook his head. “An investigation like this would take months.”

“I understand. Just let me know if anything new develops. That’s all I ask.”

“Sure, but don’t hold your breath.”

I didn’t hear from Cheney until the following Tuesday morning. “The Ruger’s registered to a man named Sanford Wray.”

I don’t know what I thought he was going to say but it wasn’t that. “Who’s he?”

“Film producer. He started out as a venture capitalist and he’s been involved with Hollywood for the past six years. He lives in Montebello and commutes when he has a project in the works. Jonah’s been filling in the blanks. Wray’s heavy into charities and he’s on half a dozen boards. Big cheese in town.”

“Does he have a criminal history?”

“Nope. His record’s clean.”

“I never heard of the guy. Does the name mean anything to you?” I found myself pacing in front of my desk, telephone in hand.

Cheney said, “Hollywood moguls aren’t high on my list. The last movie I saw was
Dirty Harry
, so Clint Eastwood’s it.”

“How does Sanford Wray know Pete?”

“Remains to be seen. We haven’t talked to him.”

“When will you do that?”

“Jonah’s checking to see if he’s in town. Once we track him down, we’ll pay him a visit and have a nice long chat.”

“I’d love to be there when you do.”

Cheney made a sound that said,
Not in our lifetime
. “We don’t know how he’s going to react. He could barricade himself in the house, break out a window, and shoot at us. We might end up calling in the SWAT team.”

“Or not,” I said. I sat down, hoping to calm myself. I couldn’t tell if I was nervous, anxious, or excited, but my blood pressure was up.

Cheney said, “The explanation might be innocent. The gun was stolen and he wasn’t aware of it, or he knew the gun was gone and he hadn’t reported it. If we brought along a civilian, he could file a complaint.”

“That was just wishful thinking on my part,” I said. “I know I won’t be tagging along. Department policy, public safety, or whatever else you care to cite.”

“Good girl.”

“Will you tell me what he says?”

“Probably. The gist of it at any rate.”

“Not the gist. I want you to swear you’ll remember everything he says and repeat the conversation back to me. Word for word.”

“You got it. Word for word.”

•   •   •

I couldn’t think what to make of this odd turn of events. I was suddenly facing an information gap. Up pops Sanford Wray and until Cheney filled in the blanks, I had to let go. I returned to the office, happy to be picking up the old routines. No new business yet, but that would take care of itself in due course. I knew William was hard at work on his plans for the two funerals, and I was just about resigned to footing the bill. At least it would be something to occupy my time. I was sitting at my desk in the little bungalow downtown when I heard someone open and close the front door.

Anna appeared. Here it was October and she was in a tank top and a pair of short shorts. “Can I talk to you?”

I hadn’t seen her for days, but Henry had told me she’d picked up a job in a beauty salon on lower State Street, which allowed her to walk to work. She was still bunking at his place, but since he had no objections, I didn’t see how I could complain.

I said, “Sure. Have a seat. I hear you found work. How’s it going?”

She perched on the edge of one of my visitor’s chairs. “The job’s fine. Still minimum wage, but I like the place.”

“Good. What can I do for you?”

“Gee, well, let’s just get down to business here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know you came to chitchat.”

“I think I made a mistake.”

This was interesting. I swear if she’d had a hankie in hand, she’d be twisting it. I noticed I wasn’t getting the benefit of those big blue eyes of hers. I waited.

“I talked to Dr. Reed. Henry lent me his car and I drove out to the university.”

“This was Thursday of last week?”

“Well, yes, but I haven’t seen you since then or I’d have told you earlier.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” I said.

“When I told Dr. Reed I was Terrence Dace’s daughter, he was confused about why I was there when he’d already talked to you earlier that day. He got all pissy and said he couldn’t understand why you hadn’t just passed the information along.”

“To which you replied?”

“I was so rattled I don’t remember now, but that’s not the point. I thought he knew what you did . . .”

“About what?”

“Your work. He didn’t know you were a private detective.”

“How did that come up?”

“I was just making conversation. I told him I hadn’t been in town long. I said I was staying with your landlord, who owns the studio you rent on the same property. I said it worked out well for both of you because you were sometimes on the road. Dr. Reed asked if you were in sales and then I mentioned what you did for a living. He got upset you never identified yourself. He said you acted like you were having any old conversation about a family member.”

“That’s what it was. I wasn’t there in any professional capacity.”

“But you asked all those questions about the program.”

“He volunteered. I didn’t even know enough to ask.”

“That’s not how he remembers it.”

I considered the situation briefly. “I don’t see how any harm was done,” I said. “I’d have preferred your keeping my personal life to yourself, but it’s too late to worry about that now.”

“I lied a little bit and said you’d given me some of the information, but what I’d really come to ask him was something else. I told him Ethan’s concerns that Daddy’s medication might have affected his mind. Dr. Reed blew his stack. The guy’s a basket case. He wanted to know why everybody was suddenly so interested. He said my father didn’t suffer dementia or any other mental impairment. He was taking a placebo and it wouldn’t have had that effect.”

“Good news for me and bad for you,” I said. “I guess the will’s back in effect.”

“You don’t have to make jokes about it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip.”

“Anyway, I didn’t see why he had to get so huffy. I felt like I really put my foot in it. And then to make matters worse, this other business came up.”

“Please don’t make me guess.”

“Well, I knew one of those homeless people gave you a bottle of Daddy’s pills . . .”

I cut in, saying, “Who told you that?”

“Henry.”

I was close to pressing her further when I picked up the unspoken message. “And you told
Dr. Reed
?”

I was not actually shrieking, but she must have guessed the level of my outrage from the expression on my face.

“I didn’t know it was any big secret.”

“But why would you do that? Why in the
world
would you do that? Why would the subject even come up?”

“Because he said if I went through Daddy’s things I should keep an eye out. He said fourteen pills were missing and I said you had them.”

“Is the concept of minding your own business completely foreign to you? I told you not to go out there. I knew no good would come of it.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I mean, I went on purpose, but I didn’t mean to make trouble. It just came out. I was trying to help. I was trying to smooth things over.”

“So now what happens?”

“Nothing. He’d appreciate it if you’d return them. He says addicts will take any drug they get their hands on in hopes of getting buzzed.”

“But those are placebos, so what’s the risk?”

“I’m telling you what he said. Daddy signed a form and agreed to abide by the rules.”

“But your father
didn’t
abide by the rules, Anna, which is why they kicked him out. Dr. Reed was the one who made the decision, so as far as I’m concerned, all bets are off.”

“I understand why you’re irritated. You already went out there once, but there’s no big rush. He said by the end of the week would be fine.”

“This isn’t a negotiation. I’m not giving him anything. I didn’t sign an agreement, so the rules don’t apply to me.”

“You can’t
refuse
. He has a government grant. He has to account for everything. With a clinical trial, you can’t just do anything you please. There are strict guidelines.”

“Strict guidelines. Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“This is stupid. I’m not going to sit here and
argue
.”

“That is the best news I’ve had so far.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of it.”

“Because I’m having a bad day and you’re not helping me, okay? Neither is Linton Reed.”

“Well, you don’t have to take that attitude. He said if you didn’t want to make the drive to the university, he’d stop by and pick them up himself.”

“So now he’s the pill police?”

“He has a responsibility.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that. Happily he has no idea where I live.”

That’s when I got the big blue eyes.

“Do not tell me you gave him my address.”

She dropped her gaze. “When he asked, I gave him
my
address. What was I supposed to say?”

I stood up and leaned across the desk. My voice had dropped so low I wasn’t sure she’d hear what I was saying unless she knew how to read lips. “Please get out of my office. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. If you so much as catch sight of me, you better run the other way. Have I made myself clear?”

She got up without another word and left, slamming the door behind her.

After I’d cleaned the office from top to bottom, I realized I’d probably gone too far with her. What difference did it make if he knew where to find me? True, I harbored the suspicion that he might have had a hand in Pete’s death, but he didn’t know that. As far as I was concerned, he had no power over me and he had no leverage, so what was there to sweat? If he had the gall to come knocking at my door, I’d tell him I’d tossed the pills. That settled, I retrieved said bottle from my shoulder bag, pulled the rug back, opened my floor safe, and locked the pills away.

•   •   •

Cheney called late in the afternoon, saying, “I have a one-hour dinner break. I’m buying if you want to join me.”

He knew full well I wouldn’t refuse.

I said, “You did talk to Sanford Wray, right?” I held the handset loosely, pen and paper at the ready in case I needed to take notes.

“First thing this morning. Hey, we’re old friends by now. He asked me to call him Mr. Wray. That’s how tight we are.”

“What’d he say about the gun?”

“I’m not doing this on the
phone
. We’re starting to cook on this, I can tell you that. We picked up partial prints. Thumb and index finger.”

“Oh, come on, Cheney. Don’t make me wait. I want to know what went on.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour. How do you feel about eating breakfast at dinnertime?”

“I love the idea.”

•   •   •

I was home and waiting at the curb when Cheney came around the corner in his red Mercedes-Benz Roadster. I found myself mentally cocking my head. I was thinking about Robert Dietz and his red Porsche, wondering if Jonah Robb had a little red sports car as well. Cheney leaned across the seat and opened the passenger-side door. I slid into the black leather bucket seat and said, “Is this the car you had when I saw you last?”

“That was an ’87. This is the ’88. A 560SL. You like it?”

“I thought the other one was a 560SL.”

“It was. I was so crazy about the car I got a duplicate.”

He drove us out onto the wooden pier, the big timbers rumbling beneath his wheels. The restaurant was three blocks from my apartment but it wasn’t one I frequented. We ate at a table overlooking the harbor with its modest traffic in powerboats and fishing vessels. Not surprisingly, the restaurant was given over to a nautical theme: black-and-white photographs of sailboats, fish netting draped along the walls, distressed wood, buoys, and other maritime artifacts, including fiberglass fish reproductions—two marlins, three sharks, and a school of sailfish.

As we ate, I wondered idly if you could classify men according to their breakfast preferences. Cheney was a pancake kind of guy; crisp bacon, breakfast sausage, eggs over easy. He piled it all together, poured syrup over the top, and cut it into a big nasty pile that he devoured with enthusiasm. He wasn’t a big man but he never seemed to gain weight.

I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, rye toast, and orange juice. When we finally pushed our plates aside and the waitress had refreshed our coffee cups, I said, “Are you going to volunteer the information or do I have to beg?”

“I’m happy to tell you the story, but I’m taking out the filler. You know how it is, you show up at a guy’s door asking about a gun, there’s all this preliminary bullshit while they decide if they should hire legal counsel before letting you set foot on the premises. Okay, so the nitty-gritty. He answers the door. We introduce ourselves and I ask if he has a forty-five-caliber Ruger semiautomatic registered to him. This is me and Jonah by the way. He says he does. We ask where the gun is. He says his bed table drawer. We say we’d like to see the weapon if he has no objections. He says, ‘None whatever.’

“So far this is going great, but just to be on the safe side, we clarify the request, letting him know he has the right to refuse. By now, he’s getting antsy. We reaffirm we have his consent to come in and take a look. He says, ‘What the hell is this?’ We tell him the Ruger might have been used in the commission of a crime, which he says is bullshit.”

“I thought you were skipping the filler.”

“This is important Fourth Amendment stuff. Something goes wrong, I don’t want him claiming we didn’t spell it out for him. So there’s more back-and-forth before he gets down to it.

“Okay, so after that little verbal skirmish, he decides not to argue the point. We all troop into the bedroom, where he opens the bed table drawer. Sure enough, there’s a gun. Obviously not the Ruger because Jonah’s holding that in an evidence bag. First thing Wray says is, ‘That’s not my gun.’

“So we ask if he recognizes the gun and he says of course not, he never saw it in his life. So then we go back and quiz him as to his whereabouts the night of August 25. Turns out he was on location in North Carolina, where his company’s shooting a film. We show him the Ruger, which he identifies as his. Now we’re making progress. We ask how he acquired it. He says he bought it two years ago after a rash of home invasions in Los Angeles where he was living. Both he and his wife had themselves safety-certified before he made the purchase. After that they took shooting lessons. Very conscientious, and we’re quick to compliment him for being such a good citizen. We ask him when’s the last time he or his wife handled the Ruger, and he names the occasion, which was maybe five months back. They went target shooting and he cleaned the gun afterward.”