Blindman’s Bluff

THIRTEEN

HE CURSED BRETT Harriman the entire ride home.

You couldn’t have asked someone else for a description? It had to be my wife?

Hypocritical of him because if it had been anyone else but Rina, he would have been making phone calls, trying to get that damn jury list.

Did he really think she was in danger? Be logical, he told himself.

First, the men couldn’t have been too concerned if they’d been talking about the Kaffey case openly.

Second, maybe Rina didn’t give them anything beyond a quick glance. Third, even if they had been aware of her at the time, they’d probably forgotten about her since.

Damn it, Harriman.

As he rounded the corner, he saw his wife picking up the morning papers. She was wearing a robe and slippers and was holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was loose and flowed down her back, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Don’t say anything.

Her lips formed an open smile when he pulled in the driveway next to the house.

Take a deep breath.

As he got out of the car, he tried to smile back. He feared that it came out forced, like a smile after a Lidocaine shot from the dentist.

“Welcome.” Rina handed him the coffee mug. “It’s got cream in it. You want me to give you a fresh black cup?”

Decker took a sip. “No, this is great, thank you.” He brushed his lips against hers. “How was dinner?”

“Everyone says hello. I saved you some rack of lamb.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of cottage cheese and fruit, but lamb doesn’t sound half bad. Do you have the hot plate on?”

“I do. Want me to warm it up for you?”

Decker put his arm around his wife as they walked to the front door. “Sure. Live dangerously, I say.”

“With or without home fries?”

“The works.” They went inside the house, Decker following Rina into the kitchen. “You know when Randy and I were in high school, Mom always made us eggs, potatoes, and sausage for breakfast.

As long as I drink orange juice, I’ll just say it’s a variation of what I used to eat as a kid.”

“There you go.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower first. I smell like I’ve been around dead bodies.”

“Dead bodies-as in more than one?”

“Just one.”

“One is enough.” She took the lamb out of the refrigerator and put it on the hot plate. “One is too much. Did you have an identity?”

“We think it’s Denny Orlando, one of the two missing guards.”

“Oh my. That’s so sad.” She searched in the fridge to find the home fries among the containers of leftover food. “What about the other one?”

“Rondo Martin. He’s still missing. We checked every inch down there and didn’t find any sign of him. Let me clean up and get dressed. We’ll have breakfast together, and then we’ll go to shul.”

Rina turned to him, perplexed. “You want to go to shul?”

“I need some godliness in my life right now.”

“Then I’ll go with you. I’ll wake up Hannah and see if she wants to come with us. It’s still pretty early. I’ll give her a little more time.”

“Let her sleep. She doesn’t have to go just because we’re going.”

“Ordinarily she probably wouldn’t, but she’s meeting Aviva for lunch. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep, Peter?”

“Absolutely. Isn’t there a guest rabbi this week?”

“There is.” Rina lifted her dark eyebrows. “I’ve heard he’s kind of long-winded.”

“The longer the better. As soon as he opens his mouth, I’ll be asleep.”

ABSENCE MAKES THE heart grow fonder…or at least more talkative. On the mile walk to synagogue, Hannah informed her father of every single detail of her life for the past week. This friend and that friend and after a while, Decker’s mind went to autopilot with well-placed uh-huhs whenever his daughter took a breath. Although the content was inane, her voice was music. He didn’t care what she talked about as long as she was talking to him. When they approached the storefront house of worship, she gave Decker a quick peck on the cheek, then ran off with her friend before he could say an official good-bye. He watched the two girls embrace as if they were long-lost relatives. He was more than a little jealous.

Rina said, “It’s amazing.”

“What is?” Decker said.

“At no point during the diatribe did she realize that you were sleeping with your eyes open.”

“I heard every word.”

“You heard it like you heard the birds chirping.” Rina kissed his cheek. “You’re a wonderful father. Don’t snore. I’ll see you later.”

The speech lasted for nearly an hour, allowing Decker a terrific catnap. When he was nudged in the ribs by Barry Gold after the sermon was over, he was actually able to stand up and concentrate on the Mussaf prayers. In honor of the guest rabbi, there was a kid-dush. Most of the parishioners were grumbling about the length of the address, but not Decker.

“Best sermon I ever slept to,” he told Rina as he ate a small Styrofoam cup’s worth of chulent-the traditional meat and bean stew provided gratis after services.

“Lucky you.” Rina popped a grape into her mouth. “The Millers just extended a last-minute invitation for lunch. I excused us on the grounds of your exhaustion.”

“That’s a fact. You ready to go?”

“I am.”

As soon as they left the synagogue, Decker felt his heart race, his thoughts interlaced with anxiety.

The two of them walked home hand in hand. He knew he should be making small talk, but his mind was elsewhere.

How do I bring this up? Before or after lunch? Before I sleep or after I sleep?

When they reached home, Decker had yet to figure out a game plan. He supposed the best way to approach the subject was with honesty. “Can I help you set up for lunch?”

“Are you hungry after eating all that lamb and chulent?”

“Not really, but you may be hungry.”

“I’m still dairy. I’d be fine with a yogurt and a cup of coffee.” She patted his hand. “Should I tuck you in?”

Decker plunked himself down on the couch. “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Nothing bad.” He patted the cushion next to him for her to take a seat. “Just a few minutes.”

“Sure.” She snuggled next to him. “What’s up?”

Decker took in a deep breath, then exhaled. “Okay…here’s the deal. Yesterday around three in the afternoon, I got a visitor at the station house. He said he might have some relevant information about the Kaffey murders. Every time we get a tip, we have to take it seriously-even if it’s from Aunt Edna who channeled the information from Mars. Sometimes substance is buried in the lunacy.”

“I understand. What are you getting at, sweetie?”

“The tipster said he overheard a conversation between two men speaking in Spanish. He related this conversation to me and in it were some names that no outsider should have been aware of. So I’m listening pretty carefully.”

“Okay.”

“So he’s telling me about this conversation between two Hispanic men, but there’s a problem. The tipster can only hear them. He can’t describe the men to me because he’s blind.”

“I could see where that would be a problem,” Rina said.

“But he’s aware that he might have overheard something important. So he asks a woman next to him to describe the men across the way. She asks him why and he won’t say. She persists and he feels a little foolish, so he drops the issue. But later, he can’t get the conversation out of his mind, so he comes to the station house.”

“This is sounding a little familiar.”

“A little?”

“More than a little.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Rina said, “I don’t know the guy’s name. He works as a translator for the courts. He’s in his thirties-curlyish hair, long face, dresses pretty sharp.”

“His name is Brett Harriman.”

“How did he find out my name?”

“He didn’t. He recognized your voice from the voir dire and said you were impaneled on one of his cases. He remembered you telling the judge that you were married to a police lieutenant. I filled in the blanks and hoped I was wrong.”

“You’re not.”

Decker leaned back and ran his hands down his face. “Did you get a peek at the men, Rina?”

“I looked at the two Hispanic men that I thought he was referring to.”

“A good look?”

“A decent look. He told me to be discreet.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he specifically told me not to stare, so I didn’t.”

Decker exhaled. “Thank you, Brett. Did they notice you?”

“Probably not. So these two men are involved?”

“It sounds like they had inside information. So you don’t think they noticed you?”

“I doubt it. It was right before the afternoon session began and there were lots of people milling around the hallways.” Rina paused. “Would you like a description of the men?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?”

“Even if you could positively identify them from the mug books, I still wouldn’t have anything. He heard the conversation; you didn’t, right?”

“Right.”

“So…there we have it. You don’t need to be involved.”

“So why bring it up in the first place?” Rina asked him.

“I was just trying to get an idea whether or not this guy is legit.”

“He definitely works as a translator for the courts.”

“How reliable do you think Harriman is?”

“Me?” Rina pointed to her chest. “I couldn’t tell you. The guy seems to know his languages. And he’s very dramatic. We used to call him Smiling Tom-after Tom Cruise-because he wore sunglasses and was always flashing a big white grin. After hearing him translate, we all decided that he missed his calling as an actor.”

“So you think he might be exaggerating?”

“I can’t tell you that. Just that he plays his voice like an instrument. Some soloists are more subtle than others. Actually I didn’t even know he was blind until he talked to me. He uses some kind of electronic locator to move about. He walks like anyone else.”

Decker tried to look casual. “Okay. Thanks for helping out.”

“That’s it?”

“Just wanted to get a feel for the guy.”

“Peter, I’d be happy to look through the mug books.”

“What for? Even if you picked someone out, I couldn’t haul him in. Like I said, Harriman heard the conversation, not you.”

“You could ask them to come in voluntarily. If they didn’t, that would tell you something. And once you got them in, maybe Harriman could recognize the voices.”

“Harriman said he’d absolutely be able to recognize the voices. But I don’t know if that would hold up in court.”

“You said that Harriman mentioned names that only an insider would know about. And you’re telling me that you’re not interested in talking to these guys?” When Decker didn’t answer, she said, “Let me look, Peter. Chances are I might not recognize anyone or they’re not in there.”

He remained silent.

Rina said, “Whoever did it shouldn’t be walking free and clear. If it was anyone else other than Cindy, Hannah, or me, you’d be hounding them.”

“That’s probably true.”

“All I’d be doing is looking at mug shots.”

“It’s not the looking at the mug shots I mind. It’s the recognizing part that makes me nervous.”

She laid her cheek on his arm. “Don’t worry. I have a big, strong man to protect me. He has a gun and he knows how to use it.”

HE AWOKE TO the sound of the phone ringing. When the door opened, letting in artificial light, he announced he was awake and sat up. Rina told him that Willy Brubeck was on the line and it sounded important.

Decker said, “What’s up, Willy?”

“I just got off the phone with Milfred Connors. He’s willing to talk to us.”

“Okay.” Decker turned on the nightstand lamp. “When?”

“Tonight. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could. He lives in Long Beach so we better get a move on it. Want me to pick you up?”

Decker’s brain was still in a fog. He checked the nightstand clock. It was quarter to eight. He’d slept for seven hours. “Uh, sure. That sounds fine.”

“That’s good ’cause I’m right outside your door.”

“You are?” Decker stood up and stretched. “I need about ten minutes to shower and dress. Come inside and wait.”

“Sounds good to me. Tell me, Rabbi. Does your wife still bake?”

Decker laughed. “We’ve got some leftover layer cake. I believe it’s chocolate. You can have as much as you want.”

“Just a slice if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll ask her to put a pot of coffee on. We working dogs live on caffeine and sugar.”

UNLIKE MOST COASTAL regions, Long Beach never commanded the spectacular real estate prices common in other So Cal beach communities, probably because the city’s tenor was more industrial than resort. From the 405 south, Decker was offered a bird’s-eye view of the refineries belching out smoke followed by acres of car lots. That didn’t mean there weren’t some nice areas: certainly the old downtown area with its hotels and the famous aquarium had been revamped to attract the tourists. Still, most of the residential areas were made up of modest homes when compared with other shoreline districts.

Milfred Connors lived in a small California-style bungalow-stucco exterior and red-tiled roof illuminated by a streetlamp. It was one story sitting on a bumpy lawn almost devoid of landscaping.

The cracked walkway led up to a dilapidated porch. The light was on and Decker rang the bell. The man who answered was stoop shouldered and rail thin. He had wisps of gray tendrils atop his head and a long, drawn face. He appeared to be around seventy plus or minus five years. He had on a white shirt, slacks, and slippers. He stepped aside so that the detectives could come into the house.

The living room was neat and spare, the furniture including a floral couch, a leather recliner, and a flat-screen TV sitting on a plywood bureau. Scarred wood floors but quarter sawn oak, Decker noticed. They were original to the house.

“Have a seat.” He offered them the sofa. “Would either of you like some coffee or tea?”

“I’m fine,” Decker said, “but thank you.”

“Me too, thanks,” Brubeck said.

“Then just give me a minute to get my tea.” He disappeared and came back a minute later holding a steaming mug. He sat on his leather recliner but didn’t recline. “Is the visit about the Kaffey murders?”

Decker said, “Yes, in a way.”

“Horrible thing.”

“Yes, it is.” Decker paused. “You worked for the company for a long time.”

“Thirty years.”

“Ever get a chance to see Guy interact with his brother or his sons?”

“All the time.”

“What would you say about their relationships?”

“Well, now…” Connors sipped tea. “Guy could be rough. But he could be nice, too.”

“Did you get along with him?”

“I wasn’t on the same plane. Guy Kaffey was up here.” Connors extended his arm. “I was down here.” The accountant lowered his arm.

“Yet you saw him all the time.”

“He was always checking the books. Not just me, everyone. I was one of about twenty.” There was a long pause. “You want to talk to me because I was fired for embezzling.”

“We want to talk to a lot of people, but you did make the list.”

“Lucky me.” Connors took a sip of tea. “It isn’t what you think. I was fired, but no criminal charges were ever filed against me.”

“Yet you didn’t protest the termination,” Decker said. “You didn’t file any wrongful suit against the company.”

When Connors didn’t answer, Brubeck pulled out his notebook and a pen. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” Decker took out his pad of paper and a pencil. “How about if you start from the beginning.”

Connors took another sip of tea. “I worked for Kaffey for thirty years. Never asked anything from him, but he sure as hell asked a lot of me. Unpaid overtime, on-call twenty-four/seven, especially during tax time. I did it all without a complaint. But then my wife got sick.”

Decker nodded.

“It was only me and my wife,” Connors told him. “We never had kids. Lara was a preschool teacher so I suppose she got her kid fix by her job. And me, I’m a numbers person, not a people person.

Lara made all the social decisions.”

“That’s usually the way it is with married folk,” Brubeck said.

“Well, that was the way it was for us.” He warmed his hands on the tea mug. “I went to work, I came home. Whatever Lara planned was okay by me.” His eyes welled up with tears. “She died five years ago from the big C. I can’t seem to move on.”

“My sympathies,” Brubeck told him.

“Must have been hard,” Decker said.

“It was hell, Lieutenant. She was in pain constantly. Even doped up, she was in pain. It was a very long illness. We had insurance, but it didn’t pay for everything. When regular medicine didn’t work, we tried experimental things that insurance wouldn’t cover. We ate through my paycheck, we ate through our savings. The next stop was selling the house. I couldn’t do that to her, but I didn’t want to give up on treatment either.”

Decker nodded and asked him to go on.

“I swallowed my pride and asked Mace Kaffey if he could arrange a loan for me. I knew Mace better than Guy, and everyone at the company knew that Mace was an easier touch than Guy.”

“How long ago was this?” Decker asked Connors.

“Maybe six years ago-at the beginning of the end.” Connors let out a deep sigh. “Mace told me to write off the loan as an inventory expense. And he told me to cut the check for thirty thousand, that he’d take a little extra in case I needed more. The company does business with hundreds of suppliers so it wasn’t hard to bury it somewhere. I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway. Two days later, I had cash in my pocket. I rationalized it by telling myself that I was just following the boss’s orders. I had every intention of paying it back.”

“How did you plan on doing that?” Decker asked.

“Doing freelance work. I told Mace that I’d pay back every cent, but he told me not to worry about it. Just get the wife better and then we’d talk. It sounded too good to be true, but I wasn’t going to question him. Twenty thousand was a lot, but I knew I could make that amount up. The problem was…”

He put the mug down on an end table.

“It wasn’t just twenty thousand. It was twenty thousand, then forty, then sixty. By the time she died, I was one hundred and fifty thousand in the hole. That’s a lot of money to pay back considering that my life savings, my pension plan, and my wife’s pension plan had been totally wiped out. I had nothing left to my name except the house.”

Connors rubbed his eyes.

“I went to Mace to tell him that I was going to sell the house to pay back the loan and he told me to hold off and not to do anything rash. I wasn’t going to insist.” A long pause. “He also told me to keep on borrowing from the company for just a while longer. He said that there were other people in bad straits. I needed to keep at it a little bit longer. And for my effort, he’d knock off some of the loan money.”

“And you went along with it,” Decker said.

“I was in debt and he was my boss. If he said to keep doing it, I kept doing it. I did summon up enough nerve to ask him if it was okay with Guy.”

“What’d he answer?” Brubeck said.

“He said that Guy skimmed off the top all the time. All in all I wrote about two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of phony checks.”

“And that was okay with you?” Decker said.

Connors looked at the detectives. “I had lived two years in hell and I was deep in debt. So whatever Mace said, I did and didn’t ask questions. Anyway, the whole mess came to a head when the company got audited. That meant opening the books. The embezzlement was discovered, the IRS began to levy charges against Kaffey Industries, and a huge lawsuit ensued between the brothers. I thought I was going down with the ship, but Mace, Gold bless him, covered for me.”

“How?” Brubeck asked.

“He told Guy that the discrepancies had to do with the increased cost of materials or something stupid like that. Guy didn’t buy it. Hence the lawsuit. But no matter how bad it looked for Mace, he didn’t rat me out to the authorities. I was really grateful.”

Decker said, “Mr. Connors, Mace was accused of embezzling five million dollars. Your part in the scheme didn’t amount to nearly that much.”

Connors shrugged. “Maybe he had the same kind of arrangement with a few other accountants. I was just one of many.”

“You were an account executive,” Brubeck said.

“Like I said, there are around twenty account executives in the company. Each one is in charge of one project or another.”

“If Mace was stealing from the company, why didn’t Guy kick his brother out?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think Mace wasn’t lying when he said that Guy skimmed off the top, too. Since Guy was the CEO, he was much more vulnerable to jail time for cheating the IRS than Mace was. It was probably cheaper for Guy to keep him on rather than to prosecute him.”

Decker said, “So the two brothers settled and Mace was moved back east.”

“Yes, sir,” Connors answered. “And that was that.”

“Except for one thing,” Decker said. “You were caught embezzling money even after Mace left the West Coast.”

Connors threw up his hands.

Decker said, “Would you care to explain?”

“No charges were brought against me.”

“You asked Mace for another favor.”

“I just told him, I’d rather put a bullet into my head than go to jail.”

“And he covered for you.”

He shrugged.

Decker said, “Would you care to explain to us what happened?”

“Simple. I got caught.” Connors shrugged again. “Some habits die hard.”