Blindman’s Bluff

TWENTY-FOUR

MACE’S ROOM WAS down the hall from Brady’s. His injury required an overnight stay, but if all went well, he’d be discharged the following morning. He was sitting atop the bed, his arm in a sling, watching TV, dressed in pajamas and a robe. He was gray around the eyes set in deep, dark circles.

His lips were blanched and dry. His black hair was shiny and a shade off of greasy.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he told Decker. “This place is a loony bin.”

“When are you leaving?” Decker asked him.

“Soon as I can travel, even if I charter a private jet.” He clicked off the TV. “Guy was always getting me into fixes. In life and in death.”

“I read about that,” Decker said. “The lawsuit.”

Mace waved Decker off with his good hand. “A misunderstanding. I could have pursued it, but the only ones who’d have gotten rich would have been the lawyers. In the end, I got what I wanted and so did he. And no, I don’t care to elaborate.”

Decker said, “I’d like to ask you about what happened in the parking lot. Did you see anything?”

Mace shook his head. “It happened so fast.”

“Brady and Kotsky remember a car peeling rubber after the shots.”

“Good for them. I can’t say that I remember anything except thinking I was going to die. I knew I got hit. Blood was everywhere. I was so confused, I thought I took it in the chest. Thank God, it was only my arm.”

“Could you go over the sequence? Like you walked out of the hospital and then…”

“Okay, let me think.” Mace closed his eyes. “Gil was in a wheelchair. Antoine was on his right, Grant was on the left. Brady was in front of us, whatshisname was in back.” He paused. “Where was I?”

Another pause. “I was between Gil and whatshisname.”

“Kotsky?” Decker said.

“Yeah, him. I was walking ahead of Kotsky, but behind Gil, Grant, and Resseur. I heard a popping noise and Kotsky…he pushed me to the ground. Next thing I remember is shaking like Jell-O. My first thought was: please God, don’t let me die and don’t let me die in L.A.”

“Looks like God answered your prayers.”

“Maybe.” Then under his breath, Mace added, “At least for the moment.”

Decker gave him a card. “If you need anything or remember anything…”

Mace took the card, and then clicked back on the TV.

Interview over.

“THE LATEST PRINTOUTS on Greenridge.” Lee Wang set a stack of papers on the Loo’s desk. He brushed black hair from his face and sat down without being asked. His brown jacket had padded shoulders but was an inch too short in the sleeves. The clothing salesperson must have been on crack.

Placing aside a pile of phone messages, Decker picked up the papers and stifled a yawn. Last night, he’d slept four fitful hours, and even with a couple of cups of morning coffee, he had to think about focusing.

“What am I reading, Lee?”

“The top ones are recent articles on Paul Pritchard of Cyclone Inc.”

“Greenridge’s nemesis. Can you summarize it in ten words or less?”

“Pritchard thinks Greenridge is a bust. The project as proposed isn’t feasible. I know, that’s a dozen words but it’s the best I can do.”

“Could his sentiments be sour grapes?”

“Sure, but read the articles, Loo. Pritchard talks about how Greenridge’s costs have skyrocketed to the point where the project is dead. He’s just waiting for the official burial.”

“How does he know so much about Kaffey’s finances?”

“It’s not Kaffey Industries that’s naked in the wind, it’s the Greenridge Project specifically. Their projected costs analysis was in a prospectus that they gave the bond insurers in order to underwrite municipal debt. But with the recent market destabilization, the Kaffey group has been hit hard. Plus Greenridge has been socked with additional costs due to delays in construction and necessary improvements that had to be made in order to win local approval. Finally, because of terrible equity market conditions and cost overrun, Greenridge’s initial offering that was supposed to come out at an A1 rating was lowered to almost junk bond status. That means to get people to buy Greenridge bonds, the Kaffey group has to offer a very high interest rate.”

“More added costs.”

“Exactly,” Wang said. “I’m going to go out on a short limb and say that a man as savvy as Guy Kaffey would have pulled the plug on the project. But now that Guy’s gone, who knows?”

“Any information on who’s going to take over Kaffey Industries?”

“Most of the articles predict near-equal inheritance between his sons.”

“What about Mace? Initially, didn’t you tell me he has a tiny stake in the company?”

“I believe he does.”

“If Gil and Grant have a difference of opinion, Mace’s tiny stake could be worth a lot. Theoretically, Grant and Mace could side against Gil and keep Greenridge alive.”

“If the sons inherit an equal amount of stock with Mace having a percentage or two, that would be true.”

Decker sat back in his desk chair and smoothed his mustache. “Lee, what do you think about the murders? Was Gil supposed to be killed along with his parents?”

Wang gave the question some serious thought. “Grant Kaffey is the only member of the Kaffey group who hasn’t been shot.”

Decker made a tent with his fingers. “Right now, Grant, Gil, and Antoine Resseur are missing. Could Grant be using the situation as the perfect opportunity to get rid of his brother?”

“It would look suspicious if Gil suddenly wound up dead. Plus, if Resseur was with them, Grant would have to kill him as well.”

Decker nodded. “Just a thought.”

The phone rang. Decker picked up the receiver. “Hey, Willy, welcome back…That’s okay, Will, we didn’t expect you to find him. It was a pig in a poke. But I do have another assignment for you when…No, you don’t have to come in today. Enjoy your vaca-” He smiled. “Well, if she’s driving you crazy, you can tell her that I need you to come in right away, all right? Sure. See you in a bit.”

Wang smiled. “His wife?”

“As long as Willy still has a couple of days left, she wants him to retile the bathroom floor.” Decker’s mind was still on the former conversation. “Let me play devil’s advocate for a moment. Guy Kaffey was an over-the-top kind of guy. Just look at his ranch. It’s the size of a small European country. He also loved winning and by all accounts, he was a risk taker, even manic at times in his business practices.”

“All true from what I’ve read,” Wang said.

“You don’t think that he might have allowed Grant and Mace to see Greenridge to its conclusion rather than throw up his hands and admit defeat?”

“I could see that if Greenridge was Guy’s idea. But Greenridge was Grant’s brainchild-Grant and Mace. Loo, this is a project that should have been killed in an exuberant market. In times of recessions and cutbacks, Greenridge is a dinosaur.”

Wang thought a moment.

“Maybe Guy would build Greenridge on a smaller scale. But even if he did that, he’d still need to siphon off some money from other parts of Kaffey Industries.”

“Let’s take this one step further,” Decker said. “If Grant and Mace want to see Greenridge to completion, would Guy and Gil have to go?”

“Gil would be an obstacle, sure. But whoever did this can’t kill everyone.” Wang stood up. “I have some free time in the afternoon. You want me to hunt around for Grant, Gil, and Antoine?”

“I’ve got people on that. Why don’t you get a judge to issue a couple of subpoenas for them, demanding that they appear as material witnesses to the shootings. It’s kind of ass-backward, but at least let’s have all the pieces in place when we do locate them.”

Decker’s phone rang again. Wang gave a wave as he walked out of the office.

“Hi, Mallory Quince here. We’ve got Alejandro Brand in custody.”

“Wow!” Decker sat up. “That was fast. Great job. How’d you bust him?”

“He busted himself. His meth lab blew up.”

THE VIDEO CAMERA in the interview room showed a man of around nineteen in an oversized white T-shirt and baggy green shorts that hung down to his knees. He had a Dodger cap on his head, the visor casting a shadow over his eyes and nose. Decker could make out a thin mouth and a long chin adorned with a soul patch. The skin on his arms and neck was blued with ink. There were two anaconda snakes running down his arms, and a B12 was visible on the back of his neck.

Mallory Quince stared over Decker’s shoulder at the video screen while clucking her tongue. “Rumor has it that Narcotics isn’t happy shaving time off the charge based on some blind guy’s hearing voices. The only reason they’ve agreed is that you’re a lieutenant and the scope of the Kaffey murders.”

“That’s two reasons. And I say what harm will it do to let the dude hear the tape? The blind guy’s ear is very acute.”

Mallory straightened up and folded her arms across her chest, pulling on the shoulders of her pumpkin-colored jacket. Her hair was short, dark. Her voice was tense. “How do you know that the blind guy isn’t going to say ‘yes, it’s the scumbag I heard’ just to feel important and to get a reward?”

“Because I told him that the eyewitness had picked out four possible suspects. Harriman has already discarded two Spanish-speaking Mexican officers.”

“Maybe he knew you were setting him up with shills.”

Decker shrugged. “Tell Narcotics that I’m not offering Brand anything. All I want him to do is speak Spanish for voice identification.”

“Will that hold up in court?”

“We’re not accusing Brand of anything. We’re only trying to find out what he knows about the Kaffey murders. It shouldn’t take long. I really don’t even want to broach the murders until Harriman identifies his voice.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mallory’s voice had softened.

“I tell him the current charges against him…get him talking. His grandmother’s apartment in Pacoima was burned out. I want him to think that I’m trying to pin an additional arson charge on him.”

“Did he do it?”

“Probably. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get a confession. I’ll be sitting right here.” On the monitor, Decker pointed to the empty chair across from Brand. “That way the camera picks up my good side.”

DECKER INTRODUCED HIMSELF in Spanish and shook hands with the kid.

Brand scratched a scar near his eye and said, “I know English.”

Decker kept his face flat although he was inwardly cursing. He switched to English. “However you’re comfortable, Alejandro.”

The gangbanger folded his hands and laid them on the table. The hairs on his forearm smelled like barbecue ash. That must have happened when the lab blew up. Maybe that’s how he got the first scar.

Decker said, “Do you know why you’re here?”

“No.”

“Your apartment exploded.”

“So what? I didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t tell you ’cause I don’t know.” He switched to Spanish. “Estallado…Boom. Comprende?”

“Sí.”

He said, “I think it was a gas line. It smelled like gas was leaking, you know?”

In Spanish, Decker said, “How long had you lived in the apartment?”

“Posible seis meses.” Six months.

“And how long were you inside before the apartment exploded?”

“Hmmm…posiblemente viente minutos.”

Maybe twenty minutes. He wasn’t much for long sentences, but at least they were conversing in the right language. Decker said, “And you smelled gas?”

“Yeah, I did.” Sensing an out, Brand was running with the story. “It stank.”

“So why didn’t you call the gas company?”

“’Cause it all happened too fast.”

“You were just sitting there…usted acaba sentarse alli y…boom?”

“Sí, sí. Exactamente.”

In Spanish, Decker said, “The police found antifreeze containers in your garbage.”

In Spanish, “It gets cold in the winter.”

“It freezes like once every six years in Southern California.”

“My car isn’t so good.”

“They also found containers of acetone, paint thinner, Freon, battery acid…those materials are very explosive.”

“Yeah, I found out the hard way.”

“There were empty pop bottles, tubing, lots of matches, and a hot plate-”

“I need a hot plate ’cause I don’t have a stove. Talk to my landlord.”

“C’mon, Alex.” Decker leaned in. “What were you doing with all that stuff?”

“It’s a crime to have stuff?”

“It’s not a crime to have paint thinner if you’re an artist. It’s not a crime to have antifreeze if you’re going to drive to Colorado in the winter. It’s not a crime to have acetone if you own a nail salon. It looks suspicious when you have all those things and you don’t paint, you’re not driving in cold weather, and you’re not doing your nails.”

The gangbanger shrugged.

“You have some heavy-duty charges against you, son. You can help yourself if you tell us what was going on. Judges like honesty.”

Another shrug.

“If you tell us the truth, we might even be a little more lenient with the arson charge in your grandmother’s apartment.”

He yanked his head up. “What arson charge?”

“Alex, c’mon!” Silence. “Everyone saw you running away. We have dozens of eyewitnesses.”

“I say they’re liars and I say you’re a liar. You don’t have nothing.”

“Look, Alex, you’re in trouble. You have stuff in your apartment that makes you look like you were doing something illegal…like you’re not only dealing, but also manufacturing. That’s twenty years minimum.”

The kid’s eyes were doing a little dance in their sockets. “It wasn’t even my stuff.”

Excuse number two. “So whose stuff was it?”

“ La Boca.”

The mouth. “That’s a person?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Tell me about La Boca and how all that stuff got inside your apartment.”

It began in fits and starts. How La Boca had friends who were out of business and they needed a place to store their stuff. How he volunteered to keep his stuff ’cause he’s a nice guy. When Brand saw that Decker wasn’t interrupting, he elaborated further. It didn’t matter because it was all a pack of lies. But once the kid started talking, he couldn’t stop.

And that’s exactly what Decker wanted: Brand’s voice speaking Spanish and recorded on tape.