Текст книги "The Survivors Club"

Автор книги: J. Black

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CHAPTER 28

They were getting ready to go out for dinner—there was a steak house that looked pretty good—when Max’s phone sounded. His ringtone was “Gangnam Style,” no lyrics.

He put the phone to his ear and turned away.

Tess had a bad feeling.

Max sat down on the bed, bending forward, listening. He said, “I canceled that.”

Tess watched him. Out of the blue she had the feeling he would be leaving soon. Which she could understand—he was busy; he was both the co-producer and star of the show—but she’d hoped they could spend some more time together.

She’d certainly made her own life more complicated by meeting him here.

“I thought we’d worked this out.” Max looked at her. His look said everything. “I can be there in,” he checked his watch. “Forty minutes, if the traffic isn’t too bad. Yes, I know how they are. All right, yeah, okay. I’ll see you then.” He looked at Tess. “Shit.”

“You have to go.”

“It’s unavoidable. So much going on with this production, and something…” He looked in her eyes. “Fell through the cracks. I have to do an appearance. I don’t know if I can make it back. Maybe late tonight.”

“A late dinner?”

God, she hated the way she said that.

“It’s too far, I’d never make it back here—unless you want to eat at eleven o’clock at night.”

Tess realized that he was used to eating at eleven o’clock at night.

She also realized that she didn’t really know what his lifestyle entailed. That she didn’t know much about his life in California as she should.

“I can wait that long,” she said. Inwardly wincing as she said it.

She’d compromised herself by meeting him when she should be on the clock, and this was the result.

He ran a hand through his badly styled hair.

“There’s so much crap going on. I don’t even know if we’re gonna get another season. There’s just so much that’s undecided—the nature of the game. You’re all in until the next roadblock. It isn’t fair to you.” He came up behind her and held her in his arms. “I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“It’s not a waste of time.” But even when she said it, she thought of the last time she’d come out. It had been the same way. It was his job. He was busy, she was busy. She had her own life and he had his.

But it seemed that she was always the one to make accommodations.

The joy she’d felt—the rightnessof the day—evaporated.

“I have to make this appearance tonight. I thought I’d gotten out of it, but they’re holding me to it, and I don’t think they’re all that thrilled with how things are going.” He broke away from her, sat down on the bed, and rubbed his eyes.

Stressed.Maybe he’d dressed to look chunky, but Tess noticed that he had gained a little weight.

This in itself could be disastrous for a leading man.

The thought crept in, catching her unawares. Maybe he was drinking and using again…but the one thing the madman who ran the Desert Oasis Healing Center had done was break Max’s habit in two.

There was no evidence at all that this was the case, and she sensed that he was all right, at least in that regard. But even that momentary distrust…what was that all about?

He looked up at her as if he’d read her mind, and grinned. The patented trademark Max Conroy grin. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you have something you can do.”

“It’s okay, really.”

Liar.

Just when had she lost her honesty?

He called her late at night. Apologized again.

“It’s okay,” Tess said. Not feeling it was okay and hating herself for saying it. Max was not to blame. She knew that. “You’re busy. I’m busy. Which reminds me, I’m going to try and wrap this thing up quickly and get an earlier flight.”

Wondering why she said it. Did she think it would hurt him?

“That’s probably good. I won’t be able to shake loose tomorrow.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

There was a pause. “Look, I’m sorry that it didn’t work out. I tried.”

“I know you did.”

“If you lived out here—”

“We’ve discussed this. I just started up with Santa Cruz County. It’s my career we’re talking about here.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Look,” she said, hating herself while she said it. “We’ll work it out. Maybe you can come out when…” Whenwas the issue. He was constantly working.

Tess heard voices in the background.

Max said, “Hey, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon.”

Disconnected.

Tess sat on the bed, looking at the mirror opposite.

Stared at her reflection for a long moment.

“Dumb-ass,” she said.

CHAPTER 29

When Jaimie landed back in Tucson she didn’t drive straight home from the airport—she was too unsettled for that.

Everything was going south. It was like she was in the back of a car going faster and faster on a narrow road, and the driver wouldn’t stop no matter how much she begged. She was in that car to the end of the road.

She saw her ex-lover’s chopper parked in front of the Buckboard Saloon. She turned into the parking lot. She’d taken a miserable trip down memory lane at the beach house in Laguna—Chad had really messed the place up, it smelled like a goat pen—and now all she wanted was to forget. Maybe her ex would help her to do that.

Gloomy as she felt, when she opened the door to the dark saloon, she suddenly felt beautiful and sexy. Every man in the place—and most of them knew her—still marveled at her good looks. Many men tried with her, but few had the goods. She had her favorites, the guys she’d sleep with once in a while if the mood took her, but the rest could just hang out their tongues like slavering out-of-luck dogs. Today, though, her first goal was to get so drunk she could forget about her little brother.

Joe—the bartender, his name really was Joe, and she always called him “Set ’em Up Joe,” was her boyfriend in high school. Now he was a part-time welder and part-time bartender and full-time husband.

“How you doin’ today, darlin’?” He polished off the bar with a towel and set down a glass and poured a liberal supply of whiskey in it. She knocked it back like she always did, and said, “Fine.” The first one was always free. His daughter, Kayla, rode free at Jaimie’s place in return for cleaning the stalls, so really, it was an exchange. He kept her old ranch truck running and had done some nice ironwork around her place, beautiful stuff that she could put on her business cards and brochures. If she ever got around to it.

He repeated the question. “How’s it goin’?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” He had hazel eyes and they were sexy, but damn he was actually one of those men who were faithful to their wives, plus, she already had her eye on the one she wanted to pick out of the herd—Harley Cawdle. He was playing pool and watching her like a dog watches a can of Alpo on the counter.

She held out her glass for another shot. Joe poured another.

“You don’t know about what happened? To my brother?”

“Michael?”

“No, the one in Laguna Beach.”

“So what about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“You don’t seem that upset.”

“He was a dumb-ass.”

“I don’t know as I ever met him.”

“You wouldn’t. He hasn’t lived out here in, like, ten years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wanna know what happened to him?”

Joe Shively looked troubled. She knew he didn’t want to hear it, but she said it anyway. She slammed the shot glass down on the counter and said, “Somebody choked him to death, that’s what happened.”

Joe just stared at her. Opened his mouth. Almost said something. Closed it again.

She started to cry. She didn’t want to cry because it would mess up her makeup, and she really did want to get laid by Harley, but all of a sudden she wasn’t just crying, she was braying. Braying like a fucking donkey! And she couldn’t stop.

Through her tears she looked over at Harley. He was watching. His pool cue standing next to him, his hand frozen on it. Then he looked away.

Like she was embarrassing herself.

“What are you looking at, Harley?” she yelled.

He shook his head and turned away, tried to make a shot, and the pool cue shot over the ball and the ball jumped a little. His back was to her.

“Hey, Harley, you know you want it!” she yelled at him.

He studiously avoided her gaze, lining up his shot.

“You’re gonna blow it, Harley. You’re going to screw the fuck up.”

And he did. His pool cue rammed into the felt and banged against the side of the table.

Likely be the only satisfaction she’d get tonight.

She paid for two more shots and got the hell out of there.

Jaimie turned under the sign and drove down to the stables to check on the horses. Her eyes were red and she knew she didn’t look good. She’d repaired her makeup in the little cubicle they called a bathroom at the Buckboard. Coming out had run right smack into Harley. The bathroom was in a narrow hallway that led out past the kitchen—the back way out, and he’d been headed that way. She said again, “What are you lookin’ at?”

He’d mumbled something. She thought it was about her brother, but she was so angry, so embarrassed—humiliated by the weakness she’d shown—that she stomped hard on his instep. He banged against the cheap veneered wood paneling of the hallway, and she charged past him out into the night.

It was a nice night, and the stars had turned the sky blue roan, the color of her first pony a thousand years ago. The horses were all in good shape. It was sweater weather at night, and she was wearing a slinky tank top, so she rubbed her arms.

She was pretty bad off. All the crying and all the whiskey. So she let herself in, and followed by a crowd of dogs, went off to bed.

CHAPTER 30

The following morning, Tess was on the road early.

Turned out that there were two wildlife sanctuaries in the Santa Anas. The first was well-run, and it was clear the people there cared. There were several birds in rehab, including a golden eagle. Many animals had been injured—shot or poisoned or rescued from some backyard hell. Most of them would stay there forever. Others were being prepared to go back into the wild. There was a veterinarian on site, and tours to educate the public about the importance of wildlife.

Some animals—antelope, mostly, were allowed acreage to roam in.

Tess asked the wildlife biologist, a tall Swedish beauty with an earnest way about her, about the possibility of a mountain lion in Asteroid Canyon. She confirmed June Hackler’s theory.

“There probably isa mountain lion who goes into that canyon. They have a big range, but that would be a good source of food. But it’s also possible that no one would ever see it.”

She, too, thought it highly unlikely that a mountain lion would attack Peter Farley.

The second place, Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary, was more like a circus that had pulled up stakes in the middle of the night. It wasn’t really a sanctuary at all, but a minizoo. The place sat at the end of a dirt road in open country not far from Black Star. No one was around when she went to look at the animals. There weren’t very many. Tess peered into the window of one of the modular units and saw a bear inside a smallish cage. The bear looked depressed.

Outside, there were several empty cages, none of them cleaned out. The animals that were there looked as if they had just given up. There were faded index cards stuck into plates. Tess saw a tiger, a lion, an ibex, and a deer. Two of the enclosures were empty, the gates open. The index card for one said “Cougar.”

She waited around for an hour, but nobody appeared. The house, not that much better than General Mullet’s in the canyon, was buttoned up tight.

Occasionally a wind blew through and the rank smell assaulted her nostrils.

Tess looked at the animals drowsing in the sun. At least they had ramada shelters.

She should report this facility. No way should this place have something as dangerous as a tiger here. Tess couldn’t imagine how the tiger had not found a way into the ibex’s pen. Crazy.

Tess left feeling depressed.

What she was thinking was beyond logical. It was insane.

But it made sense in the larger scheme of things.

Driving out, she looked back at the animals. Most of them appeared to be underweight.

One thing June Hackler had told her stood out: the animal would have to be starving.

As Tess opened the door to the room—it was cool and smelled stale and no longer held the magic of her tryst with Max—her mobile sounded.

For a second she thought of Max.

That’s right, it’s rope-a-dope. And you’re the dope.

The number on the readout wasn’t his. The name was Frieda Nussman. Tess answered. Nussman ran the Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary.

She had a voice like a goose honk. Tess thought uncharitably that it might account for the nervousness of the animals at the “sanctuary.”

“I had a lion but someone bought it.”

“People can do that?”

“Sure. I checked them out, made sure the lion would go to a good home—a zoo in Palm Springs.”

“You checked their accreditation?”

“Oh, yeah. The guy was a wildlife biologist.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Goldie’s been gone a couple of years now.”

“Can you remember when you sold him?”

“No, I can’t. It could have been spring, but I’m not sure. I’d have to look at my records, and I’m outside right now.”

Why did Tess somehow doubt she had any records?

“Can you describe him?”

“It was a long time ago. I can’t describe what I had for dinner last night.”

“Try.”

“He was good-looking, I remember that, because he flirted with me.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know—midthirties?”

“Did the man have a cage?”

“Of course he had a cage. That went pretty well. I’m away from my desk right now. I’ll look up the paperwork when I get in and give you a call.”

She hung up.

Tess had a feeling she wouldn’t call back. The woman had made a quick buck off an old mountain lion, and that was that.

Tess looked at her watch—she had time.

She called Barry Zudowsky, and he agreed to meet her there.

He sounded like he wanted to get it over with. Professional courtesy, that was all.

Tess had something specific she wanted from him. He might do it, he might not, he might argue about it. She’s learned always to ask, even if it made her uncomfortable. That was part of the job description, getting into peoples’ faces and asking them to do something they didn’t feel comfortable doing, something that didn’t fit with their agenda. She did it every day, but today she felt foolish about it. So she said it right away– anotherfavor.

“I’m going to send a photo to you of a man I suspect could be involved in Peter Farley’s death. Frieda Nussman might recognize him. Could you make up a photo lineup with this photo in it?”

He agreed that he could. The he asked, “You think he killed Farley?”

“Yes.”

“How? Farley was killed by an animal. That’s indisputable.”

“I know that.”

Just saying it emboldened him. “He was killed by a mountain lion. The jaw size, the tooth marks. This was a death by misadventure, just as we pegged it.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“You think someone faked it?” He was incredulous. “How could they do that?”

“I’m not sure if they could.”

He said nothing. She knew he was thinking: Wild goose chase.

He was thinking: Wasted day.

Tess said, “I’ll see you there. You’ll bring the photo lineup?”

“Will do.”

She put her bag in the car and drove back out to Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary, this time pulling off the road outside the gate to the property and waiting for Detective Zudowksy.

He pulled up behind her.

As she got out she saw that he was still sitting in his car. It looked like he was writing something down. Defending himself, maybe, for spending the day with a madwoman? She saw him shift in the car and unlatch his shoulder harness. She couldn’t see much past the windshield except for his shape. Finally, he levered his tall beanpole of a body out of the car. Reluctance in every line. A waste of time.

He approached. He said hello and then after that he said nothing. She knew he was trying to figure out what her game was. She hadn’t been completely forthcoming about her theory because it sounded outlandish and she wanted to keep him on her side.

He hadn’t pushed.

But now she could see he was getting fed up.

A waste of a day. Nothing in it for him.

“I brought the photos.”

“Good.”

She followed him to his car and went around and opened up the passenger’s side. He gave her the lineup. He’d used driver’s licenses to match the photo of Michael DeKoven’s DL.

“Good job,” she said.

He didn’t reply. Just looked straight ahead.

Tess just had to deal with it. She needed Zudowsky. Having him there in his official capacity might make Frieda Nussman more cooperative.

They bumped up the road and got out.

Nussman wore a flannel shirt and jeans. Her hair was long, down to the small of her back. She had an angular face, and was thin, almost skeletal. Tess wondered if she might have an eating disorder.

Nussman was prepared. She had the bill of sale in her hand. She described the man, who’d paid her one thousand dollars in cash for the mountain lion and a large cage she’d had rusting around the place. Tess shivered when the woman described it—she’d purchased it at a swap meet, the cage had been used in a circus that had gone out of business. “Paid a pretty penny for it, too,” she said. “I thought it would draw people, but…” She glanced around the yard.

The name on the bill of sale was a Dom Derring.

“He paid you in cash.”

“I told you that.”

“Just great.”

“He called me from out of town,” Nussman said. “He wanted to put a hold on the cat until he could get here, so I charged him a hundred dollars on his credit card.”

“You have the credit card number?”

“I’m pretty sure I still have it in my records. I’m not one to throw anything away.”

“Please look for it.”

She went inside and was gone a long time. Tess could picturing her rummaging around. She didn’t think the chances were too good of seeing that credit card number—but she was wrong. The woman came back out with the name and the credit card number.

Zudowsky walked away and called it in. They waited. Tess continued to talk to Nussman, trying to get on her good side, if she had one. Asking about the animals. The woman answered her questions but wasn’t forthcoming. She seemed to have her mind on something else. Zudowsky ended the call and came their way.

“Excuse me,” Tess said to Nussman. She walked out to meet Barry Zudowsky.

“There was a Dom Derring listed,” Barry Zudowsky said, his voice low. “But the credit card was canceled almost two years ago. You think it’s your guy? DeKoven?”

“Sounds like a made-up name. He applied for it and used it for that one purpose,” Tess said.

“Unless there were others.”

Tess nodded. Time to show Nussman the photo lineup.

She had a good feeling.

Dom Derring—a made-up name.

Michael DeKoven acting cute.

Obvious.

Zudowsky produced the photos.

“Do you recognize any of these men? Could one of them be the man who bought the mountain lion?”

The woman stared at the pictures for a long time. “No, the guy who came here was blond.”

“Just look at their faces. Hair can be dyed. Do you recognize any of them?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

Driving back, Detective Zudowsky said, “I guess that’s that. He’s not your man.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He could have paid someone to buy the mountain lion.”

“You really think that happened?”

“I do.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“He wanted a mountain lion kill.”

“ Why?”

Tess said, “He wanted it to look like Farley was killed by an animal. He had his reasons—it was a game.”

“A game.” He looked straight ahead.

She knew what he was thinking.

She’d tell him what she suspected. Might as well. He’d have something to yuk it up with, with his buddies. And so she ran it down for him, that DeKoven had likely killed an ex-cop named George Hanley, Peter Farley, and his own father, Quentin DeKoven. She told him about Hanley’s investigation.

“So this, uh, Hanley,wrote all this down? He called it an investigation? You said he was retired.”

“He was a homicide cop for twenty years.”

“He was how old?”

“Sixty-eight.”

“Uh-huh.” He did not look at her. “So you’re saying this was a game he played, finding people who survived accidents, then killing them?”

“That’s the theory we’re working under. He got the jump on Mr. Farley, maybe knocked him out in some way, and put him in with the lion.”

Zudowsky kept his eyes on the road. “The lion probably wouldn’t attack him even then, from what I’ve heard.”

“He would if he’d been starved.”

Silence. It hung there like the dust over the graded dirt road.

Finally Zudowsky said, “I just don’t see how your theory hangs together. I can’t see someone doing something like this. It’s much more likely that Farley was attacked by a mountain lion. It could happen, if Farley was bent over his bike. That’s what happened north of here. We’ve had two attacks of mountain bikers, and they’re both fairly recent.”

Tess said, “Did anyone do a tox on Peter Farley?”

“I don’t remember seeing anything about one. His cause of death was pretty obvious.”

“Also, I wonder if there were any marks on the body from the cage.”

“DNA wasn’t at front of mind when you’re dealing with an obvious mountain lion attack. Plus, there wasn’t enough of Farley to identify him except for his wallet, bike, and his vehicle parked at the entrance.”

Tess said, “I would like to find that cage.”

He said nothing.

Tess realized that his respect for her had run out, along with professional courtesy.

Just before they split up she said to Barry Zudowsky, “I’m going to ask you to do me one favor.”

To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes. But he said nothing.

“I’d like to pair Ms. Nussman with a sketch artist. The person who bought the lion is key.”

Zudowsky said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

When he got back in his car and drove away, she thought she’d never hear from him again.