Blindman's Bluff (8 page)

When no one raised a hand, Decker turned to Marge and Oliver. “After you’re done with the evidence collection in the buildings, I want you two to go back and reinterview Brady, Kotsky, Riley Karns, Paco Albanez, and the surviving maid, Ana Mendez. Get their stories down. If you suspect they’re playing loose and fast with the truth, get back to me. Anything new on the missing guards?”

Marge said, “We’re in constant contact with Denny Orlando’s family, nothing so far on Rondo Martin. We’ve got a couple of calls into the Ponceville sheriff’s office. I think we might have to do a field—”

Brubeck broke in, “S’cuse me, but did you just say Ponceville?” “I did,” Marge said. “Why? What’s going on, Willy?” “My wife’s family owns a farm about ten miles east of downtown Ponceville.” Willy smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. Blacks have been farming for centuries. Only difference now is we get paid for it.”

Wanda said, “I know. Strike it from the minutes.”

Decker said, “What do you know about Ponceville, Willy?”

“It’s one of the bigger farming communities in California that hasn’t been bought up by agribusiness. Hardworking people…mostly whites but a few blacks and lots of Mexican migrants. Whole town of ’em just outside the farms. Personally, I never heard of Rondo Martin, but if he’s been working in Ponceville within the last twenty years, I can find out about him with a couple of phone calls.”

“Do it.”

“’Course a trip would be better.”

“I can probably get funding to go up there, but let’s start with the phone calls.”

Decker pointed to the next item on the whiteboard.

“Okay, someone needs to check out the murdered housekeeper-Alicia Montoya. It would seem that the intended victims were the Kaffeys, and she was collateral damage. But we can’t make assump
tions. When Dunn and I spoke to Gil, he indicated that Spanish might have been spoken during the murders. Maybe some jealous boyfriend of the maid thought she was having an affair and the Kaffeys were collateral damage.”

Shrugs all around. No one was buying.

“I’ve been surprised before,” Decker said. “Lee, you speak Spanish. Talk to Alicia’s family.”

“I could use a partner to make sure that my Spanish is up to snuff.”

Pratt’s hand went up. “I can’t read Cervantes but I speak a decent street Spanish.”

Decker said, “Okay, I’ve put both of you down for Alicia Montoya. We’re down to the last item on the board: the tip line. So far I’ve fielded about twenty calls, but the numbers are bound to rise, especially if the family offers a reward.”

Oliver groaned. “Then the numbers will go through the roof.”

“Are they offering a reward?” Marge asked.

“I don’t know, but I suspect they will because it looks good, if for no other reason. No matter how many tips come in, we’ll need to check them all out.”

Oliver said, “What about the walk-ins, Loo? We always get a couple of those.”

“I’ll take the walk-ins,” Decker answered. “Let me remind all of you that we are public servants. We treat everyone with respect and dignity. When people talk, don’t just go through the motions. Listen and listen carefully because we never know who or what is going to break the case wide open. Any other questions?”

No one spoke up.

“The meeting is officially over. You’ve got your lists, your papers, and your pens. More important, you’ve got your eyes, your ears, and your legs. Now let’s go out and solve some homicides.”

T
HE TWO COPS
stationed outside Gil Kaffey’s ICU room momentarily confused Decker because he had approved only one uniform. As he neared the area, he realized that the second sentry was actually a rent-a-cop. Seeing Decker approach, the men stopped their conversation, straightened up, standing with legs apart and arms behind their backs, and watched him suspiciously. Decker flashed his badge to the LAPD uniform—a fifties-plus man with salt-and-pepper hair named Ray Aldofar who had gone a little soft around the middle. The rent-a-cop’s name tag said Pepper. He was young, fit, and short and had combative eyes.

“Gentlemen,” he said.

“Lieutenant,” Aldofar answered. He made the introductions to Pepper and called him Jack.

It was Decker’s turn to be wary. “Who hired you to watch this room, Mr. Pepper?”

“Mr. Kaffey insisted on having someone from his private staff.” His voice was officious.

“Which Mr. Kaffey?”

“Grant, Mace, and Gil.”

Decker peered through the glass windows of ICU. Gil was sleeping and still hooked up to a number of tubular apparatuses. “Gil Kaffey is coherent enough to hire his own security?”

Aldofar stepped in. “I was here when they brought Jack in, Lieutenant.”

“Who is
they?”

“Grant Kaffey and a big guy named Neptune Brady. He’s the head of Kaffey security.”

“I know who Neptune Brady is.”

Aldofar said nothing. Pepper said, “Mr. Kaffey and Mr. Brady hired me to do a job. I was cleared by hospital security.”

“You weren’t cleared with me.” When Pepper bristled, Decker said, “I’m sure you’re good at your job, but I’m investigating a multiple-murder homicide. I need to know who has access to Gil Kaffey and since you don’t report to me, you may miss something that I need.”

Pepper remained on the defensive. “The Kaffeys are entitled to hire me.”

“Except if it interferes in a homicide investigation.”
Meaning how do I know if Mace or Grant Kaffey were in on the murders?
Decker said to Aldofar, “I need to see that visitors’ list.”

The cop took out his notepad and flipped over several pages. “Here it is…everyone who’s gone in and out of the room, just like you requested.”

Decker took the list. Most of the visitors had been hospital personnel: Dr. Rain, attending doctors, and nurses. Family included Grant and Mace, who had come four times together. Grant had visited an additional four times by himself. Two times, Grant had brought along Neptune Brady, and Brady visited two more times alone. Antoine Resseur—Gil’s ex—had come by two times. Since only approved people had been allowed access, there were no other visitors. There had been at least a dozen attempted flower deliveries to the hospital room and all of the ICU; the bouquets were forwarded to the family compound in Newport.

Decker gave the notepad back to Aldofar. “Keep your eyes open. Put me down on the list. I’m going in.”

He looked at Pepper.

“I know you have a job to do, but so do I. Let’s try to avoid stepping on each other’s toes. It works to your benefit, sir, because I have bigger feet.”

AS GIL’S EYES
slowly opened, his face twisted in pain and he moaned. Within seconds, a young blond nurse named Didi was at his bedside injecting something into his IV line. “Demerol,” she told Decker.

“Is it going to put him back to sleep?”

“It might.”

Decker waited. Gil closed his eyes and opened them several times. After about ten minutes, he managed to look at him with lids halfway closed. “Do I know you?”

“Lieutenant Peter Decker of LAPD, Mr. Kaffey. I’m investigating what happened at the ranch. How do you feel?”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

As he pulled up a chair, Didi the nurse said, “Did you clear this with Dr. Rain?”

Gil said, “Leave him…leave him.”

“Just a few minutes,” Didi told Decker. “Just because he can talk doesn’t mean he should.”

“I won’t tire him out,” Decker said.

“You’re…the head?”

“I’m leading the investigation, yes. We have a lot of people working on this, and anything you can tell me might help.”

“I feel…real…shit…” His head bobbed. “Shit.”

“It hurts to be shot…”

Eyes opened and stayed that way. “You ever…”

“Yes, I’ve been shot. It hurts.”

“Burns like shit.”

“Yes, it does.”

Gil’s head bobbed. “They said
sí, sí…
I heard it.”

Decker took out his notepad. “The men who attacked you spoke Spanish?”

“Yeah…
sí, sí.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“No…just
sí, sí.”

“Did you recognize any other words?”

“It happened…fast.”

“I’m sure you were in total shock. How many people attacked you?”

Silence.

Decker said, “Sometimes it helps if you close your eyes and view it like a movie or a photograph in your head.”

He closed his eyes. “I see one…two…” He was counting them in his foggy brain. “Three…” His face, pale to start, went ashen. “Flashbulb in my eyes…then bang…Bang, bang, bang!”

Beep, beep, beep went the monitor. Gil’s heartbeat started to race.

“So fucking
loud!
Hurt my head!”

Didi, the nurse, said, “You’re exciting him. You’re going to have to leave!”

Gil was still talking, his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids. “Happened like…” He tried to snap his fingers and his eyes popped open. “My heart…pumping. I’m running away…I feel fire…I fall.”

Didi was about to inject him with more Demerol, when he said, “Stop!”

Both she and Decker were taken aback. Gil spat out, “Get the…
bastards!”

“We have the same goal, Mr. Kaffey,” Decker said. “What about their faces? Can you describe any of them?”

The eyes closed partway. “One…two…three of them.”

“You remember three people attacking you.”

“Three people…”

“Can you describe them?” Decker asked.

Tears formed in Gil’s eyes. “Bastards…the one with the gun…I saw the arm…he had tattoos.”

“What kind of tattoos?”

“Beeexcel…” His eyes blinked, and the tears ran down his face.

“Pardon?”

“The letters…B…X…L…L.”

Decker thought a moment. “Could it have been B-X-I-I with a capital I?”

“Maybe.”

The Bodega 12th Street gang contained nasty, nasty men, most of them with origins from El Salvador and Mexico. It had originated in the Ramparts division years ago but had spread like a cancer into just about every state in the union. They numbered around fifty thousand loosely organized criminals. There were men at the top, but most of the bastards were drug runners and hard-core felons. It was one of the most violent gangs in the country.

Gil was one lucky sucker.

“He had B-X-I-I tattooed on his arm,” Decker said. “Can you tell me which arm?”

Gil was breathing shallowly. “Right-handed. On his right arm.”

“His right arm was exposed then?”

Gil didn’t answer.

“He was wearing short sleeves?”

“Black T-shirt.”

“Good,” Decker told him. “Any other tattoos?”

“Black cat…with Spanish words. Something negro.”

“
Negro
is black in Spanish. Can you close your eyes and see that arm…tell me the other word?”

Gil closed his eyes. “G…A…” He shook his head.

“Could it be G-A-T-O?
Gato
means cat. So
gato negro
would be black cat.”

No answer. Gil’s lids were closed with eyes moving underneath them.

“Do you see the man’s face, Mr. Kaffey?”

“I…more tattoos…” He touched his neck. “A snake…B…1 or something.”

“B12?”

Gil opened his eyes. “You know tattoos?”

“I know a few gang tattoos. B12 and BXII are two of them.”

“Gangs…Why?”

The most likely answer was that someone hired hit men from the Bodega 12th Street. But no assumptions. Not yet. “That’s what we need to figure out. Did your parents keep a lot of valuables in the house?”

“There were…guards.”

“Some of the guards are missing.”

“Who?”

“Rondo Martin and Denny Orlando. Maybe others as well.”

“Not Denny.” A long pause. “Dad liked Rondo.”

“Did you know the men?”

“Denny’s good…Rondo is cold.” Gil raised a tube-injected hand to his face. “Cold eyes.”

“Good to know.” Decker tried to keep him on track. “The tattoos are a big help. You saw the neck…can your eyes go up a little bit more to the face?”

Gil closed his eyes and was quiet for such a long time, Decker thought he had fallen back asleep. His voice was very soft. “Dark eyes…a rag on his head.” A big exhale. He touched his chin. “A soul patch…” Another long period of silence. Tears were falling down his cheek. “Then the flash and my father…” More tears. “I started to run…I’m very tired.”

Gently, Decker patted his arm. “We’ll talk again when you’re feeling better.”

He closed his eyes. Decker waited until Gil was asleep. Lord only knew the dreams that awaited him.

AS THE ELEVATOR
door opened, Dr. Rain stepped out. “Lieutenant.”

“Dr. Rain.” Decker skipped the elevator. “I just finished a brief
conversation with Gil Kaffey. He was a lot more coherent than the first time I saw him.”

“I hope you didn’t tire him out. Gil needs to conserve his energy to heal.” He checked his watch. “Try to keep your future interviews short.”

“Nurse Didi called you?”

“She did, and it was the right thing to do.”

“I’ll be more aware,” Decker told him. “Do you know who Guy Kaffey’s primary physician was?”

“For any medical information, you’ll have to consult with the family. I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“I found out he was taking medication for bipolar disorder.”

“I wouldn’t know. Guy Kaffey wasn’t ever my patient so I can’t address that.” They both heard his name being paged. “I’ve got to go, but really, Lieutenant, what relevance does something like that have to solving a homicide?”

“It helps to know as much about the victim as you can find out.” Decker pressed the elevator down button. “They say dead men don’t talk, but if you listen carefully, they sure as hell do.”

THE FOLDER CONTAINED
summaries of each member of the Kaffey clan. Wang said, “I felt an overview would help the both of us and maybe satisfy the brass until I can wade through all the hits. If I printed out all the articles, we’d totally deforest an entire South American country.”

“Can’t do that. Not green and not PC.” Decker looked at the first heading: Guy Allen Kaffey. Wang had included a brief bio on Guy, Gil, Grant, Gilliam, and Mace.

“These are the principal players in Kaffey Industries.” Wang handed him a separate folder. “Mace has a son named Sean who’s working at one of the big brokerage firms. I don’t know why he’s not in the family business—maybe he’s an independent kind of guy—but as the oddball, he attracted my attention.”

“Oddballs deserve a second look.” Decker nodded. “Thanks.
This is a start. Send two copies to Strapp. What are you up to now?”

“Back to my Mac.” Wang stretched. “No matter how ergonomic the setup is, I still leave with a sore back from sitting incorrectly, burning wrists from all the typing, and tired eyes from peering at a computer screen. Man was not meant to work a desk job.”

“Tell me about it. Most of my last six years as lieutenant have been spent with my butt glued to a chair. But I’m not complaining.”

“Neither am I. It’s been a long time since I was in the line of fire. Sometimes I think I miss it, but I betcha I really don’t.”

Decker said, “When I actually get to do some genuine police work, it feels really good. Then I get shot or shot at and it cures me for a while.”

“Yeah, the last one was a close one. What happened to the nutcase guy?”

“He’s at Patton State.”

“He took out the guy behind you, right?”

“He did. He meant to get the guy behind me. The man was definitely mental, but lucky for me, his aim was true.”

COFFEE CUP IN
hand, Decker sat down at his desk and picked up Lee Wang’s summaries, making notes in the margins in his illegible scrawl.

Guy Allen Kaffey’s date of birth put him at sixty. He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to immigrant parents who had long been deceased. A terrible student, Guy had dropped out of high school at sixteen with no marketable skills. But as he told
Business Acumen Monthly,
“I could keep up a steady patter better than anyone on the planet. That meant I could be a disc jockey or a salesman.”

He chose real estate. Flat broke, he began peddling houses shortly after leaving high school and within a year, he had amassed enough cash to start his own real estate firm. As he told the magazine, “My first employee was my sixteen-year-old brother, Mace. Like me, he was flunking high school, but when he dropped out, at least he had
instant employment. Still, my parents couldn’t figure out where they went wrong. It was more like where they went
right.
”

Five years later, Guy Kaffey picked up from the Midwest and moved his operation to the Land of Opportunity, switching from residential to commercial real estate. At twenty-two, Guy had his first million in the bank. Three years later, he qualified as a multimillionaire.
Forbes
listed Kaffey as a first-time billionaire when he reached the advanced age of thirty.

At thirty-one, he met his wife, Jill Sultie, at the craps table in Vegas after asking the beautiful woman next to him to blow on his dice. That evening, he had walked away with a hundred grand in profit and asked if the beautiful woman would like to celebrate by joining him for dinner. Sparks flew that night. The affair was intense and four months later, they were married.

“It was kismet,” Kaffey told e-zine CorporationsUSA.com. “She was recently divorced and I wandered in at exactly the right time.”

At Guy’s request, Jill changed her name to Gilliam so they could be G and G, or as Guy used to say when introduced, “We’re two grand.”