Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel (33 page)

"No sense leaving a speck of mess," said Milo.

"Exactly, sir. We had to be thorough."

"How'd it go down with Trey Franck?"

"The plan was we were going to knock on the door, say it was a friend or something, but right after we got there, he came out of the building and started walking. We drove up to him, it was dark, no one was around, so we jumped out and held him and cold-cocked him. He wimped out totally, like
out.
"

"We?"

"T did the shooting."

"Who did the cold-cocking?"

Pause. "I guess that was me. But T held him and kicked him in the balls, by the time I hit him he was pretty much out of it. I didn't hit him that hard."

"What happened next?"

"T drove him and I followed in the Corvette."

"Where was Mr. Franck?"

"In the trunk of the Jag. T had him tied up with these plastic thingies."

A fact verified by traces of Trey Franck's saliva and blood in the rear compartment of the freshly vacuumed and detailed car.

"You were following in Sal Fidella's Corvette."

"Yes, sir."

"Where'd you go?"

"We drove to this place, T knew it 'cause his cousin has a ranch near there and his dad took him hiking and shooting up in the mountains there when he was little."

"Not recently?"

"No way," said Quinn Glover. "He doesn't talk to his dad, hates his dad, thinks his dad hates him."

"So you're at a spot T knew," said Milo.

"T pulls him out of the trunk."

"Was Franck conscious?"

"Guess so," said Quinn Glover. "He was making these whimpery sounds, all curled up. T rolls him on his back, says, 'Guess you're not so smart, motherfucker,' and shoots him right here."

Touching the center of a tan, unlined brow. "We tried to push the Vette down into the hole but it doesn't go, so T set it on fire and we booked."

"After putting a baseball cap on the seat."

"T's idea. Sir."

"What was the reason?"

"Blame it on someone else."

"Who?"

"Mexican dude, everyone knew he hated her."

"Hated who?"

"The bi--Ms. Freeman."

"How'd everyone know?"

"Dude told anyone who'd listen. She didn't like him, either."

"Elise Freeman complained about Martin Mendoza?"

"Yeah."

"To you, specifically?"

"When we came for tutoring, yeah," said Quinn Glover.

"How'd the topic of Martin Mendoza come up?"

"He was leaving and we were coming in, we said, 'You tutor
him
?' 'Cause she was expensive, you know, and the dude didn't have money. She said, 'Unfortunately. Apparently my job description includes
those
people.' Or something like that. Sir."

"Which you took to mean?"

"She didn't like Mexicans."

"What'd you say to that?"

"Nothing," said the boy.

"But you thought of it later, when you and T decided to blame the murders on Martin."

"T's idea."

"What'd you do with Franck's body?"

"Wiped it off with some rags from the Jag, then put him back in the Jag."

"Then what?"

"You know."

"I know what?"

"You saw him, sir. What T did."

"T cut him up."

"Yes, sir."

"But the place you did it was your father's workshop, Quinn. All those tools he keeps back of your property for his woodworking."

"He makes birdhouses." Muttering.

"What's that, Quinn?"

"Nothing."

"What'd you just say, son?"

"Lame. Making those stupid birdcages."

"What use would a chain saw be for making birdcages?"

"That's for the trees," said Quinn Glover. "We have some land in Washington, lots of trees, he likes to run around with the chain saw and saw them down. Says it's his release. Then he turns them into birdcages."

"Guess your dad will need a new chain saw."

"Guess so."

Neal looked up. "Is this going to take a whole lot longer?"

Milo ignored him. "Back to something you just said, Quinn. When you saw Martin Mendoza. 'We were coming in for tutoring.' Are you telling me you and T had joint tutoring sessions with Ms. Freeman? 'Cause the records recovered from the laptop we found in T's bedroom at home don't back that up. Same for Mr. Fidella's computer recovered from your room--he had copies of all Ms. Freeman's files."

Quinn Glover licked his lips.

Milo said, "You had individual sessions."

"Yes, sir."

"So maybe it was you who had that conversation with Ms. Freeman about Martin, not both of you."

The lawyer said, "Don't answer that."

We stood again.

"Oh, c'mon, Lieutenant. You need to balance what he's given you with what he hasn't."

"I need to?" said Milo.

"You know what I mean, Lieutenant."

"You're a lawyer, Mr. Neal. That means no one--including yourself--knows what you mean. Bye."

"This is inappropriate and... impetuous!"

"There you go," said Milo. "Two SAT words for the price of one."

As details of the cheating scandal hit the national news, the Educational Testing Service announced a comprehensive review of all exams administered to Windsor Prep students over the past five years.

Sal Fidella's computer files showed he'd contemplated finding additional blackmail victims after Elise's death. The files Tristram and Quinn had added concentrated on porn, tunes, photos from exotic car and motorcycle sites. Email correspondence between the boys indicated they viewed their murder spree with hilarity, wondered what it would feel like to
do a girl.

like bri and selma?

yeah they'd be softer but you'd probably need a new blade anyway

John Nguyen said, "No deal, no way. I've got a bisected corpse, if anything's a death penalty case this is it."

No one gets executed in California, but prosecutors collect lethal-injection sentences like baseball cards.

In the end, a deal was cut. Guilty pleas to first-degree murder and life sentences, but with the possibility of parole because both killers were young, had no prior criminal record, and were potentially "redeemable."

Milo said, "Coupons are redeemable."

One file that didn't show up on either Elise's computer or Fidella's was an indication of where four years of SAT scam money had gone. With fees of fifteen thousand a pop and the possibility that Trey Franck, wearing a variety of wigs, had gamed the system over two dozen times during a three-year period, the total was significant.

One day after the plea bargain hit the news, Dr. Will Kham called Milo from Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara and asked for an appointment. We met him at Cafe Moghul, where Milo was making up for lost time with a mountain of lamb.

Kham wore a dark blue suit and a matching shirt and tie, entered the restaurant furtively.

A physician, but his black bag today was a wheeled carry-on.

Out of it came a sheaf of papers. Eighteen months of investment records from a Citibank subsidiary in Santa Barbara.

Nine hundred and eighteen thousand dollars joint-accounted to Kham and Elise Freeman's sister, Sandra Stuehr.

Milo kept eating as he read. When he turned the last page, he said, "Value stocks and corporate bonds, you guys haven't done too badly, considering."

"I want out," said Kham. "I can tell you exactly what's mine and what's hers."

"Tell me about it, Doc."

"The figures will speak for themselves."

"Tell me anyway."

Not a talkative man, but after some struggle, Kham got the story out.

He and Sandra had planned to be married, though the scandal had changed everything, no way would his family tolerate that kind of thing. And he'd been having doubts, himself.

"Too rushed. The fact that she was so eager was starting to concern me."

A year ago, Sandra had insisted on a joint account to "prove the strength of their relationship."

Kham had contributed five hundred and twenty thousand, Sandra a bit over three hundred thousand. Investments purchased at the bottom of the meltdown by Kham had added nearly a hundred in profit.

"Looking back," said Kham, "I know she used me to launder the money. Because prior to that, she'd been claiming financial hardship, her ex was withholding all sorts of assets from her. All of a sudden, she presented me with a cashier's check for three oh nine. When I asked her where it came from, she said savings and changed the subject. Back then, I was love-stupid so I let it go. But I held on to the receipt--it's in here. Drawn on a bank in Studio City. When I heard about what her sister had done, I figured you should know."

"We should, Doc. Thanks very much."

"Thank me," said Kham, "by helping me get my five twenty back. She can keep the interest, it's dirty money, I don't want any part of it."

"Sounds like your parents raised you right."

"So they'd say, Lieutenant."

CHAPTER
40

A week after Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover bargained for their lives, the police chief gave a press conference describing the arrest as "the product of meticulous investigation and precisely the type of corruption I'm committed to eradicating."

Among the cadre of suits surrounding him was Captain Stanley Creighton. Milo was nowhere to be seen.

I called and asked him about it.

"If I wanted to be an actor, I would've learned to wait tables."

The following morning, at eight a.m., an aide to the chief got through to my private line and asked me to "confer" with her boss in three hours.

"At his house, Dr. Delaware, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"Great, I'll give you the address."

I already had it, but no sense editing her script.

When she hung up, I gave Milo another call.

He said, "Rick and I are going over travel stuff. We were thinking Hawaii, but maybe the Atlantic deserves us. Ever been to the Bahamas?"

"Never. My travel plans extend to Agoura. Want to drive together?"

"I would if I was invited, Alex."

"Oh."

"Guess I'm the lucky one."

"I wonder what he wants."

"Maybe he'll sweeten the job offer."

"There ain't enough sugar in Hawaii," I said. "Same goes for whatever they grow in the Bahamas. Okay, keep you posted."

"Here's my post: John says Tristram's lawyers are panicking for a quick transfer to Corcoran."

"That's a tough place. County Jail decor doesn't cut it?"

"Getting the shit beat out of you by some resident County gangbangers doesn't fit young T's lifestyle. The fervent hope is isolation with the snitches and the child molesters and the white-collar mopes will help."

"There you go," I said. "Everything's about connections."

In the daylight, the chief's spread was scragglier but more appealing. Like the set of an old western movie.

Hot day in Agoura, despite impending autumn. He sat in the same rocker, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and red tie that had to be cooking him. The three metal folding chairs to his left soaked up full, punishing sun.

Three young men occupied the chairs: a husky Latino kid with his arm in a sling wearing a South El Monte High letterman's jacket, a smallish but muscular guy, slightly older, in cutoffs and a Zuma Jay T-shirt, and a beanpole with a humongous Adam's apple, awkward mannerisms, and fuzzy red hair protruding from a beige Huntington Gardens cap.

I bypassed the chief and walked up to Cutoff. "You're Garret Kenten?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good to meet you."

"Same here."

"Impressive and entertaining, Doctor," said the chief. "One day you can take the show to Vegas."

Charlie removed his cap. "Da-ad."

"Sorry, son." Different voice. Subdued, embarrassed, unsure. I'd heard it from countless parents of adolescents.

"Forgive me, Dr. Delaware. As you can imagine, it's been a bit challenging around here."

"Shouldn't be, Dad," said Charlie. "Seeing as we did the
allegedly
right thing."

Garret Kenten high-fived him.

Martin Mendoza smiled.

I shook his left hand, continued to Charlie.

The chief said, "Please sit down, Dr. Delaware. No sense drawing this out. Garret and Charlie have been hiding Martin Mendoza since shortly after Elise Freeman's murder. Technically, when Marty was a fugitive, that was illegal. But given how things have unfolded, I'm sure you recognize the need for discretion."

"Of course," I said. To the trio: "Good work, guys."

"No big deal," said Garret Kenten.

Marty Mendoza said, "To me it was, dude."

"The fugitive," said Garret. "We should've filmed it."

Charlie hadn't taken his eyes off me. "It was a clear matter of right and wrong, unsullied by those inane moral dilemmas they keep tossing at us so they can feel good about themselves. As if theoretical situations are relevant."

Garret Kenten said, "What matters to me is my grandfather doesn't get hassled." Talking to me but looking sidelong at the chief.

The chief said, "That'll be no problem."

"I know you can't stand him, sir, but you need to forget about that."

"Your grandfather and I--we've had our differences. He's obviously a good man but there are... differences."

"I don't care about that, sir. I just don't want you to hassle him."

"No problem."

Charlie said, "No reason for there to be, Dad."

His father glared. Pulled at his mustache. "Not a single hair on your grampa's head will be touched."

Garret grinned. "Good, he doesn't have too many left."

Marty laughed. Charlie remained serious.

"We had to do it," he said. "We don't deserve credit because there was no other logical choice. They made explicit threats against him."

The chief said, "Son, there's no need to get into--"

"They hated Marty because they're insubstantial posers and his abilities threatened them. It was a matter of life and death."

Marty said, "Maybe not that bad. At least I got to learn surfing."

Garret said, "You learned to flop on your ass."