Eats to Die For! (13 page)

“Are you leveling with me, Beauchamp?”

“Why would I not level with you?”

“I can't imagine, but if you don't mind my saying so, you look a little like a dog who made a puddle on the carpet when he knows he's not supposed to. You hiding something?”

I sighed. What I was contemplating was pretty counterintuitive, and probably a huge risk, but Colfax had always treated me fairly, and letting him in my problem might be a good thing in the long run.

Don't do it, kid
, Bogart advised.

On the other hand, honesty is the best policy
, Clifton Webb countered, though it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

I had to make the decision myself, so…

“Are you here alone, Detective Colfax?”

He looked around. “I'm the only one I can see outside of you.”

“What I mean is, shouldn't you be with a partner?”

“Oh, yeah, but she's trying to find a place to park the car. Why? What's so important about me being here alone?”

“Because I like to think that we had established a pretty good relationship on that last case we were on,” I said.

“I like to think I look like George Clooney,” he deadpanned. “Where is this going?”

“I have a problem, a potentially big one. I think I might be able to explain it to you, but maybe not someone else whom I've never met before.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Whatever it is, Dave, don't forget that I'm still a cop.”

I sighed again, then said, “Come over here and look at this.”

I stepped away from my desk as he walked over and looked at the photo on my laptop.

“Jesus jumping baldheaded Christ on a pogo stick!” he cried, with uncharacteristic force. “Why the hell are you showing this to me?”

“Because I think it's the only way I can prove to you that I'm being set up. Over in the corner there you'll find a flash drive. It was sent to me in the mail, and I thought it was some material from a client, but when I put it in my machine, it ate all my files and put on this picture. It also disabled the whole system, so I can't get rid of it or even shut it down.”

Colfax hit the Escape key a couple times, to no avail.

“You believe I'm telling the truth, right?” I asked.

“Either that or you've become a 33rd degree moron. You have any idea who's doing the setting up?”

“No.” And that was the truth, since I did not
know
, even though I suspected.

“You think it was the same person who stole your phone and put it in the murdered man's apartment?”

“I don't know, it might—”

You don't know he's dead, you don't know he's dead, YOU DON'T KNOW HE'S DEAD
! Laurence Olivier shouted maniacally in my head.

“—Wait, what did you say?” I blurted, and thank you Sir Larry! “Avery's been murdered?”

“That's why I'm here,” Colfax said. “Robbery and homicide, remember? What, you think he was stolen like your cell phone?”

“I…I'm shocked.”

Oooh, you're such a
liar! Joe Besser whined inside my head.

“You said that flash drive came in the mail,” Colfax said. “You still have the envelope?”

“Right here.” I handed him the envelope, from which he appeared to deduce nothing.

“Is there anything you're not telling me?”

“I've told you all I know. I'm on a case, and I'm starting to get the distinct impression that someone, somewhere, doesn't want me to be pursuing this case. That's about it.”

At that moment a young woman entered the office. She was short, African-American and attractive.

“Beauchamp, you were asking about my partner, well here she is, Detective Waters,” Colfax said. “What took so long, Angie?”

“You don't know what it's like to park around here!” she declared.

“Actually, I do,” I acknowledged, “so on behalf of Sherman Oaks, let me apologize.”

Colfax closed my laptop.

“Thanks for the use of your computer, Beauchamp, I got what I needed,” he said, and at that moment I could have kissed him.

“Angie, it appears that Mr. Beauchamp's cell phone was stolen a day or so back, so we're at a bit of a dead end.”

“Did you know Avery Klemmer?” she asked.

“I met him once,” I said.

“I have his story,” Colfax said, “I'll fill you in on the way back.”

Turning to me he said, “Good to see you again, Beauchamp.”

“Good to see you too, and thank you.”

“If you think of anything that might be pertinent to this case, you'll contact me, right? Right?”

His eyes bored into mine.

“Give me a card and I'll keep it handy,” I said.

“Oh, right, my new number.”

He fished out a business card and handed it over. “If you talk to Hector again, give him my regards. I still keep tabs on him.”

“I will.”

The two detectives started to leave, but then Colfax stopped and turned back.

“When did you say you saw Mendoza?” he asked.

“A day or so back.”

“Right. And when did you lose your phone?”

“A day or so—” I instinctively shut up.

“A day or so back was a pretty eventful day, wasn't it?” Colfax asked. “So eventful I'm surprised you can't remember it more clearly.”

“Um, well, days all kind of run together when you work alone,” I uttered.

“Mm-hmm, and rocks go down hard when they're swallowed. See you, Beauchamp, we'll be in touch.”

They filed out of my office and as soon as they were gone I had a decision to make: do I faint, or do I simply vomit?

I did neither. I simply sat down at my desk, gazing at my now-dead, now dangerous laptop. I could get another computer, of course. I even had the money to do it. And there was really nothing on the laptop that couldn't be reloaded. Even the loss of my email address book wasn't that big a crisis.

Oh, you think not, huh
? Robert Mitchum chimed in, cynically.

Okay, Mitch, I'll bite; why is the loss of my email…“Oh, jeez,” I muttered aloud.

What if the virus had also sent copies of that horrific photo to everyone on my email list?

I would have to go to the library to check my email on the one of the public computers, but I would have to do it very, very carefully.

Better yet, I could drive down to the
Independent Journal
offices and ask to use one there, since if anybody understood what might pop up, it would be Zareh Zarian, who would be less than thrilled that I was involving him in Theotologics shenanigans yet again.

But that was the chance I had to take. I switched off the lights and locked the door behind me.

It felt strange leaving without my laptop.

My office is one of those with a parking court in the back, underneath the building, which someone at some point in time had labeled “dingbat” architecture. Usually it applied only to apartment buildings and not commercial structures, but I guess I just got lucky. What one forfeits in any sense of security that your building will not tumble like a Jenga tower in an earthquake, one gains in having a place to park in the city of Los Angeles.

All of this was somewhat academic, however, since I never made it to my car. A hand was suddenly clapped on my shoulder from behind, which caused me to jump nearly to the second floor.

Spinning around, I saw Ricky Sandoval.

“Good lord, you scared me half to death,” I moaned. “What are you doing here, Ricky? How did you find me?”

“You gave me a card, remember?” he said. “Look, can we go inside?”

“Well, I was actually on my way out—”

“This is more important! I've got a problem! C'mon, man.”

“Fine, we'll go inside.”

“Hurry, man!”

“Why, is someone chasing you?”

“No, I really have to take a crap!”

“Great.”

I rushed him inside and he practically ran up the stairs, and then danced in the hallway until I unlocked my door, after which he ran to the bathroom and stayed there for several minutes. When he came back out, a look of relief was on his face.

“You were almost out of paper,” he said. “I had to get another roll from the cabinet.”

“Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”

“Sometimes I get surprised. It's my high-fiber diet.”

“Everything's okay now, though?”

“I wish it were,” he said, flopping himself down in my guest chair. “I think I'm in trouble, Mr. Beauchamp.”

He pronounced it
BEE-chump
.”

“It's Bee-
chum
,” I corrected. “No P.”

“No pee? Shouldn't I have done that when I was in the bathroom? I thought it would be okay, even if I didn't specifically ask.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Why are you in trouble, Ricky.”

“The police, they think I killed the Klemmer guy.”

“How do you know they think that?”

“Because they told me.”

“They
told
you? Ricky, if the police really think you've killed someone, they usually take you into custody.”

“I know, and they probably would have if I hadn't run away.”

“You ran away from the police?”

“It was all I could think to do! See, I went to Louie's apartment and there was this commotion next door, and then I saw the police, and they wanted to know why I was there, and I said it was none of their business why I was there, and then they got aggressive, and said that maybe I should come down to headquarters, and I said screw you and pushed the policeman who was talking to me and turned around and ran. Since I knew the building better than they did I was able to outrun them to my car, and then I drove here.”

“Ricky, this is important. Did they at any point start reading you your rights?”

“You mean about remaining silent and all that? They started to, but that's when I ran out.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“I figured that it didn't really count until they got all the way through and then asked if you understood and agreed. You know, like a ‘cancel' button on a computer if you change your mind. Is that wrong?”

“Honestly, I don't know,” I replied. “It's a question that I suppose could be tried in court, but for the time being, let's just say it wasn't the best thing you could have done.”

“Oh, man. How much trouble am I in?”

Enough to make Matlock shoot himself
, I thought.

“Before I answer, Ricky, I have just one question for you, and I want you to answer it truthfully. Did you kill Avery Klemmer?”

“No!” he protested, looking hurt that I would even think such a thing.

“All right. I'll see what I can do to help you. Why don't you go on home and let me think about this.”

“What if the cops are there waiting for me?”

“Do they know where you live?”

“Well, one of them asked me where I lived so I told him.”

Now I was holding my head in my hands.

“So, you gave them your address, and then you fled?”

“Not a good idea, huh?”

How come Robert Mitchum never chimed in to comment on the stupidity of other people?

“Let's just say that if you do return home, you will almost certainly be arrested.”

“So I won't go home,” he said, easy as that. “How about if I stay with you?”

“Ricky, I live in an apartment that is not really equipped for guests. It's barely equipped for me.”

Lifting my head to look at him, I said from the heart: “If there was only some way I could make you disappear.”

Then I had an idea. “I wonder…”

“What?” Ricky asked eagerly.

“I have an idea. Just sit tight for a minute while I call a friend.”

“Can he help me?”

“Possibly.”

Picking up the phone, I punched in the number for Jack Daniels.

“You have such perfect timing, David,” he answered after the third ring, without the benefit of
hello
. “I've just saved today's work, of which I'm rather satisfied, and was on my way to the pub. Were you to join me I could repay your contribution in saving my story from the mediocrity bunny.”

“Quick question, Jack. Let's say I'm suspected by the police, even though I'm completely innocent, but I made things even worse by foolishly escaping their capture how could I make myself disappear from view?”

“Ah, this is an old one. The answer is sign with the William Morris Agency. You will never be seen or heard from again.”

“Jack, please…”

“Are you writing a novel yourself?”

“No. Why?”

“Because this sounds like something that would never actually happen.”

“So does most of my life. But humor me, Jack, how would one do it?”

“Well, wear a disguise, obviously, and stay away from one's usual places.”

“How about leaving town?”

“Perhaps, though I've always liked the concept of hiding in plain sight, which goes back to the disguise. I'll tell you what. Meet me at the
Hound and Badger
in one hour and I will outline it for you. My treat.”

“I'll be there,” I said.

“Excellent. I will even bring something that might be useful to you. Ta ta.”

Then a thought came to me. “Wait, Jack, don't hang up yet.”

“My boy, Mr. Fuller's casked ambrosia is already calling to me.”

“I know, but could you check and see if you've received an email from me today? And if you have, for God's sake, don't open it. I think it's a virus.”

“Oh, dear, hold on.”

I could hear keyboard tapping for a few seconds, then his voice came back on.

“No, nothing from you.”

While it was still too early to stop worrying altogether, the fact that no emails had been sent through my system was a good sign.