Killing Red (22 page)

It took some coaxing by Chapa before the office assistant at the other end agreed to pull Andrews out of a meeting. Getting the agent interested in the video was much easier.

“I’m a little surprised the locals are treating it like just another holdup since there isn’t a lot of crime in that area,” Andrews said. “Then again, every department seems to be running a little thin on manpower these days.”

“I can understand why they think it’s just another random crime, but take a closer look. There’s something else there. The thug says something to Dominic Delacruz after he has the money.”

“That doesn’t happen in a run of the mill grab and go. But it still doesn’t mean that any of this is connected to Kenny Lee Grubb.”

“Uh huh,” Chapa said, knowing Andrews didn’t believe in coincidence.

Andrews told Chapa he would call the local police later that afternoon and have them forward a copy of the tape. An agent would be sent to the crime scene the next day.

“Why wait until tomorrow?”

“Can’t do it today. We’ve got too much going on right here in town. A lot of agents are in the field at the moment.”

“One more thing, Joe, when did you say Lance Grubb was picked up?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“So that’s at least twelve hours before the shooting.”

Chapa sat back and let Andrews process that information.

“I know what you’re thinking, Al. You just do your job, and let me do mine.”

“Refill?”

The server was back. She had probably seen Chapa looking off into nothing and wanted to make sure he hadn’t passed away mid-thought. The twenty-something was lean, brunette, and pretty, and Chapa might have gone for her in a simpler time.

“No thanks, can I just get some water?”

Chapa had agreed to call Eddie Delacruz the next day. He wouldn’t have anything new until then, anyhow. Andrews had told him to get back to doing his job, and that seemed like an excellent idea right about now.

He quickly finished transcribing his notes and recordings, then wrote down the title for his series—
The Death of a Killer
. When the glass of water arrived, Chapa downed it all in one extended effort. He thought about splashing some of it on his face in hope that it might snap him back to sanity and reason, but resisted that temptation only because he knew it wouldn’t work.

In a little more than an hour, he had banged out the first installment, as well as the leads for the next three. The final two parts had yet to be determined. Chapa reread his story, did a quick rewrite, and emailed it directly to Sullivan. He would check in later and play it cool, as though it was just another day in the newspaper business.

He shut down his laptop, then tore out each sheet of notes and laid them across the table in chronological order. They looked like pieces of a puzzle and as he studied one, then the next, some connections began to emerge. Much of what he had encountered over the past several days were not random acts of madness.

Chapa now understood he had been manipulated, a process that started when he interviewed Grubb four days ago. He had been followed more than once. At other times he’d been nudged in one direction or another by whoever was orchestrating this, in the same way an experienced pinball player muscles the machine just enough to get the ball to go where he wants it to.

The server returned. Chapa asked for another glass of water and squared up the check. But he didn’t leave for a while, not until he knew what his next move would be. Chapa had decided it was time to tilt the works.

Paul LaRang was never in whenever Chapa called his office. The attorney had represented him since the initial divorce procedure, and through the series of still unresolved custody issues. As far as Chapa could tell, he had not managed to win anything that Carla wasn’t willing to concede.

“I see, well I’m sure he’s busy, but this is important.”

“Um hmm.”

Chapa could tell the woman with the nasal voice at the other end was doing something else while pretending to care about his phone call.

“Just let him know I called.”

“Um hmm, Mr. Chapa.”

“And that he’s fired.”

“What? Excuse me, what?”

“I will no longer be needing Mr. LaRang’s representation.”

“You know what, you should tell him that yourself. I think he’s just out in the hall.”

Chapa had been to LaRang’s office at least a dozen times, there was no hall.

“Let me try and chase him down.”

He was put on hold and subjected to a rendition of “Every Breath You Take” played on native South American instruments. Having grown tired of this treatment, and fearing that a didgeridoo-driven version of “Roxanne” would follow, Chapa was about to hang up when LaRang picked up on the other end.

“Is there a problem, Alex?”

“You mean other than the fact that I don’t get to see my daughter even though the court says I’m supposed to.”

“I understand that you’re angry, and I’m angry for you. But as I’ve explained to you in the past, our justice system favors the mother and for us to be able to—”

“We’re finished, I’m getting a new lawyer.”

“That is, of course, your right, but I must advise you that—”

“I’ve had enough of your advice, I think you’re full of shit.”

“I would like to know what occurred that has set you off like this, or perhaps a cooling off period might be—”

“The next sound you hear will be you losing a client.”

It felt good to cut him off like that. Chapa wondered if the attorney, who was never at a loss for words, would call back. Part of him hoped LaRang would, just so he could hang up on him again.

As soon as the Grubb saga was behind him, Chapa would find himself a new attorney. This time he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a heartless, badass son-of-a-bitch, a real street fighter.

Everybody bad-mouths lawyers, until the day they need one. Then, you might as well go get the meanest asshole on the block. If you need to hire a gunslinger, you don’t go looking for one with a knack for diplomacy. Chapa had paid a stiff price for that hard-earned knowledge.

He wasn’t sure where the money would come from to pay for a more aggressive lawyer. How big would his unemployment check be? That concern could be set aside for a couple of days. Right now Chapa needed to focus on his immediate future.

Every reporter encounters obstacles from time to time. Most wrap up their stories with as little drama as possible or walk away altogether. Chapa always played through, and over the years he’d discovered that the best way to wrestle back control of a situation was to do something that no one expected.

The most unlikely thing he could think of doing was going back to Prather’s, so he turned onto Clark from Belmont and headed north, in the direction of the club. He had no way of knowing if Annie Sykes would give him one last chance, but figured it was worth a shot. Chapa sensed he was running out of options, and knew he was running out of time.

The bouncer recognized him, and not in a good way. The guy’s shaved head accentuated the thick rolls in his neck that were neatly stacked like barbell discs all the way up from his shoulders. He raised one of his bloated paws, but Chapa stopped before it made contact with his chest.

“You were here last night.”

“Yes, I’m becoming a regular.”

“I didn’t like you the first time I saw you.”

“I grow on people.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s Chico, right?”

He glared at Chapa, then pulled out a walkie-talkie from a small holster.

“You stay there, I gotta check on you.”

But before the bouncer could do that a voice from inside the doorway captured his attention. Though Chapa strained to listen, he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“You sure?” Chico the bouncer asked, continuing his conversation as he reemerged. He then stepped aside and pointed to the doorway with a jab of his thumb.

“It’s your lucky day, pal.”

“Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket.”

“Gimme six bucks.”

Chapa slipped him the money and walked inside. Annie Sykes was waiting for him.

“You’re not exactly someone I expected to see here tonight.”

“What can I tell you? I just can’t live without live jazz.”

She smiled and that went a long way toward easing the tension.

“Seriously though, Annie,” Chapa started, then moved in closer so no one else could hear. “I need to talk about what’s going on and how to keep you safe.”

“I went online and read about Louise.”

“I didn’t want to have to tell you that way.”

Her look hardened, and she folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. The toughness was back.

“I also read that you’re a suspect.”

Annie said it just loudly enough that the bouncer heard it and took one sizeable step in Chapa’s direction.

She shook him off. “It’s nothing, Chico.”

And the guy obediently retreated to his post.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with that,” she said as her demeanor seemed to shift again. “I’ll seat you in my section. I’m not sure how much we’ll be able to talk before I get my break.”

“How long will that be?”

“Little over an hour.”

“Lead me to a table.”

There weren’t as many people sitting near the stage as the night before, but more of the booths were filled, and as far as Chapa could tell, fewer employees were moving around the place.

“My boss calls this a slow night. And I guess it is, once the dinner crowd moves on.”

Annie guided him through the maze of tables, at one point waving to another server who apparently had expected to get the next customer.

“What are you going to have?”

“Get me something with rum in it, the best you’ve got.”

Chapa turned his attention to the crooner who was mumbling his way through “A Man Alone.” He was wearing a tie that he’d already undone and was spending more time looking at his shoes than his audience. Too cool by half, Chapa thought.

Annie brought him a rich brown drink on the rocks, and told him she would return as soon as she got the chance, then went back to making the rounds. Except for the other two or three men who appeared to be flying solo, the booths and tables were populated by couples engaged in romantic conversations, and groups carrying on lively debates.

The place had a good vibe, even if the evening’s entertainment was cheesier than a small town fair in Wisconsin. Chapa was tapping his fingers to a less than enchanting rendition of “That Old Black Magic” when Annie slipped into the other half of the narrow booth and slid another drink in front of him.

“That one’s on me.”

Chapa smiled and knocked down what was left of the first drink.

“What is this, turn back the clock night?” he asked, pointing to the stage.

“That’s just Billy, he’s a friend of the owner who lets him perform here once a month. His stage name is Buddy Chuck, and he’s convinced he’s going to Vegas.”

“He’d better buy a plane ticket,” Chapa said.

“Like I said, it’s a slow night.”

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Just a few.”

Chapa took a slow sip of his new drink. It tasted sweet and smooth. She’d made a good call.

He locked in on her eyes and said, “Dominic Delacruz was shot last night while he was working alone at his store.”

Chapa had determined that there would be no easy way to break the news. Now he watched as fear and understanding swept across Annie’s face.

“You think it’s all connected?”

“Yes, Annie, I do.”

She slumped back into her side of the booth.

“The police, what do they believe?”

“They think it was just another robbery, but I’ve seen the security tape.”

“And you don’t believe that it was?”

He shook his head.

“First Louise, now Dominic Delacruz…” Annie’s voiced trailed off and Chapa imagined her completing the rest of that sequence in her mind.

“I saw Louise the day she died, and we talked about you.”

“She helped me through some things. Louise was a good friend and I miss her already.”

“Any thoughts on who might want to kill her?”

Annie shook her head. “She was a kind and truly unique person who never hurt anyone.”

“Someone didn’t think so. Did you know she kept a journal of your conversations?”

“Yeah, Louise did that with everyone she knew. She thought it helped her understand her visions.”

Chapa described his exchanges with Grubb and the threats that were made, filling in the blanks that were left after their earlier conversation. He looked for any changes in Annie’s demeanor that might suggest fear. But her face was a wall of neutrality, and he wondered what might be hiding behind it.

“Could someone have gotten their hands on a few strands of your hair?”

“I don’t know how. I cut it myself, have for two or three years now. Why do you ask?”

He explained about the message on Erin’s door that led him to the trailer, and also how Jimmy had met his death.

“That’s so sick.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it, how violence to animals hits us at a deep level.”

“It’s not odd at all. It’s because they’re defenseless and trusting. The way children are.”

The squat candle flickering in the middle of the table was drawing attention to the lines on her young face.

“There was a locked door inside the trailer, and I was worried that someone had drugged or hurt you in some way, then put you there.”

“Why would anyone have done that?”

“Maybe to get me out there, I’m not sure. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

Chapa polished off his second drink and realized that he’d have to pace himself if he had any hope of seeing the evening through to the end.

“From what you’ve said, if someone comes after me it will be as a sacrifice, not a hostage.”

He was struck by the matter-of-fact way that she was approaching all of this.

“Where is your lady friend now?” she asked.

“I sent her away for her own protection.”

“Your child is with her?”

“No,
her
child is, mine lives out east.”

She seemed confused, but Chapa did not want to get into the details.

“Annie, you act almost as though you expected something like this.”

“I’ll confess that these past few years I’ve spent much too much time online looking up websites, news, and discussions about Grubb and other monsters like him.”

“A lot of sick people out there.”

“Can’t deny that. I always sensed someone else was there with Grubb, hiding in the shadows, watching the things he did to me. But now they hide behind their screen names.”

Buddy Chuck kicked it up a notch for his rendition of “Spanish Eyes,” a favorite of Chapa’s right up until that moment.

“You told the authorities about that second person being there with him, didn’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I did. But they didn’t find any evidence and blamed it on the drugs Grubb had given me. My folks didn’t pursue it. They were much more interested in getting back to being a normal family.”

Chapa had hoped he would get a chance to talk about her family, but now that they were into it he wasn’t sure if he wanted the conversation to head in that direction.

“Families are complicated, and sometimes fragile,” he said, finally. “It’s a lot easier to break one than it is to put it back together.”

He was about to apologize, but she reached across the table and pressed her fingers to his lips.

“You didn’t destroy my family,” she said, looking so deeply into his eyes that Chapa worried she might see everything. “An insane murderer did that.”

“Still—”

“No, there’s nothing else. We’re all alone, every one of us. We lie to ourselves about it because it’s comforting to do so, but no one is coming to save any of us. No one is looking out for anyone but themselves.”

He wanted to argue that point with her, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. A couple of tables away, a man and woman were looking around for their server.

“I think you’re wanted,” Chapa said.

“I’ll see you during my break,” she said, snapping right back into character.