Sea to Sky (32 page)

“El had me do some kind of a stakeout at this company called Blue Hills. The place had pretty good security. Can’t get in or out of the lot without the security guard opening the gate. Somebody’s payin’ off somebody there when it comes to the shipping contract is my guess, because it seems the shipper made a deal with one guy, an operator named — oh, shit, I wrote it down in that notebook you keep in your truck — Jerome something, out of Pomona, little black dude, and then the shipper blows him off to give the contract to another outfit that Jerome figured had gang ties.” He paused. “So what do you think?”

“You talked to this Jerome?”

Sorry nodded. “After a little hand-to-hand combat, yeah.”

“Explain that, please.”

Sorry launched into a detailed account of Jerome throwing something into the competitor’s truck, himself following Jerome’s rig down the highway and getting pulled over by the California highway patrol, then being attacked with a tire iron in a parking lot in Pomona. Then El sent him back to find Jerome again to ask him something he’d forgotten to ask him the first time. “So the big news is that the outfit that took over the job was called Don Julian Transport from Industry, if that rings a bell. The driver’s name was Hor-hay Vasquez. Mean anything to you?”

Hunter rubbed his chin. “Jorge Vasquez of Don Julian Transport. No, it means nothing to me except…”

“Except?”

“Don Julian sounds vaguely familiar. Do you think it’s a Latino name, maybe Mexican?” He remembered what Mike Irwin’s wife had said about the man who’d sold Mike the boat. “Industry is on the east side of L.A. Must be a good hour’s drive from Huntington Beach when the traffic’s light.” He shrugged. “Might mean nothing. It gives me something to work on, though.”  Hunter hadn’t been planning to do any investigating while he was in L.A., but it might turn out to be a productive way to spend his off hours. Industry was only about twenty minutes up the 605 from his drop in Downey.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but did I give you a lead? I gave you a good lead?” Sorry blew on his finger nails and buffed them on his shirt.

“Better than nothing. Not sure if it’s worth the diesel fuel but it
is
something.”

“Aw-right!”

Sorry held his hand up for a high five and Hunter met him half way across the table. “Let’s get you home. I’ve got some packing to do. You’re buying, right?”

Sorry patted his pockets then shrugged apologetically. “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday…”

Hunter shook his head. “Okay, Wimpy. Let’s go.”

It was still daylight when Hunter crossed the border into Washington State and accelerated onto the southbound I-5. The highway opening up in front of his windshield and the steady hum of the big diesel were just the antidote he needed after the stresses of the past several days. The smell of stale cigarette smoke in the cab had faded, so he rolled up his window, settled back into the driver’s seat of his Freightliner and felt himself relax. Life already looked a little brighter. After all, the boy he had been looking for had been found and, whether or not Hunter had heard from her, his mother was now at his side. At the thought of Helen, he reached over and checked his cell phone to make sure it was on, since he usually turned it off when he was on the road.  You never know, in California he could find a new lead on who might have killed Mike Irwin and why. If he was lucky, the case would be solved in the next few days and he would be free to get back to his simple and solitary life.

He thought about what Sorry had said in relating the story of his visit with his dad, and the elder Sorenson’s reference to Belle Sorenson Gunness, the Black Widow. Her crimes came to light early in the 1900s. He couldn’t recall the details, but knew that she was one of the most prolific, if not
the
most prolific, female serial killer in history. A female murderer. Hunter shook his head. He was sure that Mike Irwin had definitely not been the victim of a female serial killer.

But then Sorry had gone on to describe his so-called stakeout at the company where Mike Irwin had worked. The change of carriers for product moving out of the Blue Hills factory must have been something that was put into play either immediately before or immediately after Mike Irwin’s death. Hunter wished he’d gotten more cooperation from Meredith Travis during their last conversation, because he’d had no real opportunity to investigate the victim’s business relationships himself. Perhaps if he made the effort to meet with her in L.A., she would be more forthcoming. At some point, if he continued to be a suspect, he might be forced to hire her himself.

He had been on the I-5 for less than an hour and was just nearing Lake Samish when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and flipped it open with his thumb, then held it to his ear and said, “Hello.”

Static.  Then, “Hunter?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Helen?”

More static, then what sounded like “… he says Adam is…” and then nothing.

The Blue Knight had obviously entered one of the many dead zones along the highway. Hunter gave it thirty seconds or so, then flipped the phone closed and threw it on the passenger seat. He thought better of it, reached over to pick it up again, and pushed the button to turn it off. If she called back, she could leave a message and he would retrieve it when he was somewhere with a stronger signal. He could only hope the news was good.

Hunter drove until just after two a.m. and parked at the rest stop just south of Hornbrook. There had been snow flurries on the Siskiyou Summit and he was tired from concentrating on the climb, not to mention he had used up all of his allowed driving hours since leaving Watson Transportation’s yard.  He was now on his ten hour break and a good sleep was in order before he went searching for a hot breakfast. After a quick visit to the facilities, he locked himself inside the cab and polished off a sandwich and pint of milk that he’d picked up at his last fuel stop. By the time he crawled into his down sleeping bag in the truck’s sleeper, the air inside had already started to cool off. He was just drifting off to sleep when he realized that his cell phone was still turned off and sitting on the passenger seat. Too late now. It could stay there until morning.

C
H
A
P
T
E
R

    EIGHTEEN

Hunter made good time on the second leg of his trip. He grabbed a hot breakfast and a coffee to go at the Pilot in Weed, then kept driving south, past the exits to the Napa Valley and the San Francisco Bay area, until he reached one of his favorite meal stops in Santa Nella around sunset. He parked his rig at the truck stop and headed across the road to Andersen’s for dinner before fueling up and getting back on the I-5.  By ten on Friday evening, he’d crossed the Grapevine Pass and pulled in to park for the night at the Castaic truck stop. He couldn’t take a chance on finding a safe parking place closer to the consignee’s warehouse in Downey. Morning traffic through Los Angeles wouldn’t have been much fun on a weekday, but it was Saturday so Hunter figured it wouldn’t be so bad.

That morning he had retrieved a message from Helen. “I have booked a motel room, but am spending most of my time at the hospital. I’ll try to call you again later.” The only thing that told him about Adam’s condition was that it was serious enough for her to spend most of her time nearby. He couldn’t call her back, so he would just have to wait for another call.

He had to make the delivery too early to allow him to consider doing much else beforehand on Saturday morning, other than a shower at the truck stop and a quick breakfast. The delivery was routine, with none of the problems that typically complicate a driver’s day. No miscommunication about delivery time, no locked gates, no angry receiver, no damaged freight when the trailer doors were opened. He was grateful for that, and was able to pull away from the consignee’s dock without undue delay. If he planned to spend some time following up on the murder investigation, he was going to have to find a safe place to drop the trailer and secure it until he was ready to hitch up again. He called El.

“Delivery’s done,” he said. “Have you got something else lined up for me?”

“Yup. Hang on,” and he was on hold, listening to the Vancouver weather forecast. It was raining there, no surprise. In the L.A. basin it was overcast but dry, a comfortable sixty-eight degrees.

Roaming charges on his cell were a killer, but he was parked on the side of a road in Downey and didn’t want to set off in any direction in relatively unfamiliar territory until he knew where his truck would be needed next. Fortunately, El was back on the line in about thirty seconds.

“You’ve got two choices. You can drop that trailer today and pick it up with a load of packaged plastic products on Monday morning in San Bernardino, or get six skids of machinery Monday afternoon in Buena Park. The machinery can be a through trip to Fort McMurray if you want. What’s your pleasure?”

“Not before then?” A parked truck doesn’t pay the bills.

“It’s the weekend, sweetcheeks. Make up your mind now, because I’ll be making the same offer to Ray Nillson in five minutes and you’ll have to take what’s left.”

Hunter opted for the load out of San Bernardino, taking down the information in the spiral-bound steno notebook he kept on the passenger seat. It would involve more empty miles and a couple extra hours of driving time, but it suited him better in other ways. Not only would he be able to leave the trailer there, the San Bernardino pickup would put him back on the road early on Monday. Although traffic was lighter at night and drivers could generally make better time, Hunter always preferred to drive during the day if he had a choice. He checked his LA freeway map, then made his way to the 605 enroute to the San Bernardino freeway.

As he passed the exit for Pomona, he wondered if it would be worth his while to seek out that driver Sorry had mentioned seeing at the company where Mike Irwin had worked. He’d just noticed the name and phone number Sorry had scrawled in his notebook, and decided to at least try to contact him by phone. Less than an hour and a half later, he had dropped the trailer and pulled into the I-10 Truck Stop in Rialto so he could order some lunch and make some calls.

“Jerome here.” The man’s voice was soft and pleasant.

“Hello, Jerome. My name is Hunter Rayne. I’m doing some investigation on behalf of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police into the death of a tourist from California. I understand you might have some information about the victim’s place of employment and was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

“You kiddin’ me? Who you talkin’ about?”

“You’ve hauled freight in the past for Blue Hills Industries, is that right?” Hunter kept his tone polite and professional.

With some hesitation, the man said, “That’s right. The dead guy from there?”

“How long have you done business with the company?”

“Couple years.” The man’s voice became less hesitant. He said he’d known the shipper personally and they’d gotten along well. The shipper had given Jerome all the freight he could handle for delivery within the state of California, up until a few days ago.

“So the shipper was the one who made the decision?”

“Used to. As long as there were no complaints about the rates or service and his boss was okay with it, you know what I mean? And he was.”

“I understand there was a recent change there. What do you know about it?”

There were a few seconds of silence, then the driver’s tone changed to one bordering on belligerent. “Hey. You talkin’ to that big dude looks like a Viking was hassling me couple days ago?”

“I expect you mean Dan Sorenson. Yes.” Hunter decided to make Sorry sound legit. “He’s been doing some undercover work for us.”

”Yeah? That dude looks more like a biker than a cop. Sure was glad he didn’t want to hurt me. He’s a brute.” He exhaled loudly. “Anyway, last week my shipper friend there was told he had to give all the California loads to this other outfit. He said he couldn’t help it, that he couldn’t call the shots no more.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said that the manager had decided he wanted to control the shipping costs, but there was some talk that he was getting money under the table, you know what I mean?” Hunter heard him sniff.

Hunter smiled. El was right. Drivers loved to gossip and could be a great source of information as long as you took everything they said with a grain of salt. He encouraged Jerome to talk until he’d pretty much run out of things to say about Blue Hills. It confirmed what Hunter had already suspected. If the staff suspected Mike Irwin was taking bribes, it was very likely that the company’s executives did too. That would certainly be a motive for hiring a private eye, but hardly a motive for murder, unless that was how the company’s executives did business.

“You say you only did deliveries for them, Jerome? Do you know who handled the inbound freight?”

“Yeah. Same bozos who took my freight away.”

“You’ve been very helpful. I hope you get the freight back, Jerome.”

“Thanks, man. Good luck to you, too. Hope you find your killer.”

After a call to the Whistler RCMP detachment and a brief discussion with Colin Pike, Hunter hung up the payphone and found a free table in the truck stop restaurant to order lunch. He wanted something fast, so he ordered a ham and cheese sandwich with soup and a coffee. If he wanted to cover all the bases in this murder investigation, whatever his hunch was, he had to follow up any leads he could. Before he left California, he had places yet to go and people yet to see.

His first destination was over an hour away: a building on Hollywood Boulevard. He was able to park the Blue Knight at a small shopping mall a few blocks away and he walked past shops and restaurants to a small apartment building not far from the Hollywood Freeway. It was what he would consider a character building. Old but attractive, unobtrusive, fronted by retail stores and a coffee lounge, not where you would expect to find a successful private eye, but he guessed that was the point. He had opted not to call first, but knew from his talk with Colin Pike that Meredith Travis worked out of an office in her home. He buzzed her apartment.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Stella. I have some information you’re going to find useful. Can I buy you a cappuccino? It’s warm enough to sit outside.” He grinned in the direction of the camera, guessing the CCTV was available to tenants.

“Give me five minutes,” was the terse reply.

Hunter pulled out a chair at one of the cafe’s sidewalk tables, facing the archway to the apartment building. A few minutes later, Meredith emerged wearing hip-hugging jeans and a dark grey hoodie, her hands jammed into its pockets. She kept her eyes on his as she pulled out a chair for herself and sat down.

“You call this warm?” she said.

“Weren’t you just on a snow covered mountain?”

“You expect it there. This is LA. Where’s my cappuccino?”

“I guess I’ll have to go inside to order.”

She shook her head. “Just talk,” she said. “Fast.”

“I’m sure it’s not news to you, but rumor has it Mike Irwin was abusing his position at Blue Hills Industries. I’m guessing that’s why you were hired to watch him.”

“You said you had some information I’d find interesting.” He saw the muscles of her jaw bunch.

“A company by the name of Don Julian Transport muscled their way onto the loading dock at Blue Hills. I’m suspecting a connection between them and your friend Cordero.”

She nodded. “That could be.”

“You know more about what was going on at Blue Hills than I do. You were investigating him prior to the conference at Whistler, and I know you were undercover at the conference to find out more about his connections outside the company. Can you speculate on just what it was that Mike Irwin was doing to make himself a target for murder?”

Just then a casually dressed young woman in a black apron arrived to take their order. Meredith ordered a mocha. Hunter took this as a sign that she was willing to spend a little time there, and he ordered a regular coffee for himself.

“Off the record — if the police need a witness, I’ll deny I ever said it — Mike Irwin was playing with fire. He was taking advantage of his position in charge of purchasing to sell favors to suppliers. I suspect he started small and didn’t get caught, so he started getting careless. Getting fired — and possibly sued — was going to be one of the consequences, but it looks to me like he welched on a deal and made somebody angry. A very dangerous somebody.”

“Cordero?”

She shrugged.

“How does Todd Milton fit into the picture?”

“That’s something I’m still working on, but given he works for Blue Hills’ biggest competitor, I don’t doubt that he’s involved somehow. By the way — and again, you didn’t hear it from me — it turns out Brent Carruthers has applied for Irwin’s job.”

“You think he’s a plant?”

She shrugged again.

“What else aren’t you telling the police, Meredith?”

She sat back and raised one eyebrow.

“You’re good at your job,” he said. “You’re smart and skillful, and creative when you need to be. I don’t believe you lost sight of Mike Irwin last Saturday morning.” He leaned forward, one elbow on the table. “You followed him to the ski hill and you saw him get on that chairlift.”

Meredith’s lips played briefly with a smile. She looked down at her lap and rubbed one cheekbone with her fingertips, but said nothing.

“Publicity is bad for business, I get that,” he continued. “This won’t go any farther than Hollywood Boulevard. I won’t tell anyone where I got the information, or even that I’ve seen you again, but I want to know who you saw get on that chairlift with Irwin, every little thing.”

She took a deep breath, pressing her lips together and looking at the sky. Then she looked directly at Hunter and said, “Keep in mind that I was watching Irwin, planning how to get on a chair close enough behind him that I wouldn’t lose him at the top, but not so close that he would begin to notice my presence.” She paused, watching a white panel van back into a parking spot across the street while a motorist behind it leaned on the horn. “There were two chairs between us, meaning seven or eight people in the line ahead of me. I didn’t pay much attention to whoever got on the chair with him. They didn’t get there together, though, I know that. He was alone, and I didn’t see him ski with or speak to anyone from the time he left the hotel.”

“At least you could tell if it was a man or a woman,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “I wish I could tell you for sure. My impression was that it was a man, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“Did you see anything on the way up the hill?”

“Snow. The snow was heavy enough that I could barely see the chair in front of me.”

“And at the top?” He nodded his thanks to the server as she set their coffees on the table.

“I was getting ready to get off the chair, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a man riding the chair back down. I turned for a quick look and from the ski clothes I figured it could be Irwin, but my chair was just arriving at the top and I couldn’t be sure.” She shrugged. “Of course, when I started searching for him at the top of the chair, I realized I’d lost him and that it could have been him riding the chair down. It occurred to me that he’d noticed me and was thumbing his nose at me all the way down.” She picked up her mocha and took a cautious sip, then licked away a thin line of whipped cream along her upper lip.