The Beholder, a Maddie Richards Mystery (18 page)

The tape began. Maddie listened while watching the chief bend straight a small pile of paper clips. Through it all, Maddie remained expressionless despite the anger that rose within her again as it had each time she had listened before doing so with the chief.

She didn’t like deceiving the chief, but life rarely comes exactly as one wishes it. Bottom line, she wasn’t about to put Linc’s ass in a sling. After listening to the tape on the way home from the hotel, she had called Linc from her car to learn the FBI had picked it up on an authorized wire. The wire had been planted in a restaurant booth regularly used by a suspect in a money laundering case. The fruit of the wire tap was illegal as to any conversations other than those covered by the warrant.

The tape contained a mix of the sex talk and questions her friend Katie Carson had used to manipulate her partner Jed Smith, a double betrayal. Their cooing ended with KC saying, “Stay cautious around Maddie. She’ll catch the slightest slipup.”

“Well, Sergeant Richards,” the chief said when the tape came to an end, “what do you have to say?”

Maddie elected not to tell Chief Layton the reaction she had while listening for the first time. KC had smashed the last remaining piece of Maddie’s youth: the innocence of a childhood friendship.

“It turns out my partner’s name is Judas,” she replied through clenched teeth. “If it were up to me, I’d hang him up by his balls”—
sorry
Mom
—“but that’s your call, Chief.”

“Oh. I’ll take care of that. Within the half hour, I will demand Detective Smith take an early and immediate retirement. Then later, I’ll quietly arrange for Ms. Carson’s station execs to hear it. There must be consequences for reporters who cross the line. If Jed refuses to resign, he’ll be discharged and the anonymous tape will mysteriously find its way to the press. You live by the leak. You die by the leak. This type of conduct must result in severance from the department. Do you agree, Sergeant?”

“Yes sir, I do.” Maddie rose, feeling slightly disoriented. She knew what the consequences would have to be, but now that it had actually happened … “May I ask what decision has been made regarding Jed’s pension?”

“Yes, you may. It will soon be common knowledge anyway. He met the qualifications for a thirty-year pension before this infraction, so he will receive the level of benefits requisite to that retirement. This afternoon Lieutenant Harrison will assign you a new partner. Do you have a preference?”

“No sir. You and Lieutenant Harrison best know the qualifications of the candidates. I appreciate your asking.”

Maddie had always known Jed would retire before her, but she had never really envisioned anyone else as her partner.

“Detective Smith is sitting outside my office,” the chief said wearily. “I don’t want him to see you. Please leave by way of the connecting door through Arthur Dinkins office.”

Half way to that door, Maddie paused to consider saying something about Jed having been a good cop for a long time. Perhaps even that single men shouldn’t be held responsible for thinking with their small head rather than their large one, sort of like a disability. That—.

“Sergeant, just put your hand on that little knob there and twist.”

Chapter 26

The simmering heat in the distance gave the road a pulse. The rising waves making the cars coming toward her resemble spacecraft materializing on the horizon in some sci-fi movie.

The scent of Linc was no longer real, but her memory of last night caused her to inhale deeply and smile. She wished she still reeked of the glorious sex, but that, too, now only lived in her thoughts. She squeezed the leather-wrap on her steering wheel, her hand not as full as it had been full of Linc, and savored the image a while longer.

In what turned out to be his last act as a Phoenix police detective, Jed had set an appointment with the man who lived next store to Abigail Knight, Brent Sternberg.

Maddie knew she should have anticipated the chief’s question about a new partner. But the hurt of being used by both KC and Jed had squeezed out any such thoughts.

Put it behind you girl, she told herself, and move on.

Maddie got off Interstate 51 angling onto Cave Creek Road; the red reflector buttons along the edge of the pavement sparkled in the sun. When the road straightened, she called Sue Martin to finish what Maddie had been interrupted from doing the day before, putting Sue in charge of the murder books and the Beholder file.

Before joining the department, Sue had worked for ten years as a legal assistant with one the valley’s top criminal law firms where she spent the majority of her time keeping the files current on their open cases. Sue had achieved a brown belt in the open-hand martial art of karate which, according to Sue, she had started because all that desk work at the law firm had kept her from being able to wear dresses. “My bottom got so wide that the dresses that fit that end were too baggy in the boobs, and you can’t have that.”

“The murder books and files are your number one priority, Sue.”

“I expected you’d give me that job, but you know I left the legal field because I wanted more than paperwork. You’ve given me some other things like chasing down the victims’ outfits. And I do appreciate those opportunities, Sergeant Richards.”

“Hey. How long we know each other?” Maddie asked and then answered her own answer, “Way too long for you to call me Sergeant Richards when no one else is with us, okay?”

“Okay. It’s just things have gone a bit nutty around here. Have you heard about Jed, ah, Detective Smith?”

“Yes, but I didn’t realize you had.”

“It tops the chart around here.”

Maddie tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Any rumors about his replacement?”

“The top name being whispered is Gil Ortega,” Sue said, “the power dude with the ponytail.”

Maddie smiled. “Aha. It sounds like you’d like to do your part for race relations.”

“Well, Martin Luther King said, ‘we shall overcome.’”

“And under come, eh Sue?”

“We’re starting to sound like a couple of boy cops, Sergeant, ma’am.”

“Good for us, let’s hear it for equality.” Maddie turned the steering wheel to navigate a curve in the road. “What else you got for me?”

“Sergeant Brackett told me to let you know he grilled Popcorn and the pimp has an unshakable alibi for both Thursdays. Brackett added that Popcorn slaps his girls around a little and has been known to rough up an uncooperative john, but he’s way short of doing what was done to our victims.”

“Have you identified the outfit Folami was wearing the day she was killed?”

“According to the heavyset woman who handles the phone at the end of Popcorn’s bar, Elders was Folami’s last appointment that Thursday. And old man Elders said she always wore a plaid schoolgirl skirt, a white blouse and tan cloth espadrilles. Speaking of outfits, have you seen the ones worn by Popcorn’s phone girl? Talk about ttttight!”

“I saw one of her outfits, but I’ll tell you what I didn’t see, the outer edge of the stool she sat on.” They both laughed. Maddie said, “Bring me up to speed on your efforts with the dry cleaners. Oh, and did you check Folami’s apartment for the outfit you just described?”

“It isn’t in her apartment. And as for what Abigail Knight wore, I’ve contacted all the dry cleaners. No hits.”

“Tell Brackett I want Popcorn watched Thursday from twelve to twelve,” Maddie said, swerving to avoid a motorcyclist who had come out of nowhere. “Tell him I agree with his assessment, but we need to cover the bases. Also, tell Brackett to pin tails on Dr. Knight and Rex Bronson. He may need some help from the Tempe police regarding Knight. The Beholder appears to be limiting his appearances to Thursdays, so let’s be darn sure we know what these fellows are up to this Thursday. Questions?” Hearing none, she added, “I’ll check in later.”

“You want me to take one of those stakeouts?”

“No. I’ll have something else for you. We’ll talk.”

Maddie drove the rest of the way recalling what she could about her rumored new partner, Gilbert Ortega. He was half Mexican and half Apache and the only man in the department who hadn’t ogled her chest at least once.

Maddie momentarily wondered if Gil was just being respectful or if she was just being vain.

Gil had been with the department about ten years, the first eight in uniform. Since then he’d worked vice. Maddie knew him from around the station, but had never worked a case with him. He would be green on anything other than vice, seemed a hard worker and the story was that he passed the detective test on his first try.

She had heard around the station that Ortega had been an offensive lineman at Arizona State University, with an expected future in the NFL. In his senior year he blew out his knee. After that he revised his original plan which had been to become a cop after pro ball. Maddie’s ex-husband used to say, “Inside every lineman is a running back trying to get out.” But Curtis always figured everyone secretly wanted to be him, at least until a few years ago when he stopped wanting to be himself.

Maddie respected Ortega, particularly after watching her ex become a drunk after a similar injury had driven him away from football. Gilbert was about six-foot-six and Jed had once said Gil weighed two-eighty. Maddie got a kick out of his silent rebellion against conformity—a very short pony tail. What the hell, Ortega will be as good as any other.

Over the next few miles the paved ribbon was a series of ups and downs resulting from recurring dry desert washes. These washes were common in Arizona once you drove outside the metro areas, each low suggesting that something would appear with the next high, but delivering little more than an elevated view of the next arroyo.

After being uptight about Jed and facing a pissed off Chief Layton, Maddie had left the station with Dink’s custard donut in hand. The smell of sugar and baking had overwhelmed her resistance. She had considered hanging around to eat the treat in front of Dink, but the loud retching and hyena impressions that were leeching in through the air duct from the men’s room had driven her out.

Eating donuts was like borrowing money. Eat now. Pay later, only the interest on donuts was fat. But after listening to that damn tape with the chief starring at her, Maddie had needed some comfort food and Dink’s custard pleasure seemed just right on several levels.

A few miles later she drove into Boulders, Arizona, where she would find Sternberg’s office. A playground area came into view on her right; the mild desert wind jostling the strap swings as if they were occupied by ghost children.

Chapter 27

Brent Sternberg’s office was on the second floor of a brown, rough-textured block building pocked with smoked glass windows. The second floor fascia sported the name Sternberg Investments in brass lettering.

Maddie parked under a sprawling palo verde tree and started toward the entrance to the building. The sun was intense, causing a run of sweat starting down her spine until it dammed up along the elastic top of her panties. Near the door, a beefy woman in a checked cotton dress leaned against the wall sucking on a thin brown cigarette, her cheeks drawing hollow from the effort.

Maddie entered the reception area in Sternberg’s office to see a thirty-something woman with tanning booth skin and fascinating green eyes coming down the hall. She carried two cups of coffee, her hips swaying to counterbalance each step. She was a bit large, but proportional. She stopped next to a door and looked over her fashionable glasses. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Here, let me.” Maddie got up and reached across to open the door. The woman nudged it farther with an effortless bump from one of her talented hips.

When Hips came out from delivering the coffee, she asked, “Are you Sergeant Richards?” Maddie nodded. “Mr. Sternberg will be with you in a few minutes.”

The receptionist moved behind her desk, put her hands on her overworked hips and spoke in a tone more accusation than concern. “I’m scared all the time, Sergeant Richards. When are you going to catch this Beholder?”

“I have the capture scheduled for ten-fifteen tomorrow morning, ma’am, will that be soon enough?” Then Maddie felt guilty. The receptionist was obviously frightened. “I’m sorry. Today has been way short of a good day. Still, I had no call to be flippant. Serial killer cases are very difficult. Please be patient and take precautions. Don’t be alone when you can avoid it, and never open your door to anyone you don’t know well. If you notice anyone following you or loitering around, call the Beholder Hotline. Put the number in your speed dial.”

The woman’s hands slid off her hips, dropping to her sides. She thanked Maddie and sat down. The instance made Maddie realize that this Beholder had frayed every woman’s nerves.

Ten minutes later, a side door off the lobby opened and a middle-aged man with the overall softness that comes from too much of everything, came out. In spite of his softness, he wasn’t unattractive, but something about the man caused Maddie’s insides to draw tight. He introduced himself as Brent Sternberg, held his door open and went in behind her. She sensed his eyes and mind pawing her behind.

Maddie sat in a forest green chair facing the mahogany desk behind which Sternberg sat with teeth as white as a porcelain toilet. His leather chair squeaked as it reclined. He stayed quiet and watched her over his fingers that rose and touched like a church steeple. His eyebrows drew closer together.

He’s nervous, Maddie realized, and working too hard at being in control.

The shelves behind Sternberg were filled with biographies, including Winston Churchill and General Tommy Franks, while the walls were covered with framed pictures of Sternberg with various dignitaries from the worlds of politics and entertainment.

“I understand you’re an investment advisor. What type of investments do you specialize in?”

He crossed his legs, and then reached out to straighten the crease in his top trouser leg. “I don’t see how that is pertinent to your visit,” he frowned, “but I’ll answer your question. I handle viaticals.”