The Lady Who Sang High: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 7) (16 page)

“Who hired you?” she asked.

“Jodie.”

She snickered. “She’s not going to like hearing this.”

“No,” I agreed.

“Do you know when the funeral is?”

“Probably the end of the week.”

She stared into space. “Do you think it’d be all right if I went?”

“You don’t need my permission,” I said.

“I mean…what about Jodie?”

“She wouldn’t know who you are. Unless you choose to tell her.”

She sighed. “That’s true.”

I got up to go. “Thanks for your time.”

She was still gazing off into nowhere as I walked down the sidewalk to my car.

I drove home, feeling like I’d uncovered an interesting wrinkle, but it got me no further. Jude was planning on selling the new process. I had a list of potential buyers, if my deduction about the list that Heath found. But which of those actually bought the process? If any? And where were the notes on the completed process?

When I got home, Willie was gone. She’d left a note saying she was running some errands and would stop by the grocery store. She also asked me again to start on the condo, that she had to work the day shift so she wouldn’t be able to help until later. Man, was she stressing about my parents’ visit.

“I’ll clean after a beer,” I said to the empty kitchen.

I grabbed a Fat Tire from the fridge, crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash, then went into the office. I sat down at my desk and stared at the poster of
The Maltese Felon
.

“Okay, Bogie,” I said. “I need some inspiration.”

I sipped some beer, then took out the list that Jude had written. I could research all of them, and maybe even call them all. I didn’t relish that idea, and besides, what would that get me?
Hey, has someone there been talking to a guy named Jude Lundgren about a new way to grow weed
? I shook my head. No, that wouldn’t work.

I ran my hand down the list of figures. Maybe something in them would tell me who Jude was thinking of selling the new process to. But after a few minutes comparing figures, I was still at zero. Then I noticed a phone number on the list. It was the only one, scrawled on the edge of the paper, in between some doodles and figures.

I set down the beer and picked up my office phone, made sure to punch in *67, listened for a couple of beeps that let me know my phone number was now blocked from caller ID, and dialed the number. It rang twice and then a voice said, “Talk to me.”

I recognized the voice and I quickly hung up.

It was Carlo.

***

And now I remembered what had been nagging at me. Spillman had said there were no witnesses in the alley when Jude died. But when Carlo talked to me in the alley the day after Jude died, he said something about the body lying next to the Dumpster. How did he know that?
I
found the body, and Jodie and I hadn’t told anyone about where Jude had died, other than that it was in the alley. Carlo couldn’t have known, unless he was there. Was he trying to steal the new process from Jude? Or blackmail him? And I wondered about Ivy. Did Carlo think she had Jude’s process, and so he killed her? I didn’t have the answers and I wasn’t sure how I could get them. I needed to talk to him, get him to tell me what was going on. But how could I make that happen – as a set-up, perhaps?

“Hey you, I’m back.” Willie interrupted my thoughts.

“Hey,” I said, distracted.

She came into the room and looked at me closely. “What’s going on? You look deep in thought.”

I told her what I’d just discovered. “The problem is, I have no proof of anything. I just know that Carlo is involved.”

“What if you could trick him into confessing?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. I finished off my beer and clunked the bottle on the desk. “I wonder if I could record him. I could tell him I have the new process notes and he needs to meet me somewhere and I’ll sell it to him. I could wear a wire and record it. And maybe I could get Cal to be nearby with a video camera as well.”

“What if this Carlo guy wants to search you?”

I thought about that. “I doubt he would…”

“But you never know. Should you risk it?” Her subtle way of protecting me.

“I’d have to, to get the audio. But it’d be good to have the video, too.”

“I could help.”

It’s true. She’d helped me more than once on cases, and lately she’d seemed to embrace my profession just a bit more.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want you alone,” I said. “No way.”

“How about this? Cal and Ace could be positioned in one spot, and Deuce and I in another? Then you won’t miss anything.”

I pondered that. “That’s not a bad idea. It’ll only be Carlo, and I could have you all out of sight.” I’d be taking the big risk, but they’d be able to monitor the scene and call the police if anything went wrong. I glanced at the clock. Just after seven o’clock.

“Can you see if the Goofball Brothers are around and could help tonight?” I asked.

“Tonight?”

“No sense waiting. Besides, I want this wrapped up before my parents get here.”

“Okay, I’m on it.” She hurried out of the office, humming excitedly.

While she was gone, I thought about a good place to meet Carlo. I finally settled on a little unnamed park off of Sheridan Boulevard and 33
rd
, which had places to park on the street where Willie, Cal and the Goofball Brothers could safely hide in cars. Then I called Cal.

“Are you available later on tonight?”

“For what?”

I explained my plan.

“I guess.” He grumbled about having to leave his house, but consented.

“Okay, let me make sure the Goofballs can help. I’ll call you back.”

I hung up as Willie returned.

“The brothers are in the living room,” she said. “And they both think it’ll be fun to help as long as they’re hidden.”

“They will be.” I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the paper.

“Talk to me.” I heard Carlo’s voice again.

“I have something you want,” I said.

“Who is this?”

“Reed Ferguson.”

“Who? Oh, the new guy? What are you talking about? How did you get this number?”

“From Jude.”

A long pause.

“You have the process notes,” he finally said.

“Yes. And they’re for sale.”

“How did you get them?”

“It doesn’t matter. How much will you pay me?”

“What I was going to pay Jude. A million.”

“And you have it now?”

“It hasn’t gone anywhere since Jude died.”

That was easy…maybe too easy. Was he setting me up?

“Done,” I said. “There’s a park about three blocks east of Sheridan on 33
nd
. Meet me on the north side of the playground at midnight tonight. Bring the money and I’ll have the process notes.”

“Why there?”

I had some friends who lived near the park, and they frequently talked about how quiet the neighborhood was, especially at night. “Because no one will be around. I don’t want anyone to see us.”

“Yeah, okay. But you better have the notes.”

“I will.”

He hung up and I sat back. “We’ve got a lot to do before midnight,” I said to Willie. “Let’s get going.”

I got out of my 4-Runner at 11:45 and strolled into the park on West Moncrieff Place, a little street tucked in between 32
nd
and 33
rd
. A late night storm was passing through, whipping up a warm, humid breeze. Thunder growled from the west and I hoped it wouldn’t rain before I could resolve this. I walked across the grass to the playground. It consisted of three swings, a jungle gym with tubes to crawl in and around, monkey bars and a slide. The sky was black with a few stars, but the moon and a streetlight at the edge of the park did a decent job of illumination. As more thunder rumbled, I wondered how long the pale light would last before the clouds rolled in.

I stood for a moment, looking around and listening. A car passed on the next street over, and the hum of traffic on Sheridan was audible in the distance. White flashed across the sky, and a few seconds later thunder added its rumble to the night.

I crouched down near a trash barrel on the south side of the playground. “Testing, testing,” I murmured and looked to my right.

Directly to the east, Cal and Deuce were parked in Cal’s car. I had a wire taped to my chest and Cal was in charge of the recording. Even though we’d tested the equipment earlier, I’d instructed Cal to flash his lights if he couldn’t hear me, or if there was any issue with the recorder. I waited and watched. Nothing. I took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my ragged nerves.

Behind me, Willie was in the 4-Runner with Ace. She was filming everything, and with the streetlight and moonlight, I hoped the image would be clear enough to show Carlo and me. I’d made her agree that if anything went wrong, they would leave and call the police. She hadn’t been thrilled, had even hinted that I was sexist, but that was the only way I would agree to let her help. I also said that I didn’t want to explain their presence to Detective Spillman or any other cops. That seemed to make sense to her and she agreed.

I stayed on my haunches and waited. I was again wearing my “Navy Seal” garb. I really didn’t want the jacket, as I was hotter than a roasted marshmallow, but it hid the Glock in my shoulder holster. I wasn’t taking any chances.

After waiting a bit, I wiped sweat off my brow and pulled out my cell phone. I shielded the screen and checked the time. 11:55. Not long now. I put the phone back and sighed. Tick tock. A few minutes later, a figure appeared from the shadows north of the playground. I tensed and tried to stay still. As the apparition grew closer, I could tell by his bulk that it was Carlo. He stopped at the edge of the playground, looked all around, and waited.

I stood up and headed across the playground, my footfalls crunching loudly. Damn! Carlo jerked his head in my direction. I passed by the jungle gym and under the swings.

“Hey,” he said.

I stopped a few feet from him.

“Do you have the notes?” he asked

I pulled a couple of sheets of paper from my jacket pocket. It had some of Jude’s paperwork on the process, along with some stuff that Cal added. If Carlo looked at it, I hoped it would fool him, at least long enough for me to leave with my person intact.

He’d come empty-handed. “Where’s the money?” I fired back.

“You’ll get it.” He glanced around. “You come alone?”

“Of course,” I lied.

“And that’s the
real
process?” He gestured at the papers.

“Yes.” That slipped nicely off my tongue. I was pretty good at lying. “So I was right.”

He frowned. “About what?”

“Jude didn’t give you the correct process.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Bastard screwed me.”

“So you killed him for that?” I continued baiting him, knowing it was all being recorded.

“That’s not what happened,” he growled. “He had the paperwork, and then he said maybe he shouldn’t sell it to me, that he could get more elsewhere. We argued about that and he told me to forget it, the deal was off. I had to kill him.”

“And then you found out it wasn’t the correct process.”

His face twisted into a mask of anger. “I couldn’t believe it.” He paused. “And then I wondered about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” he sneered. “You always seemed to be around.”

A piece fell into place. “You’re the one who clocked me in the warehouse,” I said.

“What the hell were you doing there?” He sounded exasperated.

“Who were you talking to?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“And Ivy?” I asked, keeping him talking. “You thought she’d figured it out, right?”

He nodded. “Uh-huh. I couldn’t take any chances. I had to have the process and no one else.”

“Why? You could’ve just walked away.”

“No, I couldn’t. I’d already sold it.”

I suddenly felt unsure of my plan. “You sold it? To who?” Sweat ran down my back.

He jerked a thumb to his right. “Them.”

I looked left and my heart stopped. Two big shadows approached, fifty feet off.

“Who’re they?” I didn’t like the warble in my voice.

“They’re from Mexico. They’re the ones you saw the other night. They came for the process notes.”

I silently cursed. This was bad. Very bad. If those guys were from Mexico, they were with a drug cartel. They’d make sure that I had the correct process notes, either here or by taking me somewhere else. My life wasn’t worth a counterfeit dollar. I made a quick decision.

“Who’s that?” I pointed behind him.

As he glanced over his shoulder, I turned and ran. The two cartel guys yelled something in Spanish as they began running toward the playground. Carlo shouted and I heard his feet on the gravel. I dashed between the swings, flinging them behind me, and then I ducked under the jungle gym. Behind me, a crack split the warm night air and then a loud ping rang out near me. They’d taken a shot at me! I pulled out the Glock as I darted to my left and dove behind the trash can. I popped my head up, aimed the Glock, fired, and ducked back down. Shouts and cursing. I took a quick peek over the can. Carlo was lying near the swings, his face planted in the gravel. The two Mexican guys were on the other side of the playground, moving fast. I fired another shot and one of them jerked and went down on one knee. The other dropped to the ground. I became aware of another noise and bright lights barreling down on me. I looked around. The 4-Runner was flying across the grass toward me, the headlights cutting a path in the darkness. As it drew close, the back door opened.

Shots rang out.

“Reed!” I heard Willie shout.

I stood up, simultaneously shooting behind me, then flung myself into the back seat of the 4-Runner.

“Go, go!” I hollered.

Deuce was in the driver’s seat and he slammed on the gas. The 4-Runner shot forward and careened to the right. We bounced off the curb and into the street, tires screeching.

“Are you all right?” Willie was still shouting.

“I’m fine,” I reassured her as I finally pulled the door shut tight. I sat upright. “That was close.”

“What the hell happened?” she asked, her voice shrill. “All of a sudden, you were running away from Carlo.”

Before I could explain, my phone rang.

“You okay?” Cal asked, his voice stressed.

“Fine. Where are you?”

“Headed back to your condo.”

I let out a breath, relieved. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, we’re good. And we’ve got it all on tape.”

“I owe you one.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “I keep telling you, I don’t like all this excitement.” With that, he disconnected.

“What happened?” Willie asked again.

“Carlo wasn’t alone.” I gave her a blow-by-blow account as Deuce drove back to the condo.

“Man, Reed,” Deuce said when I finished. His hands gripped the wheel tightly. “Willie’s filming you and suddenly she throws the camera down, starts yelling and waving and saying to go get you.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “You did great.”

“Can they follow us?” he asked as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

I turned around and watched behind us. No cars. “They were on foot so by the time they got back to their car, we were gone. And we taped the license plates on our cars, remember?”

We’d arrived at the park at eleven, and I had taped my license plates and Cal’s, changing some of the numbers and letters, just in case Carlo – or in this case, the Mexican cartel guys – spotted the cars.

“Oh, right,” Deuce said.

I smiled wanly as I dialed another number. “Spillman, call me. I have information about a shooting at a park on 33
rd
.” I left my number and hung up.

“You’ll give her the recording?” Willie asked.

“Yes.”

I leaned back and rested my head on the back seat. I closed my eyes and thought about Carlo, lying face-down in the gravel. If he was dead, the recording didn’t matter as much because there wouldn’t be a trial. I wondered if I’d shot him? A dark feeling came over me and I shivered, hoping that wasn’t the case.