Violent Crimes (16 page)

Mark Hamilton's second wife had left him for a gynecologist who lived in Malibu, so he was living alone in a two-story Tudor mansion in the West Hills. At eight in the evening a black Cadillac Escalade carrying Hamilton and his security detail wound up the tree-lined driveway to the front of the house. Reggie Kiner had arranged for the bodyguards after Dale Masterson's murder.

At first Hamilton had felt relief at being surrounded by the bodyguards, but then something had occurred to him. He couldn't believe that Brandon had murdered his father. Tom Beatty was the obvious killer. But what if Tom Beatty didn't kill Dale? What if Reggie murdered Dale because Dale made him nervous? Reggie would not want to take the chance that Dale would spill his guts to the police if he were questioned and would have no compunctions about getting rid of Dale the same way he'd gotten rid of Christine Larson and Carol White. Now Hamilton wondered if Reggie had surrounded him with bodyguards
to protect him or to make it easy to get rid of him if Reggie decided that he posed a threat.

Hamilton waited in the backseat while the two guards in the front seat got out. Both men were over six feet tall and heavily muscled. They had handguns in their holsters, knives in sheaths, and carried automatic weapons.

One bodyguard stayed with Hamilton while the other used the entry code to get inside Hamilton's house and check for intruders. Twenty minutes later, the guard walked out.

“All clear, Mr. Hamilton. You can go in now. We're going to watch the house in shifts. Bill will take over for me at two-thirty a.m. and we'll all drive you to work in the morning.”

“Thanks, Ray. I appreciate your help.”

“Hey, Mr. Hamilton, we earn our living keeping important men safe and sound, and we haven't lost anyone yet.”

The men surrounded Hamilton and escorted him into his house. As they walked, the bodyguards scanned the area for hostiles. As soon as Mark was inside, Ray left to begin his patrol. Hamilton activated the alarm and went to his den. The curtains were drawn across the only window, and Hamilton adjusted the rheostat so that only a pale glow illuminated the room. There was a wet bar in a corner. Hamilton took a bottle from the liquor cabinet and poured a stiff shot of aged bourbon over a few cubes of ice. He carried his glass to a deep, comfortable armchair and collapsed.

The liquor helped him relax, and so did the fact that he had guards patrolling his grounds. But how long could he go on like this? He felt like a prisoner. Why couldn't Kiner and the police, with all their resources, find one man?

Hamilton closed his eyes and pressed the glass to his forehead. The cold felt good, and he'd started to calm down when a strip of duct tape was slapped across his mouth. Hamilton's eyes went wide and he dropped the glass just before he was thrown to the floor. Tom Beatty wrenched the lawyer's arms behind his back and secured his hands and ankles with more duct tape. Then a sharp blade pressed against Hamilton's Adam's apple.

“I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth and ask you a question,” Beatty said. “Lie to me and I will hurt you and ask my question again. Nod if you understand what I just said.”

Hamilton's head bobbed up and down.

“I know you're thinking about ways to let your bodyguards know you're in danger, Mark, but get any of those ideas out of your head. I will sever your windpipe the moment you try anything. Do you understand me?”

Hamilton's head bobbed again.

“Okay. Here is my first question. Who was responsible for Christine Larson's murder?”

Tom Beatty pulled the tape away.

“I can't . . . ,” Hamilton started. The tape was slapped back across his mouth and Beatty severed the tip of the lawyer's right ear. Hamilton's eyes went wide from the pain and he writhed on the floor.

“That was just a sample of what I can do to you if you don't give me straight answers. Think about how you'll practice law if I put out your eyes and sever your tongue.”

Hamilton fought to keep from throwing up. Beatty gave him a moment to compose himself. During that moment, an answer to all his problems flashed into the lawyer's brain.

“I repeat, who gave the order to kill Christine?”

“Dale, Dale did it,” Hamilton gasped when the tape was removed.

“Why did you kill Christine?”

“I didn't. I swear. It was Dale. Christine was going to tell Global Mining that he'd falsified our accounts to get their business. We were going to close the deal in two days, and Dale was afraid that Global would back out if Christine told them about the doctored books. It would have cost the firm millions.”

“Good. We're making progress. Were you involved in the decision to have Christine murdered?”

“No. I liked Christine, and cooking the books was Dale's idea. I was out of town on a case. He made the decision himself.”

“But you knew what he'd done?”

“After it was too late to stop it.”

“And the books—you knew they'd been doctored, right?”

Hamilton hesitated, because he wanted Beatty to drag the answers out of him so he would believe what he said. Beatty pricked the skin at his neck enough to draw blood. The new wound hurt, but the pain would be worth it if he got out of this situation alive.

“Okay, yeah, we discussed it.”

“Let's move on. Two men tried to kill me at my house after I was released from jail. Two more went after me in Forest Park. I'm certain that they were mercenaries. Who supplied them and who gave the order to kill me?”

“Please,” Hamilton begged.

Beatty slapped the tape back on and carved a strip of skin from Hamilton's cheek. The lawyer screamed, but the tape muf
fled the sound. He rolled on the ground as tears coursed down his cheeks. Beatty pulled off the tape.

“Who supplied the mercenaries?”

“Kiner, Reggie Kiner,” Hamilton babbled. “Please don't hurt me anymore. I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Who is Kiner?”

“He's the head of security for RENCO Oil.”

“What does RENCO have to do with Global Mining?”

“Nothing,” Hamilton babbled. “I've known Kiner for years, since he worked narcotics for the Portland police and I was in law school. He . . . he helps the firm when we have . . . problems.”

Beatty slapped back the tape and broke Hamilton's nose.

“Is that what Christine was to you, you piece of shit, a ‘problem'?”

Hamilton's eyes squeezed shut from the pain. He heard Beatty take some deep breaths so he could calm down. Hamilton could tell that Beatty got his emotions somewhat under control, but he could also tell that he was still very, very angry.

“How much did you pay Kiner to kill Christine?” Beatty asked.

“I told you, I didn't pay Kiner—Dale did. Kiner was in Iraq at some oil field, checking on security. Dale called him and said we had a . . . He told him to get rid of Christine and frame you for her murder. I had nothing to do with it. I didn't even know he called Kiner until later, after Christine was dead.”

“What was Christine's life worth?”

“I don't know what Dale paid because I wasn't involved. When . . . when we used him in the past, Kiner always charged six figures.”

“Where can I find Kiner?”

“At RENCO or at his house, but you'll never get to him at either place. There's too much security. If you promise to let me live, I can help you.”

“How?”

“He has a cabin in the mountains. It has heavy security too but it's isolated and surrounded by woods. I can show you where it is.”

“How will you do that?”

“When my security detail finds me I'll demand that Kiner meet me at the cabin. You can follow me and find out where it is.”

Beatty was quiet for a minute. Then he turned to the lawyer.

“You see how easy it is for me to get to you. Gaining entry to your house was no problem at all. But I don't have to hide in your house to get to you. I was a sniper in the military, and there is no place you can go where I can't kill you unless you decide to spend the rest of your life sealed in a panic room. If this is a setup you will be dead. Do you get that?”

Hamilton moved his head up and down—slowly, because his broken nose ached when he moved. Beatty smoothed the tape across Hamilton's mouth again. The lawyer waited for more questions or instructions. When none came, he rolled onto his side and looked around the den. There was no one else in the room.

Ray knocked on the front door at 7:30 a.m., the time Mark Hamilton had told the security guard he wanted to leave for his office. When Hamilton didn't answer, the bodyguard tried the knob. The door was locked. Ray pulled out his cell phone and dialed Hamilton's cell. When Hamilton didn't pick up, Ray signaled to the other guard, then entered using the key the lawyer had given him.

The house alarm shrieked when the door opened, and Ray disarmed it. Then he called Hamilton's name. There was no answer. Moments later, Ray walked into the den and found Hamilton lying on the floor. His hands were bound behind him, his ankles were lashed together, and a strip of duct tape sealed his mouth. Blood had crusted on the tip of his ear, a wound in his cheek was leaking blood, and his nose was mashed flat. Ray pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt and slashed the tape that bound the lawyer's ankles and wrists. He removed the gag last because he wanted to delay the tirade he knew would start as soon as Hamilton could speak.

“He was in my house!” Hamilton screamed. “That fucker cut off my ear!”

“I don't know how this could happen, Mr. Hamilton. We checked the house before we let you go in.”

Ray helped Hamilton to his feet. The lawyer wobbled and the bodyguard lowered him onto an armchair.

“I want Kiner. Call Kiner,” Hamilton ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Ray said as he dialed Kiner's cell, only too glad to let Hamilton scream at someone else.

“Beatty attacked me in my house,” Hamilton shrieked as soon as Kiner answered. “He cut off a piece of my ear! I've been lying on the floor in my own filth all night!”

“Stop, Mark,” Kiner commanded. “You're on a cell phone.”

“A phone your men assured me was secure. Of course, they also assured me that I was safe from that maniac.”

“You have to calm down. Do you need medical treatment? Ray was trained as a medic.”

“I'm not letting any of these incompetent assholes touch me.”

“Okay, look, we have to discuss this in person. Not over the phone.”

“I'm coming to the cabin. Be there,” Hamilton commanded.

“Good idea—the cabin. You shower and change. And please let Ray patch you up. You don't want your cuts to get infected.”

An hour and a half later the Escalade stopped in front of Kiner's cabin and Hamilton stormed out. He hadn't said a word during the trip and had sat with his arms folded tightly across his chest, staring out the tinted windows.

Kiner was waiting on the front porch. He ran down the steps and met the lawyer halfway. Ray had stitched up the cut in Hamilton's cheek, sanitized and bandaged the tip of the ear, and reset his broken nose. Those injuries, coupled with a black eye and several bruises, made the lawyer look like the badly defeated loser in a barroom brawl.

“God, you look terrible, Mark. Come inside. I'll pour you a drink.”

Hamilton glared at Kiner and followed him into the house without saying a word.

“Tell me what happened,” Kiner said as he filled a glass with scotch.

“I'll tell you what happened. Your flunkies fucked up royally. Ray searched the house before letting me go in, and he did a piss-poor job of it. He told me everything was hunky-dory, so I went into the den. The next thing I know I'm on the floor, tied up and gagged, and that lunatic is slicing off part of my ear and breaking my nose.”

“What did he say to you? What did he want?”

“He wanted to know who sent the mercenaries to kill him and who killed Larson.”

Kiner handed Hamilton the glass, and the attorney gulped down half of his drink.

“What did you tell him?” Kiner asked.

“Not a damn thing. That's why he tortured me.”

“You didn't give him my name?”

“No,” Hamilton lied. “I convinced him that I didn't know anyone had tried to kill him and I said that Dale gave the order to murder Larson.”

“Did he ask you how Dale was able to get in touch with hired killers?” Kiner asked.

“I told him I had no idea how he could do that. I put on a great act, and I'm pretty certain he bought my story.”

“So he just let you go?” Kiner asked.

“No, he didn't just let me go. Look at my face. The motherfucker tortured me until I couldn't hold out any longer. Then I gave him Dale and he seemed satisfied.”

“He just bought your story and left.”

Hamilton could tell Kiner was skeptical.

“You weren't there, Reggie. It was awful. No one has ever hurt me like that. But I held out as long as I could. Then it took some doing to get him to believe I didn't know anything more than Dale. He bought my story, at least for now. But he could come back.”

Hamilton dropped his chin and he teared up, something he didn't have to fake, because he was terrified of Beatty.

“I couldn't take it again, Reggie. You have to get him.”

“Yes, yes, you're right. I'm sorry this happened. I was certain my men could keep you safe.”

“Well, they didn't. I can't live like this. I'm a wreck. I jump at every sound.”

“I think you're safe for now. If Beatty was going to murder you he would have killed you last night. Our priority is taking him down. If he's dead, he can't hurt anyone.”

Kiner escorted the lawyer to the car and told Ray to drive him back to town. As soon as the car was out of sight Kiner called in
one of his guards and told him to check the surveillance cameras and motion sensors for any sign of activity and to organize a search of the perimeter. If Beatty was smart enough to get into Hamilton's house with Ray guarding the grounds, he would be smart enough to have followed Hamilton here.

After he talked to the guard, Kiner thought about Mark Hamilton. He wasn't sure how much the lawyer had told Beatty, but it was clear that Hamilton was terrified. If he cracked and went to the authorities for protection, he would use his only bargaining chip: his knowledge of Kiner's involvement in Christine Larson's murder.

Kiner had been tempted to kill Hamilton at the cabin just now. He didn't know how many witnesses could tell the police about the bodyguards, or if Hamilton had told anyone the identity of the man who had supplied them. He figured that the security camera at the law firm had probably taken pictures of some of his men.

Kiner finally decided that Hamilton had to go, and he wondered if there was some way that he could make the murder seem like Tom Beatty's work.

Mark Hamilton told Ray to take him home. There was no way he was going into the office looking like he did. Hamilton didn't say a word on the return trip. He was too busy thinking about how to get out of the mess Christine Larson had created by sticking her nose where it didn't belong. God, how he wished that bitch had never been born, but she had been, and now there was a real possibility that he would be killed by Tom Beatty or Reggie Kiner.

Hamilton did not delude himself. He had taken a chance by go
ing to Kiner's isolated cabin, and he was certain that he had been inches away from death while he was there, but the only way he could think of to appease Beatty was to lead him to Reggie.

Hamilton had no idea why Kiner had not killed him and buried him in the woods, but he was still alive and he meant to stay alive. Accomplishing that task was not going to be easy. But one thing he had decided was that Kiner had to go. If Kiner stayed alive he would eventually come to the conclusion that he would not be safe until Hamilton was dead. If Kiner was arrested, he would feed him to the sharks to make a deal. How to kill him was the question.