Cross Cut (18 page)

I’m not sure how she managed to see it. The goons had barely made a dent in me aside from a scratch across my ear. I gave my day to her, word for word. I spent a while glamorizing the alley fight.

She sat back for a while with her eyes closed, head tilted to the ceiling. She let out a breath every ten seconds, which meant she was in deep thought. When she opened her eyes, she said, “It appears we have pierced a fair amount of our coincidences. How can we verify what that confidential informant told you?”

“Well, I told Sully to get down here pronto. I figure the only way to do it is to go there, to Gillham and Mane, and check it out. Sound good?”

“Yes. I would suppose the best approach would be ignorance, although we have no idea whether the operators are aware of our knowledge of such a thing.”

“I think it’s damn likely. That Midge is a goddamn snake.”

“Quite. No doubt you recollect my advice last night, especially regarding Erik Cristescu.”

“Yeah, you said not to act recklessly. I thought I was going about it the perceptive way.”

She sighed.

“What have you been doing all morning anyway?” I asked. “Did you ever find the fake Lynch?”

“No, I’m afraid not. There were a few possible candidates that looked promising, but the agencies don’t keep great records.”

“Maybe it wasn’t an actor.”

“Perhaps not.”

“So where do we stand?”

She leaned forward. “At the moment, not on firm ground. If what you have learned today is verified, we have several options and a general path to success.”

“So our prime angle, if it is confirmed, is that Lynch was killed because of the goings on at Gillham and Mane, and our mystery man, his gang or his Armenian friend used that in turn to get at Melissa?”

“Perhaps as a theory, but we do not know who or which party killed Guy Lynch for certain. Indeed, we do not even know who the man in the picture is, nor are we acquainted with this so called Armenian man. Even as a mere theory, it seems farfetched either of them undertook such a broad and effective venture. And if they have no connection whatsoever to Erik Cristescu, there is no motive.”

“We’ve been through that. Midge told me these sister clans—”

“Yes, yet he could not identify the man in the picture.”

“Yeah, well—maybe he lied.”

She frowned slightly. “You said yourself he has no obligation to anyone. An impartial truth teller for profit will only resort to skullduggery if he himself is in harm’s way.”

“Right—” I said, pretending to understand. “Of course, all this completely avoids the Cutter. Hell, the way it stands now, we probably won’t be coming anywhere near him or her.”

Ryder picked up her right hand and adjusted her hair slightly and sighed. “I somewhat doubt that. If the murder of Guy Lynch was an imitation, it is based on knowledge far greater than can be achieved from reading a newspaper article. In any case, we were hired to find out who killed Guy Lynch.”

“Like that will matter. Once—I mean,
if
, we blow the lid on the meth lab at Gillham and Mane, they’ll probably not want to pay us anymore. Which also leads to a good point. How many of them inside the company know about it, and, depending on the answer, why did they agree to become our clients?”

“They signed a contract, what we unearth during the process is none of my concern. As for who is involved, I would assume not all were party to something clandestine. If they were, they would have collectively steered clear of me. There is, of course, another problem. If Melissa’s actions are made public in the press, Gillham and Mane may not be as cooperative as we’d like. Haste is required.”

An hour later Sully arrived and was sitting on my sofa drinking beer, while I had the black leather chair, pulled back toward the aquariums. Giving my sofa away is an honor few people receive.

Ryder and Sully exchanged pleasantries for a while until we got down to business. Ryder herself explained the majority of everything, including the items of concern that we had kept from the authorities, while I chipped in here and there.

When we had finished, Sully slouched back against the groove of my sofa and said, “Hell—I don’t think I get it. So your killer from twelve years ago is dead—except the killings have started up again—the latest victim is called Lynch, and he might not even have been killed by the Cutter, and amongst all that, Melissa has been framed as the killer? Sounds like a bad case of The Truman Show to me.” He paused and leaned forward, furrowing his brow. “Lee Lynch is definitely dead, right?”

I nodded and said, “What the army record says.”

“They can be fudged,” Sully said.

“Seems dumb to question it, but we can make sure by finding the guy that shot him.”

“Hmm,” Sully mumbled. “So this other Lynch—Guy—is the name just coincidence, or was he linked to Lee Lynch somehow?”

“We can’t be sure,” Ryder said.

“Think it’s possible he’s related?”

“We tried that angle, he has no family,” I said.

“Huh, no family at all?” Sully said.

“Nope. All he had were foster parents.”

“Ah,” Sully said. “I think I’d like to go deeper into his background. I get the feeling there’s more to him. What else?”

Ryder put her elbows onto the desk. “I think it would be advisable for you to find Zeus Higgings and get his account of Lee Lynch. And then, depending on time, look into the family and friends of the victims we’ve discussed.”

“Fine by me,” Sully said. “Can I ask what you think is going on here? Normally you seem to have an idea and we play to it, but you haven’t said anything.”

Ryder sighed and looked to the ceiling. “I think there’s a somewhat higher call to all the events that have come to pass. And that includes twelve years ago. When a train of coincidence grows to such length, it can no longer be considered as such. As you mentioned earlier, everything seems to have come together, on one single week. Everything is connected, this I have come to realize. When we approach the truth to this, I have no doubt we will know who the killer is, and what relation they have to all the parties involved.”

Sully looked at me, and we were both thinking the same thing: that wasn’t really an answer.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go poke around Gillham and Mane, under the guise of just being there to ask the staff about Lynch. I get the feeling if I find something suspicious, Sully and I will have to check it out come nighttime.”

Ryder rose from her chair and nodded agreeably. “Very well. Sully, you will join us for dinner?”

“Sure will.”

“Good. We will reconvene then.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I have a phone call to make,” she said.

“Okay—”

I didn’t pry into it. It’s seldom worth the trouble.

24

Sully and I stopped for a drink and a bite to eat before we went our separate ways. There’s a diner a mile north of the beach house that makes Reubens that I’m rather partial to.

We took our food outside and sat at a bench by a park where children were playing and mothers were watching them. A small girl was flying a kite while she ran around in circles. I smiled. I liked kids but I could never see myself having any. Ryder, you’d be surprised to know, also liked kids, but I’d be damned if I could see her with them.

Sully had a daughter. Ten years old, called Sumia. Sully was divorced now, but on good terms with his ex-wife. He sees Sumia regularly and often shows me pictures. He had been a cop in the LAPD during the time I was in places like Afghanistan and Iraq. He reached Detective, First Grade, before calling it a day.

We were both eating Reubens and drinking plain old water.

I took the first bite, and then said, “Why do you want to check Lynch out so much? You’re not going to find anything.”

“Kind of the point,” he said, biting at his pickle. “Even the most dedicated hobo has a family trail. Both of his foster parents happen to be dead and that’s it, sounds fishy to me.”

“You think he’s related to Lee Lynch, don’t you?”

“The only angle that works for me. Of course, why he wound up dead I don’t get, but—” he took a swig of water from the bottle. “Surprised Kendra never thought of it.”

“She probably has,” I said. “I think she has an angle already, she just isn’t saying anything. You know how she is; takes every dime of information I get and waits on it till the last moment.”

Sully laughed. “Yeah, police go nuts with her for that. How many times has she been threatened about withholding information?”

“Lost count,” I said. I put my sandwich down and followed the girl’s kite with my eyes.

“What about you, are you positive this stoolie was telling it straight?” Sully said.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Go in and act like a detective. Make it look like I’m just asking questions about Lynch. See if anyone looks at me funny. If someone there is involved and they’re aware I’m fishing around, it should be fun to see a reaction.”

“I’ve heard about these kinds of operations before. Usually it’s the Mafia types. They go after struggling businesses and put in an operation on their premises. Promise them a cut. But then they get in too deep. Most of the time the operation gets busted and the company takes the fall.”

“Hmm. So if Guy Lynch was going to blow the whistle or something, it could have come from either side.”

“Well, yeah, but I can’t see a company stiff doing that to him. Then there’s the frame up job—has to be someone from the operation side. And if my intuition is right, Lynch might have been killed for another reason entirely. I don’t see the reason to—”

I looked at him and stared. “What?”

“Nothing. I had a flash but it’s gone. Anyway, we best get going. What time is dinner?”

“Seven.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

He left and dumped the sandwich wrapper in the waste basket across the street. I finished my Reuben and went in the opposite direction. When I went past the park, the kite was still flying high.

The offices of Gillham and Mane and the buildings adjacent don’t appear business like. Very little in Anaheim does, but, that is just my opinion as a Londoner. Offices back there tend to run down streets where there isn’t enough room to breathe. There are no buildings in the middle of grass filled lots with palm trees out on the sidewalk in London, either.

The building was three floors high but not all that lengthy. Inside the receptionist, whose voice I recognized from the telephone call I made Monday, took my name and told me to take a seat. I spent ten minutes staring out into space and admiring the blue carpet. We could use this color for the study.

After a while, Doreen Sharp came to fetch me. I’m not entirely sure why the Company Secretary was playing the part of tour guide, but she did it well. She showed me around the first floor. Row after row of desks and people working at computers. No need for blinding fluorescent lights when the sun was out, as it streamed across the room through the windows.

She was walking me into a vacant meeting room when I said, “I didn’t expect all this. Seems to be a lot of typing going on for a perfume company.”

She smiled and chuckled politely. “We’re more than just a perfume company. It’s a common misunderstanding that we just sell products for men and women who wish to smell nice. Do you know how many other different products and areas we cater for? Hundreds. We sell products to car manufacturers. New car smell? We make it so much better. We go from there to items like novelty products. A company wanted to make scented party balloons—we helped them with that. Even edible products like candy have an aroma or fragrance. We even produce so-called aphrodisiacs.”

“Wow,” I said, “I never knew.”

“No one ever does,” she said.

“Any chance of seeing some fragrance making in action?”

“Oh, our factory isn’t here. We make all the stuff down in Westminster. This is just where all the red tape happens.”

“Ah.” Interesting, I thought. Truth be told I could have, and probably should have researched such a thing beforehand. I had just naturally assumed everything would be in one place. “What’s the address?”

She told me and then wrote it down on a post-it note without hesitation.

“Now,” she said, “what can we do for you?”

“I want to get some background information on Guy Lynch.” I tried saying it with enthusiasm, but learning that the factory wasn’t here put a damper on proceedings. “Who did he work closely with?”

Doreen Sharp sat across from me and thought for a second. “Well, he was kind of a one man operation. He had people working under him, of course, but, for all intents and purposes, he ran the advertisement department himself.”

“Isn’t that a little unusual?” I said.

“I suppose. The company never saw a need to support him. He seemed to thrive by himself. Of course, it’s proving to be problematic now, as we have no one to replace him in-house.”

I nodded.

“But, if you’re looking for people who might have something to say, you can try his team. A small group of people, you know, a few graphic designers for the ads and commercials, researchers.”