Deadly Web (13 page)

The bartender’s lip twitched, and he looked away. “This one has six,” he said.

“Yeah. Thanks for your time,” Mitchell said, and left the bar. He had two more places to check.

Alex the snitch actually liked being a snitch. He always thought of himself as an undercover cop, roaming the hideous underbelly of Glenmore Park, befriending the criminal element, supplying the cops with useful tidbits of information. He was protecting the city, that was what he was doing. That, plus he had a
one hundred bucks per tip
agreement with the cops. That was a nice bonus. The cops also didn’t hassle him when he fenced stolen stuff. He was pretty sure they were only letting it slide because of the useful information he kept supplying them.

In fact, at one point in his life, before he was a snitch and a fence, Alex had tried to go to the police academy. He’d been sure he would be an amazing cop, like those guys from
Law & Order
or
CSI
: cracking cases, finding clues in the most unlikely places, playing good-cop-bad-cop in the investigation room. The academy had rejected him outright.

Well, the joke was on them. He was now doing the police more good than any cop, he reckoned. Hell, he probably made better money, too.

When Alex got a phone call from Detective Cooper, he was delighted. He went into full snitch mode. He suggested they should meet in the Newhall Community Park, sit on benches near each other, and feed the ducks. Talk when they were sure no one was watching.

Detective Cooper had asked if they couldn’t just meet for lunch at a burger joint. He’d offered to pay for lunch as well.

Alex had asked if Jacob wanted someone to spot him talking to the cops? Did he want to get Alex offed?

No, Detective Cooper did not.

They now sat on adjacent benches in the park. Alex was feeding ducks. Detective Cooper was not; he hadn’t brought any bread with him. Alex was irritated with the amateurs he had to deal with.

“So,” Detective Cooper said. “I’m looking for a guy named Blayze Terry.”

“I might have heard of him,” Alex said very softly.

“What’s that?” the detective said.

“I might have heard of him!” Alex said louder.

“Of course you’ve heard of him, Alex. You’re the one who tipped me last time.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ve heard of him. Got out of prison six months ago.”

“I’m looking for him. Do you know where I could find him?”

A woman was going past them, walking her dog. Alex shut his mouth, waiting for her to pass.

“Hey, Alex, did you hear me? I asked if you know where I can find this guy?”

With his eyes, Alex motioned at the woman. Couldn’t Detective Cooper see they weren’t alone?

“Are you okay? What’s with your eyes?”

Alex motioned carefully with his finger that Detective Cooper should shut the hell up.

“Oh, right,” the detective said.

When the woman was out of earshot, Alex mumbled carefully “I don’t know where he is. But I know a guy who does.”

“What’s that?”

“I know a guy who does,” Alex said, more loudly.

“I can’t hear you. Can I move onto your bench? You’re too far away.”

“No!” Alex nearly shouted. “I said I know a guy who probably knows where he is!”

“Oh. Cool,” Detective Cooper said, and smiled a friendly smile.

Alex frantically looked at the ducks, trying to avoid the detective’s eyes.

“So what’s the guy’s name?”

“Do you have the stash?” Alex asked.

“Eh?”

“The stash! The money! The payoff!”

“Oh, sure.” The detective got up, pulling some bills from his pocket.

Alex hissed in panic.

“Well, I need to give you the money somehow,” the detective said.

“Just leave the money under a newspaper.”

“I don’t have a newspaper.”

“Well, do you have a… a book?”

“No.” The detective thought for a moment. “Maybe the ducks can deliver the money?”

“Are you joking?”

“Could be.”

“Just put the money on the bench.”

“It might fly off. It’s windy.”

“Then put it on the ground and put a rock on it.”

“Ooh, good idea. Stealthy,” the detective said. He bent, put the bills on the ground, and placed a rock on them.

“The guy’s name is Richard Vance,” Alex said. “When Blayze was a burglar, Richard used to sell the shit he stole. They were accomplices.”

“Oh, good. I’ll check it out. A fence, huh? You aren’t just trying to get rid of some competition, are you Alex?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Thanks, Alex. It’s been a pleasure, as always.” Detective Cooper got up and walked away. He seemed to be smiling to himself.

Alex got up and walked over to the second bench. Under the pretense of tying his shoes, he knelt and quickly snatched the money from under the rock. He pocketed it and stood up, his heart beating fast.

It wasn’t easy, being a snitch. But, God, he loved doing it.

Chapter Ten

Jenny Tarp lived on Clayton Road, an upscale area at the edge of town, just by the Oakhurst golf course. The street was well maintained; all the lawns were green and fresh. The few cars parked in the street or in open garages had an expensive feel. As a patrol officer, Bernard had been there a few times, mostly on burglary calls or noise complaints. He didn’t like to hang around in that area. He felt out of his element. These were people with money and power. Almost every time he was there, someone mentioned an acquaintance with the mayor, or the chief of police, or the district attorney. They said it in an offhand way, but the message was clear.

Do your job, or we will talk to our friends.

The detectives walked up the white driveway to a big, mahogany door. The house’s garage door was closed. Was there a brown Toyota Corolla behind it?

Hannah rang the doorbell, which made a chirping noise. The rich could get birds to chirp when someone rang their doorbell.

“Just a second,” a man called from inside the house. There was movement behind the peephole, and the same voice said “Yes?”

Hannah flipped her badge open in front of the door. “Police,” she said. “Can we have a minute of your time?”

There was a moment of silence and then the door unlocked. It opened, and a tall, bald man with a slightly large nose and bushy eyebrows stood in the doorway. Actually, calling his eyebrows bushy was practically a compliment. They were forest-y. They were jungle-y. There were probably wild animals in there somewhere. Bernard wondered why a man who clearly had enough money to spare couldn’t get someone to trim his eyebrows. Hell, with the state they were in, he could ask the gardener to do it.

“Mr. Tarp?” Hannah said.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Shor; this is Detective Gladwin. Can we have a minute of your time?”

“Sure. What’s this about?” He suddenly seemed scared. “Is everything okay?”

“Is there a reason it wouldn’t be?” Bernard asked.

“No, no. It’s just… when detectives show up on your doorstep… I guess I watch too much TV. Uh… would you like to come in?”

They entered his house, stepped into a beautifully decorated living room. A large, thick rug covered the floor; two couches were positioned around a glass coffee table. There was a huge TV on the wall, and a well-built fireplace. Bernard guessed he could pick any piece of furniture there and it would cost more than his monthly salary.

“What’s this about?” Tarp asked.

“Mr. Tarp,” Hannah asked. “Do you or your wife know a man by the name of Frank Gulliepe?”

The transformation was incredible. Tarp’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. His breathing became fast and shallow. Bernard began to wonder if he was about to have a heart attack.

“Yes,” Tarp said in a tight voice. “I know the bastard. What’s this about? Did he complain about me?”

“Did you by any chance see him two days ago?” she asked.

“You know damn well I did. So he
did
complain about me, huh? The slimy bastard. What does he say I did?”

“Why don’t you tell us in your own words,” Bernard suggested.

The man glanced at Bernard, then turned back to Hannah. “Look,” he said. “Maybe we should have gone to the police instead. But my wife was embarrassed, and I said I’d handle it. That scumbag was harassing Jenny constantly! It started about two months ago. He started creating fake Twitter accounts to send her messages—mostly sexual. She’d block him, and he’d create a new one. Then he started with Facebook as well. It was very upsetting, but my wife sometimes gets those crazies. She’s a well-known TV producer, and the people you meet in that business… Anyway. She paid it no mind. Then it got worse.”

“Worse how?” Bernard asked.

“Well,” the man said, still talking to Hannah. “He started posting pictures. At first he would take a picture of a woman with a tiny bathing suit, Photoshop my wife’s face on it, and tag her in a photo. All her Facebook friends would get a notification about a new photo with my wife, and they’d click on it and see my wife with her ass almost bare, or a picture of her in the bath, with bubbles hiding her nipples. My wife changed her security settings on Facebook, so that stopped, but then he began Photoshopping my wife’s head on porn pictures. Twitter and Facebook don’t let you post those pictures, so he’d put them somewhere online, post a link on Facebook and send it to her friends and acquaintances.”

Bernard twisted his mouth in disgust.

Tarp was getting visibly angrier. His face was red, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “Can you imagine? The humiliation? The rage I felt? Do you know what’s it like to find your wife crying in the bathroom? What would you have done, Detective?”

“What did you do?” Hannah asked.

“First of all, I hired a top-notch private detective to find out who was doing it. He knew some computer hackers or something like that. They got me the name. Initially, I wanted to find out where he worked, get him fired, and ruin his life. I can do that. I have connections. I know the mayor.”

Bernard contained his sigh.

“But then I happened to run into him in a restaurant. I lost my temper, started yelling at him. Told him to leave my wife alone!” Spittle sprayed from Tarp’s mouth. “Yeah, I lost control a bit, wouldn’t you? They kicked me out. But let me tell you something. My wife hasn’t gotten any messages since then. Would the police have done a better job?”

“Where were you last night?” Bernard asked. Tarp turned to him, then back to Hannah. It was getting on Bernard’s nerves.

“I don’t know,” Tarp said. “What do you care? I was out.”

“Frank Gulliepe was found dead in his apartment last night.”

Tarp stared for a minute. Then he burst laughing. It was a wild laugh, full of anger and satisfaction. “Really?” Tarp roared. “Dead? That’s fantastic news! The world is a better place. Did he suffer? Tell me he suffered!”

“He was stabbed several times,” Hannah said, exchanging looks with Bernard.

Tarp’s laugh intensified. “Oh, this is simply incredible,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Wait until my wife hears about—” Suddenly his face froze. “Hang on,” he said. “You think I did that?”

The detectives stayed quiet.

“I would never… I mean I’m glad he’s dead—he was a piece of shit—but I would never resort to… Wait a minute. Last night, you say?”

“That’s right,” Bernard said.

“Oh, okay then.” Tarp seemed relieved. “Last night my wife and I went to celebrate the kickoff of her new show. It was a long dinner party. Ended at three in the morning. More than twenty people saw me there.”

“We would like their details, please,” Bernard said.

“Absolutely,” Tarp said. He got up and went to prepare a list, leaving Hannah and Bernard alone.

“Nice place,” Hannah said.

“Yup,” Bernard agreed.

“Notice how even when you talked to him, he replied to me?”

“Yup.”

“Weird.”

Bernard shrugged wearily. He had met many like Tarp over the years. Some people didn’t want to talk to the black cop. They liked their cops nice and white. It always bothered him, but he had nothing new to say about it.

Tarp returned with the list and handed it to Hannah.

“There,” he said.

“Mr. Tarp, do you know why Frank Gulliepe targeted your wife?”

“Oh, sure,” Tarp said. “We figured that one out pretty quickly. He auditioned for a part in one of her TV series. She didn’t accept him. Told him he should go to acting school.”

“I see.”

“Told me he was one of the worst actors she had ever met.”

“Thank you for your time, sir. If there’s anything else, please let us know.”

“I will.”

They left the Tarp residence.

“He has enough money to hire someone to do the job,” Hannah said as they got into the car.

“Then let’s prove it,” Bernard said, slamming the driver’s door.

Jacob and Mitchell paid a visit to Richard Vance’s home, only to find him gone. His girlfriend, a middle-aged, pudgy woman with curly hair, garish makeup, and a red dress showing off a ridiculous amount of cleavage, obligingly agreed to call him. She did so, hissing at him angrily from inside the house, and then returned to let them know that Richard was parking his truck at the corner of Ayers Road and Murchio Drive, and would probably stay there the next hour or so. They thanked her and drove off.

They reached the corner, looked around, and couldn’t see a Richard in sight. It was a pleasant enough suburb, and they stood at the edge of the Newhall community park, where a few kids threw around a football. A mother stood with one small boy and one toddler near an ice cream truck, trying to get them to decide what they wanted to have. The toddler was screaming angrily, apparently enraged by the fact that he couldn’t have three different types of ice pops. Another woman walked past them, pushing a stroller. The small girl in it pointed at the detectives and giggled. Jacob did not feel like giggling.