Flipping Out (34 page)

'I just want you
two guys to know something,' I said. 'Terry and I never believed you were
behind any of the killings. Neither did the lieutenant.'

'You might not
have
believed
I killed Nora
and Julia,' Charlie said, 'but you damn well treated me like a suspect.'

'Well shit, man,
you didn't make it easy on us,' I said.

'You never did
tell us who you were with the night Julia was killed.'

'I know it
looked bad, but I couldn't tell you.'

'No problem. Now
that it's official that you guys are going off into the sunset together, I
finally figured out who your mystery friend was that night. You were in that
hotel room with Reggie.'

Charlie laughed.
'He wishes.'

'Well, then I
guess we'll never know,' I said.

'Lomax, you're about
as subtle as a fart in an elevator,' Charlie said. 'If I tell you who I was
with that night, is it going to wind up in the case report?'

'No way in
hell,' I said. 'Right, Lieutenant?'

Kilcullen
nodded.

'Alright, as
long as I'm leaving the country, and it's off the record, I guess I can tell
you what I was holding back. Remember a couple of months ago I caught a B and E
up in Hollywood Hills? The guy was a chiropractor. His house was burglarised
one night when he and his wife they were out at the movies.'

'Yeah, I think I
remember you mentioning it a couple of times.'

'Anyway, the
wife was all upset and crying because some of the jewellery had been in her
family for years. But the doctor, he was like, "No big deal; we're
insured, I'll buy you new stuff." I never solved the case, but I kept in
touch. In fact, a couple of times the doc adjusted my back. I know I'm not
supposed to take freebies, but he's damn good.'

'And that's what
you were holding back?' I said. 'You were getting free medical care from some
chiropractor who was one of your victims?'

'No, asshole. I
was in a hotel room with the chiropractor's wife. It's not exactly something I
wanted to cough up the night Julia was killed.'

'What about the
next day when we came to see you in the hospital?'

'I told you I
was with a friend,' Charlie said. 'You either believed me, or you didn't, but I
wasn't gonna drag her into this mess as my alibi.'

'Wow,' I said.
'Are you going to ask this chick to go to Australia with you?'

'Nah, she's
happily married. It was just a fling. She's a nice woman, and she was just
looking for...I don't know... she was looking for...'

'Someone who
could bend her spine in a different direction?' Terry said.

Timing is
everything, and Terry is a master. He not only cracked us all up, he waited
till Kilcullen was taking a big slug of his Yoo-Hoo.

It's not every
day you arrest a multiple killer and get to see your boss spray chocolate milk
through his nose.

Marilyn cooked us
a victory dinner. A grilled butterflied leg of lamb, a broccoli and cheese
soufflé, and just in case our cholesterol level was dipping, a tub of buttered
orzo with asparagus and parmesan. And since she has a lemon tree in her
backyard, for dessert she whipped up a fresh lemon tart.

'This dinner is
fantastic,' Diana said. 'How do you do
it?'

'First of all,
rumours of my death are highly exaggerated,' Marilyn said. 'Second of all, it's
a joy. For me, cooking is therapy.'

'For me,' Big
Jim said, manoeuvring a hefty chunk of lamb into his mouth, 'eating is
therapy.'

He and Angel had
been invited to join us for dinner. All he had to do was promise not to tell
inappropriate stories, ask embarrassing questions, or cross personal
boundaries. I knew it was a hopeless goal, but I didn't really care. After
seeing the families of some of my good friends ripped apart over the past two
weeks, I needed to be with people I love. Of course, I wouldn't tell Jim that.
Some fathers and sons enjoy connecting over a couple of beers. Some go on
fishing trips together. Jim and I seem to bond best when we're ragging on one
another.

'So what was the
biggest break that led to your solving the case?' he asked, still chewing.

'Not getting
caught for illegally investigating Tony Dominguez,' Terry said. 'If they had
found out about it, Mike and I would probably be working the parking lot at
Dodger Stadium tonight and shovelling down a couple of red hots for dinner.'

'Actually, our
two biggest breaks came from a dead guy and a blind woman,' I said. 'In both
cases, we weren't even digging. Helen Ryan came to us at Nora's funeral, and
kind of blurted out the story about the gunshots. Same thing with Martin
Sorensen's phone message. We didn't expect it, but it led us to the video of
Tony paying off the coyote.'

'It took us a
while to figure it out,' Terry said, 'but that phone message really tripped
Tony up. He made Martin look like a very smart killer, but no killer that smart
would be dumb enough to drunk-dial the homicide detectives who are looking for
him.'

'How did you
ever come up with that crazy plan?' Angel said. 'I'm sorry. I don't mean crazy.
I mean, how did you think to pretend to kill your wife?'

'I always think
about killing my wife,' Terry said, blowing Marilyn a kiss. 'Pass the cheese
soufflé, will you, honey?'

The doorbell
rang.

'It's probably
someone looking for one of the girls,' Marilyn said. 'I'll get it.'

She came back a
minute later with a padded envelope, it was a messenger. Here,' she said
handing the envelope to Terry, 'it's addressed to you.'

'Uh, oh,' Terry
said. 'The return address is from Mel Berger at City Hall. I may be working the
parking lot at Dodger Stadium after all.'

He opened the
package slowly and I could see from the back that he had pulled out an
eight-by-ten picture frame. He looked at it carefully and grinned.

'Do you remember
I mentioned that little scuffle I had with the Deputy Mayor this morning?' he
said.

A chorus of
yeses.

'The way I
remember,' I said, 'it was much more of a major throw-down than a little
scuffle. But why not let the group decide? It looks like you might have photos
to share with us.'

'Just one.'

He flipped the
picture around. The sullen photographer in the rumpled suit had captured the
moment perfectly. He caught Terry with his eyes filled with rage, his mouth
contorted in a scream, and his hands ripping at Berger's lapels. The Deputy
Mayor, a good eight inches shorter than Terry, had his head and back pressed to
the wall, his face frozen in fear, and his shirt and tie splattered with tomato
juice.

'Oh, my God,'
Angel said. 'You told us you were playacting, but the poor man is covered with
blood.'

'I guess I
really got into it,' Terry said. 'It was kind of a juicy role.'

'You're in deep
shit,' Big Jim said.

'I don't think
so,' Terry said. 'What do you think, partner?'

He handed me the
picture frame. I read the inscription.

To
Detective Biggs: You are the
only person who has ever kicked my ass and saved it at the same time. With great
respect, Deputy Mayor Mel Berger
.

There's a
paragraph in the front of the book reminding you that this is a work of
fiction, the product of the author's imagination.

Here at the end
of the book I want to remind you that there's one part that I can't leave to my
imagination - and that's how my fictional cops go about solving murders. For
that, I turn to real homicide detectives.

I am indebted to
Detective Wendy Berndt of the Los Angeles Police Department for generously
sharing her expertise and her time. Wendy was there to help when this book was
just an idea, and has kept me honest every step of the way.

Thanks also to
my East Coast consultant, Undersheriff Frank P. Faluotico of the Ulster County
Sheriff's office. Like Terry Biggs, Frank is smart, funny, and plays poker like
it's a contact sport.

Special thanks
to my good friend Dr Paul Pagnozzi, who is my technical
advisor-without-co-payment on all things medical.

They say God is
in the details, and I'd like to thank the following people who helped me get
the details right: Mike Romo at The Roadium, Marty Delaney of the Bergen County
New Jersey Prosecutor's Office, Matthew Diamond, location scout extraordinaire,
retired Poughkeepsie police officer Rich Sauter, Hortencia Goodman, who taught
me some Spanish I didn't learn in high school, Greg Pliska, my music coach, and
my go-to attorneys, Gerri Gomperts and my brother Joe Karp.

Thanks to
everyone at St. Martin's Minotaur who encouraged, copyedited, proofread,
marketed, publicised, and plied me with Rocky Road ice cream - Andy Martin,
Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, George Witte, Matthew Baldacci, Kylah McNeill,
Hector Dejean, Tara Cibelli, Meryl Gross, Margit Longbrake, David Rotstein, and
most especially, to my editor Nichole Argyres, who managed to deliver both her
baby and mine on their respective due dates.

Thank you to the
many booksellers, librarians, fan magazines, bloggers, and readers, who
continue to go out of their way to support my life of crime.

As always, my
love and appreciation to Emily, Adam, Lauren, and Sarah, who read my
manuscripts and offer inspiring feedback, and to my grandson Zach, who inspires
me just by leaving a voice mail that says 'Hi, Papa.'

Also, my
gratitude to my friend and agent, the incredibly wise, patient, and supportive
Mel Berger, who, despite the fact that I gave the fictional bureaucrat in the
book his name, still returns all my phone calls.

And finally, a
special message to my UK readers. I have had some very generous reviews in the
United States. But here in the UK, the reviews are so phenomenal, they have
me...well, flipping out.

Lomax and Biggs
have obviously struck a chord with you. I am delighted to have you as readers,
or as some of you like to call yourselves, fans. I'm still a little uncomfortable
with the thought that I have fans. But in trying to adapt to the UK culture, I
might be willing to refer to you as my loyal subjects.

Thank you for
supporting my life of crime and please come visit me at
www.lomaxandbiggs.com
.