Sixth Grave on the Edge (27 page)

The word
setup
seemed to be appearing a lot lately. I shook my head. “No setup. I’m just trying to help put you away so your girlfriend can get on with her life and not have to worry about those goons trying to kill her.”

He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and took a hardy swig. Hardy as in half the bottle. Because he might be more inclined to help me if he were drunk, I didn’t stop him.

“But you seem genuinely concerned about her. If you didn’t send those men, who did?”

After another swig, he wiped a shaking hand over his mouth. “You need to leave,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Oh, I get it. Watch your own back but no one else’s. Am I in any real danger?”

He scoffed. “Let’s just say you do not want to be on their naughty list.”

“What happens if I get on it?”

“Not death, if that’s what you’re worried about. But you’ll pray for it before they’re through with you. This has just gotten so out of hand. So much bigger than we’d planned.”

“We?” I asked, letting him take another drink before answering.

“I just wanted out.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “You’re being investigated for fraud. Is that what this is all about?”

“I’m being investigated?”

“Well, yeah, for that and murder, of course.”

He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his fingers. If anyone was in over his head, it was Phillip Brinkman. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gotten himself into. Maybe the death was self-defense or even accidental. Maybe his girlfriend was lying.

“Phillip, I can help you if you’ll let me.”

“Mr. Brinkman?” a pretty brunette said from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

The fear I’d felt earlier came back full force. “Yes, Lois,” he said, his exterior a picture of serenity, “everything is fine.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No. No, I’ll just be a minute.” After she left, he glared at me. “You need to leave. Now.”

“’Fraid I can’t do that. Those men are planning on killing a friend of mine if I can’t come up with your girlfriend’s whereabouts.” I hated to bring out the big guns, but he’d practically handed them to me, locked and loaded. “I need answers, Phillip, and if those men come to me again and I have nothing to give them, I’m telling them you and your girlfriend were in it together.”

“What?” he asked, appalled. “Emily has nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. You seem to want to stay under their radar. What’ll happen if they think you two set this whole thing up?” What thing, exactly, I had no idea.

He raked his fingers through his hair.

“Just talk to me,” I said, my voice placating. “I promise you, whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, I can help you get out of it. I’m a private investigator. I have connections.”

After a very long stare into the bottle of Jack, he said, “Not here. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

The possibility that he might actually talk to me sent a sharp thrill racing over my skin.

He wrote quickly on a piece of paper and handed it over to me. It had an address on it and the words,
Meet me here in half an hour. Alone.

I shook my head. “So I can suffer the same fate as that poor man you killed? I think not.”

He leaned over and whispered, “It’s a friend’s apartment. He’s out of town.”

“And that’s supposed to set my mind at ease?” I whispered back.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

“Meet you there in thirty.” I rose and walked out the door. When I passed by his secretary Lois’s desk, I opened up to get a full read on her. Burning curiosity was all I got. She was curious about me. She lifted her phone and pretended to text, but I was about 90 percent positive she snapped a shot of me. I’d executed that very move a hundred times, only just now realizing how fake it looked. No one texted like that. I’d have to get a new technique.

I climbed into Garrett’s truck. “Did you get all that?” I asked him.

“I did. Where we meeting him?”

“At an address on Candelaria near Lomas.”

He started his truck. “What did you get off him?”

“The more important question is what
didn’t
I get off him.” When he raised his brows in question, I said, “Guilt.”

17

Oh, my. What a lovely shade of bitch you’re wearing today.

—T-SHIRT

We waited in front of the apartment for Phillip to show. He was over fifteen minutes late, and I was beginning to worry we’d been stood up when he pulled around to the side of the building. The two of us got out and walked over to meet him. But when he spotted Garrett, he started to rethink.

He was about to get back in his car when I got to him. “This is a colleague,” I said to him, holding up my hands in surrender. “He’s also a PI and the best tracker I’ve ever met. You can tell him anything you’d tell me.”

I felt a wave of appreciation drift off Garrett. It was so much nicer than the annoyance or frustration I normally felt come off him.

“This was a mistake,” Phillip said, edging back into his car.

“I’m sorry to do this, Phillip, but I will tell those men anything they want to hear if you don’t let me in on this.” I decided to hit him with my big question and gauge his reaction. “Did you kill that man?”

He raised his chin. “Yes, I did.”

I gasped and glared at him. “You’re lying. You never murdered anyone.”

He jammed an index finger over his mouth to shush me. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you? You’re going to get us all killed.”

What the hell was going on?

He took hold of my arm and led me to a lower-level apartment.

After pouring himself a stiff one, he offered a glass to Garrett. Thankfully, Swopes shook his head. This was no time to be getting rowdy with the boys.

When he sat down, I said, “Okay, Brinkman, spill. Why is your girlfriend saying she saw you kill someone?”

He released a hapless sigh, then said, “Because I needed a way out. Things were getting too unstable. Too unpredictable.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that you run way more money through your business than cars?”

His head snapped up. “How did you know that?”

“Told you, connections. What gives?” I asked, kicking a dirty sock away from me.

He collapsed onto the sofa and leaned his head back. The guy was about five minutes away from a nervous breakdown. I kind of felt sorry for him.

“I launder money for the Mendoza family.”

Garrett stilled. Clearly that name meant something to him.

“The Mendoza family?” I asked, completely out of the loop.

But before Phillip could answer, Garrett said, “The Mendozas are one of the biggest crime families from Mexico. They have been responsible for hundreds of deaths there, including cops and judges.”

I glanced back at Phillip. “How did you get involved with them?”

“They came to me, offered to help me get the business back on its feet, promised to make me a rich man. They did both of those things, but the Mendozas aren’t the most stable people I’ve ever met.”

“I still don’t understand what a murder has to do with anything.”

“It was Emily’s idea. I’m hoping that once I go to prison, they’ll forget about me.”

“So that’s the plan? Go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit? If you aren’t scared to go to prison, why not just turn yourself in?”

“Do you know what they would do to me if I did that? To my children? I moved my ex-wife and kids across the country to get them away from these guys, but their reach doesn’t exactly end at the state line. They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them to keep me doing what I do. Or worse, kill them. This way, I go to prison for something completely unrelated. I lose everything, including this business. They have no more use for me, and my kids will be safe.”

“So, there was never a murder? Your girlfriend never saw anything?”

“No.”

“Then who are they looking for? Who did you supposedly kill?”

“My best friend from college. He agreed to disappear for a price.”

“Dude, he will show back up eventually.”

“No, he has no family here. No deep friendships, besides with me.”

“That’s terribly risky.”

“Believe me, I understand that more than you can possibly know. And I have a contingency plan.”

“Which is?”

“I have a man on standby who will take my ex and children into hiding. I’ve put back millions for that purpose.”

“Who all knows this?”

“No one. No one but Jeff, the guy I supposedly murdered, and my girlfriend. And now you. Damn it.” He chewed his lower lip in thought. “I knew this probably wouldn’t work. I just can’t risk Emily’s well-being. She’s so smart. And she’s brave. She knew they’d go after her.” The thought of her brought a smile to his face. “I’ve never met anyone so willing to risk everything, including her life, for me.”

“So, whose apartment is this?” I asked him.

“Jeff’s.”

“The guy you supposedly killed?”

“The one and only.”

“This is kind of creepy.”

“Really?” Garrett asked, his expression deadpan. “
This
is creepy?”

“Let me look into this, Phillip, see what I can find out and what can be done.”

“Nothing,” he said. “The game’s over. If they knew I was trying to lose the business on purpose, they’d go after everyone I’ve ever loved.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

“Look, if they sent men to your apartment, I promise on my life, they’re bugging you.”

“They definitely bugged. That whole gun-to-the-head thing was very annoying.”

“No, bugs. Surveillance. Watch everything you say. If you repeat this—”

“No, I gotcha.” The captain had been bugging me, too. Literally and metaphorically. “I need to clean house anyway.”

*   *   *

I called my friend Pari on the way home. “I need you to do my apt.”

“I’m just not that attracted to your apt.”

“I think I’m being bugged.”

“Like I am? Right now?”

“Kind of, only less metaphorically. Do you still have that equipment to detect stuff like that?”

After a very long pause, she said, “No. You know I’m not allowed near anything like that. I am adhering to the conditions of my probation, thank you very much.”

“Okay, but really,” I said.

“Oh, are you asking me if I have that can of bug spray you loaned me?”

I could visualize her winking at me in a blatant attempt at subterfuge. But seriously, who loaned out a can of bug spray and expected it to be returned?

“Um, yes,” I said, playing along. “Do you still have that can of bug spray I loaned you?”

“It will take me a while to comb through my back room, where I have nothing even remotely related to computers and/or electronics-related paraphernalia.”

“You can’t even have electronics-related paraphernalia? What the hell did you do?”

“Not what,” she said, dropping the guise. “But who.”

“Okay, then who did you do?”

“I kind of accidentally on purpose hacked the White House’s phone system.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that was wise?”

“Not anymore, you can bet your ass on that. They take that stuff really seriously.”

“I wonder why.”

I hung up, then gave my driver—whom I’d temporarily renamed Fitz because Garrett didn’t sound like a driver’s name at all—my full attention. “Have you found out anything else on the Twelve, Fitz?”

“A little,” he said, rolling with it. “I told Dr. von Holstein to focus on them, see what the prophecies say.”

“And?”

“He’s still working on it, but one thing he’s found that’s very interesting is that there are mentions of two sets of Twelve with one defining force in the middle, the thirteenth beast.”

“Really?” I asked, suddenly very interested.

“The way I understand it, there are the Twelve, aka the darkness, but there are also twelve sentient beings of light to balance the scales, sent to protect you, the daughter.”

“That seems like a lot of trouble to go to. And the thirteenth?”

“He is the single being that will tip the scales either to the light or the dark.”

No kidding.

*   *   *

By the time I got back to my building, Pari was there waiting on me. She lived only a block away, which made it nice, especially when I needed her help with something. Or when I needed a back rub. She had incredible hands.

I’d tried to call Uncle Bob, but he didn’t pick up. I needed to know how it went with the captain. And if he really hired that fake psychic. She totally bleached her hair. I also called Quentin on video chat. He was doing fine as well and asked about Amber.

“Just don’t go around her mother anytime soon. You’ll be skinned alive.”

He winced, and signed, “I understand. I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are, sweet boy, and if Cookie gets ahold of you, you’ll be even sorrier.”

“Okay.”

I blew him a kiss and hung up.

Pari had put on her sunglasses, as she did whenever she was around me. She could see my light, said it blinded her. She spotted Garrett as we got out, and her eyes danced a bit before asking, “So, what are we doing?”

“I’m being bugged by everyone from APD to the Mendoza crime family.”

“You do like to piss people off.”

“I didn’t do anything to either one of them. The Man’s got it in for me.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, offering yours truly a tender-ish pat on the back. Either that or she was trying to dislodge my larynx.

I coughed and introduced them. “Pari, this is Fitz. He’s my new driver. I’ve decided I need a driver at my beck and call, and he’s really cheap.”

“I’m Garrett,” he said when he took her hand.

She surveyed him from head to toe.

“Fitz, this is Pari. She’s a killer tattoo artist and has only been to prison twice.”

“I’ve never been to prison,” she corrected, unable to take her eyes off him. “You have an incredible aura.”

That was it. I’d seen enough to feel slighted for her main squeeze. “What about Tre?” I asked her, appalled. She’d been dating her employee for a while now. The whole thing screamed sexual harassment lawsuit, but they’d seemed happy.