The Goldbergs, Miss Newman, and Ranier sat quietly, waiting. When Wainwright had left, Joe Goldberg said, “What now, Sergeant? I’ll admit I am an appropriate candidate for murdering the Angel, if I had enough guts to murder anyone, which I haven’t, but poor Mikey I would kill only for his stupidity, and no one kills because someone they love is stupid.”
“Mikey wasn’t so stupid,” Della Goldberg protested. “He was trusting.”
“Which, carried to the extremes he carried it to, was simply another form of stupidity.”
“Will you two stop!” Miss Newman cried. “You just can’t stand the fact that Mike decided he didn’t need another mother and father. Calling him stupid because he loved people and trusted them!”
“I think you’d better go home, Miss Newman,” Masuto said gently. “You’ve had a long, terrible day.” And to Beckman, “Take her outside, Sy, and have a squad car drive her home.”
“I have my car here,” she muttered, the tears beginning.
“All right, if you wish. And please give Detective Beckman your address and phone number.”
“Anything more?” Goldberg asked after the girl and Beckman had gone.
“Yes. Do you know whether Hennesy rides?”
“He rides,” Ranier put in.
“What is this riding business?” Goldberg asked. “How does it fit in?”
“I’m not sure I know.”
Beckman came in then and told Masuto that Kelly had asked whether he could go to his room. “He sleeps over the garage.”
“Yes, he can go.” And then to Ranier, “How do you know Hennesy rides?”
“I was once a guest out at Albermarle, near San Fernando. They told me he keeps a horse there.”
“That would cost a bundle,” Goldberg remarked. “Hennesy doesn’t have a pot to pee in.”
“Hennesy’s on the take. When he needs money, he gets money. All right, I don’t smell of roses. It takes one to know one.”
“What kind of take?” Masuto asked.
“I can give you a list of what a congressman can do for you as long as your arm. He does it.”
Keller, the FBI man, spoke up for the first time since he had entered the room and said, “That’s a serious accusation, Mr. Ranier.”
Ranier looked at Masuto hopelessly. “Is he kidding?”
“I think not. He’s a federal officer.”
“And you work in this town,” Ranier said to Keller, “and you never heard that Roy Hennesy is a crook?”
“Come on, Bill,” Goldberg said, “you don’t call a man a crook until you can quote chapter and verse. Anyway, I’ve had enough of this whole thing. My wife and I would like to leave, Sergeant.”
“If you wish, of course.”
As he rose, he asked, “Are we still suspects?”
“Did you or your wife kill the Bartons?”
“You know damn well we didn’t!”
Masuto shrugged. “At this point, I know so little.”
The Goldbergs departed, leaving Masuto with Ranier and Keller. Ranier rose, took a few paces, leaned over the piano with his back to the two men, and then turned to Masuto and said, “I want to talk to you.”
“Very well.”
“Alone.”
“All right.” And to Keller, he said, “You might as well tie it up for the night, Mr. Keller. We’ve lost everyone except Mr. Ranier, and he wants privacy.”
Keller was not to be dismissed so easily. “Those are very serious charges, Mr. Ranier, and directed against a congressman, they become even more serious. Unless you can back them up with hard evidence, they are certainly actionable.”
“Screw him!” Ranier said angrily. “If Hennesy wants to sue me, let him sue me. I don’t give a damn. If your goddamn Justice Department knew its ass from its elbow, you wouldn’t have people like Hennesy making a career out of the take!”
“I don’t think this ought to go any further tonight,” Masuto told them. “We’re all tired and upset. If you want to go into this with Mr. Ranier, I suggest you do it tomorrow.”
Keller seemed ready to stand his ground. Then he nodded. “All right, I’ll take it downtown, and then we’ll see. Good night, Sergeant.” He showed his displeasure by not even glancing at Ranier as he left.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” Ranier said.
“You wanted to talk, Mr. Ranier.”
Ranier dropped into a chair and put his face in his hands. Tired, Masuto sat facing him. Masuto waited. He rarely urged anyone to speak; it was better to wait.
When Ranier looked up, his face was drained. It was the thin, parched face of a man who had run all his life without ever catching up with himself. “You got me pegged for Angel’s murder,” he said finally. “You got me pegged for Mike’s murder.”
“What makes you think so?” Masuto asked.
“Don’t give me that soft Oriental shit, Masuto. I know who you are and how you work. I haven’t lived in this town for twenty years without knowing which side is up. I know about you and how you work, and goddamnit, I won’t go down for two killings.”
“If you didn’t do them …” Masuto shrugged.
“Look, I’m going to come clean with you. I don’t know whether what I did was legal or illegal, but it wasn’t murder. Whatever you may think, the truth is that I was trying to help Mike. I liked Mike.”
Beckman came in now. “What about it, Masao? Should I take off?”
Masuto nodded, and Beckman left. Ranier was staring at his hands. “I liked Mike,” he said softly, “but he was a damn idiot. Who else but an idiot would marry Angel? And I didn’t steal from him. I made good investments, but it was real estate and the money was tied up. He owed half a million dollars in taxes, and he didn’t have it. The money should have been paid in September, and here it is November. And why? Because he’d sneak off to Vegas and drop a hundred grand in one night. So I cooked up the kidnapping. That’s right, it was my idea, a stupid idea, but I’m not the first one to go stupid. We had to borrow most of the money, but we could pay it back after we laundered it, and we’d make half a million and better out of the tax deduction. Mike and Angel agreed to go along with me, and now they’re dead.”
“Was any of the money yours?”
“About a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Suppose you tell me exactly how you laid it out.”
“Some of it you know. Angel made the fake entry out at Malibu, and then she drove her car to my place. She had the key, and she was there until twelve o’clock. Then she made the call to Mike, and after that she was supposed to drive downtown to Fourth Street, where Mike would pick her up. They’d leave the car there, and the story would be that after Mike had made the drop on San Yisidro, or claimed that he made the drop, he was instructed by the phony kidnappers to pick her up in Benedict Canyon, and then he was to bring her back here.”
“Why drive to San Yisidro at all? Why didn’t he go straight downtown and pick up his wife?”
“In case he was followed. He had two suitcases with him in the car. He was to park around a curve on San Yisidro, and wait to see whether he was followed.”
“And what was intended to be done with the money?”
“He would leave it in the trunk of his car until we turned it over to be laundered.”
“And who was going to launder it?”
Ranier hesitated now. Masuto waited. Then Ranier shrugged and said, “Hennesy.”
“Ah, so!” It slipped out. He disliked the expression. “Then Hennesy was in on the kidnapping?”
“No. I mean, not to my knowledge. Mike hated him. The Angel could have told him, but I don’t know. We were going to wait a few days until things quieted down, and then we’d make our deal with Hennesy.”
“And how do you know Hennesy wouldn’t blow the whole thing?”