“And how did you pay it over?”
“I was to bring the cash home. She would call me at her choosing. I was told not to grow concerned if I didn’t hear from her for several days, even a week or more, that she would have me under surveillance.”
“And did you get the call after you got home?”
“No, before I got home, while I drove the road back here after leaving the bank. From the highway it’s about a mile.”
“Was it dark by then?”
“Yes. Not fully. But I had turned on the headlights. The call came on my cell phone. The voice said enough for me to know the caller was the woman with whom I made the deal. She ordered me to stop at a certain point in the road and toss the valise over the side. The cliff there drops about thirty yards to the sand. Then she ordered I pull forward another hundred yards and run the car off the road into a ditch and turn off the headlights. About a half mile from the house there’s a patch of ice plant on the ocean side of the road. The ditch is on the inland side across from there. I couldn’t coax the car out of the ditch so I walked the rest of the way to the house. I hadn’t had my cell phone long and I didn’t think to just call Cliff. When I got back, Charles sent the chauffeur to deal with the car. He had to call a tow truck to pull it out.”
“Since then?”
“Nothing. Eddie was free. The bitch had the two million. Nothing whatsoever since.”
“The police department records show that you insisted that paternity tests be run to establish that Ileana’s unborn son was your great grandson. Why did you feel that was necessary?”
“Eddie was, is, I think this generation uses the term, a player. Ileana seemed a sweet girl, yet they met in one of those clubs that Eddie frequents. She could have been a player as well. I like to be certain. I learned long ago to reconnoiter.”
“And the results of those tests?”
“As you know, they confirmed Eddie was the father. The child would have been my great grandson.”
“And why didn’t you tell me about the payment for the alibi?”
“You’re a detective. You came highly recommended, but I wanted to see for myself if you were any good.”
“And?”
“Apparently you are.”
“Are we solid now, General? No need for any more games?”
“We’re solid, Matt. I’m impressed. Get to the bottom of it. Find out for me.” After a moment, he added, “Please.” The way he said it, well, it wasn’t a comfortable word for him.
“Now that you’ve observed my bona fides, let’s talk about my fee.”
“We should’ve discussed that the first night.”
“No, we shouldn’t. You wanted first what you have now.”
“Your bona fides?”
“Yep.”
“State your fee?”
“Two hundred thousand plus expenses.”
“Seems hefty.”
“I worked my last case pro bono, it averages out. You paid two million to get Eddie free. Seems a dime on the dollar is a reasonable fee to find out whether or not you should have forked over the big money.”
“And if he’s guilty?”
“That matters to you. Not to me. My fee is for finding out what you said you wanted to know.”
“You want it in writing?”
“Give Charles a signed memo and copy me. The fee is due when Eddie or someone else is arrested for the crime of the murder of Ileana Corrigan. Not convicted. Arrested. The rest is outside my jurisdiction. My fee is payable on an arrest and indictment by a grand jury.”
“Agreed. Charles will have a copy for you the next time you come by.”
*
As I left the general’s house, Karen Whittaker met me outside the front door. She had been swimming. If I could’ve licked her, I’d know if she had swum in their pool or in the ocean. Then she took the fun out of it.
“I just got back from a swim in the ocean. The water was cold.” Her brown hair reflected the setting sun to create a nimbus around her head. She shivered and jiggled. “I’ll go back if you’ll join me.” She stood staring at me, her back to the westerly sun. Her eyes were as soft and inviting as a warm pool with steam rising in the cool air, beseeching me to immerse myself and swim into her soul. At least that’s how I would have written it in one of my novels.
“Sorry,” I said, reluctantly. “No time. I’m on the job. But how about having dinner with me tomorrow night? I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you.”
“I’m here. You’re here. Ask.”
“Some of my questions need a chance to grow up a little more. Dinner? Tomorrow night.”
“No.”
She had been playing up to me so I guess my surprise showed when I stammered, “Why not?”
“Because you’re just a writer.”
“But I have a really big Bic.”
She laughed heartily before running her tongue across the front of her teeth. “On that promise, I’ll pick you up in front of your building at seven.” She turned, went inside and shut the door.
I stood for a moment staring at the airspace her black bikini bottom had just slapped out of her way.
Chapter 9
For now, the cops were working the homicide of Cory Jackson, while I was working what I saw as the Eddie Whittaker case, but in the Long Beach Police Department they had it booked as the homicide of Ileana Corrigan, cold case. My job was to find out who killed her so General Whittaker would absolutely know it wasn’t his grandson Eddie, or that it had been Eddie. That would likely kill the old man, but I would do my job.
I anticipated Fidge would drag his feet some to allow me to keep my shrinking lead on the department. But, at some point, Fidge would need to act out discovering the link of Cory Jackson to the Ileana Corrigan case, and my head start would begin to evaporate. To press my temporary advantage I headed for the address in the file for Tommy Montoya, the gas station attendant who claimed he sold Eddie gas a few minutes after someone had permanently ended Ileana Corrigan’s problems and pleasures.
The address in the file was no longer good. According to the retired lady who lived in the duplex next to where Tommy Montoya had lived, Tommy had moved about a year ago. She first shared her opinion that Tommy should be spelled Tommie, with an “ie” rather than a “y.” Then she did something useful. She dug a crumpled note from the drawer in her small kitchen desk. It had Tommy’s new address. We chatted a while longer and she didn’t ask for the scrap of paper back, so I left with it. Taking it might allow me to stay ahead of the cops for a few more hours. It wasn’t Fidge’s job to help me, not officially, but the death of Ileana Corrigan had been a case that lodged in his craw. He couldn’t work it, but he knew that case sat on top of my list.
I found Tommy’s new address with the help of a little boy with two lanes of glazed snot traveling from his nose to his upper lip, where his tongue came into play. I said Tommy Montoya and the boy pointed with his left hand, using his right hand to hold his hair above his eyes while he looked up at me.
Through the apartment window I saw a man sitting with a blonde. They were on the couch facing the TV, starting to watch a movie. The title on the screen, Debbie Does Dallas, a classic for folks who cotton to that style of entertainment. What looked to be a blank white business card attached to the screen door with a pushpin had his name printed in block letters: Tommy Montoya. The screen was unlatched; I turned on the recorder and walked in.