Bouncer (24 page)

The chill of the wine cellar numbed Lea’s fingers, and she decided to ascend and search for the key. Clearly, Eddie Murdock had not expected their arrival after the MCPD’s previous search. If he had, he’d certainly have scuttled the dwarf down into the cellar until any possibility of any encounter with unwanted visitors had disappeared. Thus, the most likely spot for his keys was the subterranean basement where Bouncer was lodged.

It was behind the high partition where Eddie Murdock slept that Lea began a tentative search through his drawers, roughly moving aside his plain white boxers and socks. So intent was she on riffling the drawers that she almost missed the extremely expensive
Cartier
watch sitting on a gaudy orange Mexican plate. This was no imitation; its circular face housed twelve decently sized diamonds. One thing was certain; whoever was paying Ed Murdock rewarded him well. There, in plain view next to the watch, sat his keys. It was hard to fathom having so many keys. Lea’s own brass keychain, emblazoned with her three initials, simply consisted of keys for the front door, garage door, office, and car. She snatched the keys up and scurried back to the hidden door.

She cursed in frustration after countless futile insertions of a dozen or more keys. Murphy’s Law guaranteed it was the second to the last that finally opened the padlock. Placing the heavy lock gingerly on the rough wooden floorboard of the cold wine cellar she creaked opened the narrow door.

At first, in the dim light, the second chamber appeared a twin of the other cellar with its high racks filled with dusty bottles of wine. However, as Lea flipped on a light switch to her left she saw a long hallway reinforced with heavy timbers that held up the ceiling. The narrow passageway reminded her of a mine tour that she’d once taken at
Knott’s Berry Farm
. The long shaft proceeded fairly straight for what appeared about twenty feet before taking an abrupt left. She knelt and fingered the soil. It felt identical to the small pile found earlier in front of the pantry doors.

Lea flipped out her cell phone and punched in Nick’s number but only static answered. She’d have to ascend the steps one more time to get hold of him. At the top of the stairwell, she keyed his number again.

“Thayne,” she said.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m still at the Collins house. Didn’t you see my car parked here?”

“Of course, but I thought you hitched a ride with Randy or one of the other officers. Chief Rollins will be a little PO’d to find you remained on the premises after he locked up.”

“So, big whoopdeedo! Look, I need you to buy me some time.”

“Fox . . . what are you up to?”

“Rollins is covering up for someone. I heard him say as much on the phone while I hid in the pantry.”

“Hid in the panty?” returned Nick’s annoyed voice. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Just shut up and listen. Rollins indicated that he was going to meet someone, a woman, at seven o’clock at some place called
The Range
. From what I could glean from the one-sided conversation, she was mighty hysterical about the discovery of the child. I want you to find out what and where
The Range
is while I nose around here some more. Something stinks in Denmark, and I’ve going to find out what it is.”

“Oh, come on . . . you’re the computer whiz. You head back here and do it yourself. I’m following up on the crib particles with Steven Koh, as well as the measurements of the bite mark, and don’t have time for this.”

“I’m too busy. You do it! I spoke to Daniel, and I’ve discovered a—”

He interrupted. “I’m not going to drop everything and play your gopher.”

“I’ve left a key under the office door mat for emergencies.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? And a key under the mat?” he sputtered. “How original! I’ve got a
feeling
about Ashley Peebles and need to follow it up.”

“Look, since I can’t be in two places at one time you’re just gonna have to do what I ask. And I prefer
facts
not
feelings
mister.”

He swore under his breath. “You’re the biggest—”

“Ah, shut up already! It’s already settled that you’re a swine and I’m a bitch. Life goes on. I heard you tell the chief you knew he was having an affair on the side?”

“He was, with Trish Fisher. Roger told me last night.”

“So, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I forgot in all the turmoil. Anything else?” he hissed. God, she pissed him off.

“Yeah. Check if any of Anthony Montanari’s family was ever involved with a Murdock. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

“Rightio,” he said sarcastically before hanging up before she could think of any other chores to add.

Deciding she didn’t want to carry her handbag, Lea tucked her cell phone into her jacket pocket and took out her revolver. For all her bravado with Thayne, she honestly had never shot it except at the firing range. It felt warm and comfortable as she dropped it into her left-hand pocket along with the small penlight attached to her key chain. Fox flung her purse onto the chair inside the kitchen nook and headed back down the steep steps of the pantry into the shadowy wine cellar. The humid dampness assaulted her nostrils and she resisted an obligatory sneeze.

Moving quickly to the now-open passageway door Lea stood for a moment, contemplating her choices. Perhaps she should hurry back up the stairs and call Thayne again asking him to accompany her, but her stubborn, practical nature resisted. It was too crucial for Thayne to discover if a connection really existed between Eddie Murdock, Charlie, and Chief Rollins. And the
feeling
he had about Ashley Peebles had to be significant. There was just too much at stake here for her to wait until Thayne arrived. Her mind made up, she left the door open a crack and started down the long passageway.

The first few paces were covered by rough wooden boards but soon gave way to a rocky, beaten path. The man-made tunnel measured only five feet across at its widest point and was a mere six feet tall. The claustrophobic passageway was built for utility, not looks, the rough earth muffling the tedious clump of her limping stride. Lea proceeded twenty feet before making an abrupt left. She paused for a moment, seeking to determine her whereabouts in the neighborhood.

If the path continued straight, as it looked like it might, Lea figured it would head right into the empty field. Maybe the base of the magnolia hid more than a body. She picked up the pace, appreciative of the single glaring bulbs above her, which cast enough light so that the path could safely be trodden. Lea continued another twenty-five paces or so when the tunnel took another sharp turn. She stopped, momentarily confused and studied her feet. Not two paces from where she stood, a rusty blue midget car lay discarded in the dust. Fox scooped up the toy, her pulse quickening.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Lea turned and followed the path, which had narrowed drastically until a steep flight of earthy steps appeared in front of her. She felt so turned around. Was she near the magnolia tree or deep inside the rough scrub oak forest behind Chester Street? Or, worse yet, had she ended up at one of the nearby houses? Lea ascended the rough-hewn stairs at the end of the passageway. A nondescript wooden door equipped only with a metal latch was all that lay between her and the answer.

Fox lifted the catch and the rickety door immediately swung open. Directly behind, a more modern door painted bright green with sturdy metal hinges and utility handle beckoned. She jerked it sharply and the door swung it open. An incredibly sweet dampness assailed her nose, so cloying it made her cough uncontrollably.

Lea stepped into a hot, humid paradise, her violet eyes widening behind her rapidly steaming glasses. She never saw her attacker, nor had the ability to fathom what struck her. The only memory was a flash of black so complete that Lea crashed like a fallen tree at the feet of someone clearly as amazed as she.

Chapter 22

Monday Afternoon

Steven was remarkably understanding when Nick explained why he had to leave.

“So, duty summons,” he said wryly, having overheard Nick’s end of the conversation with Lea. “Don’t worry about it. I need to head over to Social Services and examine Charlie anyway. I’ll get back with you as soon as possible. Any prints from the house?”

“Lots. Now we just have to match ‘em. Wouldn’t want to be the one taking Bouncer’s fingerprints. He’s got a real stubborn streak and a nasty bite. I guess it’s a moot point to note the feces are human, now that we’ve discovered Charlie Murdock.”

“And to think I analyzed that smelly stuff for nothing. I can hardly wait to take his jaw mold. As soon as I determine whether the impression matches the dimensions of Connie’s bite, I’ll phone you. Daniel will start on crib paint analysis immediately.” Steven lifted a hand as Nick let himself out of the coroner’s office.

Nick wasted no time dallying in Lea’s well-organized office. He powered up the computer and took the opportunity as it booted up to go through her unlocked filing cabinets. He quickly found the folder entitled Luke Cambridge and then, curiosity overwhelming him, scanned many of the others. One particularly caught his eyes. Entitled
Buffy
he saw to his amusement it contained a clever wanted poster for a white toy poodle announcing in bold letters,
Reward, Lost Dog.
Business must really be bad if Fox was reduced to searching for lost animals.

The computer appeared to have stalled. “Damn, she’s got a password, and I didn’t think to ask what it is.”

He whipped out his cell phone and listened impatiently while the phone rang and rang before a recorded tinny voice said, “
The subscriber you have contacted is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Fox, this is Thayne. I need your computer password. Call me back as soon as possible either using your office phone or my cell.”

Knowing Fox, it was likely she’d only get back to him when she damn well pleased. He smiled. He’d be hard put to find a woman he couldn’t figure out and generally passwords were easy. You just had to discover who or what the female loved or desired most. Thayne cracked his knuckles and began to type.

He started off with her family. Sometimes people’s passwords are as simple as their first name so Nick typed in Lea and then Leah. That doesn’t work. Her father’s name—Jeremy. No luck. Brother—Lane. Strike.

Nick deposited himself in Lea’s beautiful swivel chair and leaning back, laced his fingers together. He turned his earthen colored eyes to the ceiling and began to talk softly to himself.

“Hmm. Unmarried woman in her early thirties. Ah-ha. Maybe her boyfriend.” He typed in Bernard, but once again, access was refused.

“Maybe Bernard has a nickname? Bernie. Nope. Did she possess a pet?” There was that cat he’d caught a glimpse of at her house, but damn if he knew its name. His almond eyes scanned the office. She sure had a lot of plants. The window and its shelves were filled with healthy philodendrons and African Violets. Maybe those were considered her pets.

He was striking out royally. What could her damn password be? Suddenly an image of Fox thumbing her nose at every man around filled his mind’s eye and a single descriptive word leaped to the forefront.

He typed in the five letters slowly and the computer beeped its greeting.
Hello, Lea.
No wonder she remained unfazed when referred to as
bitch
.

Nick typed in Murdock first. There were about 16,000 of them in California alone. He narrowed the search with the name Edward and paused. Eddie Murdock was probably born in the thirties. He punched a range of ten years and waited, drumming his fingers upon the beautiful maple desk. No luck.

He then looked up Montanari’s daughters to see if any of them had been married or involved with a man named Murdock. Strike four.

He dialed Roger, hoping he was conscious. His friend’s voice sounded strong.

“I need some help, buddy.” He relayed all they’d discovered at the Collins house and his search for connections to the Montanari’s and Chief Rollins. Officer Phelps had already forwarded most of the details to Roger’s home computer. That rookie had potential!

“You on her computer?”

“Yup.”

“Look in Child Welfare.”

“I did. Hey, Roger. Do you think this Charlie could be as young as twenty-five?”

“Why do you ask?” asked Roger shifting on the plush beige couch as he stared at the digital photo Randy had snapped of Bouncer. He had managed to convince Susan he’d die and atrophy if he stayed in bed much longer and she’d obligingly made up the couch all comfortable-like with the mandatory pillows, chips, and remote. Almost heaven. Now, if he could just get to work before the chief had a nervous breakdown and fired the whole damn office.

“You remember how Ashley Peebles had a baby, and it supposedly died? What if it didn’t die, Roger, but was hidden because it was abnormal? What if she was raped and had Charlie?”

“Raped?” asked Roger. “Actually, that would make some kind of convoluted sense in this bizarre case.”

“If Ashley Peebles was killed twenty-five years ago, then I’m positive Bouncer must be that old. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Anthony Montanari bought that house under the name of Collins to hide the existence of his illegitimate son, who is Charlie Murdock. And maybe our Ashley wasn’t as willing as everyone likes to insinuate.”

“The child’s the result of rape?” asked Roger, thrilled his brain finally functioned. “You would have thought that if Anthony had somehow impregnated a seventeen-year-old girl, he’d have quickly paid for her to have an abortion.”

“But he’s Catholic, after all, and fairly devout from what I’ve heard.”

“Devout my eye,” scoffed Roger over the phone. “Screwing around or maybe even molesting a teenaged girl is not what I call a religious man.”

“Okay, maybe just religious in tradition. So let’s assume we’re correct. If Charlie really is Anthony Montanari’s child, then what does that have to do with the mayor and his murder?”

“Well,” said Roger thinking hard, “it’s a long shot . . . but . . .”

“But what?” queried Nick impatiently.

“Don’t you think it’s a little peculiar Anthony Montanari would pay his respects to Thad Fisher when it was clear they really didn’t like each other much; that is, if Trish Fisher is to be believed. So, what’s the real association between Montanari and Thad Fisher?”

“Luke Cambridge mentioned Thad Fisher was actually a friend of the Montanari boys. He was only about six or so years older than them while Anthony is almost his father’s age. Maybe that’s the connection?”

“Wait a minute. What if Thad Fisher knew Anthony Montanari was the father of Ashley Peebles’ child?”

“Blackmail,” said Nick his dark head springing up and his eyes narrowing. “Hmm. But it makes a lot more sense if it was Eddie Murdock blackmailing the mayor.”

“But what if Thad Fisher was blackmailing Anthony because he knew the child was a Montanari? Anthony got tired of it all and decided to rid himself of Thad Fisher and his expensive mistress,” suggested Roger, almost feeling himself again.

“I don’t know,” said Nick rubbing his head and leaning back wearily; a horrifying image refused to dislodge itself from his brain. “If what you’re surmising is correct, then Anthony Montanari was the killer all along. It could make sense that he killed Ashley Peebles to silence her about bearing a child with him out of wedlock—a child that could destroy his marriage. If the boy was handicapped, then he’d have to have someone take care of it and that’s where Eddie Murdock comes in. Eddie Murdock, therefore, must have some special connection to Anthony Montanari.”

Roger felt his brain defrosting. He jumped on the bandwagon. “Okay. Let’s pretend that Thad Fisher, who was known to be quite a ladies man even back in those days, needed some extra cash, but his wife refused not only to divorce him but also threatened to cut off his funds if Thad’s adulteries were exposed. Our poor mayor didn’t make enough as an insurance salesman to fund his campaign
or
pay for the expensive tastes of his girlfriends, so what does he do? He blackmails the richest man in the neighborhood, who doesn’t want his own wife or any of his remaining four children to find out.”

“I like where this is heading,” smiled Nick at the receiver. “Let’s continue with the assumption Anthony did have an affair with Ashley Peebles or raped her. She threatens to squeal about the rape or child so our Potato Prince kills her and Anthony frames Deke and Luke for her murder. Luke Cambridge sees Anthony Montanari’s car not far from where Ashley Peebles’ body was found, but with all the blood found in the pair’s room—no one believed him.”

“Poor bastard. Since Ashley Peebles’ son was not only mentally handicapped but a dwarf, Anthony knew that he couldn’t place him in a normal children’s home, so he has to hire someone to take care of him. Someone who has some sort of attachment to the boy, and that would be Eddie Murdock.”

“When Jeremy Fox makes noise about opening the case again, Chief Rollins makes sure the records disappear from the County Clerk’s office,” added Nick.

“So, we’re bringing in my boss?”

“He’s definitely got something to hide. Fox overheard Rollins talking on the phone, and she thinks it’s likely he knew about the boy already. Fox had mentioned—more than once—that the good ole boy network is strong here, and I’m inclined to believe it.”

“Unbelievable,” was all Roger said.

Nick continued. “If all this speculation is valid, then we can surmise that when Thad Fisher and Connie Judson came to visit, our Eddie was probably witness to the murder, as was Bouncer. Anthony had to be there!”

Roger sucked on his apple juice straw before answering. “I wonder if Anthony can verify his whereabouts on Tuesday of last week.”

“Still,” said Nick, his mind already powering ahead. “I remember Anthony at the morgue. He was checking Thad’s missing finger. Fox is inclined to believe that Thad had been killed as a warning to Anthony and that the note left with Connie was warning Montanari that his son was next if certain demands weren’t met.” He pulled open the right-hand drawer of the beautiful desk and rummaged through Fox’s fancy paper clips. Damn if they weren’t color-coordinated. The woman needed serious help.

“Rudolph Montanari,” said Roger. “But what about Philemon’s lip balm?”

Nick hugged the phone to his ear to free his hands and started linking a paper clip chain—first blue, then pink, then green—guaranteed to drive Fox insane when she found them.

“Philemon might have drunk some soda and left it lying about, and Anthony grabbed the can—knowing whoever had drunk from it would be connected falsely to the murder. You’d think Rollins might have the brains to recognize that possibility.”

“Do I hear a hint of animosity towards my fine superior?” twanged Roger.

“Guy’s an asshole. Treats Fox like shit.”

“Some would say she deserves it.”

Nick sighed. “Hey, speaking of Fox . . . It’s been over an hour.”

Sounds of shifting and groaning indicated Roger struggled to get comfortable. “I hope you’re wrong about Chief Rollins.”

“Let’s see if Fox’s baby can discover what
The Range
refers to.”

Nick quickly punched in Chief Rollins’ name, but after many minutes of futile searching, found nothing to shed a glimmer of light upon the case. “I can’t find the connection,” said Nick. “I’d sure like to run this by Fox. She seems to have a better mind for quirky facts. You know what Rudyard Kipling said.
A woman's guess is much more accurate than a man's certainty
.”

“Not another of your damned quotes,” said Roger.

“Hey, you got a yellow pages handy, Roger? Maybe
The Range
is a nightclub or restaurant or something.”

Roger laboriously flipped to the restaurant section and scanned all the eateries in Monroe and the neighboring cities. None remotely fit the description. He sighed loudly, fatigue evident.

“I wonder . . .” said Nick.

Roger suddenly snorted. “These drugs must be warping my mind!
The Range
! Of course. You know where Chief Rollins goes every Sunday afternoon?”

“We’re not that close,” quipped Nick.

“He goes golfing. Richard keeps a bag of clubs in the trunk of his car. When things are slow at the station he heads to the range, the
driving
range. It’s at the edge of town, and Fox says he has a date at 7:00 p.m.? I’ll meet you there.”

“Like hell!”

“Susan has her Book of the Month Club at 6:30, and she’s meeting some friends in a few minutes for an early dinner. Says I’m driving her crazy and has got to get out of the house before she loses her mind. She’ll never know I’m gone.”

“Susan will kill me if I you drive yourself anywhere.”

“You’re right. So pick me up in an hour.”