Copp On Fire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp, Private Eye Series) (14 page)

Besides, I had neither the time, the options nor the brains to set myself up as judge and jury. I was still a cop, trying to do a job. If that meant kissing the guy, then I'd kiss him.

If it meant killing him, I'd do that too.

CHAPTER TWENTY

We sat across the desk from each other. I placed my big pistol midway between us. "Go for it WW any time you'd like," I told him.

      
"Who needs it? I told you before, we need to get our heads together on this. So what's the beef? Let's just do it."

      
"Tell me again why they sent you West."

      
"It reads the same every time. Their boy was cheating on them. They sent me out to watch his fingers."

      
"Did he know they suspected?"

      
"Course he knew."

      
"They'd called him on it?"

      
"Sure. He'd been cheating small all along. Hey, everybody expects it. Expense accounts, petty cash, kickbacks, that's considered part of the salary if you do it cool. But this guy really lost it big, especially after the injury in Mexico. They figured he went a little nuts, brooding about that maybe. Went for a grand slam and a quick out."

      
"How was he doing it?"

      
"Right off the top."

      
"Top of what?"

      
"Top of the gross. Three sets of books. One set for the stockholders, one for the men, one for himself.

      
"So how'd they know for sure?"

      
"I found his books."

      
"When?"

      
"Just last week."

      
"So you sent them right off to New York."

      
"Took '
em
myself.

      
"Know how this would sound in court?"

      
"I'd deny the hell out of it in court. You know that."

      
"Tell it to my pal Edgar," I suggested. "He's brilliant at building cases from bits and pieces. He's trying to wrap one around my throat right now with less to build on. Edgar would say that you came back from New York with a contract in your pocket. He'd say that you shook the fifty mil or whatever out of Bernie and then torched him along with his whole operation."

      
"Wouldn't sound too brilliant to me," Cassidy said.
     
"I wouldn't do it that way."

      
"No?"

      
"No. I'd just take your friend for a drive to Las Vegas. I'd get there, he wouldn't. And I'd dare Mr. Brilliant to find the right spot to start digging up two hundred miles of desert."

      
I knew he was right. It had been done that way many times. I said, "So you think the bombs were for stage effect."

      
"Sure they were."

      
"And the shootings."

      
"I'm still wondering about those. But Wiseman's behind them, you can make book on that."

      
"You've been watching him for a year. See anything to suggest he might be setting up something like this?"

      
"No. But he wouldn't want me to see that, would he."

      
"He knew you were watching him?"

      
"Had to know. Last few months, anyway."

      
"You wanted him to know."

      
"Sure. War of nerves. Kept thinking the guy would crack and come back home on his knees."

      
"So now you figure he cracked the other way."

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably. "Looks that way, or else he was suckering me all the way. No ... I think he cracked when his books came up missing. I was in New York three days waiting for the decision. Got back Monday night. It blew to hell Tuesday."

      
"Do you know Melissa Franklin?"

      
"Know of her. Pretty hot stuff."

      
"You've been here a year. Melissa tells me she's been in Mexico a year."

      
"No way. She's been humping your friend all this past year, and he has not gone near Mexico."

      
"You said you were in New York three days waiting for a decision. What decision was that?"

      
"I was told to confront Wiseman on the books and give '
im
a chance to come clean. To come home, you know."

      
"And if he didn't?"

      
The old
legbreaker
smiled. "Then I could use my own discretion."

      
"Squeeze it out of him."

      
"Like that."

      
"You didn't try that, though."

      
"Didn't get the chance."

      
"Maybe you did, at least maybe Edgar would think you did. You recovered the fifty mil and decided to keep it for yourself. But you had to cover your tracks. So you blew up all the tracks and now you're just sitting and waiting the air to clear."

      
"Sure. And retire to Argentina."

      
"Could be."

      
"Sure it could. But it didn't turn that way."

      
"But aren't you a little worried that the men in New York might wonder if it did?"

      
"It occurred to me. Why do you think I'm in such a sweat, birdbrain? Maybe I have to find the guy if only to square myself. Think I'd be hanging around for any other reason? If I had the fifty I'd have already found somewhere else to count it."

      
"What's with Guilder?"

      
"Raw kid, but he tried hard."

      
"You had him tailing Wiseman?"

      
He nodded.

      
"Ever wonder if Guilder was square with you?"

      
"No reason to wonder. He loved to play cops and robbers. Not too quick between the ears but ... I trusted him."

      
"He ever mention Melissa Franklin to you?"

      
"Don't think so, except maybe in routine reports. Why?"

      
"They've known each other for years. He ran into her just before she went to Mexico. So the memory was fresh. If he was shadowing Wiseman, and if she really was in Mexico all that time, don't you think he would've spotted a stand-in?"

"I don't get it. Why would she have a stand-in? The girl was not in Mexico,
Copp
. She was right here in L.A. and on Wiseman's arm most every time he went out."

"Melissa says she was in Mexico. As I get it, something to do with a plan to launder her past and then bring her back a bright new discovery. No more porno. She was called home this last weekend, got here Tuesday just in time for the fireworks. She thinks she was meant to join the fireworks. And she says that Bernie Wiseman was not in that limo."

"I want to talk with that lady," Cassidy said.

I told him, "You'll have to catch her first. She's buzzing around in panic and doesn't light too often. I was talking to her last night not a hundred yards removed when Guilder got it. Someone intruded on our meet. I figured maybe it was you. But now I'm thinking on a different tack. Guilder opened fire as soon as the intruder appeared, but it was a public place and anyone could have wandered in off the street—so why did he panic? I'm thinking maybe he didn't panic, maybe he knew right off who he was shooting at, and maybe he was shooting with good reason. Melissa told me that she contacted Guilder because she was scared to death and thought he could help her. But I'm wondering now . . . could Guilder have been working for Wiseman all the time you thought he was working for you?"

Cassidy's growl was reborn. "He wasn't that smart."

"Doesn't take smarts to double deal. Just the opposite. And why are you so sure Wiseman is still alive? Did you have Guilder staking out Franklin's place?"

"Whose place? The girl's?"

      
"No.
Charles Franklin, the screenwriter, Melissa's husband."

      
Cassidy shook his head. "I never figured him for anything . . ."

      
"He was with Wiseman in Mexico when the horse fell on him. Claims to have been in love with Wiseman but married Melissa a year later and—"

      
"In love? He's gay?"

      
"Says he's gay but also celibate. Says he never lived with Melissa. Apparently Wiseman arranged the marriage and sent the girl off to Mexico . . ."

      
The old ex-cop gave me a long, hard look. "How'd you get all this shit in such a short time?"

      
"It's not nearly enough. You knew nothing?"

      
"I knew that Franklin and Melissa were married. I knew that Franklin and Wiseman were pals, made some pictures together. And I figured that Franklin knew that his pal was banging his wife. But I never heard this other stuff."

      
"Guilder never hinted at anything like that?"

      
"Not
so's
you'd notice."

      
"You definitely feel Wiseman is still alive?"

      
"Have to," he said. "Makes no sense any other way."

      
"Maybe it's not supposed to make sense. Maybe Guilder—"

      
"What about Guilder?"

      
"Ever heard of a double-wrapper? Could the New York people have sent you to watch Wiseman, then tapped Guilder to watch you? And could he have been playing a different game the whole time?"

      
"He was here when I came . . ."

      
"Made from an actor," I said. "It's
Tinseltown
, Butch, not the streets of New York. Everyone here is an actor—the waiters, the tailors, the candlestick makers, most all of them came out to make it in pictures or television and they end up doing what they can to survive. You don't have to be smart to act, you just have to know how to get into a role and believe it's really you. Then you can make anyone believe. So what did Guilder make you believe?"

      
"The son of a bitch . . ."

      
"Look past the false fronts and tell me what you see, Butcher."

      
He gave me one of his terrible smiles. "I think I better call New York."

      
"Do that," I said. "And when you get the man on the line, ask him if he really wants you to find Bernie Wiseman."