"V" is for Vengeance (30 page)

My entire body was engulfed in heat. Diana Alvarez had slanted the truth, insinuating actions and attitudes I had no way to refute. It didn't surprise me she'd talked to a Santa Teresa Police Department vice detective. The fact that it was Len Priddy was just my bad luck, unless she'd somehow picked up on his disdain for me. His use of the terms “allegation” and “purely fanciful” in the same sentence suggested I was deluded. It was obvious he considered me a buffoon. She'd also implied that Claudia and I were deliberately ducking her inquiries into a sensitive matter of importance to the community at large.

The woman was dangerous. I hadn't understood before the power of her position. She could present the so-called facts in any light she wanted, using neutral-sounding language to drive her point home. How many times had I read similar accounts and taken the contents at face value? The gospel according to Diana Alvarez was anything she wanted the public to believe. She was sticking it up my nose because she knew I had no way to fight back. She hadn't defamed me and nothing she'd said had been libelous. Taking issue with her would only make me appear defensive, which would further her views.

I got up and walked back to the kitchenette. I poured myself a cup of coffee. I had to hold the mug with two hands to keep the surface steady. I carried the coffee back to my desk, wondering how soon my phone would start to ring. What I was graced with instead was a visit from Marvin Striker, who had a copy of the paper tucked under one arm.

He looked as dapper as ever. Even in the midst of fuming, I had to admire the conservative dress code to which he adhered. No jeans and flannel shirts for him. He wore dark slacks, a muted sport coat, a white dress shirt, and a gray wool tie. His shoes were polished and he smelled of aftershave. In an earlier age, he would have been known as a dandy, or a swell, or a man about town.

He noticed the paper lying on my desk, which saved him beating around the bush. “I see you read the article, same as me. So what did you think?”

“You come off looking a lot better than I do, that's for sure,” I said. “I told you she was a troublemaker.”

I gestured him into a chair.

He sat down, posture erect, his hands on his knees. “I'm not sure I'd call her a troublemaker. Granted, she's got a different point of view, but that doesn't mean she's wrong. Like she says, she's looking at the bigger picture. I already got two calls this morning, wanting me to sign a petition in support of the suicide-prevention barrier.”

“Oh, come on, Marvin. That's a smokescreen. She's using the issue to stick it up my nose. She doesn't like it that I won't jump when she says jump.”

He stirred uneasily. “I can see you're taking this personally, which is a mistake in my opinion. I understand you don't like criticism. None of us want to be held up to public scrutiny, so I don't fault you for that.”

I waited. He made no response. I said, “Finish the sentence. You don't fault me for that so what
do
you fault me for?”

“Well, you know . . . that vice detective didn't exactly endorse your point of view. About Audrey and this gang stuff.”

“Because he's just like Diana Alvarez, thrilled at the chance to cast me in a bad light.”

“Why would he do that?”

I waved the question aside. “It's not worth getting into. It's ancient history. I won't claim he hates me. That would be an exaggeration. Let's just say he dislikes me and the feeling's mutual.”

“I gathered as much. I mean, I wasn't sure how well you knew the guy, but he didn't come across as a big fan of yours.”

“He was a friend of my ex-husband's, who was also a cop. Believe me, there's no love lost between us. I think he's a creep.”

Marvin's right knee began a subtle jumping that he stilled with one hand. “Yes, well, that's an item I thought we should cover while we're at it. You don't like Diana Alvarez and now it turns out you don't like the vice detective. No offense, but it sounds like they don't like you either.”

“Of course they don't. That's the point I just made.”

“Which presents me with a problem. The newspaper gal I don't care about so much as this vice cop, what's his name.”

“Priddy.”

“Right. If you'll remember our initial conversation, you said I should hire you because they considered you a professional. Now it looks like that's not true.”

“He doesn't consider me a professional at any rate,” I said.

“So that has me wondering.”

“About what?”

“If you're the best person for the job. I thought we could kick the subject back and forth between us. I'm curious what you have to say for yourself.”

“I've said my piece. You want to fire me, fire me.”

“I never said anything about firing you,” he said, aggrieved.

“I thought I'd save you some time. No need to dance around the subject. You want me gone, I'm gone.”

“Don't be in such a rush. Thing is, I don't question your qualifications or your sincerity. It's just the police don't believe there's anything to this business about a shoplifting gang. You have to admit it sounds farfetched, which I've said all along.”

“I'm not going to argue. You know why? Because it would sound self-serving, like I'm promoting my theory to protect my job. You're the boss. You can believe anything you want. Audrey was an angel, falsely arrested, and falsely charged. She didn't throw herself off the bridge, she tripped and fell.”

“Now you're twisting my words. I accept Audrey stole things. I already gave you that the last time we talked. It's this notion there was more going on, like this big conspiracy. The cop isn't buying it and he should know, don't you think?”

“Marvin, she had
hundreds
of dollars' worth of stolen items in her underwear, which was specifically designed for just that purpose. Shoplifting wasn't a hobby. She was a pro.”

“That doesn't mean she was part of an organized ring. The cop pretty much said the whole idea was bogus.”

“Len Priddy would scoff at anything I said. You have no idea how contemptuous he is of me.”

“That's what I'm saying. You go forward, he's not going to cooperate, which means you and the cops are working at cross-purposes.”

“What do you want to do? Just give me the bottom line here and let's get on with it.”

He shrugged, apparently not wanting to be pinned down without agonizing first. This was Marvin's version of playing fair. “I thought we should toss around some possibilities, like maybe you could confine your questions to how she died and leave the other part to the police.”

“If you think her death was a homicide, the sheriff's department is in a better position to investigate than I am. They'll bend over backward finding out what went on. I'm coming at events from the other end, trying to figure out what she was involved in and whether that got her killed.”

He shook his head. “Doesn't feel right to me.”

“It doesn't feel right to me either.”

“There's gotta be a compromise. We split the difference, as it were, so you get what you want and I do too.”

“This is a business arrangement. Compromise doesn't come into it. I think it's cleaner and more honest if we part company. No harm, no foul. You go your way and I go mine. We shake hands and walk away.”

“I have a lot of respect for you.”

“Uh-hun. Right.”

“No, I mean it. So how about this? Go ahead and work off the money I paid you and then we'll talk. That way, I don't come off looking like I'm disloyal or a cheapskate.”

“You're not a cheapskate. Don't be ridiculous. Who said that?”

“Diana mentioned maybe I was reluctant to cut ties because you might not give my retainer back and I didn't want to be out the bucks.”

“Why don't we leave her out of it, okay? Because here's the issue as far as I'm concerned. I don't think you should pay me when you're so clearly convinced I've got my head up my ass. If you think I'm on the wrong track, it's a waste of your money and my time to go on with this. It's a vote of no confidence.”

“I have confidence in you, just not the tack you're taking. Problem is, you could turn out to be right and then how would it look if I, you know, terminated your employment?”

“I can't help how you look to other people. I can appreciate the bind you're in and I'm letting you off the hook.”

“Then why do I feel bad? I don't like feeling bad.”

“Fine. If it makes you feel bad, you don't have to make the decision right now. Take your time. Whatever you want, I'll be cool with it. We can't keep going around and around like this.”

“In that case, I gotta go back to my original proposition. How about you work off the dough I paid you up front? You can spend your time any way you want. You don't even have to itemize where you went or what you did. Your prerogative entirely. Money runs out, we'll talk just like this and you can tell me what you found.”

“You don't have to humor me.”

“No, no. That's not where I'm coming from. I'm fine with this,” he said. “How much time have you put in so far?”

“I have no idea. I'd have to go back and calculate.”

“Then figure it out and whatever time you have left, use as you see fit. We have a deal?”

I stared at him for a moment. I didn't like any of it, but I didn't want Diana Alvarez and Len Priddy lording it over me.

I said, “Sure.”

We fumbled the conversation to a close and left the conflict with neither one of us at peace. The whole complexion of the game had changed. On the surface, it looked the same. I had the younger woman in my sights. Another half a day and I'd know where she lived and from that I could find out who she was. Sooner or later, she'd tip her hand. Inevitably, I'd reach a point where I'd be operating on my own dime. But so what? Even if I ended up with egg on my face, there are worse things than that. The little cynical voice in me piped up, saying, “Oh, yeah? Name one.”

Aloud, I said, “Letting the bad guys win.”

 

 

At 2:45 I parked just outside the entrance to Horton Ravine, angling the station wagon so the long drive up to Climping Academy was in plain view. I couldn't imagine a tow truck driver opting to remove the disabled Mercedes through the rear entrance to the Ravine, but I was prepared to follow him either way. In the meantime, since I wasn't actually
in
Horton Ravine, I was beyond the jurisdiction of the proto-cop. He'd been nice enough on our first encounter, but I didn't want to push my luck. I shut down my engine and removed a map of California from the glove compartment. I opened the map fully and laid it across the steering wheel, hoping I looked like a tourist who'd pulled off the road to get her bearings. I turned on the radio, tuning in to a station that played hit songs twenty-four hours a day. I listened to two Michael Jackson cuts and then Whitney Houston's “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.” The DJ announced she'd just knocked Billy Ocean out of the number one spot. I didn't know if this was good news or bad.

At 3:00 the cars began their exodus, pouring down the hill from Climping, one luxury vehicle after another. When I was in high school, I'd used public transportation. Aunt Gin had a fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile that she used to get back and forth to work. In those days, teenagers had no rights and no sense of entitlement. We knew we were second-class citizens, entirely at the mercy of adults. There were kids who had their own cars, but it wasn't the norm. The rest of us knew better than to bitch. I pictured this crop of youngsters, not spoiled so much as unaware of how fortunate they were.

Three thirty came and went, and just when I was getting worried, a tow truck approached from my left, passed me, and headed up the hill. In my mind's eye, I could see the parking lot, which would be largely deserted by now. The damsel in distress would be easy to spot. The driver would pull up in the empty lane and get out of his truck. The girl would explain the problem while gesturing at the tires. I could picture him hunkering down to have a look, quickly realizing, as she must have, that human mischief was at the root. I'd left the two valve caps on the pavement, one sitting neatly beside each flat tire. She was bound to have spotted them, and if she'd complained about being the victim of a prank, the driver had probably brought along a portable air compressor. It would be a simple matter then of his inflating one tire at a time and screwing the valve caps back into place. This would take no more than three minutes, maybe four taking into account the back-and-forth of polite conversation.

I checked my watch, fired up my engine, and turned off the radio. I looked up as though cued and said, “Ah!” because there came the tow truck, turning right at the foot of the hill. The Mercedes followed. Though I knew the upscale private school drew students from all over the city, I'd assumed the girl lived somewhere in Horton Ravine. However, instead of turning left and heading into the heart of the Ravine, she took a right as well. I kept my face averted, making a serious study of the map still open in front of me. She didn't know me from Adam, but on the off chance we crossed paths in the future, I didn't want her making the connection. The tow truck passed me, slowed at the intersection, and took a right. She was two car lengths behind. I was already folding up the map, which I left on the passenger seat. As soon as she'd cleared the intersection, I checked for oncoming traffic, made an illegal U-turn, and followed her.

The tow truck continued on across the freeway overpass. The Mercedes moved into the right lane. The girl took the 101 on-ramp and merged with the stream of speeding cars heading south. I slowed, adjusting my speed to allow another car between us. Traffic was light and it wasn't difficult keeping up with her. She stayed in the right-hand lane and passed the off-ramp at Little Pony Road. She got off on the Missile Street exit and kept to the left in preparation for a turn. The car between us sped on. We were both caught at the stoplight at the bottom of the ramp. I could see her adjust the rearview mirror and reapply her lipstick. When the light changed, it took her a moment to register the fact. I was patient, not wanting to call attention to myself with even a quick toot of my horn.