The Incumbent Page 18

“Something my grandmother used to say. It means she let the man know how things were. I don’t have details; I wasn’t party to the discussion—just in earshot.”

  “I see.” West fell silent.

  “Oh no, you don’t. Don’t clam up now. Why ask such an odd question?”

  He sighed. “Just thinking. Why is Mrs. Stout dead? She was taken second, not first. I would have guessed that if our abductor were a murderer—”

  “If? Of course he is.”

  “You want to hear this or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me finish before passing judgment. I’m just thinking out loud. I go back to the question: Why did we find Mrs. Stout first? Serial criminals work with some degree of logic—granted, it’s twisted logic, but it’s still there. Lisa Truccoli was abducted first, then Mrs. Stout. It’s possible we just haven’t found Ms. Truccoli’s body yet, but somehow that seems too simple an explanation.”

  “You’re thinking that maybe Lizzy made too much of a fuss or was too hard to handle.”

  “Yeah, but it’s just conjecture.” His eyes darted to the rearview mirror, lingered, then returned to the road ahead. “There have been other serial abductions, but they usually involve young women who are kidnapped and kept as sex slaves.”

  “That’s an image I don’t need.” It was a sickening thought.

  “It’s beyond horrible, but my point is that our women are middle-aged businesswomen, not the type associated with those kinds of cases. To make things more complex, the third person abducted was a man. Add to that the one thing we really know: they’re all associated with you.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Your friend wasn’t beaten and so far there’s no evidence of a sexual crime. Why is she dead? There are no visible signs of murder except an injection mark in the shoulder—if it’s an injection mark. Everything is so clean: the places where the abductions took place and now Elizabeth Stout’s body. I’m thinking that her death may have been unintentional.”

  “What!” This was too much to take in. “She was tied to a pier and left in the rising tide.”

  “After she was dead. That’s important. It also tells us the perpetrator is still in the area, which means his captives can’t be too far away. I doubt he would cart a dead body up and down the freeway.”

  “But how does that make Lizzy’s murder accidental?”

  “Unintentional, not accidental. It’s too early to tell. The blood work will tell us more, but I can’t help wondering—and that’s all I’m doing here, wondering—if the abductor was trying to sedate Stout, who may have been giving him grief, and overdid it. Then he unloaded her body.”

  “Why put her in the ocean, tied to the pier?”

  “The water’s colder than the air; he’s probably thinking that it would make it difficult to assess the time of death. He’s partly right, but the forensics folks and the medical examiner are sharp people. They know how to adjust the calculations. Putting her in the ocean also makes it very difficult to gather clues. This guy is a thinker.”

  “It sounds like you admire him.”

  He looked at me and frowned. “Not admire, Mayor. I respect his intelligence. If I don’t, he’ll outthink me and everyone else on the case. I have to get into his head. This is part of the process.” His eyes went back to the rearview mirror and lingered longer this time.

  “What?” I asked and started to turn.

  “Sit still. I think we have company. A blue van has been behind us and has had plenty of opportunity to pass.”

  “Oh no. A blue van followed Randi and me yesterday.”

  “You might have told me.”

  “I’m sorry. When you came over last night and gave me the news about Lizzy and Allen, I was overwhelmed.”

  “Fix your lipstick,” he said flatly.

  “What? Now?”

  “There’s a mirror on the back of the visor. Lower it and pretend to fix your lipstick. Tell me if the van behind us looks like the one you saw.”

  Pulling down the visor, I touched my lips and fussed with my hair. I could see the van in the mirror. “It’s the same one.”

  “Interesting.” The corner of his mouth rose slightly and his eyes narrowed. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and asked for the watch commander.

  “Chet, it’s Judson. I have Mayor Glenn in the car with me. I think someone is following us. I need two patrol cars.” He gave our location and direction, then fell silent. He glanced at me. “He’s having dispatch put out the call. In a minute we’ll know how soon they can be here.”

  “You’re going to stop the van?”

  “That’s the plan. I want to talk to the driver and—” West turned his attention back to the phone. “Yeah, I’m here.” He listened. “Great. Make it a felony stop, okay?”

  “Felony stop?”

  “It simply means we’re going to be more cautious.”

  “How come you didn’t use the radio?”

  “It might alert the driver. I’m guessing he doesn’t know he’s following a detective’s car.”

  Almost on cue, the radio came to life and I heard the dispatcher send out the call and give our location. A few minutes later the radio revealed that two patrol cars had just pulled behind the van. West kept the cell phone to his ear. I heard him say, “Good. Light ’em up.” He switched off the phone and set it on the seat. “Okay, Mayor, here’s what is about to happen. The patrol cars are going to turn on their lights. If the guy in the van is smart, he’ll pull over; if he runs, the units will give chase.”

  “We will, too, right?”

  “We’ll follow but I’m not putting your life at risk. It’s the patrol officers’ job to run him down.”

  In the passenger-side mirror I could see one of the black and white cars. Suddenly its lights went on. I turned to see the driver’s response. The sun reflected off the windshield, obscuring his face, but I could see his head snapping back and forth. Then he slammed a hand against the steering wheel and moved to the shoulder of the road, slowed, and stopped.

  West also pulled over. A second later he said, “Stay here,” then threw his door open. He had drawn his gun before his feet hit the pavement. Immediately he took charge.

  “Driver, turn off the vehicle!” West pointed his gun at the van’s windshield. “Driver, throw the keys out the window.” I watched as the man lowered the driver’s-side window and tossed a set of keys to the asphalt. “Driver, put your hands outside the window.” The man who had been following us took direction well. West gave one command at a time in a loud don’t-make-me-shoot-you voice. Seconds later the driver was facedown on the shoulder and two uniformed officers were cuffing him. It was like an episode of Cops.

  I left the car and walked toward the crowd of four men. I wanted to know who had been dogging my steps. The man in cuffs, who by this time had been pulled to his feet, was large, with a thick neck and a round, very unhappy face. He looked Hawaiian. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that read, “Bounty Hunters Do It for Money.” Swell.

  “I can explain, officers,” the man said.

  “That’s good, because that is exactly what you’re going to do.” West was hot.

  One of the officers pulled the man’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to West.

  “My name is Melvin Horn. I’m a private investigator. My ID is in the wallet.”

  “Why are you following us, Mr. Horn?” West asked. He rifled through the wallet. At the back he found the PI license.

  “I was following the Mayor.”

  “Who’s your client?”

  “I can’t reveal that. That’s privileged information.” Horn tried to sound cocky but was having trouble pulling it off.

  “I’m investigating a serial abduction and murder case,” West said. “You may think you’re a private detective protecting your client, but you look like a suspect to me. Do you know what obstruction of justice is?”

  “Yeah. But I ain’t obstructing justice.” The
big man shuffled his feet. “I don’t have to answer any questions. You can ask me for my driver’s license and registration and that’s it.” He grimaced. “These cuffs are a little tight.”

  “Like I said, you look an awful lot like a suspect to me. Let’s see, I can hold you for a day or so before your arraignment, and then you could post bond—assuming no one loses the paperwork. You have some cash stored away for bail? The mayor is under police protection, and since you won’t tell me who your client is, I have to assume you don’t have one. That makes me think you might be a danger to her.”

  “Okay, okay. I was hired by Christopher Truccoli to follow the mayor.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if the guy’s daughter was with her, then let him know.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Not yet. I was going to follow you a little farther, then call him.”

  “Good,” West said sharply. “Tell him I take exception to being followed, especially by someone as lousy at it as you. Clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything in the van I should know about?”

  The man hedged. “I know how this works, you know. If I say no, you’ll say, ‘Then you don’t mind if I take a look.’ If I say yes, you’ll have grounds to search it anyway.”

  “Very perceptive. Now answer the question.”

  “There’s a 9mm Glock in the glove compartment,” Horn admitted. “There’s also a .25 caliber handgun under the driver’s seat. I’m licensed to carry a weapon.”

  “You had better hope so. How about drugs? Any controlled substances in the vehicle?”

  “No, and you’re free to search.”

  “I’ll let the officers do that. Just in case you don’t know, there’s a restraining order against your client. You might want to make sure he knows that.”

  “He has a right to see his daughter,” Horn objected.

  “Not when that daughter is an adult and refuses to see him. Your client is digging a hole for himself, and he may just pull you down with him.” West removed a business card from the wallet. “This yours?”

  “You can see my name on it.”

  “So I can, so I can. Mind if I have it?”

  Horn lowered his head and sighed. “No. Take it.”

  “Thanks.” West handed the wallet to one of the officers. “Make sure his licenses are up to date, both the PI and the weapons. Check for wants and warrants. Oh, if you find anything worth booking him for, let me know. I might want to talk to him again.”

  West took me by the arm and led me back to the car. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

  “I want to know who’s hunting me. Besides, you had the cuffs on him.” He opened my door and I took my seat. Then he got in, started the car, and pulled back onto the freeway.

  “This case is bad enough without Truccoli messing things up,” West said. “I can’t figure his sudden interest in his daughter. From what I’ve learned, he’s shown no concern for her since he bailed on the family. Why does he care now?”

  “I don’t know. Guilt, maybe.” I shook my head. “I’m not sure he’s all that balanced.”

  “He’s not crazy. He’s driven, but by what?”

  “Maybe it’s not what but whom. His new wife could be pushing him.”

  “I don’t think he pushes all that easy. I put the pressure to him and it hasn’t slowed him down much.”

  “Will you let me know what the medical examiner says about the blood work?” I asked, changing the subject. I’d had all the talk of Truccoli I wanted.

  “I will. It’ll probably be tomorrow. For now, I’m taking you back to your office.”

  “It seems there should be more than what we’re doing. I know you’re doing your best; I just wish there were something else. Can’t the FBI help?”

  “Not unless we have evidence that one of the abductees was moved across state lines. You should know that there is more going on than you see. In fact, I left the autopsy early to make it back in time for a task force meeting . . .” He had the look of a man who realized he had just made a big mistake.

  “A task force?”

  “With cases like this, it’s customary to bring in other law enforcement agencies: Sheriff’s Department, Highway Patrol, other municipal agencies, even parole officers who might pick up something from their charges.”

  “When is this meeting?”

  He let a few seconds tick by before answering. “Eleven o’clock.”

  “At your office.”

  He nodded. “In the conference room.”

  “I see.”

  He saw, too.

  It was barely 10:30 when I set my fanny down in my office chair. My stomach was a mess from my stint in the autopsy room and then churned up even more by the confrontation with Horn. This day had started off badly and I feared that darker clouds were on the horizon.

  I placed my elbows on the desk and rested my head in my hands. I had not slept well in two days, and the emotional toll was building. I felt like an earthen dam ready to give way. I wanted answers and the more I searched for them, the more questions I found.

  “How’d it go?”

  I looked up and saw Randi standing in the doorway. Her office had been empty when I first entered. I’d assumed she was in the rest room. “Hard. I don’t want to talk about it.” My words were harsher than I intended. I was still angry about her sending the file to Dayton.

  Her head drooped a little. “Here are your messages.” She set several pieces of pink paper on my desk. I looked them over. My depression deepened.

  “Doug Turner wants to talk to you again,” Randi said. “He knows about Lizzy.”

  “There’s nothing I can tell him. I don’t want to meet with him.”

  “He . . .”

  “What?”

  “Don’t kill me. I don’t know how, but he knows about the file.”

  “The congressional campaign file that you prepared? How is that possible?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t give it to him.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Yeah, well, I still feel guilty. I have more bad news. You agreed to speak to the Young Republicans at Santa Rita High.”

  “What?” I looked at my calendar. There it was. I had forgotten. “When?” I asked even as I read the time.

  “Eleven-thirty. I should have reminded you yesterday, but with everything—”

  “No, it’s not your fault; I can read my own calendar. I should have checked it.” There goes the task force meeting, Swell. I explained about wanting to go to the meeting with West.

  “You want me to cancel?”

  “No. It’s important that I fulfill my duties. This has been in the works for some time and it’s too late for them to get a replacement.”

  “What about Turner?”

  “I suppose I should speak to him, if for no other reason than to find out how he came to know about the file.” I slammed my hand down on the desk. “The harder I try to get control, the more chaotic things become!”

  “I wish I could do more for you.” Randi looked crestfallen.

  “Close the door.” She did. I motioned for her to have a seat. It was time to mend fences. I began by bringing her up to date. I told her about the autopsy and about the private investigator hired to track my movements. I also filled her in on all that West had said.

  She shook her head slowly. “We go through life hearing and reading about crimes against people we don’t know but give it little thought. When it’s this close to home, I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Me either. I don’t sleep well and I’ve lost my concentration, today’s speech being evidence of that. I can’t believe how completely I forgot it.” I paused to gather my thoughts. “Okay, what are we going to do about Turner? You said he knows about the file. That doesn’t mean he’s actually seen it, right?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but there are only three copies of that file. You have one, I have anothe
r, and Allen Dayton had the third.”

  “Two drops of blood were found on the file cover. That would render it evidence. The cops wouldn’t turn that over to Turner. At best, he merely knows of the file’s existence.”

  “That’s my guess. I suppose he could have found out about it by interviewing some of the police.”

  “Perhaps. Maybe I should agree to an interview.” It was an idea, although I doubted it would lead anywhere. Perhaps I could persuade Turner to keep quiet about the whole thing. “Call him and tell him my schedule is full, but that I could meet him at the coffee shop near the high school.”

  “The Brewed Bean?”

  “That’s the one. I’ll meet him at twelve-thirty. Don’t tell him about the Young Republican thing. I’d rather he not be there. He might want to ask some of his questions publicly.”

  “He may already know about it. The school sometimes publishes these things.”

  “If so, then there’s nothing I can do about it, but I don’t see any reason why we should be the ones to inform him.”

  “Got it.”

  “Go with me, Randi. After we meet with Turner, we can grab some lunch.”

  She smiled. “I’d love to.”

  Fences mended.

  “Okay, now get out of here; I have to come up with a speech in the next twenty minutes.”

  The speech went well, although I had to wing it. In front of me had been the fresh faces of the high school’s Young Republicans. The office of mayor was technically a nonpartisan position, but everyone knew of my affiliation.

  I strode into the meeting place as if I owned it, and had thirty seconds to spare. Randi was close behind. The club met in the cafeteria. Folding doors on tracks in the ceiling were pulled shut, separating us from the rest of the large, sterile-looking room. Despite the sound-dampening doors, I could hear the bang of pots and pans, and the constant chatter of workers. Lunch had begun, and several of the students in our meeting had trays with plates of hamburgers and potato chips.

  Only twenty students had shown and I felt disappointment. Government and politics is my passion; I expect others to share it. It’s an unrealistic expectation. A teacher who served as the club’s sponsor called everyone to order, then introduced me. He was a tall, thin man with dwindling hair.