Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (20 page)

"Got it," he assured me, but he still looked troubled when he left me.

I felt a bit troubled, myself, when I collected the electronic message that had been awaiting my attention since midnight. It was from "Don Carlo," it was short, it was cryptic, and it was disturbing as hell. Not because of what it said but because of what it implied.

      
The guy had sworn me in just a little more than twenty-four hours earlier, after all but imploring me to take the job. Now it seemed that he was firing me:

      
"The Dons lost again. Kill all bets, cut your losses. Better luck next rime. Medicare isn't half bad. Don Carlo."

      
Not only that, but it sounded like maybe he was firing himself.

      
If I was reading it right, then for sure I would be running the streets naked and alone come Monday morning.

      
At least, now, I knew how much time I had to walk out of this town under my own steam, clean, and proud.

      
I had a little more than twenty-four hours. If I should live so long.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

It was getting onto three a.m
. when Zarraza rapped on my open door and stepped inside. He looked tired, in fact he looked beat, and I could sympathize. He gave me a quick rundown on the results of the Whiteside investigation to that moment, which added nothing to my own understanding, and concluded by stating that the coroner's team was leaning toward a finding of death by self- administered drug overdose, pending autopsy results.

The security guard, Norm Tomkins, had given Zarraza essentially the same story he'd given me regarding the eleven
p.m
. visitor. Zarraza had the tape in an evidence bag but had not yet viewed it. I told him what I had seen on the tape, then handed over the three other tapes Tomkins had given me before the discovery of Lydia's death. I explained that they were the surveillance tapes from the period surrounding the shooting of Frank Jones, and I further told the detective, "Let's keep those under wraps for the time being. There are other tapes
I
'd like to get my hands

on, but I want it legal beyond any question." I explained that I had sent Ramirez for a search warrant and told him, "I want a clean sweep, I want a fully preserved chain of evidence, and I want to make the move before Schwartzman returns. Also I'd like for you to handle it. Are you game?"

Zarraza smiled tiredly as he replied, "Well, at least the spirit is willing."

"Then the flesh will follow," I assured him. "Pick a couple of guys who you'd trust with your wife and your life. Have them ready to move within the hour."

He glanced at his watch, said, "None I'd trust with my wife, but I get your meaning. I know a couple I'd trust with my life."

I warned him, "If we find what I'm hoping to find, it could bring a lot of discomfort to a lot of people in this department. I'm not sure about Ramirez, even. Be sure you're sure about the two you pick. They should be squeaky clean and not afraid to see the chips fall where they may."

"Why're you so sure of me?" Zarraza asked with a faint smile.

"I'm not," I replied, mirroring his smile. "I'm following the gut. What else can I do?"

"That's what I'm doing," he said.

"Trust it?"

The smile broadened. "What else can I do?"

So at least we understood each other. "Put your men on alert, get them on board as quickly as possible. I'll tell Ramirez that the search warrant is yours. You move as soon as it is in your hands. I want all the tapes, surveillance and otherwise, and I want them cleanly identified as to where they were found and the condition in which they were found. I want all clothing, all papers and records and writings, anything and everything that can identify or verify the residents and/or visitors. You know what I want."

He knew, yes. "We'll need a truck."

"Cut a voucher and rent one, have it ready to roll by four o'clock. Will that be a problem?"

"No, I know where I can get one on short notice. Will you be coming up with us?"

"I'll be there waiting for you," I assured him. "How's the gut now?"

I already knew, seeing it reflected in his eyes. "Tumbling a bit," he admitted. "You're taking on big game, you know."

"Get the right weapon," I reminded him, "the rhino falls as quickly as the deer."

He knew that, too, and he knew that we were going for the right weapon.

I just hoped I'd picked the right team. Zarraza had called it. I was going for damned big game.

I
was at
the mansion by three-thirty, passed myself through the gate and allowed Tomkins to open the front door for me. He was clearly frazzled, confused, frightened—and his frame of mind pre-empted my own agenda of the moment. "I think I'd like to get out of here," he told me as soon as I stepped inside the house. "But I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to go off at eight. Who's going to relieve me? I called Harry Snow and he says he's not coming in this morning. So who the hell is going to relieve me?"

I said, "Look at it this way, you'll get all this overtime. Is Harry sick?"

"No, he's scared, says he don't want no more to do with it. I even have to feed the damned dogs. The gardener's

gone, the maids are gone—nobody will be back until Monday. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

      
"Who pays your salary?"

      
"Lydia took care of that. She managed the place. So who's running it now? Are you? Can you find someone to relieve me?"

      
"Can't you get hold of Schwartzman?"

      
He gave me an "are you kidding" look. "How would I do that? Are you in charge here now?"

      
What the hell—why not? I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and said, "What do you think, Norm?"

      
"Well, I think someone has to be in charge. You said you took Tim's place, so . .."

      
"And what did Tim do?"

      
"Well, you know... he ran it."

      
"The security?"

      
"Well, sure, that too. I just want to be sure I get relieved. Harry has freaked out and he's not coming back, I can tell you that, he's not coming back. I've been on ever since Frank died and maybe I ought to be freaking too. What's going on around here, Joe? Why would Lydia do that? Why would she want to kill Tim? Those two were as close as any two people you'd ever want to see. Why would she do that?"

      
I said, "Well, Norm... he was a married man."

      
"He was?"

      
"You didn't know that?"

      
"I don't know, I just assumed . . . when did he get married?"

      
I said, "We're talking about Tim Murray, right?"

      
"Right, Tim Murray."

      
"The Chief of Police."

      
"Right, that Tim Murray. But I didn't know he was married."

      
I said, "Maybe he didn't either, Norm. Maybe that was the problem."

      
"I wonder if Lydia knew."

      
"If she didn't know, maybe she found out the hard way. Maybe that was Murray's wife that came here just before Lydia died."

      
This guy was not what you'd call bright, but he wasn't that dumb. "Aw, no, I don't think so, Lydia really wanted to see this woman. Well, it's a hell of a note. It's got me very worried, Joe. I'd like to get out of here."

      
"I don't see any chains on you," I told him.

      
"Well, I can't just leave..."

      
"Why not?"

      
"Who'll feed the dogs?"

      
"Don't worry it. If you want to go..."

      
He did, he really did. "I'll lock the gates open. That okay? So the maids and gardener can get back in?"

      
I shrugged and said, "It's fine with me. Norm."

      
It was like the guy had just been granted a parole from prison. I saw the weight of unexpected responsibilities slip from his shoulders as he hurried back to his little cell. I stood at the front door and waited while he gathered his things, and I saw him out the door a happy man.

      
But probably only for a little while.

      
I'd brought a patrol unit with me. They were waiting outside to collect him. Another unit was already collecting Harry Snow, the other guard. For nothing, maybe, but at least they'd get booked on suspicion of littering or whatever and we could hold them for awhile, pending other developments.

      
For awhile, at least, Copp was in charge of the mansion.
 

From Lydia's apartment
, which apparently also doubled as a makeshift office, we took six boxes of records, receipts, account books, bank statements and other papers. Apparently she had been running two bank accounts with the local bank, one under Brighton Holding, Inc. and the other a personal account in her own name but nothing under Schwartzman. There were payroll records not only for the help at the mansion but also for a number of businesses in Helltown, including The Dee-light Zone, as well as account books and other records having to do with the management of those businesses.

I didn't take time to go through all that stuff. We just bundled it and bagged it and boxed it, carried it to the truck, and moved on to the rest of the house. I went through the maids' rooms while Zarraza and his crew cleaned out the security station, tried to not really disturb the meager belongings there and didn't expect to find anything but felt that I had to give it at least a tweak, then was glad that I did because I found something interesting if not exactly evidential. One of the maids had a photo on her dressing table, it was taken out about the grounds somewhere, and it showed an aged Asian man—probably the gardener—and a young Asian woman posing selfconsciously with the swimming pool in the background.

In that sunlit background a man and woman sat at a table beside the pool. The man, I'm sure, was Tim Murray. The woman, it seemed, could be Lila Turner. Both wore swim suits, and the woman appeared to be caressing the man's shoulder.

I wanted to take that photo but I suppressed the urge, leaving it undisturbed in its small plastic frame; it was, after all, the private property of one who evidently possessed little else—but I went out of there with the photo etched indelibly into my gray matter.

The guard station yielded three years' worth of logs showing cryptic notations chronicling the comings and goings at the mansion—nothing at first look to get excited about—and surveillance tapes covering only about the past week. Apparently the tapes were "rolled over" on a weekly basis and used again.

Upstairs, though, Zarraza discovered a veritable bonanza of video tapes along with cameras and lights, the works. They had been stored in a locked walk-in closet especially outfitted for such storage, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with stacked four-drawer "video library" boxes, each carefully labeled as to date and time and subject. The cameras were state-of-the-art camcorders, looked very expensive, and there were eight of them.

Coincidentally, maybe, there were eight bedroom suites in the mansion.

"Look at the labels on here!" Zarraza crowed. "Do you recognize some of these names?"

Yes, I recognized some of those names.

"If this is what I think it is," he said, "these guys have to be out of their skulls, unless they never knew that they were on candid camera. This guy Schwartzman must be a total pervert! Look at all these tapes! There must be hundreds!"

His two assistants wanted to come in and take a look, and the three of them had a hooting good time as they scanned labels on the boxes.

I could not quite get up to their point of elation over the find, maybe because it was pretty much what I'd expected to find and maybe because I could not get the photo from the maid's room out of my head.

I told Zarraza, "Take your time with this stuff. Log it in very carefully. Do the same with the clothing and any other items you think worthwhile. Then I want you to take it all to San Bernardino and very carefully log it in there with the sheriff. Check each item into each evidence locker, be sure it's properly sealed."