Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (25 page)

Then, with the help of an executive at the local bank— who turns out to be another old crony—they set up the laundry network. Even then, it was a problem. So they bought properties—some in Baja California, some in Hawaii, some in the Caribbean islands, maybe some others that have not been found yet, certainly quite a few around Brighton—and they actually issued "stock" in Brighton Holding to all the participants. So nobody ever saw a Brighton cop buy a vacation home in Hawaii, but there was always one available. You could visit one of them at their home or search it with a warrant and you'd never find expensive wardrobes, flashy jewelry, or luxury cars—but you'd find those items waiting for whoever got a chance to travel now and then. You'd find Brighton Holding yachts at Newport, Brighton Holding condos and credit accounts at Vegas and other fun capitals—and, at home, you could visit the Schwartzman mansion at regular intervals and party for free with women who were also free.

So why not a happy department, with all that?

Well, you know, you cannot keep something like that going smoothly forever. The more people who are in it, the more chance for dissension and greed and whatever other excess the human expression allows.

And, of course, it was rotten at the top.

Give people like Katz and Murray an inch and they will grab the mile. The illusion of great wealth and power fed their other fantasies, and the fantasies alone could have brought the whole thing down.

Maybe they did.

Couple of items here I need to clear up.

We got this from the cooperating narcs. Franklin Jones was gunned down in cold blood by Dale Boyd because he objected to the clandestine meeting of the "board" which had convened to decide Tim Murray's fate. It happened inside the mansion, probably while Lila was on the grounds. She would not have heard the shots because Boyd had a silencer on the pistol and the report would not have carried beyond the walls.

They had taken him out to bury him beneath the wall when one of the Dobermans "went crazy"—maybe it had the scent of death, and knew whose scent it was—broke out of the kennel and came to investigate. The burial party was no more than thirty feet from the gate when Lila fired at the dog. She fired three shots and fled. Then they saw me coast past in pursuit of Lila. Panic time? Maybe. One of the guys had an inspiration. Jones had been shot three times, too. They buried the dog instead of his keeper and left the body lie, hoping to incriminate Lila in case she had seen what they were doing. Lila unwittingly played into their hands with the story she later concocted as disinformation for my consumption.

The other item has to do with the deaths of Harvey Katz and Tim Murray as well as the death of Lydia Whiteside. Lydia, I think, really did die of an accidental overdose.

      
I didn't get it straight in my own understanding until the next day, Monday, when Lila and I met Patricia and Kelly Murray at the funeral parlor for a quiet, private wake for their husband and father. The ceremonial police department burial had been canceled as inappropriate in the circumstances. Private burial was scheduled for the following day. The son, Keith, was in a school up north somewhere and apparently had refused to come home for his father's funeral.

      
Patricia was standing in the vestibule of the small chapel when Lila and I arrived. Kelly was standing alone beside the coffin holding something that looked like a black rose, but I don't know what that was, maybe a silk facsimile. Lila went on down to join the girl and I stayed to talk to Patricia.

      
"How is she taking it?" I asked the mother.

      
"Not bad," she replied in a soft voice. "Considering. ."

Even in black she looked spectacular.

      
I told her, "We'll have to take Kelly with us when we leave."

      
"Do you have to do that?"

      
"Yes. Not to serve the ends of justice, necessarily. I believe that has already been done. But for her own sake. She will need help, Patricia."

      
"Yes, I suppose she will."

      
"When did you learn about the abuse?"

      
"For sure? Saturday night."

      
"When you went up to see Lydia?"

      
"Yes. She called me at home. Told me I needed to come pick up my daughter."

      
"Did she tell you why?"

      
"She told me that Kelly was strung out and acting crazy. She couldn't do anything with her. So I went up there and took Kelly home."

      
"What had been going on up there that night, Patricia?"

      
"I don't know. Kelly was totally naked, full of drugs, wandering around with blank eyes, walking into walls, couldn't be still. I couldn't even get her dressed. Finally I just wrapped her in a blanket and Lydia helped me get her into the car."

      
"What sort of shape was Lydia in?"

      
"Not much better than Kelly, I guess. She was staggering around and talking a little crazy herself. Popping pills all the time I was there. Why do people do that to themselves? Is that supposed to be fun or entertaining?"

      
"How long were you up there?"

      
"I don't know. Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe. Seemed like hours, though. Lydia had told me to come around to the back of the house to her private entrance. I did. She let me in. Kelly didn't even know I was there. Lydia kept telling me that she'd gone crazy. She pulled me over to this portable typewriter in the bedroom and told me to look at the note Kelly had written. I thought Kelly could not have written that. She couldn't even see."

      
"Maybe earlier, though."

      
"Yes, probably earlier. I gather she'd been there all evening."

      
"Did you see the gun?"

      
"Yes. It was next to the typewriter."

      
"Recognize it?"

      
"Yes. It has a cracked handle. One of Tim's old guns."

      
"So you knew."

      
"Well, no, but I was ready to be convinced. Kelly took care of that yesterday. She said that it was true."

      
"She killed her father."

      
“Yes. And Harvey Katz."

      
"Did she tell you why?"

      
"She told me about the abuse. She was never forced, Joe. I believe that is why it is so. . . destructive for her now. She hated it, oh she hated it, and as she grew older she hated herself for it. But still there was... well, it had a ... a strange appeal."

      
"Did she tell you how she killed Harvey?"

      
"Yes. He had sent for her. She was to meet him in that motel. When she got there, this other girl was there with Harvey, a prostitute. She knew the girl would be there. He'd told her when he called Kelly to join them. She took her father's gun. And she killed them."

      
"Did she say why?"

      
"Not in any coherent way. But I think she was just trying to kill that part of her life."

      
"Did Tim know?"

      
"Yes. She told him about it. He covered it up. From what she told me yesterday, I gathered that he destroyed some evidence at the scene that would have implicated Kelly. I don't know. . . maybe that gave her some peace. For a little while. I didn't know why at the time but she was very different after that. She'd been having emotional problems. But they cleared up like a snap of the fingers and she started college on opening day. Everything seemed beautiful."

      
"For about a month."

      
"Yes, for about a month. Then she started with the dreams again."

      
"What kind of dreams?"

      
"Horrible dreams, I guess."

      
"Tim was at her again."

      
Patricia sighed heavily. "Yes, it seems that he was. Kelly lives near the campus. Tim went there the other night after he got off work. He—"

      
"Friday night?"

      
"Yes—well, Saturday morning. He got her out of bed and they went driving around. She must have known what he wanted because she took the gun with her. She shot him in the park, put his body in the trunk of the car, then drove it back and parked it outside his work. She called me from a pay phone and I picked her up."

      
"Did she tell you what happened?"

      
"Yes. But she told it as a dream."

      
"Dreams don't take you to Helltown."

      
"Hers could. Often she walks in her dreams, even drives cars in her dreams."

      
"But she is not really dreaming?"

      
"Well, I think she has trouble discerning one state from another."

      
Lila had an arm around the girl and they were heading our way. I said, "Thank you, Patricia."

      
"Be gentle with her."

      
"You know we will."

      
"Yes. Joe... I took Tim's money to the PD this morn- ing."

      
"It's best that way. Has blood all over it."

      
"Yes. I could hardly touch it, let alone spend it. And, uh, please forgive the vulgar way I spoke to you the other day. I just did not know how to otherwise express such vulgarity."

      
"I understand," I told her. "Be that direct with Keith."

      
"What?"

      
"You'll need to talk to him, Patricia. God knows what he may be hiding from, within himself. Talk to him. Soon."

"Thank you. And thank you for understanding."

"I do," I said, and I did.

We took Kelly Murray to the PD and Lila booked her, then we took her to the hospital and checked her in. She was like a child—a ten-year-old child—and I doubt that she even knew what was going on, except perhaps as a dream.

It's not a pretty story, is it? Few are, in my line of work. But it's my world, and I try to stay in charge of it whenever I can.

Speaking of ugly, my little allegory about the pirates and the mutiny was closer than I realized at the rime. Boyd had been responsible for the firing of Tim Murray, it was part of the insurrection that had already started before I came on the scene. This councilman, Lofton, switched his vote after a visit from Boyd. I don't know what was said to change his mind, but Murray was fired that same night. Of course, Lofton and the others of the "old guard" are facing charges in several venues, including federal, so each will reap what has been sown, be assured of that.

I'm in Arrowhead at the moment. Lila's here, too, and we've been doing a lot of walking along the lakeshore, eating piles of steak sandwiches at Woody's Boathouse, and getting to know each other in all the subtle ways. Jack Ralston has been appointed Acting Chief at Brighton and old pal Carl Garcia came out of hiding to reclaim his job. Calhoun seems a cinch to win the upcoming special election for mayor and it looks like his whole slate will be running things before long. I believe Brighton will survive its coming of age and go on to be one of the model cities of the region.