Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

“We’ll get back to him in a minute,” Decker said. “So you personally think the murders were the work of the hired help?”

“Someone on the inside. Not all of them…just a few bad apples.”

“What about Rondo Martin? Is he a bad apple?”

“I personally screened him. He had worked for Ponceville for eight years. The place was a rural farming community so there wasn’t much crime to begin with, but under Martin’s reign whatever crime they had had gone down. Nothing about him waved a red flag.”

“How long had he worked for you?” “Two years.”

“Why did he leave Ponceville?”

“I seem to remember him wanting a bigger city, but I might be mistaken. Look it up in his file. I gave it to one of your detectives. His name escapes me, but he was a sharp dresser.”

It is said that the clothes make the man and nothing could be truer in this case. “That would be Scott Oliver. How well did you know Rondo Martin?”

“He showed up for work on time. He did his job well and without attitude.”

“Did he speak Spanish?”

It took a moment before Brady processed the question. “Some of the guards were bilingual, but I don’t know about Martin.” He took in Decker’s eyes. “I know how it looks, but you had your suspicions about Denny Orlando. Then he turned up dead.”

“You think Martin is dead?”

“No idea.”

“What about Joe Pine? Did he speak Spanish?”

Brady paused. “Yes, fluently. Why are you asking about him?”

“He’s missing.”

The pause lasted longer than it should have. “He’s missing?” When Decker nodded, Brady shook his head. “He was one of Guy’s rehabilitated gangbangers. I’m sure he has a record. I never liked him, but Guy was the boss.”

Brady’s PDA went off.

“Excuse me.” The guard talked in hushed tones, then he said, “Right away.” He turned to Decker.

“Grant and Mace have returned from the hospital. They’d like a few words with you.”

“That’s fine. Riley Karns told me that he was one of the guys who originally dug the graves for the horses. He said that Joe Pine-who was on duty that day-told him where to dig it.”

“That could be. Hold on.” Brady spoke on the phone. “I need the cart A-sap.” He stowed his phone in his pocket. “Usually, I had nothing to do with the horses but when one of them was sick…I think it was Netherworld, Guy told me that he didn’t want to spend the money on cremation. He told me to find an out-of-the-way spot on the property and get rid of it. I think I did punt to Pine to find the spot.” A pause. “I think I told him that if he needed help to ask Riley or Paco.”

“So you didn’t choose the spot?”

“No, but I knew the horses were buried somewhere around there.” The man was sweating. He wiped his face with a handkerchief. “I’d like to remind you that I was five hundred miles away when the murders occurred.”

That meant nothing. Decker said, “I need a list of everyone who knew about the grave. So far I have Karns, Paco Albanez, Joe Pine, and you. Anyone else?”

“I don’t know, for goodness’ sakes. It was at least a year ago.”

“You’re in charge,” Decker said evenly. “You have to know these things.”

Brady took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right. I’ll find out.”

“What do you know about Joe Pine?”

“Not much. When Guy said to hire someone, I did it. I think his family was from Mexico. He lives in Pacoima.” Brady saw the golf cart pull up. “We’ll talk later. Let’s go see the bosses. Maybe they can help you out.”

“Speaking of the bosses, I heard Greenridge was in deep trouble.”

Brady glanced at the driver of the golf cart, who was making a big show of not paying attention. “I don’t know anything about that. And if I were you I’d be careful with my innuendos. Since you don’t know what you’re dealing with, someone might take it the wrong way.”

“Sounds like a threat, although I’m sure you didn’t mean that.”

“I meant it as cautionary words. Guy and Gilliam were protected by a league of people and look what happened. Let’s go.”

Brady sat next to the driver, Decker sat in back. With a slight little backlash, they were on their way.

Neptune was right about one thing. Investigating crimes was dangerous work. That was Decker’s job: to open doors without knowing what’s on the other side. Most of the time, it was harmless. But all it took was one little misstep and the next thing you knew you were looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

THE GOLF CART stopped at the service entrance of Wind Chimes. Decker followed Brady through a series of hallways until the security man opened a set of double doors. Mace and Grant were waiting in an all-glass conservatory, its French doors wide open to allow in the fresh, briny air and the hypnotic song of the ocean waves. The space held several couches, chairs, and end tables, most of them holding vases of white and purple Phalaenopsis orchids, yellow cymbidiums, pink bromeliads, and assorted African violets. Shades had been lowered to cut the glare of the afternoon sun.

The men were drinking something over ice. Grant wore a white polo shirt, jeans, and sandals. His sandy hair had lightened and his skin had darkened in a couple of days courtesy of the California sun. Mace’s dark complexion had turned a deep bronze. Stubble smudged his face except above his lip where sufficient hair had grown to be called a mustache. He wore a blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, exposing the thick muscle of his arms. Gabardine pants covered his tree-trunk legs.

Grant extended his glass toward Decker. “Lemonade. Would you like a glass? Or are you the beer type?”

Beer = unrefined. “Lemonade sounds great, thank you.”

“What about you, Neptune?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Kaffey, but thank you.”

To Decker, Grant said, “Want a shot of vodka to go with?”

“Not when I’m working.”

“Working on Sunday? That’s dedication.” Grant called a housekeeper and asked for an additional glass of lemonade. “Let’s hope it’s the real thing and not meant for show. I know you’re under pressure.”

Decker ignored the bait. “I heard your brother’s doing better.”

“Doctor says he’ll be out in a week-very good news. I suppose you’ll be pestering him with questions.”

“Can’t be dedicated unless you pester.”

“Be delicate. He’s still in shock. Maybe not the physical shock but…you know what I mean.”

“I do. Where is he going to be staying?”

“He’s going to his house. His ex-boyfriend will be with him as well as a full-time nurse.”

“Your brother’s ex is Antoine Resseur?”

“Yes. He’s a good guy.” Grant’s eyes turned toward the ocean. “Dr. Rain said he anticipates a full recovery. He just has to be careful until his liver heals. Absolutely no alcohol. That’s a bit of a pain.”

Decker took out his notepad. “Does Gil drink a lot?”

“Social drinker like me. In fact…” Grant went over to a cabinet and added a shot of Bombay Sapphire to the lemonade. “You only live once.”

A uniformed maid came in and gave Decker a glass of lemonade. He thanked her and said to Grant, “I have in my records that Gil lives in the Hollywood Hills.”

“Oriole Way. I don’t know the address, but it’s a split-level, midcentury modern, which tells you nothing because most of the houses were built around that time.”

“I’ll get the address.”

Grant’s eyes moistened. “I got a call from the coroner. He said it’ll be a few more days before…”

“These things take time,” Decker said. “I’m sorry.”