Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

“You’re saying that Mace killed his brother and his sister-in-law and tried to kill his nephew so he could be put in charge of Greenridge?”

“What if Guy was going to pull the plug on Greenridge. Where would that leave Mace?”

“Except that if Mace took the fall for Guy, then that would imply that Mace had dirt on his brother. Then why would Guy deliberately rile up Mace?”

“I don’t have the answers, just the questions.” Rina laughed and so did Decker. “Lots of questions, and no leads except for Harriman’s eavesdropping. I’ll check out the guys you IDed. But even if one of them took part in the murders, I’m sure he was just a hired hand.”

“You think Mace set everything up?”

“I don’t know, Rina. You always look at the family and who has what to gain. Mace may have gotten Greenridge for helping out Guy with his IRS problems, but if the parents die, it’s the sons who will inherit. Grant is already talking about selling the ranch to pay estate taxes. They’re still number one on my list.”

“But Gil was seriously shot. How could you suspect him?”

“True. The bullet took out some of his liver and that’s a nasty injury. But he didn’t die, whereas the others were slaughtered. Even if what Harriman said is true, that José ran out of bullets, there had to be someone else there with a spare piece of lead to shoot into Gil’s brain. What if Gil set himself up to look innocent and the shooter accidentally nicked a vital organ?”

Rina said, “I’ve seen that on Forensic Files. How common is that?”

“Not common, but I’ve seen it before. So why did I come down besides wanting to be with you?” He thought a moment. “It’s this way. You never let up. You don’t badger anyone, but you keep coming back. A phone call, a surprise visit, an e-mail, one more question. If you do it long enough to someone who’s involved, you start making the guilty party antsy. The person makes a phone call or two. The person starts receiving a phone call or two. People act impulsively and things get flushed out. Big cases like this one…you almost never start at the top dog even if the top dog is guilty.”

“Too many layers of protection.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “You start with the lowlifes who did the shooting. It’s easier to get a bead on them because they’re almost always involved in something illegal. You pull them in for drugs and then you bring up the murder. Next thing you know, someone starts rolling and you slowly work your way up until you get to the top.” A pause. “If they’re involved. It could be that they’re innocent.”

“I’m not putting your statement in the paper,” Rina said. “You don’t have to qualify yourself.”

Decker laughed. “Force of habit.” They drove for a while in silence. “You know, I keep saying that the boys stand to inherit. As of right now, that’s not a forgone conclusion. The will hasn’t been executed yet.”

“So the sons really don’t know what they have.”

“Correct. But Grant seemed sure that Gil and he are set to get almost everything. Maybe Guy had a talk with his sons a long time ago and told his kids that they were set to inherit everything. Or maybe Grant just assumed…that’s what he said. He assumed that his parents left he and his brother most everything. You know what they say about ‘assume,’ don’t you?”

“Yes. It makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’”

“Exactly.”

“So what happens if Grant is wrong about the will?”

“I think he’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“That could get interesting.”

“Interesting is good. Lots of things happen when the case gets that kind of interesting.”

DECKER BROUGHT IN two platters of home-baked cookies. Oliver complemented the sugar rush with two dozen doughnuts. Messing and Brubeck toted in two bags filled with fresh bagels and cream cheese, and Wynona Pratt graced the table with an assorted fruit platter. Lee Wang’s addition was orange juice with plastic cups, and Marge and Wanda were responsible for the paper products and the coffee. By the time the table was set, it looked like breakfast for a corporate retreat.

The spontaneous potluck had been the collective brainwork of Marge, Wynona, and Wanda. They made the assignments and the phone calls because they knew that no guy would ever organize something so froufrou. Their idea of participating would be to eat. But the women were insistent.

“Camaraderie,” Marge told Oliver as they set their goodies on the paper-cloth-covered table.

“I had to go ten blocks out of my way to find a doughnut shop.”

“There’s a doughnut shop three blocks from here. Next time use the Internet.”

“There’s something wrong with my computer. It keeps freezing.”

“I have no answer. Ask Lee.”

Wang was busy compulsively arranging the forks, knives, and spoons. Every time something got a millimeter out of alignment, he went back to the beginning.

Oliver said, “Why is my computer freezing all the time?”

“Because it’s probably a piece of shit or it’s old or maybe both.”

Wynona said, “Your utensil design, Lee, although breathtaking in its compulsivity, is taking up too much room.” She scooped up the spoons and put them into a cup, repeated it for the forks and knives.

Wang was perturbed. “Anything else that doesn’t meet your standards?”

“No. And don’t look so pissed. Now you have room for your origami napkin folding.”

“First of all, that’s Japanese and I’m from Hong Kong. Second, being compulsive is an excellent trait in our line of business.”

“If I’ve offended, I apologize. Just trying to fit everything on a card table.”

Brubeck dumped the bagels on a plastic platter. “Coulda fit easily if we didn’t buy so much. We got enough for the entire squad room.”

“That was the idea,” Wynona answered. “To include everyone.”

“Can’t be looking too elitist,” Wanda added.

Marge brought over an urn of coffee and made the announcement to everyone’s delight. “Breakfast is served.”

Thirty detectives crowded around the table and began to pile food on thin paper plates that began to sag under the weight. At eight-thirty Decker came out of his office, cup of coffee in hand. He said, “Kaffey task force meeting in ten minutes, interview room number three.” He met Marge’s eye and beckoned her over with a wiggling index finger. This morning she wore a blue sweater set and navy pants with flat rubber-soled shoes on her feet. “How’s it going, Rabbi?” she asked him.

“I need to talk about something personal. You have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” After Decker closed his office door, she said, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” He smiled at Marge to prove it. “Remember Brett Harriman-the blind guy who overheard two men talking about the Kaffey murders?”

“It was three days ago, Pete. I’m not senile yet. What’s going on?”

“After I spoke to him on Friday, he called me late in the evening to tell me he remembered something.” Decker tried not to pucker his lips. “He recalled speaking to a woman next to him, asking her to describe the men to him.”

“Really?”

“It gets better. The woman didn’t want to do that until she found out why he wanted to know. The upshot was that he felt silly and told her to forget about it. When I asked Harriman the woman’s name, he said he didn’t know it.”

“So he has no idea who he talked to?”

“Not quite. He recognized the woman’s voice from a voir dire on one of the cases he’d been working on.”

“Did he tell you the case?”

“No, but he didn’t have to.” Decker finished his coffee. “At a voir dire, one of the standard questions asks the prospective juror if any member of the juror’s family is involved in law enforcement.