Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

“Neither do I. And I don’t want to involve Sheriff T in what may be nothing more than speculation.”

“Agreed,” Oliver said. “We send another team up to the ciudads without telling the sheriff.”

“How about Brubeck and Decker?” Marge said. “Deck is fluent in Spanish, and Brubeck has the local connections.”

“A black and a Jew.” Oliver finished the last of his drink. “Who says LAPD isn’t multicultural.”

UPON LANDING, MARGE turned her cell phone back on. The window instantly lit up with message waiting. The first call was from Vega wishing her a meaningful and productive trip. Marge smiled. It took a Herculean effort on her daughter’s part to engage in the banality of human intercourse. The girl was half Vulcan.

The second call was more alarming.

Call as soon as you get the message.

“Oh boy.” Marge punched in Decker’s cell number. “The Loo sounds upset and that’s never good.”

Decker picked it up on the third ring. “Are you back?”

“We’re at the airport. We just landed.”

“I’m at St. Joseph’s hospital. We have a crime scene. Get here as soon as you can.”

“What’s going on?”

“Gil Kaffey was released at five this evening. As they were wheeling him to the car, someone opened fire-”

“Oh my God!” She brought the phone up to Oliver’s ear so that he could listen in. “Who was with him?”

“Grant, Neptune Brady, Piet Kotsky, Antoine Resseur, and Mace Kaffey, who was supposed to leave yesterday but the memorial service was changed so he stayed for another day. The bullets missed Gil and Grant because of Brady’s quick action. He and one of his guards fell on top of the brothers.

Neptune took one in the shoulder, and Mace got hit in the arm. They’re in surgery now. All told, it could have been a lot worse.”

“Did Brady return the fire?”

“No, he did not, and that was smart. Too many people around.”

“Where are Gil and Grant now?” Oliver asked.

“That’s a big problem. They, along with Resseur, took off in the waiting limo. Brady might know where they went, but he’s in surgery. West Hollywood P.D. has already checked out Resseur’s apartment. No one’s there and we don’t have a warrant to get inside, so that’s a dead end right now.”

“What about the shooters?” Marge asked.

“Brady was sharp enough to glance at the car as it sped away. He and Kotsky said it was a red sedan, Japanese model-either Honda or Toyota. About fifteen minutes ago, a local cruiser found an abandoned car a half mile from the hospital: a maroon Honda Accord with the plates removed. I’ve sent Messing and Pratt out there to secure the scene. How far are you from St. Joseph’s?”

“We’re just walking out of Burbank. We should be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Come up to the tenth floor. Don’t bother calling because my cell will be off. Hospital rules. We’ll talk later.” He cut the line.

Marge pulled out the handle on her wheelie. “You drive.” She tossed Scott the keys. “Another long night.”

“After a very long day,” Oliver said.

“Been a lot of those lately…twenty-four-hour shifts. If I’m gonna work that hard, I should have gone to medical school and made money.”

“I was dating a doctor. She constantly whined about how hard she worked for how little money. But that’s women. They whine about everything.”

“Shut up, Oliver, you complain as much as anyone.”

“But that’s my given persona: the chronic curmudgeon.”

“How come you get the curmudgeon persona and not me?”

“It could have been your persona, Margie, but instead, you chose perky, optimistic, and cooperative. So I took curmudgeon. Now you regret it, but it’s too late. Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.

That won’t get you anywhere.”

THE CRIME SCENE was in the parking lot, but the action was on the tenth floor. It overflowed with men in uniform-hospital security guards in khaki, Kaffey’s personal security guards in khaki, and about a half-dozen LAPD officers in blues. Decker was talking to Piet Kotsky-the big man with the jaundiced complexion-and when he saw Marge and Oliver, he motioned them over.

“We need to get a post schedule pronto,” Decker ordered. “There are too many people in some places and none in others. Coordinate with hospital security to make sure that our people are involved.”

“Any luck on finding Gil and Grant?” Oliver asked.

Decker’s expression was sour, and his eyes went to Kotsky. “There may be people who do know where they are, but they aren’t telling.”

“What you want from me?” Kotsky had his arms folded over his chest. “I don’t hide anywhere. I wait instructions of Mr. Brady.”

Decker was trying to keep his temper. “I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Kotsky that Gil Kaffey’s life may be in danger.”

“He’s with his brother,” Kotsky said.

“Grant is still a suspect, Mr. Kotsky. I could subpoena you to reveal his location but by the time I do that, Gil Kaffey may be dead.”

Kotsky waved him off. “I don’t believe that Grant would hurt his brother.”

“Can I quote you if Gil winds up dead? Maybe the shooters are hunting them down at this very minute.”

“What for?”

“What do you mean, ‘what for’?” Decker was aghast. “To kill Gil off and complete the job. Maybe this time the shooter will get lucky and kill all the men.”

Kotsky was imperturbable. “I wait for Neptune Brady. He is the boss. He is out of surgery. Doctor says we can talk to him in maybe half hour.”

It came out “maybe khef hour.”

“What happened?” Marge asked Decker.

“Ask him.” Decker cocked a thumb toward Kotsky. “He was there.”

Kotsky said, “Somebody’s make shots. Mr. Brady jump on Gil and Grant and bring them to the ground, I pull Mace down, but still he is shot in the arm. I feel bullet…the wind.” He brushed his hand across his right cheek. “I hear it like a bumblebee go past my ear. I am lucky.”

“And the shooters?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t see much,” Kotsky said. “When I look up, I see red car sedan. I think it is Toyota or Honda.”

Marge said, “What about Antoine Resseur?”

Kotsky said, “He not get shots. He’s gone, too.”

Decker regarded Kotsky. “Excuse us for a moment.”

“Sure. I no go nowhere.”

Decker led Oliver and Marge into a secluded corner. “Rina identified Alejandro Brand as one of the guys that Brett Harriman overheard talking about the murders. I’ve called up Foothill and asked them to put a couple of men on him. I also assigned Messing and Pratt to hunt around. I’d like to know where Brand has been for the last few hours since he seems to be the only lead we have.”

“Who’s looking for the Kaffeys and Resseur?” Marge said.

“I’ve put out an APB on them.”

“Maybe it’s a setup, Loo, with the three of them in it together,” Oliver said. “Gil and Grant to get the money and Resseur to get Gil back. You told us he was pissed that he broke up with Gil and that he blamed the parents.”

“That’s extreme measures to get back your boyfriend.”

“When passions get high…” Oliver said. “And why would the men run if someone was really trying to whack them? You’d think they’d be too scared not to be protected.”

“Protection hasn’t done anything to help them,” Marge said. “Maybe they’re too scared to stick around. Maybe they don’t trust anyone except each other.”

“Okay…then assuming the shooting is legit,” Oliver said. “Who’s the target?”

Marge said, “Who knows? The only Kaffey who hasn’t been shot is Grant. He’s worth looking at a little closer.”