Faye Kellerman: Blindman’s Bluff

“Nah, I didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t a crime really. Just bad behavior. Hell, if they eliminated people based on bad behavior, the system wouldn’t have anyone left for jury duty.”

SINCE IT WAS L.A., the scene might have been a generic opening shot for any of the many hospital shows that had graced the small screen over the years. Men were shouting orders as they rushed down the hallways with anxious nurses in tow. Except in this case, the guys weren’t in scrubs but suits and ties with an entourage of walking-around guys. The nurses were barking commands at the executive group, but the men clearly weren’t listening. Someone mentioned calling security.

The crew charged past Marge and Decker as the detectives exchanged glances.

“The Kaffey family?” Marge asked.

Decker answered, “Maybe we should intercede before someone throws them out.”

“Not likely being as we’re in the Kaffey Emergency Services Building.” Marge watched the confrontation in front of the ICU. “We should put a guard in front, Loo. We don’t know if the family is involved. Maybe they’ve come back for unfinished business.”

“Absolutely.” Decker took in a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s go.”

They walked over to the sizable assemblage, the voices loud and demanding. The revolt was led by a young man in his twenties, backed up by an older man in his late fifties. Decker weaved himself into the hubbub. “Can I help someone?”

The young man glared at Decker with furious eyes. He was medium sized with a thick swatch of sandy hair. If Decker squinted hard enough, he could see some common fraternal features with Gil.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Detective Lieutenant Peter Decker, LAPD. This is Detective Sergeant Marge Dunn. She’s from Homicide.” He held out his hand. “Are you Grant Kaffey?”

The eyes narrowed. “Let me see some ID.”

Decker opened the billfold, and both the young and older man scrutinized the badges. When they were satisfied, the older one said, “What the hell is going on?”

“How about some introductions first? We’d like to know who we’re talking to.”

The older man spoke up. “Mace Kaffey. I’m Guy’s brother.” He ran his hand over a face shadowed with grief, fatigue, and grizzle. “This is Grant Kaffey. We want to talk to Gil.”

“Gil is very heavily sedated right now. He was wounded-”

“How bad?” The younger one looked horrified. “Was he shot?”

“He was shot.”

“Oh God,” Mace exclaimed.

Decker said, “How about if we find a quiet room and get some coffee? Sergeant Dunn and I will try to bring you up to speed.”

“When do I get to see my brother?” Grant demanded.

“That’s not my decision, Mr. Kaffey, that’s up to the doctor.” Decker turned to one of the nurses.

“Can we get an empty room here?”

The head nurse-a stout woman with a stern expression named Jane Edderly-came charging into the commotion. “There are way too many people here. It’s blocking the hallways.”

Grant said, “Harvey, get us some coffee. Engles and Martin, you two stay here with us. The rest of you wait downstairs.” Upon hearing orders, the underlings scattered. The younger Kaffey was still glaring at Decker. “I want to see my brother now!”

Decker turned to the head nurse. “Can you page Dr. Rain, please?”

“He’s in surgery,” Jane huffed.

“Do you know when he’ll be out?”

“I have no idea! You’re still blocking the aisles.”

Grant started to speak, but Decker held up a hand. “Nurse Edderly, this is Grant Kaffey and Mace Kaffey. They’ve just undergone a terrible shock-the loss of Grant’s father and mother and Mace’s beloved brother and sister-in-law. I need to talk to them. Surely there’s an empty room in the Kaffey building where we could talk.”

Jane’s eyes widened. She finally got it. “Let me look and see what’s available.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your cooperation.” Decker turned to the men. “I’m very sorry for your losses. Tragedy of this kind just defies words.”

Mace Kaffey ran his hands over a haggard face-exhausted eyes and deep-set wrinkles. The man was portly. “What happened?”

“We don’t have all the details right now. As soon as we find a room, I’ll fill you in on what I do know.”

“Goddamn ranch!” Grant started pacing. “Too many fucking people going in and out. Impossible to keep track of all of them. I told my father that.”

“How many people were under your father’s personal employ?” Marge asked.

“Huh?” Grant stopped pacing. “At the ranch?” “Yes, sir.”

“Who knows? Too many people with too many keys. It’s just ridiculous!”

Decker said, “I heard that the staff was vetted pretty carefully.”

“Whatever that means! Who does private security anyway? They’re either losers who couldn’t make it into the police or ex-policemen who were thrown out for being on the take. Or with Dad, it was reformed delinquents who tugged on his misguided heartstrings.”

Again, Marge and Decker exchanged glances.

Nurse Jane Edderly had returned. “We found a room for you. Please follow me.”

“Thank you for helping out,” Decker said.

Grant said, “Yeah, thanks for giving me a room in my family’s building after a six-hour emergency flight to tend to my murdered parents. Thanks a whole fucking load, Nurse Edderly!”

The nurse glanced at him but remained silent.

Mace put a hand on Grant’s shoulder, but he shook it off. The space was small but roomy enough for the four of them to sit while Grant’s remaining two lackeys had to stand. Within a few minutes, everyone was drinking bad coffee. Mace looked defeated, but Grant was still on youthful fire.

“When can I see my brother?”

“Mr. Kaffey…” Decker paused. “Would you mind if I called one of you by your first name since both of you are Mr. Kaffey?”

“Call me Mace,” the older man said.

“I frankly don’t care what the fuck you call me. Just tell me what’s going on. And who do I have to screw to see my brother?”

Marge said, “We saw your brother about twenty minutes ago. He was in a lot of pain, so the doctor upped the sedation. He’s out of it. Your seeing him is not a police decision but a medical one.”

“Then get the doctor over here!”

“I tried to have him paged,” Decker said. “He’s in surgery.”

“Grant, let’s just hear what the police have to say,” Mace told him.

Marge turned to Grant. “You’re right in several respects about the ranch’s security. There was an obvious breach. Two of the guards were homicide victims, but there are two others who were on duty who’re missing. We’re working with a man named Neptune Brady. Do you know him?”

Mace said, “Neptune has been under Guy’s employ for a while…first in the business and then he took him as his personal head of security.”

“Why?” Grant asked. “Do you suspect him?”

“Just gathering information,” Decker repeated. “What did Brady specifically do in the business?”

“I’m not sure,” Mace said. “I’m East Coast-based.”

Grant said, “He’s a licensed private detective. He did some freelance work. There were some numbers not adding up in the accounting office-embezzling. Dad put Neptune on the cases and he did good work. So Dad being Dad offered him a full-time job at the Coyote Ranch as head of security at an exorbitant salary.”

“He was a generous guy?” Marge asked.

“Generous one minute, a tightwad the next. You never knew how his pocketbook would swing. Dad was paying Neptune a fortune, but Dad insisted that was how you kept them loyal.”