Liar Page 18

  “Sorry, Jerry, I didn’t mean to doubt you—just not what I expected. Thanks again for the help.”

  I stood in the store for a moment after I hung up, thinking about the implications of Richmond and Associates being private investigators, and Margot getting late-night calls from a bar in their town.

  I hauled the phone book up from beneath the metal shelf at the booth and flipped back to the Yellow Pages. I looked up investigators, and sure enough, there at the bottom-right-hand corner of the page was an ad for Richmond and Associates:

  Harold Richmond and Associates

  Confidential Private Investigations—24-Hour Service

  SurveillanceBackground Investigations

  Electronic De-BuggingMissing PersonsAsset Searches

  Free ConsultationFully Bonded and Insured

  Owned and Operated by Former Law Enforcement Officers

  A state private investigator’s license number was listed at the bottom of the ad.

  If he had been the bomber, what did he have against Travis? I could think of only one reason for Harold Richmond to personally dislike my cousin—if he thought Travis had lied to provide an alibi for Arthur Spanning.

  But that was years ago. Why this fresh pursuit? And even if he still harbored animosity toward Travis over the alibi, it didn’t seem to be something that would drive a former cop to try to kill someone else. If Travis had lied, he wasn’t the first person to do so to protect a member of his family. And he had only been a child. Who would have held such a grudge against an eleven-year-old boy?

  The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Richmond had placed the bomb in Travis’s truck. But I did want to talk to him. I wanted to know why a private investigator—especially one with a connection to the old murder case—had been asking for me at the newspaper.

  I drove back to Rivo Alto. Just before I turned onto Margot’s street, I noticed that a car was blocking it—a green Olds.

  If he had taken a job to investigate me or Travis, it was perfectly understandable that he would try to follow me—understandable, if unnerving. But somehow the sight of that Olds made me hesitate to confront Richmond.

  I decided I didn’t need that conversation with him after all. At least not now, not alone and at four in the morning. I’d have it when Rachel was with me. But I was also concerned about Margot—maybe I should stick around, just in case she needed help.

  Instead of turning down Margot’s street, I crossed the short bridge over the canal. I parked in an alley that ran parallel to the canal, behind the houses across the canal from her own. I got out of the car and stretched.

  The air was cool, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. I walked back to the bridge. Near the foot of the bridge, staying on the side of the canal opposite Margot’s home, I peered down the waterway toward her house, which was about three houses down from where I crouched.

  Water lapped at pilings, ropes creaked and there was the ping-ping sound of sail lines tapping against masts as all along the canal boats bobbed at their moorings. Otherwise all was quiet. No sound of Margot’s dogs barking.

  I didn’t have to watch Margot’s place for very long to realize there was something odd going on.

  Lights. Lights turning on and off in different rooms, as if someone were searching through the house. I kept watching.

  A man. Now I could see his tall, athletic figure every now and then as he moved from room to room. He came back to the first floor, opened the sliding-glass door that led to a small patio between the house and the dock. He turned on the patio light and stepped outside.

  He was too far away for me to make out most of his features, but he definitely resembled the man on the tape. And his height, his close-cropped black-and-silver hair, his clean-shaven face—all made me decide that this was very likely the man Briana’s neighbors had seen at the apartment building in San Pedro. The man who had been using lock picks, trying to enter her home.

  He was looking up and down the canal, and I stayed very still, hoping it was too dark for him to see me, certain that any movement on my part would give me away. He rubbed a hand over his hair, then turned and walked inside. I stayed still.

  He closed the glass door, turned out the light. He also turned out the few lights that were still on inside the house. But I saw him standing at the glass door again, staring out. The sky continued to lighten.

  I had already seen what he had just figured out—Margot’s boat was no longer at the dock. I prayed that she had taken the Yorkies aboard and gone for an early-morning sail, just in case all my bad feelings about this guy proved to be right.

  He moved away from the window. I heard a car start, heard it drive down the street. I waited. It was cool and damp out, and my legs were starting to cramp. I waited a little longer, then walked back to my car, now covered with a layer of dew. The Karmann Ghia made its usual noisy start; I got the windshield wipers and the heater going and put it in gear.

  I didn’t get far. As I drove around the curve of the narrow alley, I slammed on my brakes. The other end was blocked—by a green Olds. There was no one in the car. I didn’t wait to see where the driver was—I threw the Karmann Ghia in reverse. The plastic back window of the rag-top was still covered with dew, so I couldn’t back up with any great speed, especially not around the curve. That was just as well—in the side mirror I saw Richmond step out from between two houses behind me, and into the path of the car.

  For about half a second I considered running him over, but I stopped. He stood with arms held out to his sides, palms open. I didn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  “What have you done with her?” he called out, moving toward my door.

  I have to admit the question surprised me. I rolled my window down about half an inch. “Warned her about you,” I said, just loud enough to be heard over the motor. “Thanks for shouting. The neighbors will be wide awake when I start screaming for them to call the police.”

  “Where have you been lately?” he asked sarcastically. “Nobody gets involved any more.” He glanced at the houses along the alley. “They’d probably never make the call.”

  I could smell booze on his breath, but his speech wasn’t slurred and his eyes seemed to be focusing just fine. Just now they were boring into mine.

  “Wrong neighborhood for that assumption, Mr. Richmond.”

  He curled his fingers over the top of the window. That bullying gesture annoyed me, and my annoyance began to take the place of my fear.

  “So Margot told you my name,” he said.

  “No, she didn’t. Not even when I told her about the bomb.”

  “Bomb? What bomb?”

  It was convincing, I’ll admit. Not convincing enough to make me lower the window. “Let go of my car,” I said.

  “Did someone try to hurt her?” he asked angrily.

  Maybe the events of that day had taken the last of my patience, maybe I was just finally feeling exhausted. For whatever reason, that remark sent me over the edge. “No,” I said, “no one tried to hurt her—no one except you, you shameless user.”

  “Now just a minute—”

  “Not just any lowlife would pimp himself just to get my address. You’re a piece of work, Richmond.”

  His fingers tightened on the window. “You have no right to—”

  “I thought all that business about private eyes sleeping with somebody for information only happened in pulp fiction and second-rate movies.”

  He turned red, made a visible attempt to control his temper. “It wasn’t—”

  “It wasn’t like that? Spare me.” I leaned closer to the window. “I saw the videotape from the security camera at the Express, Harold. If the cops saw that and talked to Margot and a couple of other people, I wonder if they would connect you up to some of the bad luck we’ve been having in the Maguire family.”

  All that color drained right back out of his face.

  I almost asked him if he’d had a good time at the Wha
rf, but no use playing all my cards at once. Instead, I simply repeated, “Let go of my car.

  His fingers eased open.

  “I’ll be at your office at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” I said, putting the Karmann Ghia in reverse again. “If you don’t want to lose your license, you’ll be there.”

  “Wait—”

  “For what? Don’t say another word. This way you have another eight or nine hours to perfect the bullshit excuse you were about to give me.” I eased the clutch out.

  Just before I headed back over the bridge, I glanced back down the alley. He was standing in the middle of it, watching me, looking lost.

  Too damn bad.

  I drove home.

  18

  “Frank has called about half a dozen times,” Rachel whispered, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “He said to tell you to call him no matter what time you got in.” We were keeping our voices low; the door to the guest room, where Travis slept, was partially open.

  “Is he angry?”

  She shrugged.

  “How’s Travis?”

  “He woke up once, took another pill and went back to sleep. He didn’t look too great while he was awake, but the pills really knock him out. Probably for the best.”

  “The patrol car’s gone,” I said. “I guess I’m not surprised.”

  “The shift’s almost over, and they can’t keep a unit here permanently. They’ll probably increase the patrols past the house, though.”

  We moved to the living room. “I tracked down Richmond,” I said. “I’ll tell you the whole story in the morning. We’re going to pay him a visit.”

  She smiled.

  I looked back toward Travis. “I was afraid the dogs would wake him when I came in.”

  “Naw, that’s why he left the door to his room open. He knew they’d come out to greet you. They come out here to check on me every once in a while, but most of the time, they’ve been with him. Even Cody’s in there with him.”

  “I hope they aren’t bothering him.”

  “Like I said, he isn’t aware of too much after he takes one of those pain pills.”

  “You okay here on the couch? You could have the bed—I’ll sleep out here.”

  “I’m all settled in—you go ahead and take the bed, catch what sleep you can.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at my watch. It was just past four-thirty. “I hate to call Frank at this hour.”

  “Irene…” she chided.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “See you in a few hours, then. Once you’re up, I’ll run home and shower and change. Then we can talk.”

  For all my trepidation before making it, the phone call to Frank was a good one. He had been worried, but apparently Rachel had calmed him down during one of his previous calls.

  “Do me a favor,” he said. “Think about staying somewhere else. The house in the mountains, or Pete and Rachel’s place. Or a hotel.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll think about it.”

  There was a brief silence, probably while he regained his temper. But after that, all the talk was devoted to catching up on his news, and a little of that brand of conversation lovers cherish but others find disgusting, boring or just plain silly.

  Because of it, I slept well.

  I couldn’t sleep much past nine, but discovered that Travis had already awakened.

  “He hasn’t eaten anything yet,” Rachel said drowsily, sitting up on the couch. “He was in a hurry to see Jack.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t really say. He’s been there quite awhile.” She yawned. “He’s over there with the dogs.”

  I have this worry that one day Jack will sell his house and I’ll be left trying to explain to the new proprietors that regular visits from my dogs are part of the joy of home ownership.

  “He also mentioned something about going shopping,” Rachel added.

  “I can understand that. If he hadn’t brought the ‘Cosmo’ trunk inside the house, nothing from that camper would have been spared.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, waking up a little more. “He took that over to Jack’s place, too.”

  “The trunk?”

  “Yeah. That upsets you?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he’s decided he wants to stay at Jack’s place instead.”

  I called Mary to let her know we had found Travis. She told me to try to take better care of him over the next few hours I spent with him than I had during the first twenty-four, but on the whole she was pleased. She wanted to see him, and I told her I’d call her again later to set up a visit.

  I walked next door in time to see Jack leaning over an official-looking document, writing on it as Travis stood by. I saw them exchange a look as I came nearer.

  “What are you two up to?” I asked.

  “Nothing much,” Jack answered. “Your cousin just bought my van.”

  “Just bought—”

  “Yes, and we’ve agreed that the particulars are entirely between the two of us, Your Royal Nosiness.”

  “Jack—”

  “Everything’s fine, Irene. I’ll get around on my bike until I decide to buy something less fitting for my image.”

  I’m now so used to Jack, I don’t really notice the black leather outfits, or the scars, tattoos and earrings that frighten most of our other neighbors away from him. Jack, I thought, fit into McCain’s scenario of a person of wealth living a simple life—Jack owned a fortune in local real estate, but was happiest riding around on his Harley, or sailing. He’s the most generous of friends, but I couldn’t allow him to give my cousin his almost-new van, which was completely outfitted for camping.

  As if reading my mind though, Travis said, “It’s not a gift.”

  “Strictly business,” Jack agreed.

  It didn’t make me happy, but they were both adults, and I really didn’t have any say in the matter. And if I was honest with myself, I had to admit that money wasn’t the only reason I was unhappy about the van. “You’re going home?” I asked Travis.

  He frowned, then shook his head. “Not right away.”

  “Where is home?” Jack asked.

  “Right now, its probably sitting in the police impound yard. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  “You lived in that camper full-time?” I asked.

  He nodded, then turned to Jack. “You’re sure you don’t mind taking care of that other matter for me?”

  “Not at all,” Jack said.

  “He’s taking care of your trunk?” I said, mostly to let him know I was on to him.

  “Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”

  Perhaps because he knew the limits of my patience better than Travis, Jack said, “I’m picking up a cellular phone for him.”

  “I could have taken you to do that,” I told Travis.

  “It will be better this way, I think. But thanks.”

  Back at my house, I changed the bandage on his wounded hand and watched him as he struggled to eat breakfast left-handed.

  “Bring back memories?” Rachel asked.

  It did, but I said, “Let’s not talk about that.”

  “About what?” Travis asked.

  “Last November I had my right hand in a cast,” I said quickly. “Rachel helped me out a lot then.”

  She folded her arms and raised a brow, but didn’t say anything. He looked between us, but apparently decided not to pursue it.

  “I’ll be back in a little while,” Rachel said.

  After she had left, he asked, “Where did you go last night?”

  I told him.

  “I know Richmond,” he said.

  “You do?”

  “Sure. He’s hounded us for years. Part of the reason he got demoted from detective was because he harassed us, but he still didn’t let up. Mr. Brennan—my dad’s lawyer—eventually got a temporary restraining order placed on Richmond. He couldn’t come near me or my dad. My mom wouldn’t let my dad put her name on the order. But because I was on
it, that pretty much kept Richmond away from both me and my mom.”

  “Was he threatening you?”

  He shook his head. “No, just harassing us. He’d follow us around. He was sure my folks were going to get back together.” He paused. “But let’s not start that death-certificate argument again.”

  “I don’t know much about what your life has been like since…”