Death on the Rocks (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  “I’ve been calling you.”

  “I know. I’ve been ignoring you. Please,” she said, “leave me alone.”

  She started to shut the door.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped, the door half-closed, the light shifting through her hair, the shadows touching her face. The dream face.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  A dream. “Phillip Townsend. A few things have come up.”

  I waited while she made up her mind.

  “All right.”

  She unlatched the screen. I went in and closed the door behind me.

  “It’s okay, Hans.”

  I’d forgotten about Hans. He stood beside her. A hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and fur, bone and teeth. His ears were up and his eyes were bright and alert and focused somewhere in the vicinity of my juicy red heart. His nose twitched, testing the air around me.

  “Go lie down.”

  He did, reluctantly, flopping down by her chair. Beside it, on the table, a pair of glasses lay open on a book. The lamp had been moved close and the shade tilted up. The rest of the room featured earth tones and hand-rubbed wood. There were a lot of plants. One wall was hung with an enormous painting. It depicted a living room with a table piled high with men’s hats, a cat sitting up in a chair and smoking a cigarette, and a mantelpiece with a mirror, which reflected a forest.

  I followed her into the room and sat across from her.

  “Interesting painting,” I said.

  “What? Oh, yes. What is it about Phillip?”

  She looked worried, as if she expected me to blame her for what had happened to Townsend. Maybe she was to blame. But if she was, so was Townsend’s wife and maybe his parents and teachers and the bully down the block and the slut across the street and anyone else that might have pointed him in the direction of violent sex.

  “I spoke to Gofman. Townsend went to him, as you arranged.”

  “I didn’t arrange anything.” Her voice was tight and loud. Hans raised his head off his paws and looked at her. “I told you before, Phillip wouldn’t stop hassling me until I gave him a name.”

  “Okay. That’s all I meant.”

  She looked away from me and idly scratched Hans behind the ears. He didn’t complain.

  “What did Gus say about me? I mean, about me giving Phillip his name.”

  “He wasn’t too pleased.”

  “Dammit, I should never have gotten him involved.”

  “It’s done,” I said. “You had no way of knowing what would happen.”

  “Was Gus responsible for Phillip … for what was on the videotape?”

  “I don’t think so. Gofman’s not the type. He said Townsend was pestering him day and night. He said he finally sent him to a man named Leonard Reese.”

  I waited. She shook her head.

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Anyway, according to Gofman, Reese is capable of doing anything. Blackmail, whatever.”

  “Do you think he was responsible for Phillip’s death?”

  “It’s possible. I’m still digging.”

  “How is Phillip’s … Mrs. Townsend taking all this?”

  “She’s bearing up.”

  “Did you tell her about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “She wasn’t too happy about it. Mostly she seems concerned about the money Townsend spent on you. Or might have spent.”

  “Might have?”

  “There’s eighty-seven thousand dollars missing.”

  “Good Lord. You don’t think Phillip gave me anything like that, do you?”

  “No.”

  We were quiet for a few moments. Tiny lines crept between her eyebrows.

  “If you find that Leonard Reese hurt Phillip, will the police come down on Gus, too?”

  “No. Assuming I tell them at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need evidence. Something the police can use. Or want to use. They may not want to be bothered.”

  “That’s pretty cynical.”

  “Just pragmatic. They’ve got enough to do without reopening closed cases. Especially on the advice of private cops.”

  “But you used to be a policeman.”

  “You remembered.”

  “That wouldn’t matter?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you quit, anyway?”

  “Personal reasons,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended.

  “Sorry. I was just curious.”

  “No, it’s okay. I quit because of something that happened. Something … bad.”

  “Oh.” She paused, then said, “How did you find where I live?”

  “Elementary, my dear.”

  She smiled. “So you probably know my real name.”

  “Sandra Daley.”

  “Pretty thin disguise, huh?”

  “Pretty thin.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Why did you bother to find me?”

  “I … to ask you about Leonard Reese.”

  “Why else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Mm-hm. Look, I was about to open some wine before you came. Would you like some?”

  “That I would.”

  She got up and left the room. Hans raised his head to see if he should follow. He decided to stay and keep an eye on me. Sandra came back and handed me a glass of chilled Chablis.

  “Thanks.”

  She sat with her feet folded under her.

  “You’re doing it again,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Looking at me that way.”

  “I don’t understand.” I did, though.

  “The way you looked at me at Besant’s. Not quite sad. Wistful, I guess.”

  “Maybe you remind me of someone.”

  “Who? I mean, whom?”

  How could I tell her part of it without telling her the whole thing?

  “My … a woman I was married to.”

  “Did she have something to do with your leaving the police force?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you seem touchy about both subjects.”

  “Who’s touchy?”

  “Okay.” She sipped the wine.

  I stared in my glass, remembering.

  “It’s difficult to talk about.”

  “Don’t, then. It’s okay. I’m sorry I pried.”

  “No. You should know. In a way it’s why I’m here.”

  She watched me carefully.

  “Katherine and I had been married about three years when it happened. I’d been with the cops for six.”

  “In Denver?”

  I nodded. “The D.A.’s office.” My throat felt dry. I drank some wine.

  “Katherine never said so, but she didn’t much like me being a cop. The hours. The people you have to deal with. She was a gentle woman. Intelligent. Funny as hell, too. Sometimes she’d … Anyway, we made each other happy. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what she saw in me. Opposites attract, I guess.”

  I drank more wine.

  “One day, a Saturday, she was shopping for groceries. Sometimes I went with her. This time I didn’t. She was putting the sacks in her car. There were witnesses. An old man and woman. A young woman with her kids. Two guys got out of the car next to Katherine’s. They grabbed her. The middle of the goddamn day and they grab her in a parking lot. They forced her into their car and took off. There was a third person driving. The witnesses couldn’t say whether it was a man or woman. They didn’t notice the license number. Out-of-state plates. Dark late-model car. That was it. Five days later a truck driver spotted her body in a—”

  “Oh, God.”

  “—in a ditch east of the city. She’d been beaten and raped and stabbed thirty, maybe forty times, it was hard to tell.”

  “My God, Jacob.”

  “I wanted to be on the investigating team, but there was no way. I didn’t want justice
, I wanted vengeance. I wanted the blood of those animals on my hands. The D.A. put me on temporary leave. Told me to stay away. But I kept hanging around, pushing the investigating officers, bugging the witnesses, going to their homes, for chrissake. I got suspended. Started drinking pretty heavily. Weeks went by and no clues. Every cop knew the cold truth, but I wouldn’t face it. The case was dead. There was no way those butchers would be found. Transients. A random killing. No way to solve it. The only possibility will be years from now when some psycho in Texas or someplace confesses to a dozen murders including Katherine’s.”

  I finished my wine.

  “I lost touch with my friends, with everybody. I drank up all my savings. I was on the street, a goddamn drunk. Then a friend of mine, a cop, pulled me out of it. He made me face things, got me going again. The department even offered me my old job. But I couldn’t go back. I’d changed too much. No more team spirit, you might say.”

  “They never found the men who—”

  “No. It took me a long time to get over that fact. Maybe I’m still not over it.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Four years.”

  She moved her finger in slow circles around the rim of her glass.

  “The person I remind you of is Katherine.”

  “Yes. It’s not that you look like her. You’re, well, more attractive. But there’s something. Something familiar.”

  “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

  “I’m not, either.”

  Neither of us spoke. Then, she said, “Would you like some more wine?”

  “No. I’d better leave.”

  “You can stay if you want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to stay.”

  I did.

  Later, she slept soundly, her head in the crook of my arm, her arm across my chest. I stared at the dark ceiling and tried to picture Katherine. But her face was blurred, out of focus. Finally, sleep came. Without dreams.

  CHAPTER 23

  I WOKE UP ALONE.

  For a moment I forgot where I was. Then I heard kitchen sounds and smelled coffee. A razor and shaving cream were laid out for me in the bathroom. I showered, shaved, and dressed.

  Sandra was rinsing a cup in the kitchen sink. She wore a powder blue warm-up suit.

  “Good morning.”

  “Yes, it is.” I sat at the table and tried to remember exactly what it was about her that had reminded me of Katherine.

  “Would you like breakfast?”

  “Just coffee, please.”

  She poured me a cup. Hans whined from the back door. He was sitting at attention, staring at Sandra.

  “He’s getting antsy about our morning walk.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll be back in about an hour.”

  “I’ll probably be gone.”

  She came around the table and I kissed her.

  “I’m glad you stayed last night,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “I doubt that I’ll see you again.”

  “Why do you say that?” I knew why.

  “A thousand reasons. But mostly because of why you came here in the first place. I remind you of someone else.”

  “That’s not the only thing that attracts me.”

  “It’s the main thing, Jacob.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a better reason to stay away. I’m a prostitute.”

  “So what?”

  “Nice try, but we both know the truth. You don’t approve of whores.”

  “You’re not a whore. There’s a difference.”

  “No, there isn’t. Maybe in a few years, when I get sick of what I’m doing, or when the looks start to go, I’ll take my nest egg to another city and start over. Open a boutique. Something. But for now I turn tricks.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “We both know it does.”

  She kissed me on the forehead.

  “I’m glad we met,” she said. “Really I am.”

  She turned and went out the back door. Hans pranced and danced behind her.

  I sat there until my coffee got cold.

  When I got to the office there was a message waiting for me on the machine. The man didn’t leave his name. He didn’t have to.

  “If you want to talk business, I’ll be at Donnelly’s tonight.”

  The day passed slowly, but it passed. I got to Donnelly’s just after eight. I wore slacks and a cardigan and tried to look like Mr. Businessman, off the job and out of place. It wasn’t too hard.

  The crowd was about the same as last night, only more so. Loud and Saturday-night drunk. I found a stool at the end of the bar, where it curved around to meet the wall. On my right was a big glass jar of pink things floating in murky liquid. On my left was a roofer discussing with his buddy the economic and moral issues involved in nukin’ the fuckin’ A-rabs.

  I checked out the rest of the clientele. There were a lot of guys who could have been Reese. None of them rushed up to shake my hand.

  I ordered a beer.

  “Is Leonard Reese here tonight?”

  “I don’t see him,” the bartender said. He was looking at me when he said it.

  I sat and waited. I had the feeling Reese was in there, watching me, watching me watch TV. It was up near the ceiling. A fight on cable. Supposedly a fight. The black guy was bad and the white guy was worse. The referee stopped it in the sixth so whitey wouldn’t bleed to death from facial cuts.

  I bought another beer. Maybe Reese was waiting for me to get drunk. Maybe he wasn’t going to show at all, just let me sit there like a fool.

  The next fighters were bantamweights. Quick as mosquitoes and nearly as strong. The bout went ten rounds and three beers. Split decision. The winner was swarmed in the ring by four dozen cousins.

  It was getting close to ten and the smoke was hurting my eyes. I decided to tough it out for one more fight. What the hell, it was the main event. Heavyweights. The WBA’s number one contender and some bum from Jersey. It was hard to tell them apart. I ordered a beer and went to the men’s room.

  When I came back, there was a guy in my seat.

  He was a good-sized character, tall and lanky. His dark blond hair was lacquered back in a ragged ducktail. He wore Levi’s and a Western-style brown-and-white checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His forearms were corded with muscle. His right hand was wrapped around my beer. The middle finger of his left hand supported a silver ring with a hunk of turquoise the size of a paperweight. His knuckles were laced with tiny white scars.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “You’re in my seat.”

  He drank my beer but didn’t turn around.

  I tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I said you’re in my seat.”

  He pushed around slowly, swiveling the stool until he faced me, his back to the bar. His face was rugged and angular. His eyes, flinty blue. He smiled. Red Riding Hood had seen a smile like that on her proxy grandma.

  “You’re Jake Lomax, right?”

  “And you’re Leonard Reese.”

  “That’s right, buddy, how you doing?”

  He stuck out his hand. We shook. You could have cracked a walnut between our palms.

  “Let’s go talk in my office.”

  He handed me the rest of my beer and stood off the bar-stool. For a second we sized each other up. He had me by an inch or two and maybe twenty pounds. I followed him through the crowd to a booth in the back.

  There was a guy sitting in it. He had a beard and a ponytail. When he saw us coming he got up. With some effort. He must have weighed three-twenty.

  Reese motioned me into the booth. I slid in and he sat across from me. The fat guy put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Move over, friend.”

  I looked at Reese.

  “Tiny’s my associate.”


  “But I want to talk to you alone.”

  “Not possible,” Reese said.

  Tiny still had his hand on my shoulder. If I was going to fight my way out of there, now was the time to start, while I could get a good shot at Tiny’s privates. But I wasn’t there to fight. I slid over. Tiny wedged himself in next to me.

  “Good,” Reese said. “Now what kind of business deal did you want to talk about, Jake ole boy?”

  “I’m not sure how to say this.”

  “Just say it.”

  “I want you to fix me up with some girls.”

  “No problem,” Reese said. “There’s one or two in here tonight. Buy them a couple of drinks and you’re set for the night.”

  Tiny chuckled, deep in his chest, like a bear with croup.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I was told that you could, you know, arrange things. With girls. Young girls.”

  I was trying to act nervous and it wasn’t all acting. If Reese and Tiny decided they didn’t like me or my lies, they could probably beat the hell out of me back here without much trouble, seeing as how I was trapped in the corner of a booth with the only way out over Tiny—a tough route even if he were unconscious, which he definitely was not.

  “Who told you I could arrange things?” Reese said.

  “A man at Pussy’s. Oscar.”

  “Oscar didn’t tell you that.”

  “He didn’t? Someone did. Oscar told me where to find you.”

  “Why not buy one of Oscar’s bitches?” Tiny said.

  His voice rumbled like a grizzly’s. His thick hands were on the table, palms down. They were both tattooed. The right one was a professional job, the head of a cobra with the body coiled out of view up the sleeve of his greasy denim jacket. The left one was self-inflicted, a crucifix with a star-burst and some illegible letters across his knuckles. He’d had those a long time. Probably done with a straight pin and India ink back when he was just a chubby adolescent, pulling the wings off bats and setting fire to the principal’s office.

  “Oscar can’t arrange what I want. Not specifically.”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, three girls. Or even two, but they have to be young.”

  Tiny chuckled behind his beard. He was getting a big kick out of this.

  “Look,” I said, “maybe I should go back and talk to Oscar.”

  Reese said, “Relax, Jake. I can fix you up. So you want two young girls. Three, if I can get them.”