Читать книгу Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 12

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.”

“Do you get along with Mr. Brady?”

Grant said, “Neutral. We don’t have much to do with each other.”

“What about you?” Marge asked Mace.

“I barely know him. You think he did it?”

“We’re just gathering information,” Marge said. “You said something about your dad hiring delinquents?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You mentioned that your father hired security guards who were former delinquents.”

“Yeah, Gil mentioned something about that to me. Is someone going to check up on my brother?” Grant looked at his two underlings. “Joe, find out what’s happening with Mr. Kaffey.”

After the assistant left, Decker said, “Can you help me sort out the specifics of the company? For starters, how many people does Kaffey Industries employ?”

“At the height of the real estate boom, maybe a thousand,” Grant told him. “Now we’re down to around eight hundred. Six fifty on the West Coast, and Mace and I got about a hundred and fifty working for us.”

“You’re real estate developers?” Marge asked.

“Primarily,” Grant said.

“Shopping malls?”

“Primarily.”

Decker said, “Have you two always worked on the East Coast?”

“Dad decided to expand about ten years ago. At first, we were commuting bicoastally. Then we decided to relocate.”

“My wife’s from New York,” Mace said. “She jumped at the opportunity to move back east. Guy still came out every month. Not necessary for him to do so, but my brother has a hard time delegating. Grant can back me up on that.”

“Dad’s a workaholic,” Grant told him. “He not only keeps long hours, he expects everyone else to keep long hours.”

“Is that a problem?” Marge asked.

“Not with us, because we’re three thousand miles away,” Grant said. “My brother gets the brunt end. Dad accuses us of being soft because we have a life. But that’s just Dad being Dad.” Tears formed in his eyes. “Dad came from humble beginnings.”

“We both did,” Mace said with a bristle. “My father came over from Europe with nothing. He opened a small appliance repair shop back when people still repaired things. He was frugal and saved and managed to buy a couple of apartment buildings. Guy and I parlayed our dad’s holdings into an empire.”

Grant gave his uncle a hard stare and then turned his irritation on Decker. “What does this have to do with his murder?”

“Just trying to get a feel for your family, Mr. Kaffey. It helps to know some background. I’m sorry if you find the questions intrusive.”

Marge stepped in. “Was your father having problems with anything specific? Maybe the embezzling accountant?”

“He was actually an account executive,” Mace said. “Milfred Connors. I think there was talk of a lawsuit, but Guy paid him off.”

“Son of a bitch,” Grant said. “He steals and then he threatens to sue.”

Marge wrote down the name. “So why pay him off?”

“Because it’s easier than a protracted legal battle,” Mace told her.

Grant said, “We had enough lawsuits going already.” He backtracked. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some we initiated. Some were initiated against us.”

Mace said, “What about Cyclone Inc., Grant? They were really pissed when we pulled the permits for the Greenridge Project.” He turned to Decker. “They’ve been impeding the project for years. We finally got all the permits and approvals, so they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

Decker said, “Why is Cyclone Inc. pissed at you?”

Grant said, “They own the Percivil Galleria and Bennington Mall—both of which have been around for twenty or thirty years. Bennington was knocked for a loop by the Woodbury Commons—one of the busiest outlet malls in the country. But Percivil was doing all right because it’s across the Hudson where there isn’t competition.”

“Then we came on the scene,” Mace said. “Kaffey is developing a state-of-the-art mall that’s going to blow the Galleria out of the water.”

Grant said, “Not only will it include almost every chain and luxury goods store, we’re in the process of developing a resort hotel with two Tumi Addams-designed golf courses.”

Mace said, “One indoors, one outdoors.”

“Golf year-round. Plus we’ve signed on with some of the country’s best chefs to open up restaurants.”

“Wow,” Marge said. “That would blow any existing mall away.”

“Exactly!” Mace crowed.

Decker asked, “Where exactly is the development?”

“Upstate New York in Clarence County surrounded by some of the most beautiful land that ever existed,” Mace said. “The area is filled with ecological nuts, but we did our due diligence. We’ve filed all the necessary environmental impact reports. The whole project is going to be green.”

“Cyclone’s been raising a stink about graft and corruption,” Grant said. “Totally unfounded accusations. Assholes! They’ve already sicced the county tax assessors on our books. We came away clean. We’ve got nothing to hide!”

“Who’s the CEO of Cyclone?” Decker asked.

“Paul Pritchard.” Grant paused. “He’s an asshole, but murder?”

Mace said, “Our project will kill his last profitable mall, Grant. Pritchard’s a bastard, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.” He turned to Decker. “Check him out.”

“We will,” Marge said. “Getting back to the more immediate, does Gil live near your father?”

“Gil lives in L.A. Dad lives on the ranch and in Palos Verde Peninsula. The company is headquartered in Irvine.”

Decker raised an eyebrow. “Not so far from Palos Verdes but far from Coyote Ranch.”

“That was the purpose,” Grant said. “When Dad wanted to get away, he wanted to get away. Initially he bought the property for Mom and her horses, but Dad came to love it. Mostly they entertained at the Palos Verdes house, but every so often they’d give a party at the ranch.” His eyes looked far away. “One winter”—a laugh—“Dad got some snow machines and provided skiing on several man-made runs. The party lasted an entire weekend. That was something else.”

“Was the ranch’s security beefed up for the weekend?” Marge asked.

“Probably. That would be Neptune Brady’s bailiwick. He knew the ins and outs of the ranch better than my parents. Fuckhead! How the hell did this happen? He’s the one you should be questioning, not me.”

Decker said, “He’s on our radar. So far, he’s been cooperative.”

Grant became agitated. “Where the fuck is that doctor? I want to see my brother!”

“Let me go check on it,” Marge said.

“Good idea.” Decker turned to the men. “Thank you both for being so forthright at this very difficult time.”

“Fucking nightmare!” Grant tried to pace, but there wasn’t much floor space. Talking business had seemed to calm him down, giving him something else to think about. The minute he was brought back into his current tragedy, he was perched on the edge of an explosion. And who could blame him?

Decker said, “Do you think that the Greenridge Project will go through in the wake of this tragedy?”

“Absolutely,” Mace said stiffly. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“It’s just that Guy was the CEO, and a project of that magnitude is a mammoth enterprise. It sounds like the biggest shopping mall that Kaffey has developed.”

Grant said, “It’ll be difficult, but we can carry out Greenridge without Dad as long as Gil can take care of the rest of Kaffey.” He shook his head. “God, that’s a huge load.”

Mace said, “It’ll be hard to handle anything without Guy, but we can manage if we work together. We’re not just business associates, we’re family.”

Decker regarded Guy’s younger brother. His pep talk sounded forced—maybe trying to convince himself he was up to the job. Marge came back into the room. “Dr. Rain is just out of surgery. He’ll see you both in his office as soon as he’s cleaned up. Nurse Edderly will be happy to take you to his office.”

Grant punched a fist into his palm. “I don’t want anything to do with that bitch!”

“I’ll be happy to take you,” Marge said.

“Thank you,” Mace said. “Are you staying with us?”

“We need to get back to the ranch.” To the crime scene, Decker thought. “I also want to check out these two men you mentioned—Paul Pritchard and Milfred Connors.”

“Connors was a low-level con man,” Grant said. “He’s a nothing.”

“Sometimes it’s the nothings who get pissed off,” Mace told him.

“Exactly,” Decker said. “Here are some business cards, gentlemen. Call me anytime.”

“And here’s my card,” Grant countered. “That’s a business number. You can call it anytime. If it’s important, you can leave your number and I’ll be paged.”

“Thank you,” Decker said. “Uh … just one last question. Do either of you know Spanish?”

“What?” Mace said.

“What’s that about?” Grant asked.

“A lot of people who work at the ranch are Hispanic. In California, Hispanics do a lot of construction work. Just wondering if you and your dad and your brother can communicate with them directly.”

“Of course we visit the job sites, but we don’t talk directly to the men,” Mace told him.

“Why would we do that?” Grant asked. “That’s why we employ foremen.”