Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors (24 page)

A plain clothes cop, or maybe a DA office employee, opened the door to the office suite and led me to a large, improvised space of desks, computers, cables, and charts. Fowler sat with some important-looking guys, gave a quick excuse, got up, and walked over to me.
 

I met him halfway, opened the bag, got out the shish kebabs, and emptied the container over his head, double extra portion garlic sauce and all. A legend in the making. When he got up to protest, I kicked him into the nuts for good measure.

I swear I heard a catcall whistle from one of the policemen when I walked out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Trap Snap

The rest of Tuesday passed without any news from Operation Rip-Spotting. Henry called in the evening and asked me for another date. Afterward, I sat perplexed in front of my phone and realized that I had turned down a restaurant dinner and a movie and had invited him for a home-cooked dinner at my place instead. I wasn’t sure whether the butterflies in my stomach were from excitement at having him close again or from fear of putting too much salt into the pasta sauce.

Wednesday morning passed without any news from Operation Rip-Spotting. I spoke with Bernie and Mick, who told me the guys held their posts and there had been some lookalikes and false alarms but not the real deal. I hoped they kept themselves motivated. I was doing my shopping for the evening and was in the check-out lane of Krauss’ Super when my cellphone chirped in my pocket. I fumbled for it and managed to open it in time before the answering service set in.

“Cal, it’s Mick!” I heard my cousin.

“Tell me only good news,” I said, already leaving an abandoned shopping cart behind me, almost running toward the exit.

“Move your pretty behind up the 405 to the Ventura Boulevard exit. That is up in Van Nuys or Encino, don’t know. The Mountain will lead you from there.”

“Did he notice anything? God, please be careful. Don’t let him slip away,” I admonished.

“Oh, shut up! Don’t hurt our professional pride, lady.” Mick hung up, clearly annoyed.
 

I had to check the time carefully; it was around three in the afternoon, and my dinner date with Henry was set for eight. I still had to cook; if anything happened, I would be cutting it close. For some reason or other, I didn’t dare to cancel on Henry. Would he ask for a reason? Would I feel comfortable lying to him? Hell, I did lie to him constantly!
 

The traffic was not too bad, and I drove up to Van Nuys in about 45 minutes. The Mountain passed me slowly on his giant motorcycle. We made our way to a diner on Ventura Boulevard, where the Mountain indicated for me to stop as he rode on.

Mick and Bernie were waiting for me inside. They looked different from when I had seen them the last time at the briefing.
 

“My, my,” I commented, “you guys had a makeover of the bourgeoisie kind.”

Mick looked down at his designer jeans and yuppie leather motorcycle jacket instead of the worn black leather he had worn every time I had seen him so far.
 

“If you want to hang out in places, you better give a good impression,” he said, not offended.

Bernie’s beard was gone, and he had a similar non-rocker outfit, posing for a typical middle-aged executive who rode a Harley on weekends for rest and recreation. “Something to drink? The vanilla shakes are excellent.”

I looked at my watch. “I am on hot coals. One because of your catch. And two because I have a date with the chief of police around eight.”

“Your hair looks terrible today,” Uncle Bernie remarked dryly.

I combed it twice with my fingers before I realized that he was teasing me. “Okay, one vanilla shake,” I said to the waitress who had arrived at our booth. When she walked away, I said, “Shoot.”

“He came up on Santa Monica and Wilshire, and our guy Toby spotted him. No mistake possible, he wasn’t wearing any sunglasses. He was on his cellphone talking, he was driving a dark Mazda Miata.”

“Mazda Miata!”
 

“I agree; there are coincidences that are serendipity,” Bernie commented on my own choice of car. “Toby set the chain of observation in motion and followed him.”

“This is unbelievable; it worked!” I said.

“It did! Can you patent it?” Bernie grinned. “Toby and some other guys who had picked up the trail followed him to some shopping locations and then on to the freeway. By then, Mick and I had ditched our bikes and got our cars ready. It may have been a little suspicious if there was always a bike around our little friend Rip.”

“Is he around here somewhere?” I asked.

“There is an apartment and housing complex called ‘The Adlon’ a few minutes from here, on a road called Adlon Place off—you guessed it—Adlon Road. It is below the Encino reservoir and not far from Mulholland Drive on the hillside. Typical community, anonymous if you wish, but not shabby either. For people like junior execs who are working at studios who earn solid pay but can’t afford fancy, yet, and still want a house on the hillside, overlooking something. Rip blends in perfectly. I have counted five similar convertibles in the same parking lot.”

“Are you sure this is his place?”

“Dead sure. He had the keys, went to fetch the mail and an Amazon package from the reception, and was greeted by name from what I could make out. Looked like a perfect routine to me, coming home early from work.”

Mick added, “The car is licensed to Robert Dearson; the apartment is rented to Robert M. Dearson.”
 

“What kind of apartment does he live in?”

“You can’t see it from here, but it is actually a small house with its own pool and a certain degree of privacy. Very nice, if you like that style.”

“Were you able to photograph him?” I asked.

Mick nodded. “Even better, we already took steps to bug his phone. The house will follow as soon as he is out.”
 

“Impossible,” I shook my head. “We can’t do that. If Rip is in the same league as….” I stopped myself in time to avoid comparing him to me. “If he is a skilled burglar and is on some kind of mission to rob Hollywood high society, he will be able to tell if someone entered his house in his absence. Hidden webcams, hair in the doorframe, silent alarms, whatever.”

“But the phone is okay by you?” Mick did not sound offended.

“Just make sure that there are no clicks and hums in the line.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “It’s probably useless anyway when he uses his cellphone as his main line.”

Bernie asked, “What do you want us to do now?”

“Keep on his trail and note every step he takes.”

“You don’t want to call in your friends from the police?”

“I need to know what he has first,” I replied.

“What what?” Bernie asked.

“What he has in his possession! If he is really behind all these burglaries, then he may have some evidence left in his house or stashed somewhere.”

“And how will you find that out?”

“I will search his possessions when he goes out.”

“You just told us to stay out of his house!”

“I did, but when I do it, there will be no traces left,” I said with a type of authority in my voice that Mick and Bernie hadn’t heard before.

“I knew that there had to be something like this!” Bernie muttered to himself, switching into worried-uncle mode.

But first, back to the ranch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Date Interrupted

Looking for anything to keep me busy and keep my mind away from later tonight, I showered quickly, cleaned up my bungalow as good as possible, did the preparations for dinner, and showered again. I prepared the table for dinner and started cooking around seven thirty; it was already dark outside. I was debating whether to enhance the mood by lighting several candles or whether my current lighting was enough. At 7:55, the phone rang, and I almost expected Henry to cancel, but it was Uncle Bernie instead.

“You still have your date on?”

“Are you playing nanny?” I retorted.

“Your
other
boyfriend got himself a date for tonight. He will leave in about thirty minutes and will be out until late.”

“How do you know?” I said, fearing that Mick, in a push of arrogance, had installed a bug after all.

“We intercepted his home phone, remember? Some cutie named Nora called him, and they chatted about their meeting at Barnes and Nobles a few days ago. They agreed to go out for a nice dinner and some dancing afterwards.”

“Not necessarily a late thing,” I said. “He could be back for Jay Leno.”

“She mentioned Blue Lounge; that’s on La Cienga. Blue Lounge means serious nightlife—gets crowded around midnight, so my sources tell me. I doubt that he will be back home before two or three … if he’s coming home at all, if you know what you mean.”

“I know what you mean. I am not sure that I will be able to make it tonight.”

“Make what tonight? No kidding! You want to sneak into his house and take a peek or what?”

“If, for whatever reason, my date is cut short, I will ride like hell up to Van Nuys and join you guys.”

“Whatever,” Bernie sounded doubtful. “Anyway, Toby will follow Rip through the night, and we will see what our fried will do to pass the time.”

The garden doorbell rang, and the little video feed showed Henry with something in his hands standing before it. I buzzed him in. “Shit, my date just arrived.” With my other free hand, I continued the interrupted cooking, and the oil began to sizzle again.

“I read you. I guess you know what you’re doing. I will leave Mick as support near Rip’s house. Call him as soon as you are able to come over.”

A few moments later, Henry knocked on the door.
 

“Anybody home to take care of this bottle of the finest Italian wine?” he asked loudly through the door in his best chief’s voice.

I quickly walked over with oily, fish-smelling hands held out like a sterilized surgeon and managed to open the door with my elbow. “I am unable to shake hands right now; you’ll have to open the bottle yourself.”

Henry was dressed casually in brown Chinos, a polo shirt, and deck shoes, with a sweater easily thrown over his shoulders. He pecked me on the cheek, and I could feel his warmth and smell his fresh smell over my fishy fingers. I cursed myself for such an inappropriate choice of food.
 

I looked him over and decided that something had changed with him. “Did you lose several pounds during the few days you didn’t see me?” I asked and continued cooking.

Henry rummaged in my kitchen drawer—the good thing about policemen was that they could deduce the contents of any apartment for themselves—and produced the bottle opener before he started removing the cork. “Nope, but I may look different because you’re see me tonight without a gun. The shoulder harness changes my appearance. Just a little, but nonetheless.”

“Hope you don’t feel naked without it,” I said and grew red after a second. Henry looked at me without saying anything for a minute, and then we broke out laughing.

Henry poured us wine; we both agreed that it was round, full, and deep and declared it a good one. While I cooked, Henry sat down on the coffee table and suddenly picked up something shimmering and white. “Did you lose something precious recently?” he asked me and held up a two-carat diamond between his thumb and finger.

“Not really, I just didn’t put it away properly, yet.”

“That is quite unusual, you know,” Henry said. “You have this precious piece lying around in your living room, ready to be vacuumed away, while other people would lock this away in a safe place.”

“I’ve never vacuumed a diamond! I am locking this away, eventually,” I said over my kitchen chores, “but I was looking at it this afternoon, and I enjoy them having around. Diamonds are something special to me, besides raw materials for my job. There is a pink one as well, a little bigger.”

Henry lifted some books and found it. “Is this one blemished or considered to be more perfect?”

“Either or,” I replied and came over to him, picking up a powerful spyglass from the sideboard. I handed him the spyglass and pointed at the small white diamond. “This one is a white two-carat which in most cases is the preferred color for a diamond, currently. But color trends change over the years. This one has some inclusions which make it less valuable and far from perfect. I am deciding what to do with it, because I can’t use it for my own pieces.” Henry’s hand was warm to touch, and he didn’t pull it back, studying the gem through the glass. He then looked at me instead of the diamond while I talked. “The pink one has no inclusions, therefore is very clear and offers a very nice cut.” I tipped it over so that we could see it from the other side. “I had checked out some ancient jewelry catalogues in order to decide how to use it. Pink diamonds used to be fashionable many years ago, and I was thinking about some retro-style, art deco thing with a little Moonstone touch.”