Authors: J.A. Jance
The waitress returned, more determined this time, with her order pad in hand. Neither Ali nor Roseanne had yet to glance at their menus.
“House salad,” Ali said. “Ranch dressing and iced tea.”
“I’ll have the same,” Roseanne said.
Clearly disappointed by their long delayed but paltry order, the waitress rolled her eyes and stomped off in the direction of the kitchen.
“But what makes you think your phone was tapped?” Ali asked, once the waitress was out of earshot.
“Paul’s dead, isn’t he?” Roseanne asked. “He didn’t know anything about what was going on until I told him, and when I did, someone must have been listening in on my phone.”
Or on Paul’s,
Ali thought. If Paul and Jake were partners, and if the authorities managed to get wiretapping warrants as a part of a drug-busting investigation, they’d have gotten warrants for the phones of all parties involved and perhaps even for their spouses’ phones as well. At the time of Paul’s death, Ali had still been his wife. Did that mean Ali’s phone might have been tapped, too?
“That’s why Paul’s death is my fault,” Roseanne continued as her eyes once more filled with tears. “If I hadn’t told him what was going on, maybe he wouldn’t be dead now.”
“If the Pink Swan is a front for a major drug operation, I still think you should go to the cops,” Ali said. “All of LAPD doesn’t hang out around there. Surely there must be someone you could talk to?”
“But how am I supposed to know which ones are crooked and which ones aren’t?” Roseanne returned. “As far as I can tell, they all are.”
That’s when Ali thought of Dave. He was, without a doubt, one of the world’s straightest arrows.
“Look,” Ali said. “I have a friend who’s visiting right now, a cop from over in Arizona. He couldn’t possibly be mixed up in any of this. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“No,” Roseanne said firmly. “No cops. Period. Why do you think they killed Paul? To let the rest of us know that even talking about going to the cops is a capital offense as far as they’re concerned.”
“What about talking to an attorney then?” Ali asked. “I know a top-drawer defense attorney. His name is Victor Angeleri. You’re obviously involved in all this and you know what’s really going on. Why don’t you call him and let him see what kind of deal he could cut for you in terms of witness protection?”
“I don’t believe in witness protection programs any more than I believe in the Tooth Fairy,” Roseanne returned. “That wouldn’t stop them. If they killed Paul, they’ll find me and kill me, too. Even if I get sent to jail, they’ll still come after me. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll help me out. I don’t need a lot of money. I have a place down in Mexico where I can live cheaply for a very long time. I just need some cash to make it work.”
Roseanne pushed the jewel-laden ziplock bag back in Ali’s direction. It lay there on the tabletop between them for the better part of a minute. Then, when the waitress reappeared with their salads and iced teas, Roseanne snatched the bag off the table and stuffed it back into her purse and out of sight.
Once again they waited until the waitress had walked away from their table.
“If these people are so all-powerful and all-knowing, who are they? You may have your suspicions that they’re responsible for what happened to Paul, but do you have any proof?”
“I just know it,” Roseanne said fervently. “I know it in my bones.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“By the time I get proof, I’ll be dead, too,” Roseanne said.
Ali had to admit that was a pretty telling argument. She decided to change tactics. “So these people are all tied in with the Pink Swan,” she said. “Tell me about that.”
“The bottom floor is just your basic topless joint with a bar and nude dancing, and all the rest of it. That one is open to the public. Upstairs is private—an upscale gentlemen’s club they call it. That’s where the real action is—all kinds of action. You can go there and do whatever you want and nobody bothers you, especially no reporters. They don’t come near the place.”
“Who owns it?” Ali asked.
“A lady named Lucia Joaquin. At least, her name is the one on the liquor license. She’s the widow of a major player in one of the Colombian drug cartels. Years ago when her husband was gunned down, she came here with her kids along with a ton of money, money she managed to invest in real estate all over L.A.”
“Drug money?” Ali asked.
“I’m sure,” Roseanne answered with a nod. “But just because she moved out of the country didn’t mean she moved out of the drug business. She’s kept her hand in the whole time she’s been here. Her two sons may work for her, but even though she’s been sick, Lucia is still the real brains behind the outfit. She’s also the one who gave the Pink Swan its name. I’ve never met her, but I’ve been told she always wears pink—from head to toe.”
“What about the sons?” Ali asked.
“Mario and Reynaldo,” Roseanne replied. “They both went to school here in the States. One’s an MBA type and the other’s more of an engineer. Lucia’s money comes rolling in from whatever source. The sons figure out ways to turn all that illicit cash into something more or less legitimate.”
“Like Sumo Sudoku?” Ali asked.
Roseanne nodded. “Exactly.”
“Which one of the sons is Amber’s father?”
“Neither,” Roseanne answered. “There was a third child—a daughter. I don’t know her name. She died years ago. Lucia raised Amber and thinks she can do no wrong. Unfortunately, Amber doesn’t have quite the same work ethic her grandmother has. But she’s going to be loaded one of these days, so I can see why Jake might be interested in her. As for why Amber’s interested in Jake?” Roseanne added. “I have no idea.”
Having met the young woman in question the previous night, Ali could have told Roseanne that Amber came with her own set of problems, but she didn’t.
“So will you help me or not?” Roseanne asked, going back once again to the jewelry.
Ali thought about it. Roseanne had brought her here under false pretenses. She had claimed to have information about Paul’s death, but from Ali’s point of view, what she had offered was little more than unsubstantiated suspicions—none of them enough to make Ali’s trip worthwhile.
“I think my answer is not,” Ali replied. “The only reason you brought me here was to unload your jewelry and get some cash.”
“But—” Roseanne began.
Ali stood up. “If you decide you want to go to that lawyer or to the cops and tell them what’s going on, call me again and we’ll talk. In the meantime, Roseanne, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
A despairing Roseanne watched as Ali flagged down the waitress. Roseanne was still seated at their table as Ali left. Enough time had passed that only a few stragglers still lingered outside, waiting for tables. Ali started through them and was headed for her car when someone called after her.
“Ms. Reynolds?”
Thinking it was someone who recognized her from her days on the news, Ali stopped and turned back to find the hostess hurrying after her. “Yes.”
“There’s a phone call for you at the hostess desk,” Carrie said. “You can take it back inside. There’s an extension on the wall there by the restrooms.”
Why would someone be calling me here?
Ali wondered. The only person who had known she was coming to Claim Jumper was her mother. That was probably the call she had ignored earlier.
“Thank you,” Ali said, allowing herself to be led back into the restaurant. When she picked up the receiver, Ali was amazed to find Dave Holman on the phone.
“What’s going on?” Ali wanted to know. “How did you know to call me here? Did you talk to Mom?”
“Listen to me for a minute,” he said urgently. “Is Roseanne still there?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good,” Dave Holman said, sounding relieved. “I’m glad I got here in time.”
Ali glanced around the restaurant but didn’t see him anywhere. “You’re here? Where? I thought you were on your way to Lake Havasu.”
“Things changed. Roxie had made other plans and didn’t want me dropping in on the kids ‘unannounced.’ In the meantime, I’m in Valencia now. At a pay phone directly across the street from the Claim Jumper.”
“You followed me here? Why? What’s happening? And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t call on my cell.”
“The last few days,” he said, “with everything that’s been going on, I’ve managed to make friends with Bruno Cutler, the head of security at your hotel. Late this afternoon, someone came speeding into the hotel parking garage. He waved what was supposedly an LAPD badge at the garage attendant and said he was there to check on a stolen vehicle. The attendant didn’t think that much about it at the time, but later on, when Bruno was reviewing the garage security tapes, he noticed someone messing around with your vehicle, and he called me.”
“Someone was messing with my Cayenne?” Ali asked. “Who and why?”
“I’ve seen the tape now, too,” Dave said. “And I’m pretty sure I know who it was. You do, too. He drives a Honda Element, and he’s parked outside the restaurant right now. The Element is parked right next to your Porsche.”
“Tracy McLaughlin followed me here?” Ali asked. “How could he? Roseanne was afraid someone might try to follow me, so I checked. There was no one anywhere near me.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Dave replied. “I think McLaughlin stuck a GPS tracking device under your rear bumper. If they were using one of those, there would have been no need to keep your vehicle in sight. The tape shows him taking something small out of his pocket and then reaching up toward the underside of your back bumper—right in the middle of it, straight down from the lock.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Tracy McLaughlin want to find me?” Ali asked.
“I think the people Tracy works for are looking for Roseanne Maxwell. Tracy followed you in hopes you’d lead him to her.”
Which I did,
Ali thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“But how could Tracy possibly know I was coming to see her?” Ali asked at last.
“Good question,” Dave said. “That’s why I’m calling you on the restaurant phone instead of your cell. It’s why I’m not using my cell, either.”
Ali stopped short, remembering Roseanne’s concerns about the likelihood of her phone being tapped. Now Dave shared that worry.
“Are you saying someone may have been listening in on my cell phone calls?” Ali asked.
“Affirmative,” Dave replied.
“What should I do then?” Ali returned.
“Where is Roseanne?”
“Still at our table. She rode here with a friend who works at the restaurant. I imagine she’s planning on staying until the friend gets off work.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let her leave,” Dave said urgently. “Did she tell you anything important?”
“She told me a little,” Ali said. “But I thought she was delusional and making a lot of it up.”
“I only wish that were the case.”
“So you’ve found out more?”
“Lots more,” Dave answered, “but let’s not go into that right now. Just wait until I get there.”
“You’re coming in?”
“Yes,” he said. “As soon as I can.”
“What if Tracy spots you?”
“I’ll wait until there’s another fairly large group and try to blend in with them,” Dave said. “He’s waiting for you to come out. With any kind of luck, he won’t be paying that much attention to people going in.”
“What are we going to do?” Ali asked. “Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet,” Dave allowed. “When I come up with one, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll go back to the table and tell Roseanne to stay put. When you get here, talk to the hostess. Her name is Carrie, and she’s Roseanne’s friend. Carrie will be able to tell you where we are.”
“Will do,” Dave said, and hung up.
Still stunned by the idea that she’d been followed after all, Ali made her way back to the corner table. Roseanne didn’t look up until Ali was standing directly over her.
“What happened?” she asked. “I thought you were leaving.”
“So did I,” Ali returned. “I changed my mind.”
Roseanne brightened. “Does that mean you’re going to buy my jewelry after all?”
“No,” Ali replied grimly. “It means I’m going to try to save your butt.”
L
ooking alarmed, Roseanne half rose to her feet. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Sit back down and don’t make a scene,” Ali ordered. “We can’t afford it. Tracy McLaughlin evidently found out where I was going and followed me here,” she added. “He’s waiting outside in the parking lot.”
Roseanne’s face turned a pasty shade of white as she sank back into her chair. “He followed you?” she asked in a cracked whisper. “I thought you said you’d checked and that no one was there.”
“I did check,” Ali returned. “But we believe he put some kind of GPS tracking device on my vehicle. He knew exactly where I was without my being able to see him at all.”
“But if they find me here…” With an almost physical jolt, Roseanne suddenly straightened in her chair. “Wait a minute. How did he know you were coming to see me? You must have told him.”
“I didn’t,” Ali said. “At least not on purpose. You may be right, Roseanne. It’s possible my phone is being tapped, just like you said yours was.”
There was a long pause as Ali’s news sank in. “What are we going to do then?” Roseanne asked finally.
“Dave Holman, that friend I told you about, the cop from Arizona, is on his way here right now,” Ali told her. “Once he arrives, we’ll figure out what to do.”
Again, Roseanne attempted to rise to her feet. “I already told you I don’t want to talk to any cops. I’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
More time had passed than Ali realized. Now only two tables in that section of the restaurant were still occupied, but the people seated there seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in the ongoing drama between Ali and Roseanne.
“Sit,” Ali hissed. “With Tracy out in the parking lot, leaving is exactly the wrong thing to do right now. He’ll nail you the moment you step outside.”
“What should I do then? Sit here and wait for him to come inside after me?”
“I don’t know,” Ali replied. “Be quiet and let me think.”
Shaking her head, a trembling Roseanne slid back into her chair. Clearly the woman was petrified, and Ali didn’t blame her. They needed a device that would take Roseanne out of harm’s way without exposing her to whatever danger awaited her in the parking lot. Slowly a plan began to take shape in Ali’s head. If Ali could somehow conceal Roseanne inside the restaurant while at the same time convincing Tracy that she had slipped away…
Before Ali could finish formulating a strategy, Carrie appeared, holding an armload of menus and leading Dave Holman directly to their corner table. Ali was thrilled to see him. Roseanne was not. As Dave took a seat, Roseanne shrank away from him, putting as much distance as possible between his chair and hers. Before the hostess could walk away again, Ali caught Carrie’s arm.
“I guess you know we’re having a bit of a problem here,” she said. “That there are dangerous people actively looking for Roseanne?”
Carrie nodded. “She told me.”
“One of them appears to be waiting for her outside in the parking lot.”
“Oh, no!” Carrie exclaimed. “Should I call the cops?”
“Not just yet,” Ali said. “But what about this? Would it be possible for you to hustle Roseanne into the kitchen and pass her off as part of the help long enough for us to decoy the bad guy away from here?”
Dave looked as though he was about to say something. Then he didn’t.
Carrie seemed to consider. “That wouldn’t be too hard,” she answered. “I could put her in with the guy who washes dishes. He wouldn’t mind having some extra help. I’ll clear it with the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Carrie went away again, leaving Ali to make the introductions. Still huddled against the wall, Roseanne refused Dave’s proffered handshake.
“Tracy’s still out in the parking lot?” Ali asked.
Dave nodded. “Yup.”
“Is he alone?”
“As far as I could tell.”
Ali felt a surge of irritation with Dave. He was being uncommonly uncommunicative. She had expected him to arrive with some concrete ideas for solving their problem. Since he seemed to be fresh out of game plans, Ali continued to formulate her own.
“Do you have your cell phone with you?” Ali asked him.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I’m going to call you on it,” Ali said. “And I’m going to use my cell phone to do it. Since whoever may be listening in on my calls doesn’t know we know about them, hopefully they’ll take whatever I say as the gospel.”
Roseanne let out a small moan. “But what about me?” she asked.
“What about you?” Ali returned. “You go to the kitchen and wash dishes like Carrie said until Dave or I come back to get you, but you need to know one thing, Roseanne. Dave and I aren’t helping you out of the goodness of our hearts. This isn’t a free ride.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure from what you said earlier that you’d like me to believe you’re a mostly innocent bystander in all this,” Ali returned. “If that were true, though, you wouldn’t be so afraid of going to jail yourself. You claim to be a drug user and nothing more, but I’m guessing that by the time the cops finish investigating this case they’ll be able to charge you with plenty, including conspiracy to distribute drugs if nothing else.” Ali turned to Dave. “That’s a felony, right?”
Dave nodded. “Yes, it is,” he agreed.
“So,” Ali continued, “your best bet for dodging jail time is for you to cooperate now. If Dave and I can manage to get you out of this alive, I want you to promise that you’ll go to that attorney I told you about. Let Victor Angeleri see what kind of deal he can make for you in exchange for your testimony—your voluntary testimony—about the people at the Pink Swan and everything that goes on there, including your suspicions about who was really responsible for Paul’s death.”
“What if I say no?” Roseanne asked.
“That’s easy,” Ali returned. “Dave and I leave now, and you can deal with Tracy and whatever’s supposed to happen to you all on your own.”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Roseanne pleaded. “You couldn’t just leave me alone like that.”
“Oh, couldn’t I?” Ali said, reaching for her purse. “Watch me.”
“No,” Roseanne said, capitulating. “Please don’t leave. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“Fine,” Ali said. “Go to the kitchen. Stay there until you hear from us. Either Dave or I will come get you, or else we’ll let you know that it’s safe to go with whoever we send.”
“All right,” Roseanne agreed reluctantly. She stood up and headed for the swinging doors that led back to the kitchen. Ali glanced around. By then the customers at the other nearby tables had all left. Carrie had made sure that theirs was the only occupied table in that section of the restaurant.
A waitress—a different one this time—came over and took Dave’s order.
“All right,” Ali said once the waitress left. “Here’s my plan. I’ll call you and say that I met Roseanne here because she wanted me to buy some of her jewelry but that she slipped away while I was in the restroom. With any kind of luck whoever’s listening in on my phone will believe she’s gotten away from them, too. Then, later on, we’ll be able to smuggle her out of here and get her to Victor.”
Ali was talking to Dave but he didn’t appear to be paying attention. He seemed to be focused on some distant part of the restaurant.
“Hello!” Ali said. “Are you even listening to me?”
Turning to follow his gaze, Ali saw two men standing talking to Carrie, who was listening carefully and nodding. Eventually they began making their way across the dining room. One was a tall, rangy black man Ali had never seen before. The other she recognized at once—Detective Montgomery Taylor with the Riverside Sheriff’s Department Homicide Division, one of the two detectives who had interviewed Ali in the aftermath of Paul’s death.
“Oh, no,” Ali whispered under her breath. “What’s he doing here? Don’t tell me they’re coming after me again.”
The men walked directly to Ali and Dave’s table. Without waiting for an invitation, they seated themselves. The man Ali didn’t know nodded cordially in Dave’s direction. The two of them shook hands.
“Good to see you, bro,” the man said. “Where is Roseanne Maxwell?”
“In the kitchen,” Dave responded. “Hiding out as a dishwasher. Are the takedown teams all in place?”
The stranger nodded. “Pretty much,” he said. “We’re just waiting for the restaurant to clear out some and for a couple more of my men to arrive on the scene.”
“Roseanne’s in the kitchen?” Detective Taylor asked. “I’ll go make sure we don’t lose her.” With that, he got up and headed for the kitchen.
Feeling lost, Ali watched the detective’s retreating figure. “What takedown teams?” she asked. “Who are these guys? What are they doing here? What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” Dave said. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Ali. This is my friend Ezekiel Washington. We call him Easy. He’s with the DEA. I believe you already know Detective Taylor.” Dave waved in the direction of the swinging kitchen door where Taylor had disappeared.
“Glad to meet you,” Easy said with an engaging grin calculated to match his name. “I remember seeing you on the news when you used to be on TV here. I guess you could say I was a fan.”
“Thank you,” Ali said stiffly. “I’m delighted to know that, I’m sure. But you still haven’t told me what’s going on here.”
“We’re in the process of rolling up a major drug operation,” he answered. “We’ve been working on this case for months. We weren’t quite ready to make our move, but with your husband dead and with the possibility of your stirring up the pot on your Web site, we’re having to go ahead and stage our raids now after all. If we wait any longer, there’s a good chance you may write something in your blog that will give away what we’re doing. At this point in the investigation, we can’t afford to have a loose cannon on deck.”
“So now I’m a loose cannon?” an irate Ali demanded of Dave Holman. Then she turned back to Easy Washington.
“Sorry,” Easy said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What happened to your husband is terribly unfortunate. It was never our intention that he would be at risk, and believe me, we’re doing everything we can to bring his killers to justice.”
“Not your intention…?” Ali began.
“Mr. Grayson had been working with us for some time, and that’s what it takes to bring down a whole organization like this—time. If you move too fast, you just get pieces of the puzzle—small fry mostly—rather than the people in charge. And that’s what we’re trying to do here—bring down Lucia Joaquin’s entire group, from top to bottom. Mr. Grayson came to us several months ago when he first started having concerns about what was going on with the Sumo Sudoku group. He agreed to do what he could to help, and he understood that it wouldn’t happen overnight.”
Ali could barely believe her ears. “Paul was working with you? Is that why he was killed?”
“Not exactly,” Easy replied. “We’ve known for some time that our communications system had been compromised, so we were careful that our contacts with your husband were done in an untraceable fashion.”
“You’re telling me someone’s been tapping your phones as well?” Ali asked.
Easy nodded.
“But you’re the DEA.”
“Exactly,” Easy said. “And that’s a big part of the problem here. We believe that someone from the Joaquin organization penetrated LEMO and installed a Trojan horse.”
“LEMO?” Ali asked. “What’s that? It sounds like a cartoon for kids.”
“LEMO, not Elmo,” Easy explained. “The Law Enforcement Monitoring Organization. Think of it as the wiretapping central office for all the law enforcement agencies in the western United States, and it happens to be located right here in L.A. If, as we suspect, someone was able to install a keystroke-logger inside the system, they automatically have access to all our passwords and communications. They know exactly who we’ve been listening in on and what we plan to do. They’ve been making a shambles of our operations for months. Evidently they’ve also been doing some unauthorized listening on their own.”
“Including my phones?” Ali asked.
Easy nodded. “And the phones of anyone else whose activities interested them, including Roseanne Maxwell. And that’s where we got in trouble. Your husband was already working for us when Roseanne called and asked him to come to us with what was going on.”
“You’re saying Paul was killed because it seemed like he was going to go to the authorities with what he knew, not because he was already doing so.”
Easy Washington nodded again. “At first I was afraid someone on our side—someone who knew about his involvement with us—had betrayed him, that we had a mole in our midst. That’s why it was so helpful to us initially that everyone thought you were responsible for Mr. Grayson’s death. That took a lot of the pressure off us and gave us a chance to investigate the situation. Now, though, we’re pretty sure that Roseanne’s phone call is what set your husband’s murder plot in motion.”
Ali was struggling to comprehend what was being said. Was it possible Paul really had been actively at work behind the scenes to help out in a DEA investigation? Over time his actions toward her had led Ali to think of the man as an entirely contemptible human being. Easy Washington seemed to consider him to be some kind of hero. For Ali, that didn’t quite compute. And what about April? Had she been with Paul in all this or against him?