L.A. Confrontational Read online

  “Yeah, I forgot you know the drill.” He patted me down and I flinched as he brushed the pocket with the notebook and gloves.

  Burns led me to the door. “I’m sorry, Arch. I know he was your friend.”

  “Thanks Burns. I know you’re just doing your job.”

  He took me to the station where I gave another statement and then sat in a crowded holding room for an hour before Burns came to retrieve me. “Your record is clean. I sent a plainclothes over to Barela’s with your photo. Seems your story checked out. You must have made a real impression on the hostess; she remembered you right away. You’re free to go.”

  “Can I call Andy’s family?”

  “Just give me until later today.”

  I nodded and shook his hand again. He walked me through a maze of corridors to the front lobby desk where an officer returned my phone and wallet. Burns assigned a young uniformed male cop the task of driving me back to my car at Andy’s house.

  After arriving home, I pulled out the notebook and began copying the names and numbers to another sheet of paper. Burns wouldn’t be happy with me for handling the phone, but asking for forgiveness seemed easier than requesting permission that would have been denied. He seemed like an honest cop, but my experience with the LAPD taught me it was hard to know whom to trust—even locked evidence occasionally went missing. After completing the list of numbers, my hunger cravings returned as a reminder of my cancelled breakfast.

  Chapter 4

  “What the hell?” Burns shot forward almost falling out of his chair after I walked into his office and dropped the list containing Andy’s call history. “I needed the names of his contacts and recent calls. I plan to find out who murdered him.”

  Burns shook his head. “I should book you for tampering with evidence from the scene of a crime and obstructing a murder investigation, you asshole.”

  “Before you blow your top, I made a list of all the names and numbers, so I saved you the work. There’s a bunch of entries represented only by numbers you could check out. I figured he communicated recently with whoever shot him.”

  “That was a bonehead move, Caldwell. We’ve already got someone working on it.”

  “Look Burns, I’m an honest Joe. You can ask Sergeant Anaya or Officer Keane. They know me pretty well. I used gloves and handled the phone carefully. And I didn’t delete anything.” I could see my coddling wasn’t placating him at all so I figured I had to give him something. “I was hired by this guy named Frank Minor to find his daughter. Frank told me Andy had an affair with his ex-wife Barbara, an artist in Santa Fe. Her number is on the list. I didn’t have any luck speaking with the ex, so I figured the best thing would be to talk to Andy first. That’s why we were meeting for breakfast.” Frank’s number appeared on the list, and despite being my client, he was going to have to fend for himself. I wouldn’t be much help to him in jail.

  Burns seemed to calm down a bit. “Was Andy still seeing this ex, Barbara?”

  “No, I got the impression he had broken it off.” I sat down on one of the chairs across from Burns’ desk.

  “We could have a jilted lover. What about the ex-husband? Revenge?”

  “I doubt it. They’ve been separated for a couple of years and divorced six months ago. I got the impression there was some cooperation to find the daughter.”

  “Don’t fuck with me Caldwell. I’m going to let you slide on this, but if you pull something like this again, I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in jail. Am I clear?” Burns leaned back and gave me a smug smile.

  “Perfectly. Andy was my friend. I want to know who killed him. We have a mutual interest. Frank had originally hired Andy to find his daughter, but it seems Frank may have lost confidence in him after the affair and hired me. About all I can tell you at this point. I just got started on the case.”

  “So, we can assume his death may have something to do with this case you’re working on?”

  “Like I said, I haven’t had a chance to do much investigating. But, Andy told me on the phone he had some information for me that might be useful.”

  “About this case?”

  “I can only assume, since he never got a chance to elaborate.”

  “Alright, Caldwell. I expect you to keep me informed about anything that even smells like this investigation.”

  I had given him the Andy-Barbara-Frank connection so I figured I could ask at least one question. “What about the ballistics?”

  Burns eyed me and his voice hinted at what could only be described as admiration for my boldness to ask. “Shot at close range in the back, probably with a silencer. None of the neighbors we talked with heard anything. Time of death somewhere around eight o’clock. We’ll know more after the analysis.”

  I nodded and pushed myself up from the chair. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what I come up with. Here’s my card.”

  He tossed it onto a disorganized pile spread across his desk.

  “Just don’t fuck with me, Caldwell.” He repeated it as if for shock value, or perhaps he wanted to sound military tough. He didn’t scare me and his threat wouldn’t keep me from pursuing Andy’s assassin.

  “I got it, Burns. I’ll stay in touch.” Andy would have figured out a way to smooth things over with Burns. I struggled to find a peace offering, but nothing came to mind.

  “You’re lucky you’re not a suspect. You handled evidence at the scene. You should know better. If I thought you were the killer, you’d be sweating in interrogation.”

  “I understand.” I got to his office door and stopped. “Let me know when I can call Andy’s family. I’m not looking forward to it, but the news might be easier coming from a friend.”

  “Sure, you can save us the effort. The news will hit the papers tomorrow morning. APD will need to notify them as per protocol.”

  “Thanks Burns.” I liked Andy’s family and almost regretted my offer. I exited the office before Burns could blast me again.

  Upon arriving home, I went directly to my “medicine” cabinet below the TV in my small living room for the bottle of Jack Daniels. I poured a good shot and dumped it down my throat. The bottle accompanied me into the kitchen where I fixed a tall “jack and coke” before returning to the living room. Quitting cigarettes had been difficult, culling my coffee consumption had been rough, but my battle with the bottle would be postponed. I thought about my wife and Josie with a sigh. Who needs love when you’ve got Jack Daniels?

  I needed a good buzz from liquid courage before I could call Andy’s family. Even though I had performed this formal rite of death several times with the LAPD, I never got used to breaking the bad news to the victim’s loved ones. My toughest moment had been informing a Korean mother of her teenage son’s killing in an apparent neighborhood gang related drive-by shooting. The woman’s anguished cries ripped at my heart as I left her to grieve, hoping she had someone else in her life. Later, I tried to drink myself into oblivion to erase the memory of the woman’s despondent wails in a language I couldn’t understand.

  I always feared becoming indifferent to or losing my angst over a death. Like the war movie about soldiers whose job it was to notify the families of loved ones killed in action. A few soldiers got used to it as a routine and required psychological counseling to live normally and be able to experience grief. Enough stalling. Calmed by another slug of Jack Daniels, I reached for my phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Lujan. This is Arch Caldwell.” My voice cracked.

  “Hi Arch. How are you?”

  “Mr. Lujan. I have some very distressing news.” My eyes filled with tears.

  “Andy?”

  I took a deep breath. “He was shot and killed this morning in his house. I’m so very sorry.”

  A prolonged silence followed before he asked what happened. I gave him a summary of the few details available. He thanked me for calling instead of leaving it to the police. He hung up to call the remaining family members.

  I mixed another drink and called for a pizza del
ivery—a night of drunkenness had arrived with little chance of my interrupting it to go out.

  The stress of announcing the death of a loved one reminded me of my own estranged family. My relationships with my father and brother were nearly dead—the relationship with my mother on life support. Feelings for my daughter still burned as her birthday approached, but I had never exercised my visitation rights. I considered following up with my contact to get an updated address for my ex-wife, but hated the thought of dealing with anyone back in L.A. Besides, the less the LAPD knew about my whereabouts, the better. Andy would have called in a favor and had the information discreetly provided with no questions asked. My friend and that option were no longer available.

  I knew Sergeant Robert Anaya at APD could get me an address. I had been friends with Robert since high school, but asking him to track down my ex-wife made me a bit uncomfortable. I didn’t want to put him in the awkward position of having to refuse. But he owed my family, or should I say, my father. Robert had never applied himself academically, and his application to the Arizona Police Academy had been rejected. Thanks to my father’s influence, Robert’s application received a second review and subsequent acceptance. After four years with Phoenix Police, he moved to Albuquerque for a job with the APD. He continued to communicate with my father, who no longer spoke to me. It didn’t matter. After sharing the sorrow with Andy’s father, it became essential not to let my daughter slip out of my life. I took a deep breath and an even deeper gulp of my drink before dialing Robert’s number.

  Chapter 5

  I drove back to Barbara Carson’s studio the next day hoping the model would be present. The image of her beautiful body remained vivid in my memory.

  The gallery lights were on as I opened the front door to a tinkling chime from the Nutcracker Suite. Barbara looked up as she sat at a small metal desk engaged in a conversation with a woman whose back was to me. Her eyes followed me around the gallery as I pretended to be interested in the artwork until my attention was drawn to a group of pencil sketches of nude women. I searched for a rendition of my attractive attacker. Unfortunately, the drawings were abstract, featuring the partial torsos of models, with little detail to make a positive identification.

  Wandering around gave me an opportunity to observe Barb. I could see what had attracted Andy to this woman. She resembled a slightly aged Angelina Jolie, with dark hair and eyes, and full lips. I figured her for mid 40s. As she stood to say goodbye to her guest, her shapely curves became evident.

  Easing back into her chair, Barbara glanced at me. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “You are?” I looked around in an exaggerated manner. “Where’s the cavalry today?”

  “I’m sorry. Jesse gets a little protective sometimes. We didn’t know who you were. And you were asking about my daughter. I called Frank later and he confirmed he had hired you.”

  “Jesse.” The name didn’t fit the vision. I took a stab. “There’s a facial resemblance between you.”

  “Jessica, she’s my oldest daughter. She got the blond hair and height genes from Frank.”

  I struggled to digest this news flash while maintaining my poker face, making a mental note to talk with Frank about not revealing Sarah had a sibling.

  “And I’m sorry for her violent reaction. She suffers from cataplexy, it’s a form of narcolepsy.”

  “You mean the sleeping disorder?”

  “Yes, sort of. She used to have attacks accompanied by paralysis and hallucinations. As she got older those episodes were reduced to what the doctors called automatic responses to fear, where she acts out certain behaviors without being fully conscious of what she’s doing.”

  “That makes sense. As she left yesterday, she had a glassy-eyed stare as if she had just woken up from a dream.”

  “It’s pretty common. The episodes used to include lots of screaming and cussing, but that’s improved. I hope she didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, luckily I reacted in time to avoid being hit with the clay statue. Hopefully, it wasn’t one of your prize works.”

  “It was just a project I started and never finished. One of many. It’s the life of an artist.” I could tell she was warming up to me, at least a little. I motioned to the lone chair and she nodded for me to sit. “Can you help find my daughter?”

  “Yes. May I call you Barb?”

  “Of course. If you’re going to be intimately involved with the case, we should be on a first name basis.”

  I flashed her with my best smile. “In case Frank didn’t tell you, my name is Arch Caldwell, Call me Arch.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  I sat back and let my smile fade. “Andy Lujan is dead.”

  She showed little emotion at first, but gradually her shoulders slumped as her hands went to her face. “Oh my. How?”

  “He was shot yesterday. The cops interviewed me for several hours since I was the one who found the body. They’ll want to talk to you.”

  Her hands dropped to her lap and she looked at me. “We stopped seeing each other about three months ago. It was a mutual decision.”

  “Do you know if Andy was still working on the case?”

  “I’m not sure. After we split, Frank called to tell me he planned to hire another private detective. I spoke with Andy only once after our breakup. He was still pursuing some leads. I told him Frank was going to hire someone else, but obviously I didn’t have your name.”

  “I was supposed to meet him yesterday and discuss the case. Unfortunately, someone killed him before we met.” Andy would have known Frank had hired me. Only a handful of private detectives operated in Albuquerque. Unfortunately, the number had been reduced by one, a fact that brought me no consolation. “When was the last time you saw Sarah?”

  “Six months ago. She stopped by the studio. She was living with her father and said they had had some kind of argument. I told her she could stay with me. She looked strung out, tired. I was worried about her and tried to get her to tell me what was going on. She told me to mind my own business and left. Jesse may know more.”

  “Are they close, Jesse and Sarah?”

  “They are now. Sarah is younger and more rebellious, despite getting everything she ever wanted. When Jesse was younger, she resented Sarah for all the attention we gave her, but as Jesse matured, she began to take a greater interest in her sister. Their friendship developed as Sarah pulled away from Frank and me.”

  “Do you know where I can find Jesse?” I hoped not to sound like an infatuated teenager.

  “She’ll be here again in about a half-hour. As you already discovered, I’ve been using her as one of my models.”

  “So I gathered. I’d say it was a good choice, with all due respect. The good looks certainly seem to run through the female side of the family. Frank gave me this picture of Sarah.” I placed the photo on the desk. “Do you have any more recent photos?”

  “That was taken at dinner on her sixteenth birthday. She’s seventeen now. It’s the most recent photo we have, but I have other digital pictures if you need them.”

  “This should be fine. You said she looked strung out. Do you mean high or drunk?”

  Barb hesitated. “She has a drug problem. Frank thought it was just pot, but Jesse and I suspected she was doing something stronger before she disappeared. Frank was always a bit naïve about drugs. She wouldn’t talk to any of us about it. Jesse and I encouraged Frank to hire Andy because we didn’t want the cops to find her first, if you know what I mean.”

  “I understand. What have the cops told you?”

  “Very little. We filed a missing persons report with the Santa Fe police, who issued an amber alert. They don’t seem to be doing much.”

  “Okay, I’ll check with them to see if they’ve gotten any response. I’ll also need to talk to Jesse. Hopefully, she no longer feels the need to plant a sculpture in my skull.”

  Barb smiled. “I told her about you. You’ll get a warmer reception.”

  “I hop
e so.” I reached into my wallet. “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else that might help me locate Sarah.”

  “Can you find her?” Barb’s voice quivered, tears formed at the corner of her eyes and threatened her attempt to be stoic.

  “I’ll do everything I can.”

  She tentatively accepted the card. “I’m real sorry about Andy. We had fun while it lasted.”

  “Andy was a friend of mine and I’m going to find his killer.” I stood up. “Is there any reason Frank would still be jealous of Andy?”

  Barb gave me a half-hearted smile. “Frank hasn’t been jealous in many years, and besides, he’s got himself a young girlfriend. He’s certainly not capable of killing anyone. Nor am I.”

  “I didn’t think so, but my instincts tell me Andy’s death is related to this case. Please call me if you think of anything. I don’t want to disturb your time with your daughter so I’ll catch Jesse later.”

  I returned to my car down the street from the studio. After several attempts, I connected with Detective Cordova, a friend of Andy’s with the Santa Fe police. Cordova had heard the news about Andy and agreed to help me. There had been several tips reported, none of which resulted in a positive identification of Sarah. He promised to keep me updated on any new potential leads.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jesse walked up the sloped street carrying a large handbag. Even at a rapid gait, her hips swayed effortlessly, not exaggerated like a model strutting on the runway. She wore a drab maroon uniform with white tennis shoes. The garb didn’t diminish her beauty. Just the sight of her got my heart pounding, a feeling lost since my early days of courting Joanne. To my disappointment, she rounded the corner of the studio building.

  I didn’t want to miss Jesse when she left the studio, so rather than search for a cup of coffee, I pulled out my notebook. Andy knew Frank had hired another detective and my call must have confirmed it. That’s why Andy was amenable to meeting me for breakfast the next day. Normally, when we discussed getting together for lunch, he put me off for days and sometimes weeks. But this time he seemed anxious to share information despite the romantic split with Barb and getting fired from the case.