LITMIR.BIZ

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I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway. Two days later, I had cash in my pocket. I rationalized it by telling myself that I was just following the boss’s orders. I had every intention of paying it back.”

      “How did you plan on doing that?” Decker asked.

      “Doing freelance work. I told Mace that I’d pay back every cent, but he told me not to worry about it. Just get the wife better and then we’d talk. It sounded too good to be true, but I wasn’t going to question him. Twenty thousand was a lot, but I knew I could make that amount up. The problem was …”

      He put the mug down on an end table.

      “It wasn’t just twenty thousand. It was twenty thousand, then forty, then sixty. By the time she died, I was one hundred and fifty thousand in the hole. That’s a lot of money to pay back considering that my life savings, my pension plan, and my wife’s pension plan had been totally wiped out. I had nothing left to my name except the house.”

      Connors rubbed his eyes.

      “I went to Mace to tell him that I was going to sell the house to pay back the loan and he told me to hold off and not to do anything rash. I wasn’t going to insist.” A long pause. “He also told me to keep on borrowing from the company for just a while longer. He said that there were other people in bad straits. I needed to keep at it a little bit longer. And for my effort, he’d knock off some of the loan money.”

      “And you went along with it,” Decker said.

      “I was in debt and he was my boss. If he said to keep doing it, I kept doing it. I did summon up enough nerve to ask him if it was okay with Guy.”

      “What’d he answer?” Brubeck said.

      “He said that Guy skimmed off the top all the time. All in all I wrote about two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of phony checks.”

      “And that was okay with you?” Decker said.

      Connors looked at the detectives. “I had lived two years in hell and I was deep in debt. So whatever Mace said, I did and didn’t ask questions. Anyway, the whole mess came to a head when the company got audited. That meant opening the books. The embezzlement was discovered, the IRS began to levy charges against Kaffey Industries, and a huge lawsuit ensued between the brothers. I thought I was going down with the ship, but Mace, God bless him, covered for me.”

      “How?” Brubeck asked.

      “He told Guy that the discrepancies had to do with the increased cost of materials or something stupid like that. Guy didn’t buy it. Hence the lawsuit. But no matter how bad it looked for Mace, he didn’t rat me out to the authorities. I was really grateful.”

      Decker said, “Mr. Connors, Mace was accused of embezzling five million dollars. Your part in the scheme didn’t amount to nearly that much.”

      Connors shrugged. “Maybe he had the same kind of arrangement with a few other accountants. I was just one of many.”

      “You were an account executive,” Brubeck said.

      “Like I said, there are around twenty account executives in the company. Each one is in charge of one project or another.”

      “If Mace was stealing from the company, why didn’t Guy kick his brother out?”

      “I can’t say for sure, but I think Mace wasn’t lying when he said that Guy skimmed off the top, too. Since Guy was the CEO, he was much more vulnerable to jail time for cheating the IRS than Mace was. It was probably cheaper for Guy to keep him on rather than to prosecute him.”

      Decker said, “So the two brothers settled and Mace was moved back east.”

      “Yes, sir,” Connors answered. “And that was that.”

      “Except for one thing,” Decker said. “You were caught embezzling money even after Mace left the West Coast.”

      Connors threw up his hands.

      Decker said, “Would you care to explain?”

      “No charges were brought against me.”

      “You asked Mace for another favor.”

      “I just told him, I’d rather put a bullet into my head than go to jail.”

      “And he covered for you.”

      He shrugged.

      Decker said, “Would you care to explain to us what happened?”

      “Simple. I got caught.” Connors shrugged again. “Some habits die hard.”

       14

      Decker brought over a cappuccino and a croissant and placed it in front of Rina. He had set her up at his desk. “The croissant is from Coffee Bean. The cap’s from around the corner. Half caffeinated with whole milk.”

      “Perfect.” Rina took a sip. “All I need is the Sunday paper.”

      “You usually read the Sunday paper in bed wearing a robe.”

      Rina had put on a soft, flannel top and a loose denim skirt and had on sneakers. “I’m very comfortable, and this is a lot more fun than reading an L.A. Times article about murder and mayhem.”

      Decker placed three mug books in front of her. “Darlin’, it doesn’t get more murder and mayhem than this.”

      “True, but in this case, at least I’m doing something.” She took a sip of the cappuccino. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

      Decker rubbed his temples. He was dressed in a polo shirt and a pair of slacks. Right now he felt scrubbed clean, but that wouldn’t last long. The dust at the ranch was fierce. “When you’re done with these, I’ve got about another dozen books sitting on a table right outside my office. Go through as many as you want or as few as you want. When you get tired, quit. Eyestrain is the enemy.”

      “Gotcha.”

      “And don’t guess. I’d rather you say ‘I don’t know’ than to take a stab in the dark.”

      “I understand. I don’t want to lead anyone on a wild-goose chase.” Rina flipped open the first page—six men in full face and profile, their vital statistics—height, weight, eye color, hair color, race, and distinguishing marks—underneath the photograph. “Hmmm … the men I saw had tattoos. I guess that’s standard nowadays.”

      “All tattooed men aren’t cons, but all cons have tattoos. But ink work is almost as good as a fingerprint. No two tattoos are exactly alike. What kind of tattoos did you see?”

      “One looked like a tiger or it could have been a leopard; the other guy … I think he had a snake. There were also letters.”

      “Letters? You mean like ABC letters?”

      “More like Xs. And some Ls, maybe.”

      “Could they have been Roman numerals?”

      “Good call, Peter. They probably were.”

      “Do you remember seeing the Roman numbers XII?”

      “Maybe. Why?”

      Decker scooped up the mug books. “Let me start you off with some other books. It may be a more efficient use of your time.”

      “Which books?”

      “Members of the Bodega 12th Street gang. They’re often tattooed with BXII or just XII.”

      “I’ve heard about Bodega Twelve. They mostly do drug running. Would it make sense for them to know about the Kaffey murders?”

      “If they committed the murders, it would make total sense.”

      “Why would they

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