Blindman’s Bluff - Faye Kellerman

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on, Willy?”

      “My wife’s family owns a farm about ten miles east of downtown Ponceville.” Willy smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. Blacks have been farming for centuries. Only difference now is we get paid for it.”

      Wanda said, “I know. Strike it from the minutes.”

      Decker said, “What do you know about Ponceville, Willy?”

      “It’s one of the bigger farming communities in California that hasn’t been bought up by agribusiness. Hardworking people…mostly whites but a few blacks and lots of Mexican migrants. Whole town of ’em just outside the farms. Personally, I never heard of Rondo Martin, but if he’s been working in Ponceville within the last twenty years, I can find out about him with a couple of phone calls.”

      “Do it.”

      “’Course a trip would be better.”

      “I can probably get funding to go up there, but let’s start with the phone calls.”

      Decker pointed to the next item on the whiteboard.

      “Okay, someone needs to check out the murdered housekeeper—Alicia Montoya. It would seem that the intended victims were the Kaffeys, and she was collateral damage. But we can’t make assumptions. When Dunn and I spoke to Gil, he indicated that Spanish might have been spoken during the murders. Maybe some jealous boyfriend of the maid thought she was having an affair and the Kaffeys were collateral damage.”

      Shrugs all around. No one was buying.

      “I’ve been surprised before,” Decker said. “Lee, you speak Spanish. Talk to Alicia’s family.”

      “I could use a partner to make sure that my Spanish is up to snuff.”

      Pratt’s hand went up. “I can’t read Cervantes but I speak a decent street Spanish.”

      Decker said, “Okay, I’ve put both of you down for Alicia Montoya. We’re down to the last item on the board: the tip line. So far I’ve fielded about twenty calls, but the numbers are bound to rise, especially if the family offers a reward.”

      Oliver groaned. “Then the numbers will go through the roof.”

      “Are they offering a reward?” Marge asked.

      “I don’t know, but I suspect they will because it looks good, if for no other reason. No matter how many tips come in, we’ll need to check them all out.”

      Oliver said, “What about the walk-ins, Loo? We always get a couple of those.”

      “I’ll take the walk-ins,” Decker answered. “Let me remind all of you that we are public servants. We treat everyone with respect and dignity. When people talk, don’t just go through the motions. Listen and listen carefully because we never know who or what is going to break the case wide open. Any other questions?”

      No one spoke up.

      “The meeting is officially over. You’ve got your lists, your papers, and your pens. More important, you’ve got your eyes, your ears, and your legs. Now let’s go out and solve some homicides.”

       TEN

      THE TWO COPS stationed outside Gil Kaffey’s ICU room momentarily confused Decker because he had approved only one uniform. As he neared the area, he realized that the second sentry was actually a rent-a-cop. Seeing Decker approach, the men stopped their conversation, straightened up, standing with legs apart and arms behind their backs, and watched him suspiciously. Decker flashed his badge to the LAPD uniform—a fifties-plus man with salt-and-pepper hair named Ray Aldofar who had gone a little soft around the middle. The rent-a-cop’s name tag said Pepper. He was young, fit, and short and had combative eyes.

      “Gentlemen,” he said.

      “Lieutenant,” Aldofar answered. He made the introductions to Pepper and called him Jack.

      It was Decker’s turn to be wary. “Who hired you to watch this room, Mr. Pepper?”

      “Mr. Kaffey insisted on having someone from his private staff.” His voice was officious.

      “Which Mr. Kaffey?”

      “Grant, Mace, and Gil.”

      Decker peered through the glass windows of ICU. Gil was sleeping and still hooked up to a number of tubular apparatuses. “Gil Kaffey is coherent enough to hire his own security?”

      Aldofar stepped in. “I was here when they brought Jack in, Lieutenant.”

      “Who is they?”

      “Grant Kaffey and a big guy named Neptune Brady. He’s the head of Kaffey security.”

      “I know who Neptune Brady is.”

      Aldofar said nothing. Pepper said, “Mr. Kaffey and Mr. Brady hired me to do a job. I was cleared by hospital security.”

      “You weren’t cleared with me.” When Pepper bristled, Decker said, “I’m sure you’re good at your job, but I’m investigating a multiple-murder homicide. I need to know who has access to Gil Kaffey and since you don’t report to me, you may miss something that I need.”

      Pepper remained on the defensive. “The Kaffeys are entitled to hire me.”

      “Except if it interferes in a homicide investigation.” Meaning how do I know if Mace or Grant Kaffey were in on the murders? Decker said to Aldofar, “I need to see that visitors’ list.”

      The cop took out his notepad and flipped over several pages. “Here it is…everyone who’s gone in and out of the room, just like you requested.”

      Decker took the list. Most of the visitors had been hospital personnel: Dr. Rain, attending doctors, and nurses. Family included Grant and Mace, who had come four times together. Grant had visited an additional four times by himself. Two times, Grant had brought along Neptune Brady, and Brady visited two more times alone. Antoine Resseur—Gil’s ex—had come by two times. Since only approved people had been allowed access, there were no other visitors. There had been at least a dozen attempted flower deliveries to the hospital room and all of the ICU; the bouquets were forwarded to the family compound in Newport.

      Decker gave the notepad back to Aldofar. “Keep your eyes open. Put me down on the list. I’m going in.”

      He looked at Pepper.

      “I know you have a job to do, but so do I. Let’s try to avoid stepping on each other’s toes. It works to your benefit, sir, because I have bigger feet.”

      AS GIL’S EYES slowly opened, his face twisted in pain and he moaned. Within seconds, a young blond nurse named Didi was at his bedside injecting something into his IV line. “Demerol,” she told Decker.

      “Is it going to put him back to sleep?”

      “It might.”

      Decker waited. Gil closed his eyes and opened them several times. After about ten minutes, he managed to look at him with lids halfway closed. “Do I know you?”

      “Lieutenant Peter Decker of LAPD, Mr. Kaffey. I’m investigating what happened at the ranch. How do you feel?”

      “Shit.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      As he pulled up a chair, Didi the nurse said, “Did you clear this with Dr. Rain?”

      Gil said, “Leave him…leave him.”

      “Just a few minutes,” Didi told Decker. “Just because he can talk doesn’t mean he should.”

      “I won’t tire him out,” Decker said.

      “You’re…the head?”

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