The Echo of the Whip (24 page)

The Commercial Crimes Division of the LAPD had its offices on First Street. Detectives Zapata and MacDuff worked out of the Burglary Special Section. They invited McGill and company to a sit-down in their unit’s conference room. The purpose of the meeting was to share information.

On the drive downtown, John Tall Wolf had asked McGill, “Do you think a spirit of cooperation is finally taking hold?”

“I’ve been trying my best to be agreeable,” McGill said.

“I’ve noticed.” Tall Wolf shrugged. “Maybe it’s paying off.”

“But you still have a reservation or two?”

Tall Wolf chuckled. “A
reservation?”

“Speaking generally not ethnically.”

“Sure. Let’s just say I’ll withhold judgment for the moment.”

McGill said, “I’m taking a wait-and-see attitude myself.”

If not gracious, Zapata, MacDuff and their commanding officer Lieutenant Emily Proctor were polite. Coffee, tea and soft drinks were offered. To avoid reinforcing a cliché, no donuts were made available.

Lieutenant Proctor, a fit strawberry blonde in her thirties, greeted McGill and his federal entourage with seeming good feelings. Said it was her pleasure to meet all of them. She got the visitors seated before she and her men sat. Then she turned things over to Zapata.

“The department wants to bring you up to speed on the interview Detective MacDuff and I conducted with Dr. Danika Hansen. To cut to the heart of the matter, once she had her lawyer present and had conferred with her, Dr. Hansen admitted that she had given the key code to her clinic to Edmond Whelan. She also said that she had dinner with him prior to his visit to her clinic.”

Zapata looked at MacDuff, passing the verbal baton to him.

MacDuff said, “She denied having any intimate relations with Whelan. Said the only physical contact they had was a couple of handshakes.”

McGill said, “You mind if I ask whether you and your partner believed her?”

The two detectives exchanged a look.

Zapata said, “I have my doubts, but that’s just me. I’m suspicious by nature.”

MacDuff added, “I don’t think she’d be a good enough liar to pull off a false denial. I didn’t see anything in her eyes to make me doubt her. The impression I got was she’d have liked it if he’d tried something but he didn’t.”

McGill nodded. Not necessarily in agreement, but as an indication the detectives should continue with their story.

“Anyway,” Zapata continued, “what Dr. Hansen said was she and Whelan went to the clinic after they had dinner. The doctor admitted having one drink more than her usual and was fumbling with the keypad to open the door. Whelan asked for the code so they could get in. She told him and he opened the door.”

Tall Wolf said, “If the doctor had made at least a couple of attempts to enter the code and Whelan was watching, he’d have had an approximate idea of the required numbers. Once she told him it would be easy to both hit the right keys and remember them.”

“That was my thinking, too,” Lieutenant Proctor said.

It looked to McGill as if both Zapata and MacDuff were hard put not to roll their eyes, but he thought Tall Wolf had made a good point, and if the lieutenant had worked that out, too, good for her.

“Yeah, so what happened next, according to the doctor,” Zapata said, “was she showed Whelan the cold storage tank where his embryos were.”

MacDuff said, “That’s why he wanted to make the after-hours visit in the first place. To see that his … genetic material was well cared for. He didn’t want to drop in during office hours because he’s some kind of big shot back in D.C. and didn’t want anyone to notice.”

“Never heard of the dude myself,” Zapata said.

“I hadn’t either,” McGill said, “and I live there. But I’m told he’s a very important behind-the-scenes guy.”

The lieutenant nodded. “We have people like that here, too.”

Zapata continued, “Anyway, the doc and Whelan saw that everything was jake, they talked a little bit and he drove her home.”

“Did that brief conversation include any mention of my client, Mira Kersten?” McGill asked.

“Yeah, it did,” MacDuff said. “Whelan said he’d be filing court papers asking that Ms. Kersten not be allowed to destroy any of the embryos she and Whelan had made together.”

McGill thought about that. “Were any of the embryos Ms. Kersten created with other partners stored in the same container?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Zapata said. “Surprised you know about her other boyfriends.”

McGill said, “My client told me. She also said she’s pregnant right now by traditional means.”

“Did she mention the father’s name?” Lieutenant Proctor asked.

“She did, but it’s not my place to say.”

“How about if we make a guess?” she said.

She gave McGill the name of the movie star Mira had said was the future father.

“Interesting,” McGill said, adding nothing.

“So here’s the situation,” Lieutenant Proctor summed up. “Dr. Hansen was the one who provided the illegal means of entry to her clinic to Edmond Whelan and even showed him the target storage container. But she did so while intoxicated and was conned into coming across with the information. My guys believe that while she was foolish she had no criminal intent. The next logical steps in the investigation are to interview Mr. Whelan and one of the biggest names in the movies.”

Tall Wolf said, “Only you haven’t been able to find Whelan.”

“Not yet,” MacDuff said, “but if he’s in town, we will.”

“And if he’s not within the city limits, you’ll need outside help,” McGill said.

Lieutenant Proctor nodded. “We thought with your obvious connections to the federal government and Co-director Tall Wolf’s presence you might be able to help out, Mr. McGill, should that prove necessary.”

“Absolutely,” McGill said, “happy to help. But doesn’t the movie star live in town?”

“Beverly Hills, and right now the BHPD is sensitive about us overstepping our jurisdiction,” the lieutenant told McGill. “Beyond that, the gentleman in question is a notoriously private person. Just getting to talk to him could be a struggle.”

“Rich people, huh?” McGill said.

“Yeah, right,” MacDuff agreed.

“However,” Lieutenant Proctor said, “the individual, himself, is something of a politics groupie.”

McGill arched his eyebrows. “You want me to get the president to intervene?”

Proctor held up her hands. “We understand she’s quite busy right now, but the thing is, our guy out here? The movie star? He’s also a big fan of yours.”

McGill laughed. “Strange old world, isn’t it?”

Zapata added, “Getting freakier all the time.”

On the way out of the building, Tall Wolf told McGill, “I’ve never been starstruck. If you don’t mind, I’ll beg off on Beverly Hills and check out how Jeremy Macklin, the scandal website reporter, is doing on my cousin’s reservation.”

“That’s fine,” McGill agreed. “We’ll get back together later.”

All it took was a few calls and five minutes alone in the back of his L.A. ride. Easy as that, McGill got the movie star’s phone number from Dorie McBride, Patti’s former agent. He got Dorie’s number from Edwina Byington, the president’s personal secretary. Didn’t even have to bother his wife with a request.

He did ask Edwina, “How’s our girl doing?”

“The president, sir? She’s bearing up admirably.”

“Come on, Edwina. After all this time, you must think of the president in personal terms, too.”

“I do, sir. I love her like a daughter, but I’d never be less than correct at work.”

“Edwina, remind me when I get back to Washington to take you out for a beer.”

“If you really want to get me talking, sir, make that a shot and a beer.”

McGill laughed. “You’re on.”

The reclusive movie icon answered his own phone, at least when he liked the name that came up on his caller ID.

“Jim McGill?” he asked.

“Yeah, I make my own calls. Keeps me grounded. That’s especially important when you live in Washington.”

“Here, too.”

“Would you mind if I drop by and asked you a few questions? I’ll keep it short.”

“I hope you won’t. I have some questions I’d like to ask you, as well. I’ll start right now, if you don’t mind. Have you ever thought about playing a part on camera?”

For a moment, McGill was dumbfounded.

Then he laughed.

The star said, “Should I take that as a no?”

“I doubt if I could play myself, much less anybody else.”

“You might be surprised.”

“I’d be
astounded.
”

“How about this? I’ll answer your questions for as long a time as you’ll listen to what I have in mind.”

“Listen without making a commitment?” McGill said.

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“Good. One more thing. Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Rory Calhoun?”

Now, the guy had piqued McGill’s interest.

The first thing Sweetie had done after accompanying Mira Kersten home was to check out her house’s security system. With a smug note in her voice, Mira had asked, “Great, right? Can’t do better.”

“Only one thing missing,” Sweetie told her.

“I won’t own a gun,” Mira said.

Sweetie smiled. “I won’t ask you to; I have my own.”

“What then?”

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Only to retrograde politics,” Mira said.

“Good. Let me make a quick call. You know the name of the nearest Catholic church.”

Mira was a Methodist when she bothered to attend services at all, but as a political animal she knew where religious voters gathered and gave Sweetie the name she needed. Sweetie made a call and within an hour had what she wanted: the loan of a small friendly dog with an outsized fearsome bark. She struck a deal with the owner to rent him by the day.

The beast’s name was Dudley, and Sweetie had him eating out of her hand in short order.

Mira didn’t mind having the dog in her house. “He’s kind of cute for a mutt, but I don’t see him being much help in a fight.”

“I don’t want any help with that. If someone tries to break in, it’s his eyes, ears and voice I’ll be counting on. I want both of you to hide and you to call the cops, if you hear me yell.”

“So you don’t trust my high-tech system.”

Sweetie said, “Up to a point, it’s fine, but my general impression is pretty much anything that’s electronic can be hacked. Unless you’ve got the dog whisperer after you, Dudley should raise Cain if somebody tries to break in.”

“Okay, let’s just hope he doesn’t pee in the house to mark new territory or something,” Mira said. “In my experience, males of any species are pretty much like that.”

Sweetie took Dudley out before bedtime and had a long, instructive talk with him.

Both women and the canine passed a peaceful night.

All of Mira’s furnishings remained unblemished.

The only thing that was out of place was the guy sitting in an armchair in Mira’s living room. He had Dudley curled up on his lap looking blissful as the guy stroked the dog’s head with a gentle touch. Mira, on her way to retrieve the morning paper from the front doorstep, saw the intruder. She jerked to a stop and her throat constricted to the point that she had to struggle for a breath.

Not that the guy looked particularly threatening. He wore a Dodgers’ cap, had bright green eyes, a surfer’s tan, a graying goatee and the lean, strong build of a track-and-field athlete. He was dressed for running, too. A t-shirt from UCLA, Nike shorts and shoes. He smiled at Mira, which did nothing to put her at ease.

She hadn’t even been born when the Manson family had killed Sharon Tate and those other poor people, but the horror of that bloody home invasion had echoed through the decades. The idea that the wealthy and famous were as susceptible to being killed under their own roofs as anyone else had become a cautionary tale to the people of means in Southern California. In large part, those murders had given rise to the private security industry in the state and around the country.

“Nice dog,” the guy said.

The guy was sitting still, except for a foot he kept tapping.

It seemed to be keeping time with an inaudible beat.

Mira was still trying to find her voice when Sweetie said from behind her, “Then you should let him go so you don’t bleed all over him.”

The guy saw Sweetie pointing her Beretta 92 FS at him. He took a moment to assess his degree of jeopardy before saying, “I believe you just might shoot me.”

He took his hands off Dudley, but the dog remained on his lap. Until the intruder gave him a slight nudge and said, “Be good.” The dog jumped to the floor and the guy got to his feet, not rushing things, keeping the threat level low.

Even so, Mira had the sense to scurry behind Sweetie.

“Call 911,” Sweetie said.

The guy put both his hands up, not high, just trying to placate the woman holding the gun on him. “I’ve seen your picture,” he told Sweetie. “You work with James J. McGill, don’t you?”

Sweetie didn’t respond.

Mira did. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m the guy who stole your embryos, not that I’d repeat that for the record. What I want is to offer you a trade: You tell me the name of the person you think was most likely to have hired me to do the theft and I’ll tell you where you can find your embryos.”

“Don’t do it,” Sweetie told Mira. “Jim will find them for you.”

The guy smiled and looked at Mira. “You know, I believe she might be right. That McGill fella, he’s got some track record from what I’ve read. Thing is, I don’t think he’ll be able to find the embryos
in time.
I started a clock running before I came here. After a certain point, those little sweethearts come out of cold storage, and we all know how perishable they are.”

“Edmond Whelan,” Mira said. “Do you know who he is?”

“Can’t say I do.”

Mira told him.

The guy sighed. “Somebody working for the federal government. I should’ve known.”

“Where are my embryos?” Mira asked.

The guy gave her the name of a facility in Anaheim. “Not far from the happiest place on earth. Or is that Disney World in Florida? I always get them confused.”

The guy gave Mira a casual salute and turned to leave.

Sweetie said, “Stop. You entered this house illegally. That’s a crime.”

“And you’re making a citizen’s arrest?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowned, looked as if he was trying to remember something. “Your name’s Margaret Sweeney, isn’t it? I think that’s the name I saw with your picture.”

Sweetie didn’t respond, just held her gun steady.

“I admire what I read about you.” He looked at Mira. “Do you know that this woman jumped in front of Mr. McGill and took a bullet meant for him. I believe someone like that might possibly shoot me if I tried to leave without her permission. What I’d like to know from you, Ms. Kersten is this: Do you want to press charges against me or would you rather resolve my little trespass quietly? I promise you, your embryos will be right where I said they are.”

In a by-the-way manner, he added the code number for the storage unit she’d want.

Mira nodded and said, “I won’t press charges. Let him go, Ms. Sweeney.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Sweetie said.

“It’s my house and my choice.”

Looking at Sweetie, the guy said, “Are we good?”

“Not even close.”

“But you’re not going to shoot me.”

“Not so long as you leave and keep going.”

“I’ll take that deal. Sorry for any distress I caused.”

He turned to go and Dudley hurried forward to leave with him.

The guy crouched down, stroked the dog again, and said something to him in a voice too soft for Sweetie and Mira to hear. The dog offered a small whine of disappointment but turned and trudged back to Sweetie. The guy almost danced to Mira’s front door and left with a wave over a shoulder, never looking back.

Averse to using profanity, Sweetie nonetheless said, “Cocky SOB.”

She gathered her things and took Dudley back to his owner.

Leaving Mira Kersten alone to provide for her own safety.