The Broken Promise Land Read online

“Why?” Rats asked.

  “He specializes in this type of security.”

  “Uh-huh. I suspected you didn’t know what you were doing. Why else would you’ve let me get shot?”

  Hy gave him a forebearing look, but I couldn’t control myself any longer. “You know, Rats,” I said, “most of what comes out of your mouth must completely bypass your brain. Ripinsky’s no ordinary security man; his talents lie in more tricky areas, and you’ll be damned glad to have him on the road with you if things get dicey.”

  “Tricky areas?”

  “Try hostage recovery. Counterterrorism. Ransom negotiation. And more sensitive but… less easily defined areas.”

  The road manager turned to Hy. “You do that stuff, man?”

  Hy just nodded, amused.

  I said, “He does that stuff.”

  “Holy shit.” Rattray stared at him with grudging respect.

  Rae came in from the balcony after they’d gone. She still looked tired, but her eyes held a soft glow. As she helped herself to more coffee and curled in a corner of the sofa, I said, “Quite a coup you pulled off last night. You may have found the way to shore up Ricky’s credibility. Even Girdwood was impressed.”

  Her gaze muddied. “Don’t count on that. Ricky told me to watch my back where Kurt’s concerned. Girdwood likes your sister—for herself, but also because she’s stayed out of Ricky’s career decisions. At first I was an unknown quantity, but after last night he sees me as a potentially dangerous influence.” She smiled faintly. “He called early this morning and in the course of the conversation told Ricky he was thinking with his balls.”

  “Well, you can hold your own with Kurt. You’ve already proved that.”

  “I can, so long as Ricky backs me up—and he will.”

  “You’re very sure of him.”

  “This is one of a handful of times in my life when I’ve known something is absolutely right.”

  I studied her as I had the night before, impressed by her newfound confidence.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh. I can hear your mind ticking. You want to ask a million questions.”

  “Why is it that everybody accuses me of wanting to ask questions? Ricky said the same thing yesterday morning.”

  “Well, we both know from long experience how nosy you are. You pretend not to be, but right now you’re dying to ask me how it was.”

  Over the years we’d played a game, each accusing the other of excessive interest in her romantic life. We’d coaxed and refused, bartered back and forth, and eventually given up single innocuous tidbits. I wasn’t sure I could play the game when the man involved was my soon-to-be former brother-in-law, but I gave it a try.

  “How what was?”

  Rae looked relieved at my stock response. “You know.”

  “I am certainly not curious about that!”

  “Just like you weren’t curious about my computer love triangle.”

  I maintained a pseudo-injured silence.

  She added, “Back then you plied me with cheap wine.”

  “I suppose this time I’ll have to use the expensive stuff.”

  “Won’t do any good.”

  “Deer Hill Chardonnay?”

  “Not fair!”

  “Two bottles.”

  She sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you one detail and let you draw your own conclusions. One detail, and that’s all—now or ever.”

  I wasn’t sure I even wanted that much, but I’d gone too far to turn back. “Tell me, if you must.”

  “Okay, one of the things Ricky said to me last night was, ‘Never underestimate a gittar picker; we’re great with our hands.’”

  No, I hadn’t needed to hear that. But I said mechanically, “That’s not much of a detail.”

  “Deer Hill, two bottles.”

  More prickly feelings. This time I recognized them for what they were: jealousy. Good God, I couldn’t be jealous of Rae because of Ricky! Yes, he was attractive, he had that come-fuck-me voice. But for eighteen years he’d been like a brother to me.

  No, what I was jealous of was the way his eyes followed her while Hy’s didn’t seem to see me. I was jealous of the newness of this thing between them. I was jealous of the commitment they seemed to have to each other, even if it probably wasn’t real or lasting.

  I didn’t want what they had; I wanted Hy and me to have more than what we had.

  Rae was frowning, afraid she’d upset me.

  “Two bottles,” I told her, “but you have to share.”

  “Not to worry,” she said. But her eyes were still concerned.

  There was a knock at the door. Mick, arriving to confer on the investigation. Rae flushed when he came in—not an unnatural reaction to having the son appear while she was talking about the father’s offstage talents. I grinned wickedly at her, then got our meeting underway by asking him for a report on what he’d found out about the fire in Pacific Palisades.

  “It was definitely considered to be of suspicious origin,” he said, flipping open his notebook. “Point of origin was a quarter-mile up the canyon to the east. It was a box canyon,” he explained, glancing at Rae. “Our house was the last on the road, at a fair distance from the neighbors. The fire inspector I talked with said that the wind conditions that night were optimal for the flames to spread toward us. They found no physical evidence like the presence of flammable fluids, but, given how dry the vegetation was, they wouldn’t’ve been necessary to get it going. There was a ring of stones in the area of origin that indicated somebody had built a campfire there, so the investigators theorized that homeless people who’d been seen in the area might’ve been responsible.”

  He hesitated, rechecking his notes, then shut the book. “After I talked with the investigator, I drove over to the canyon to see if going back there would make my memory of that night any clearer. The fire started late—after two. Dad was up, working on a song, and he saw the glow and got on to nine-one-one right away. Then he woke us all up. Mom stuffed the little kids in the Porsche; Dad took Chris and Jamie in her car; and I drove that Jeep we used to have. The Jeep was blocking the driveway, so I was out first. When I got to our nearest neighbors I started to turn in to warn them, and this pickup came roaring off their property and I almost broadsided it. Nobody answered their door, so I assumed they’d been the ones in the pickup—until yesterday when I stopped by there.”

  “They didn’t get burned out?” Rae asked.

  Mick shook his head. “The fire department got there in time to contain it; only our house went. Anyway, after I’d roamed around where our house used to be—and got myself real depressed—I stopped by the neighbors’ and asked them if they’d been the ones in the pickup, and they said no, they hadn’t even been home.”

  “How come you didn’t find that out back then?”

  “Jesus, Rae, when you’ve lost everything like that, the last thing on your mind is the whereabouts of the neighbors. None of us kids ever went back to the canyon, and I didn’t mention the pickup to Mom or Dad. Didn’t really give it a second thought until yesterday afternoon.”

  I said, “Can you describe it?”

  “I was awake half the night trying to call up a clear image. All I remember is light-colored, and muddy above the rear bumper.”

  “Muddy? The fire happened in October, and that was a dry fall.”

  He shrugged. “That’s what I remember seeing as it roared away down the road. You know how when you’re panicked certain small details sear themselves into your brain? You might not remember anything else, but they’re as clear as can be. And the mud on the pickup is one of them.”

  “Above the rear bumper,” I said. “Around the license plate.”

  “… Uh-huh.” He nodded, realizing what I was getting at. “The old time-honored TV-show trick of using mud to conceal the plate number. Mud in a dry season. And ace private eye Mick Savage was too dumb to figure it out.”

  “Don’t
fault yourself. The most obvious details are the ones that usually slip right by me. Okay, keep trying to remember anything else about that truck and let me know if you do. Now, what about the motorcycle accident?”

  “County sheriff was the investigating agency. Officer there let me go over the file. Dan was heading south from his girlfriend’s in Malibu to his place in Santa Monica; she confirmed the time he left. Rainy night, not too much traffic. No witnesses, no skid marks. The bike exploded on the rocks and a trucker saw the fire and reported it. There was evidence that another vehicle had driven onto the shoulder near the scene, but the tire tracks were too washed out by the rain to bother with casts.”

  “Did you get a look at the autopsy results?”

  “Yeah.” Mick grimaced. “Blood-alcohol content was over the legal limit but not all that high, and—according to Dad—Dan could handle the bike like a pro, even when he’d had a few.”

  “Unless something unexpected happened—like a car forcing him off a dark, wet road. Any indication of which direction the vehicle that made the tracks was traveling?”

  “They were on the west shoulder, but it could’ve pulled over there from either lane.”

  “No drugs, other than alcohol, involved?”

  “No.”

  “He was killed instantly?”

  “Thrown clear of the bike and dead when the deputies arrived on the scene. Massive internal injuries, including a ruptured spleen and cerebral hemorrhage…” Mick shook his head. “Shar, reading that report… Dan was like an uncle to me. The idea that somebody might’ve deliberately forced him off the road…”

  “I know.” I touched his arm and turned to Rae. “Okay—Denver. What could the PD tell you about Benjy?”

  “The investigating officer there was very cooperative and remembered the case well because he’s a Savage fan and had been at the concert. Benjy didn’t respond to repeated wake-up calls the next morning; the hotel where they were staying has a policy of checking on people who don’t. The autopsy report showed that he’d ingested massive quantities of methaqualone—that’s Quaaludes—mixed with bourbon. Empty fifth of an off-brand called High Times was on the bedside table.” She shuddered. “Remind me never to buy that brand. Overall, it looked to be a simple overdose, but the officer’s kept the file flagged.”

  “Why?”

  “A combination of little things, none of which would be important on their own. First, the door of the room wasn’t locked. Not unusual for somebody who was stoned to forget, but… Second, the maids always stocked the bar with four glasses, but only three were found in the room, as though somebody might’ve taken one away with him.”

  “The maids confirmed that they’d actually left four?”

  “Yes. The hotel’s got a strict inventory policy. And finally there’s another thought that the investigator and I kicked around: Why, when you have a fully stocked minibar containing good-quality stuff, would you go to the trouble of buying and bringing in rotgut?”

  I considered. “Benjy wanted more than a couple of bourbons? Those minibars don’t have more than two or three of any given item.”

  “But there’s always room service; you can order up whole bottles. I asked Ricky, and he said that Benjy’s room-service tabs were always exorbitant. And he always drank good-quality booze. So why the rotgut?”

  “It’s an interesting question. Let’s say somebody came to see him, brought the bottle along. Benjy was trying to come down off his coke high; he’d taken ’ludes, his judgment was warped at best. It wouldn’t be difficult for somebody to encourage him to get into the bourbon. Any other signs of a visitor? Evidence of sexual activity, for instance?”

  “None.”

  I glanced at Mick, saw that his eyes were focused on the distance. “You okay?”

  “More or less. I didn’t like Benjy as well as Dan, but this stuff is still hard to take.”

  “I understand.” To Rae I said, “What about the sleazy attorney?”

  “I couldn’t even get in to see him. Client confidentiality, he said.”

  “No way around that, I suppose?”

  “Maybe; I’m going to work on it.”

  “So that’s that for now.” I shut off the cassette recorder on which I’d been taping our conversation. “I’m waiting to hear from my contact in Austin. Keim’s checking further on Ricky’s employees and associates, plus making a search of booking agencies, management firms, and professional organizations in case Terriss is working in the industry. And I’m going to see if there isn’t some way to find out who leaked that item to ‘StarWatch.’ By the way,” I added to Mick, “Ma saw it and called your mother. She was due to arrive at the house this morning—intent on meddling, no doubt.”

  Mick rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll avoid the place. I love Grandma, but she can be—”

  “I know. Why don’t you take the day off, go to the beach or something?”

  “Nah, I think I’ll hang around here in case you need me.”

  “That’s really okay—”

  “Hey, what about your report? What’d you find out up in Ventura?”

  Damn! I’d planned on withholding that information from both him and Rae, at least till I’d had a chance to talk with Ricky. For a moment I was tempted to lie, say I’d learned nothing. But it had been my experience that a lie found out is worse than a painful truth, and I was fairly certain that by the time the investigation was over, quite a few lies would have been exposed. Why add to their number?

  I looked at Rae. “How much more bad news can you take?”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll handle it.”

  “Mick, how many more illusions can you stand to have shattered?”

  For a moment I thought he’d tell me he didn’t want to hear, but then he squared his jaw and shoulders. “If they’re illusions, what good are they?”

  None, if they’re going to be shattered anyway. “Then I’m going to have to tell you a pretty ugly story.”

  After I’d finished detailing what I’d found out in Ventura, Mick excused himself from our meeting. He said he wanted to revisit Pacific Palisades and canvass other residents of the canyon road to see if anyone else had noticed the pickup on the night of the fire, but I suspected it was an excuse to be alone. Rae waited till he’d left the room, then asked me, “Did you tell Ricky about this?”

  “There wasn’t an opportunity last night or this morning.”

  “Don’t, then. Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got to concentrate on the kickoff concert and the tour. They haven’t rehearsed well in nearly a week, so he’s made arrangements with Charlene to use the studio this afternoon, as well as see her and the girls. Those things’re more important than keeping him up to the minute on our investigation.”

  “You’re right. We don’t have anything definite, anyway. But can you keep it from him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re being very protective of him.”

  “I guess so, but it works both ways. He’s so concerned about me taking heat from the media that he wants me to go home after the concert tomorrow night.”

  I’d more or less assumed she would be accompanying him on the tour. “Do you want to?”

  “Well, you said Ted sounded frantic when you called in earlier. Things must really be piling up at the office.”

  “They are, but I’ve arranged for RKI to loan us Keim for the duration. She can handle the routine work.”

  “Still, I think it’s better if I go. It’s looking like the investigation won’t be wrapped up before the tour starts, and the last thing you and Hy need is an extra person to worry about.”

  “True. And I can’t say as I won’t be glad to have you in charge at the office.” I turned my attention to the day’s agenda. “Okay, if the investigator I’ve co-opted in Austin, Jenny Gordon, doesn’t call within the hour, I’m going to call her. And Keim should’ve faxed her report by now; I told her to send it here, so I’d better check with the desk.” />
  “And I have some potential leverage with that music attorney who wouldn’t see me yesterday; he owes a friend of Ethan’s a favor, and the guy’s agreed to lean on him. Ricky’s loaning me the Porsche so I can drive up to L.A. He wondered if you’d give him a ride over to the house.”

  “When does he want to go?”

  She looked at her watch. “Right about now.”

  We collected Ricky, and I picked up Keim’s fax from the desk while he and Rae waited for the Porsche to be brought around. When I came outside it had just arrived, and they were walking toward it hand in hand, Ricky cautioning her not to turn into an asshole behind the wheel. She looked up at him, laughing.

  And a photographer stepped from behind a van that was parked at the curb. “Smile, Ms. Kelleher, Mr. Savage!”

  Ricky let go of Rae and started for him, but he’d already snapped his pictures. The man backpedaled toward the van’s open door. Ricky lunged, but Rae grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t do anything!” she said. “It’ll only make it worse.”

  My brother-in-law was shaking with rage, but he let her restrain him, staring hard at the van. The driver pulled away from the curb, and as he went by Ricky shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you people? Why can’t you leave us alone?”

  Rae rested her forehead against his upper arm. He looked down, touched her curls with an unsteady hand. “Sorry, Red,” he said. “This is the last thing I wanted to happen.”

  She smiled wanly at him. “What’s so terrible about getting my picture in the papers with a good-looking guy like you?”

  I said, “I’d like to know how he knew Rae’s name and where you’re staying. Your friend who owns the hotel wouldn’t—”

  “No.” Ricky shook his head. “And the staff is discreet. A lot of celebrities stay here, and I’ve never heard of one having this kind of trouble.” He motioned to the valet standing beside the Porsche, took the keys, and tipped him.

  I said, “Well, there were around a dozen people in your suite last night. I suppose any one of them could have tipped off the press.”

  “Yeah. And I wonder which of those godawful rags is going to print that photo.” He grimaced, reviewing the possibilities. “Red, I think we better go up to L.A. tonight instead of in the morning. The Tower at Century Plaza’s got good security, and with Hy’s people on the job too, we should be okay. I’ll have my secretary make the arrangements. Shar, will you and Hy want to come along?”