CHAPTER 39

DECKER LEANED BACK in his desk chair and regarded his two detectives. A dedicated duo, they had come straight from LAX to work. “So Leroy Josephson told Darnell Arlington that he was there when Bennett Little was shot?”

“Leroy ‘saw it go down’ was the quote,” Marge answered. “Leroy made a point of telling Darnell that he didn’t murder Ben, just that something bad had happened and Little was killed.”

“And that was about the extent of his details,” Oliver added.

“Yeah, it seems that everyone that we’ve talked to is involved and connected, but none of them murdered Little,” Marge remarked. “And equally as convenient, the supposed guilty ones are either dead or missing.”

Decker said, “And both of you found Darnell to be credible?”

Oliver rubbed his eyes. He and Marge had been up since four in the morning to make a six-thirty flight out of Ohio to get to work by ten. Going cross-country east to west was always disruptive. True, he gained three hours, but his internal clock was so discombobulated that it hardly mattered. Even full-strength coffee wasn’t helping. “Right now, I don’t know. When we left, I felt like he was telling the truth.”

“I did, too.” Marge was wearing drawstring pants, a loose-fitting T-shirt, and an unstructured jacket. Comfortable traveling clothes that went anywhere. “If you think it’s necessary, we can set up lie detector tests to rule out Wenderhole and Arlington. But even if they came back as being deceptive, we don’t have anything that ties them to the crime-no witnesses, no physical evidence, just a lot of hearsay.”

Oliver yawned. “I agree with Marge.”

Decker said, “You look tired, Scott.”

“I’ll wake up eventually. I have to. I have a court case this afternoon.”

“Lester Hollis?”

“Yeah.”

“What about you?” Decker asked Marge.

“Other than a mound of paperwork, nothing too pressing.”

“At this point, do we have any new reason to think that Melinda Little, Jervis Wenderhole, and Darnell Arlington were directly involved in Bennett Little’s murder?”

“I don’t know about involved,” Marge said. “I don’t think any of them were actually there when Little was murdered.”

“Agreed.”

“Do we think Melinda, Wenderhole, or Arlington commissioned Bennett Little’s murder?”

“After talking to Darnell, I don’t think that he had anything to do with Little’s murder,” Oliver said. “He wasn’t in town, he had no money to commission a murder, he was turning his life around, and phone records don’t show any contact between him, Rudy Banks, Jervis Wenderhole, or Leroy Josephson directly after the murder.”

Marge said, “There were some phone calls to Arlington from both Josephson and Wenderhole before the murder-after Darnell left L.A. -but those calls could have been the ones that his nana intercepted. They certainly didn’t last long. After Little’s murder, no contact between the boys until around six months later, when Josephson called him. Then there was nothing in the way of any communication for a long, long time. I think Arlington is in the clear.”

“What about Wenderhole?”

Marge said, “He freely admitted that he picked up Leroy at Clearwater Park, so he was involved. But he insists that was the extent of what he did. He admitted that he did wrong, and he’s willing to take a polygraph to clear him of the murder. I believe Wenderhole’s telling the truth.”

“So let’s save the department the expense of a polygraph until we have more reason to think that Wenderhole was directly involved.”

“In his condition, he’s not going anywhere.”

“So that brings us to Melinda Little. She was home when her husband was murdered. Do we think that she hired someone to kill him?”

“She’s the joker in the deck,” Oliver said. “She could have hired Banks, she could have hired Goldberg, she could have even talked Goldberg into doing it for free. But for all the reasons we said before, I don’t think she did it.”

Marge said, “Also, bank records don’t indicate any large transfers of money going in and out of the account immediately before or after the murder. Even after she got the insurance money, the amount of cash taken out was steady-no big lump sums paid in cash or suspicious-looking checks.”

“It looked to both of us like the money was slowly being drained to pay for her gambling habit,” Oliver said.

Decker said, “So with those three out of the picture and with Leroy Josephson dead, I think we’ve taken this as far as we can. Hollywood has more immediate reasons for wanting to find Banks. They’re also looking for Goldberg, since the MP report was filed in their division. Until we can locate one or both, all we can do is wait.”

WAITING USUALLY MEANT for someone to make a mistake. That could mean a day, a week, a month, a year, or never. After two weeks had passed with nothing to propel the case forward, Strapp told Decker to call up Genoa Greeves and give her an update.

Strapp said, “Make it sound like we’re on top of it.”

“We are on top of it,” Decker said. “We’re just at a standstill.”

“Don’t tell her that. Tell her an arrest is right around the corner.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“See that you do.”

The woman came down two weeks after Decker’s phone call. This time, she was all casual, dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and sneakers. Her face was free of makeup, she was unadorned by jewelry, and her hair was braided. No purse, just a briefcase. She extended a hand to Decker. “You’ll have to excuse the informal dress. I just got off the plane.”

“Traveling is hard enough without having to worry about how you’re dressed. No matter what the airlines say, it just seems to get worse and worse.”

“I flew privately,” she said.

“Ah…of course.” He ushered her into his office. “Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem.”

“And thanks again and again for redoing the station house’s computer system. We at West Valley are the envy of the rest of LAPD.”

“All this advance technology doesn’t seem to help you solve cases,” she said.

“It does, but not in Bennett Little’s situation. Eventually it’s going to break open, but I don’t know how long eventually is. I’ll tell you what we’ve done.”

Genoa took her laptop out of the briefcase. “Go ahead.” As Decker recounted the case, her fingers clicked away. She was fast at the keyboard and seemed to be taking down every word he was saying. When he had finished, she folded up the laptop and stowed it neatly into her briefcase. “I’ll review what you said later. How are you trying to locate Rudy Banks and Ryan Goldberg?”

“We’re talking to everyone who knew them. Goldberg is hard to get a handle on because he was such a loner.” When she didn’t comment, he continued. “His brother and a former bandmate have hired a private detective to try to find him, but so far he hasn’t had much luck.”

“What about Rudy Banks?”

“We’ve determined that his furniture is in storage here in L.A. The name and address on the rental application is phony. So is the driver’s license number. The rental unit was paid for in cash for two years. We have set up a camera in front of the bin. So far, no one’s been there.”

“So you are saying that no one has been at the bin.” She smiled at her joke.

Decker smiled back. “No one has been at the bin. We’ve made arrangements with the people who work there to call us if they have any kind of contact with anyone associated with the bin. We haven’t been able to determine who moved the furniture out of his apartment and into the bin. All the standard moving companies have been ruled out, but we’re still checking out van rentals like U-Haul and Ryder’s.”

“What about Rudy’s friends and business associates?”

“Rudy doesn’t seem to have much by way of friends. He does have people who he’s done business with. They haven’t heard from him. What seems to be especially troubling is that his lawyers haven’t heard from him. The man has at least a half-dozen lawsuits currently filed. I frankly don’t know whether he’s dead or alive.”