Racing the Light, page 22
“Is this real?”
Josh sounded surprised.
“You don’t believe this was Rachel?”
“No, no, it’s Rachel, but—I dunno, she didn’t tell me any of this. Did it even happen? Was she acting?”
Josh stared at me. I gave him a head shrug. You see? We needed more.
I said, “I believe Rachel is telling us exactly what happened. She discovered a pay-to-play bribery operation involving Sanford Richter, Grady Locke, Horton Tarly, and others.”
Kimberly’s eyes were turning pink. She blinked faster and faster.
“So he killed her?”
“Someone killed her, Kimberly. I can’t say Grady Locke personally killed her, but Locke and his associates can’t afford to be discovered. They’d lose everything.”
Josh nodded, trying to encourage her.
“You’ve known about her escort work for a long time. You were her safety. She mentioned you on my show.”
“So what? I loved that girl.”
“You loved her, but right now you doubted her. You think she might be acting.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but it’s just so crazy.”
Josh edged closer, still encouraging.
“I get it. I hear you.”
He nodded toward me.
“Elvis says we need to corroborate what Rachel says or the bastards who killed her will get away. This means we need people to confirm what—”
Kimberly interrupted.
“I know what corroboration means. I get it.”
I said, “Josh has other recordings. Rachel names clients and the places where they met. If you remember any of these things, it would corroborate her statements.”
Josh said, “Want to hear the track again?”
Kimberly Laird slashed the air. Angry.
“I don’t need to hear it. I know everyone she was with. I can corroborate everything she says about the escort business.”
I hesitated. She needed to understand what we were asking.
“Nobody wants you to lie. If you’re caught in a lie, no one will believe Rachel.”
Kimberly pushed off the couch.
“I don’t need to lie. I have proof.”
She stalked into her bedroom. A drawer opened, a drawer closed, and Kimberly Laird stalked angrily back to the couch.
She showed us the proof.
51
Kimberly opened a monthly planner the size of a magazine, and held it out. A month was divided between two facing pages with a square for each day. Two of the squares contained cramped, handwritten notes.
“She’d say, I’m meeting so-and-so downtown at the InterContinental at ten in room twenty-eight-fifty-two, and I’ll leave by midnight. Well, c’mon. I needed to know this stuff in case something happened, so I wrote it here.”
“You kept notes?”
“Not at first, but yeah.”
Josh craned his head to read what she’d written.
“I’d love to interview you. This would be great for the show.”
Kimberly closed the planner.
“That will absolutely never happen.”
I said, “Whatever you want. May I see?”
I sat beside her and flipped through a couple of pages. The planner covered the latest calendar year. Most of the day squares were blank. Kimberly’s notes appeared only on the days Rachel escorted. Her notes filled an entire square for some dates. The entries for other dates showed only a name, a place, and times. I asked why the difference.
“When she booked a date, I needed to know who she was meeting and where and how long she expected to be there. After, she’d tell me about it, and I thought it’d be good to remember certain things, like whether she liked the guy or he smelled weird or whatever. If the guy was an asshole, she didn’t want to see him again, so I wrote it down.”
I found the notes she recorded for Rachel’s most recent date. Grady, his place, 9 in, 12 out, THE STUPID VIEW.
“What’s the stupid view?”
“What she said on the tape. Grady made a big deal about his view every time she went to his loft. He did it again, so I made the note. She didn’t mention a bucket of money or I would’ve put it down. Not that I would’ve forgotten.”
I flipped through more months. Rachel had escorted five or six times during some months, and two or three times during others. The entries all looked similar except for a two-day weekend date outlined in a starburst of angry red lines. The squares were packed with names and notes. Locke, Richter, Tarly, Castillo, and others I didn’t know. Kimberly’s printing was so small the notes were difficult to read. Golf sux, JK ass, what happened?
I said, “What happened?”
Kimberly pursed her lips and seemed unhappy.
“I put that for me, not her. Something happened. She came back weird.”
Rachel had accompanied Grady Locke to a golf resort in Palm Desert fourteen weeks before she disappeared. She drove out with Grady on a Saturday morning, and returned alone Sunday night. She’d been hired as a date for an urban planner named Jackson Karch. Also in attendance were Richter, Tarly, A. O. Castillo, an environmental lobbyist named Dave Reiman, and two other female escorts.
Josh turned the book and stared at her entry.
“Palm Desert. That’s where she heard Richter make the homeless deal.”
Kimberly nodded.
“She hated it. I mean, who knew she even gave a damn, but she just came back angry and down. Golf sucked, Grady sucked, everyone sucked. She didn’t even go home. She stayed with me for three days.”
I said, “Was she scared to go home?”
“She was just—”
Josh said, “Dealing.”
“We drank wine and talked about Visalia. Rach never talks about Visalia, but she had this whole maudlin thing on, the shit we did in high school, her family, her mother. Her mom went kinda nuts after Rachel left. She drank a lot. She left Visalia. Rachel wanted to know if she’d driven her mother crazy. It was weird.”
Kimberly shrugged, like she still couldn’t figure out why Rachel wanted to talk about Visalia.
“Then she felt better and went home. I drew fire around it.”
“How long have you been keeping notes?”
Kimberly laughed, but it was rueful and sad.
“I have five more calendars like this.”
“Six years.”
Her eyes reddened again.
“I didn’t do this because I enjoyed it. I hated her being an escort. I was scared something would happen.”
“May I see the others?”
She left without a word and returned with five more planners.
“You can look, but you can’t have them.”
Josh said, “Can I photograph some of the pages?”
“No.”
I said, “Looking’s fine. Thank you.”
Josh bugged his eyes at me.
“Pictures would be better. I could post them on my site.”
“Let’s start with looking.”
Kimberly and I paged through the planners together. Josh looked on, but mostly fidgeted. I searched for specific names and events, made notes, and kept a running tally. Grady Locke hired Rachel thirty-two times, seventeen times as a date for himself, and the remainder for others. I copied their names, dates, and locations. A. O. Castillo’s name appeared three times, including the golf resort, all arranged by Grady Locke. Dick Felt appeared as Rachel’s date twice, which were also paid for by the Sandman’s flunky-in-chief, Grady Locke. I wondered if Locke had charged her services to a city expense account. The city auditors would have a field day.
Rachel had not provided escort services to Sanford Richter or Chow Wan Li, but Richter was present at seven events she attended with others. Chow had been present with Richter and Tarly at three.
I said, “Why did you list people who weren’t her dates?”
“ ’Cause she mentioned them. We always talked about her dates. Not the sex part, unless it was funny, but the fun part. Some dude took her to a party once, she got to hang out with these rock stars and actors. They’re in my notes. You’ll see.”
A memory book.
Horton Tarly’s name appeared seven times. At the most recent three, Rachel had been someone else’s date at an event where Tarly was present, like the golf resort. But the first four times his name appeared, Rachel had been his date. Grady Locke arranged their first three dates. Tarly had arranged and paid for their fourth and final date himself. The notes for each date were a curious mix. Nice. Whiny. TTM. Scared. ughGL.
I said, “What’s TTM?”
She scrunched her face, trying to remember.
“Oh, wow. Lemme think.”
I prompted her.
“Horton Tarly. Locke’s brother-in-law.”
“I know, I know. Talks too much. He didn’t like being in business with his brother-in-law. The way they did business made him nervous. All he did was whine about it.”
“Grady Locke.”
“Yeah.”
Rachel had met Horton at the Biltmore Hotel for all four of their dates. They met for the fourth and final time at eight p.m. on a Tuesday night. A tiny flower was drawn in red ink beside the time-and-place details, and three notes were written in blue. Sweet guy. Sad. 2M.
I asked Kimberly about the notes.
“Two-M means too married. He felt guilty for cheating on his wife. He got scared Rachel might say something and his wife would find out, so he wanted to stop seeing her.”
“Rachel.”
“Yeah. So he booked a date to apologize and make sure they were cool.”
“He bought a date to apologize.”
“Rachel thought it was sweet. Kinda pathetic, but sweet. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He didn’t want to hurt his wife or his kids. See the flower I drew? He gave her a rose.”
Josh leaned toward her so far I thought he might fall. His eyes were pleading.
“Kimberly, you are golden. Please. A short interview about you and Rachel would make my year.”
Kimberly glanced away and shrugged.
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you don’t want to use your name, I won’t use your name. I’ll change your voice, if you want.”
“I’m considering it.”
I thought about where we were and what we had. Nothing in the planners linked Locke or his associates to Rachel’s death. None of the notes indicated Rachel had been threatened. But if established as fact, her notes showed Richter and Locke influencing city officials and others with illegal gifts and benefits. The names, dates, and locations would have to be checked. The workload would be enormous.
I said, “Kimberly.”
She looked at me.
I said, “The police should have this. They need it.”
Josh lumbered to his feet and waved his arms.
“Uh-uh! When I finish. I’m blowing the whistle on that sonofabitch, not them.”
Kimberly didn’t look at him, and neither did I. She glanced past me and pulled her fingers the way she had when I met her.
She said, “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
Josh stalked to the door and back.
“This isn’t fair. Rachel wanted me to do it. She could’ve gone to the police, but she came to me.”
I looked at him.
“It’s bigger now, Josh. It’s murder.”
Kimberly said, “What should I do? Just call the police?”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll set it up with a detective I know. His name is Poitras. He’ll probably come see you. He’s a good guy.”
“Will I be arrested?”
“No.”
“So I just wait?”
“Whatever you want. I’ll give him your cell.”
Josh said, “The least you can do is give me an interview.”
Kimberly rolled her eyes.
“Okay.”
I flipped back to the early dates she’d had with Horton Tarly while Josh set up his gear. The little rose she’d drawn didn’t look like a rose, but it was still a rose.
Josh began the interview. His questions focused on their friendship, Kimberly’s dislike of the escort business, and Kimberly’s role as Rachel’s safety.
Grady Locke had provided an escort to his own sister’s husband. A man among men, for sure. A champion turd. This was likely Grady’s way of enticing his brother-in-law to cooperate with Chow Wan Li, and Horton had, but he hadn’t liked it. Just as he’d felt guilty for cheating on his wife, he came to feel guilty for signing on with Chow and Locke.
An idea nibbled at blurry shapes I couldn’t quite see. The shapes became Tarly and Locke and a woman between them. The idea grew.
I said, “Kimberly.”
Josh shouted.
“Please! I’m recording!”
“Would it be okay if I photographed the Tarly pages? I won’t photograph anything else. Only the Tarly.”
“Sure. Why not? The whole world will know.”
Their interview only took eight or nine minutes, but Josh was pleased. I snapped shots of the planner pages with Tarly’s entries and made sure they were in focus and readable. Then we packed up, thanked her, and went to the door. Josh stepped out, but I stopped in the door and gave her a card.
“I’ll set it up with my friend. If you get nervous, or want to talk, call me.”
She stared at the card.
“I don’t know what to do. She was my life. She’s never not been in my life.”
“You’re going to help catch the people who killed her.”
“I hope so.”
I said, “Kimberly. If anyone ever gives you trouble, anyone, about anything, call me.”
She took a single step back, and her eyes grew pink.
“I miss her so much.”
Kimberly Laird closed the door.
I didn’t look at Josh. I didn’t say anything. I walked away and went to my car. He followed, and we got in.
52
Josh squeezed into the seat and shifted to get comfortable. Buckling the belt was a wrestling match.
He talked while he struggled.
“Listen. Interpersonal people skills are not my strength. I get weird, and something about me puts people off. I can be a jackass. You’ve been very supportive, not telling Wendy where I was. I wanted to thank you. I appreciate it. So thanks.”
“I’m going to call my cop friend about Kimberly. You should talk to him. Tell him what you know and let him hear Rachel.”
He was shaking his head before I finished.
“No way. I’m not ready.”
“They’re investigating her murder.”
“I know who murdered her. When I finish my show the whole world will know.”
My head was starting to ache.
“How long will this take?”
“Not long. I need to get with Ryan, cut it together, balance the levels, mix it, make it sound pretty—”
I stopped him.
“You can’t go to your bungalow.”
“Why?”
“They’re watching it.”
“So have your cop friend arrest them. I need my equipment.”
The ache was spreading to my eyes.
I took out my phone and showed him pictures of Donghai An Bo and the scarecrow.
“They work for Chow Wan Li, the president of Crystal Future Hospitality Group.”
“Tarly’s partner.”
“The male is wanted for two homicides in Shanghai by the People’s Police. I don’t have a name for the woman. They planted surveillance devices in your bungalow. They’ll know if you go.”
Josh seemed puzzled.
“What kind of surveillance devices?”
My head was pounding.
“Chinese surveillance devices. I don’t know. They’re bugs. They bugged your house.”
Josh said, “Interesting to know.”
Interesting.
“Here’s the deal. They don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. They want to know where you are. They want to stop you from doing whatever you’re doing. So you can’t go back to your bungalow.”
Josh frowned. He squinted at me, worked his lips, and looked away. He finally looked back and nodded.
“You might as well take me to my mom’s. I’ll have Ryan bring over his stuff. We’ll cut it in my old bedroom like we used to.”
“And you’ll share it with the police when it’s finished?”
“We’ll see. I need to get my car.”
“Wendy can get it.”
He dug out his phone to call Ryan and I called Wendy.
“Guess who.”
“You jackass. What did you do with him?”
“I’m bringing him home.”
She was saying something when I hung up.
It took forty-two minutes to reach Toluca Lake. Ryan was sitting on the lawn with a backpack. Josh perked up when he saw him.
“Ryan’s here with his stuff.”
Adele and Wendy came out of the house as we parked. Kurt appeared in the drive, as immaculate as ever. Adele put her fists on her hips and shouted so loud the neighbors could hear.
“Damnit, boy, this will not do!”
Josh muttered as we got out of the car.
“You see what she’s like?”
“I’ll touch base soon. The police are looking for Chow and his thugs. You won’t have to sweat it much longer.”
