The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2) - Page 98

Right. The Valley Voice. Reporters had called twice asking for an interview. Their calls were no longer being put through to Jason. Sometimes “official channels” were a lifesaver. Even so, how long before one of the national papers picked up the story? He’d be having reporters show up at his front door.

Again.

“Yes. I wasn’t there when it happened. But yes. Someone broke in and stabbed him to death.” Stabbed? Try hacked to death. Had Sam heard back from the Jefferson County Medical Examiner yet? Would he let Jason know if he did?

“What the fuck. What was he doing out there with you?”

“He wasn’t with me. He was following a story. Our paths just happened to cross.”

Hick sounded genuinely shocked. “I didn’t like the guy, but… Maybe his crazy conspiracy stories weren’t so crazy after all.”

“Maybe not.” Jason couldn’t help remembering Shipka’s claim that Hickok had brushed him off when he’d tried to get his help investigating Havemeyer’s disappearance. No, more than that. Shipka had suspected, hinted anyway, that Hick might even be involved, at least peripherally. And, in fairness to Shipka, Hick was someone acquainted with all three concurrent investigations. Hick not only knew where the intersections were, he had a copy of the traffic map.

“Speaking of conspiracy theories. Hick, did Shipka ever come to you about a missing art student?”

Hickok made an exasperated sound. “The New York thing. Right? The German kid who disappeared after a party at Fletcher-Durrand New York. Yes, he approached me a couple of years back. Maybe two years ago. He wanted me to look into the case.”

“What happened?”

“Let me guess,” Hick said. “He told you I refused to investigate because I’m buddy-buddy with the

Durrands. Is that about right?”

“I’m asking, that’s all. The guy died pursuing this case—”

Hickok was generally such a relaxed and genial guy, it was startling to hear his angry, “Do you know that for a fact? He was a crime reporter. He poked his nose into a lot of cases and a lot of investigations. Maybe one of those cases caught up with him.”

Maybe Hick was feeling guilty he hadn’t taken Shipka seriously. Or maybe something else was going on. Jason kept his own tone unemotional. “What happened when Shipka asked for your help?”

“I told him it was not only a cold case, it was a cold case in New York, which is not my jurisdiction. I told him what he needed was a private detective or a good investigative reporter.” Hick sighed. “I didn’t like the guy. I didn’t like the stories he wrote about LAPD. We didn’t get the kind of star-struck treatment you did, West. He rode our ass all the time. I admit, I could have been nicer, but what I told him was the truth. A missing person case in New York was out of my reach.”

Fair enough. Shipka believed that the possible involvement of Shepherd Durrand put the case back in reach, but Jason understood Hickok’s reasoning. LAPD was not the FBI.

“Did you believe him?” Jason asked.

Hickok made a dismissive sound, but said reluctantly, “I don’t know. He believed he was onto something. I could see that. It doesn’t mean he was right.”

“You didn’t seem to recognize him the night at the Hotel Casa del Mar.”

“I didn’t recognize him at first. Not until I saw his ID. He looked older. He’d put on weight. And, of course, he was dressed like a goddamned burglar.”

There was that.

Hickok said reluctantly, “And then when I did recognize him, well, I didn’t feel any obligation to rush to his aid. He had no business on that terrace. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t fly across the country to kill him, and that’s easily verified.”

“It’s pretty hard to imagine,” Jason agreed.

“Thanks for nothing.” Hickok sounded a little disgruntled. “Anyway, the reason I called is to find out if you’re still looking for Rabab Doody?”

Jason sat up. “You have a line on him?”

Hickok gave a sour laugh. “I do, yeah. In fact, I can take you to him.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The house was a yellow and white ranch style on a quiet street in Van Nuys. High concrete walls lined the property. A tall concrete block wall lined one side of the property, and tall hedges lined the other. The lawn was dead and the roses in the concrete planters were fading fast.

According to Hickok, Doody’s girlfriend owned the house, but it did not look like anyone was home.

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