Chapter 7
Crash
I sat in a quiet office, maps and lists and pictures of various people pinned all over the walls. There was a desk in front of me, files and papers scattered all over it, and a man sitting behind, cigarette in mouth, glass ofwhiskey in hand.
He had a clean cut disposition, despite his obvious vices, his face clean shaven, his hair neatly cut and swept to the back of his head. He wore a suit, black, with a white shirt and black tie. To any onlooker he looked like hemight have been going to a funeral.
But he wasn't. He dealt in death sometimes, but in a very different way.
“Some things have come to light,” he said, his tone ominous. “You knew the sort of thing your father was involved in?”
This man had worked for my father many times before. He was well aware of the circles he moved in. Jones, that was his name, the only name I knew him by.
I nodded. “Intimately.”
“Good. Do you recall the murder of Michael Cooper, not long before your father's death?”
Michael Cooper was a heavyweight in the financial industry, his personal wealth stretching into the low billions. He'd had dealings with my father for many years, things I wasn't privy to as a younger man.
Only a few weeks before the death of my father he'd been found murdered in similar circumstances. He was found in the Globe Hotel, room 640, a knife cut through his heart. Details were sketchy at first about his death, people speculating over what had happened. Yet with such a high profile case, someone was always likely to let the truth slip for an envelope full of money.
Eventually, someone had been seduced by the press. From there, the sordid details of his murder became public knowledge, shattering his image.
He'd been a regular at the Globe Hotel whenever he came into town for business. Yet he wouldn't stay there. No, he'd only use the hotel for specific purposes.
He'd arrive under a fake name - Mr White it was revealed to be - and always used room 640. He'd arrange for a single stripper to come to his room, performing for him in privacy. He'd sit in a chair in the center of his suite,shrouded in darkness, a spotlight ahead of him where the stripper would dance.
Anonymity was critical to him, so he never showed his face to any stripper, or so I read.
Then further details came out that he'd also pay those same strippers for sex. He'd let them dance for him, size them up, and then take things a step further during their next encounter. He was truly methodical in everything hedid, even determining which hookers were right for his needs.
On the night of his murder, two girls were seen going towards his room. They looked of similar build, similar age, but no direct matches were made with the hotel's security cameras. It was a mystery that the press speculated on for weeks, suggesting that a disgruntled prostitute had taken matters into her own hands and knifed him as he sat there.
Yet now, sitting here with Jones, my private investigator, I felt that another truth was about to be revealed. It was one that I'd suspected from the start.
“I have uncovered evidence that your father ordered the hit on Michael Cooper,” Jones said to me, his voice totally matter-of-fact.
“He owned a strip club, did he not?” he continued, pen in hand, still jotting notes for his files. “And he hired his best girls out for prostitution as well?”
“He had the club yeah, but I wasn't aware that prostitution was part of the set up?”
“Turns out it was. It's a higher ticket item, Crash, a natural step up.”
It didn't surprise me to hear that that was the case. My father's club only attracted high end clients, clients with plenty of money. Surrounded by the most beautiful girls in the city, it was only natural that their appetiteswould begin to grow deeper. My father was a man of rules and discipline, but he had no problem exploiting any vice for money.
“So he supplied the girls for Cooper?”
“Yes. He'd been doing so for many years, as part of their arrangement.”
“And he ordered one of them to kill him? Why? Couldn't that be traced back to him?”
“The reasons why escape me, but suffice to say they'd grown apart over the years. I would imagine it was some disagreement over a business transaction or some other matter. I will continue to look into that.” He jotted anothernote down on his pad.
“To your second question I say no. I have looked over your father's files and there appears to be no link between the girls who visited Mr Cooper that night and your father's club.”
“So how do you know he was involved?”
“Because I found the girl who committed the murder.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. He said it so matter-of-factly.
“You found her? How?”
“A hunch. She was a girl struck off, a girl who betrayed your father. I was interested to hear what she had to say, and she was only too happy to spill the beans after a little coaxing.”
“Coaxing?”
He smiled coldly. “Don't ask.”
“So let me get this straight. An ex stripper or prostitute of my father killed Michael Cooper under his command? Am I right on that?”
Jones nodded in his own completely detached way. He was so used to such things that that sentence seemed like nothing to him. Just another day at the office.
“What was her name?”
“Jenny. Beautiful girl, although a little run down now. The last few months haven't been kind to her.” There was no caring whatsoever in his voice.
“OK, so how the f*ck does all of this relate to my father's death.”
He took a sip of whiskey and a puff of his cigarette, the smoke now clouding the room.
“It is only conjecture at this point, but it may be a revenge hit. The circumstances of your father's death would suggest that.”
I sat back in my seat, the pain still fresh, the wound reopening.
My father had been found shot to death in a hotel room. Hotel Carson, room 801. The details will be forever etched in my memory.
The circumstances had been a mystery, and the f*cking cops were doing a piss-poor job of getting to the bottom of it. He was found alone, two gunshot wounds in his chest. They'd both punctured his heart, and it looked to be a professional hit.
But no one knew why he was there. Most interestingly, the cameras were faulty that night at the hotel, so there were no images of anyone entering his room. Once more, that only served to make the police believe that the hit was professional and planned.
The one piece of evidence they did have was a camera from outside, positioned on a building opposite, that looked over the hotel entrance. The coroner was pretty clear on the time of death, and roughly 10 minutes before then acar was seen to pull up outside and a woman get out.
The image was grainy, but she was well dressed in black, and looked to be young and attractive. The number plate for the vehicle was traced back to a car hire company in the city. When approached about it, they said a young woman, dark hair, very beautiful, had booked the car in cash under the name of Grey.
Most interesting of all was that the same girl was seen to be leaving the hotel a mere 20 minutes after arriving. This time, however, she wasn't alone. A young man, dark hair, roughly 6' 1” was seen leaving with her, disappearing out of view down the street.
It could only have been a hit. The girl must have been bait and the guy the killer.
“I believe,” Jones said, continuing, “that your father partook in certain pleasures just as Mr Cooper did. And, just like him, he wanted to keep it a secret. It would appear that his murder was a set up, and I can only assume that it was a reaction to the Cooper killing.
“Assume,” I said, my tone growing colder, my anger simmering. “I don't f*cking pay you to assume. I want evidence Jones, clear f*cking evidence. Get me proof.”
His eyes never showed any sign of intimidation. He simply nodded and took another sip of his whiskey. “Yes Mr Logan, I'll do just that.”