CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 

Saturday

 

Jack was already sitting in his Jeep on 27th when Ray pulled up and parked behind him in his old red Silverado.

Ray had owned the pickup for as long as Jack had known him, which was a long time. While his friend made enough money to afford a newer vehicle, there were always excuses why he wouldn't upgrade the nearly thirty-year-old pickup—it could haul anything, he needed it while updating the Dublin Street house before they'd moved over from the Mission, and now that they were expecting their first child, he wanted to save money for all the things he was sure they'd need.

In reality, Jack knew Ray would never sell or replace the pickup because he was a sentimentalist. The old Silverado had been the first vehicle Ray bought as soon as he got his driver's license. Other vehicles had come and gone, but the Silverado was something he'd never part with. Jack was sure when the time came and it broke down for the last time, it would probably spend the rest of its days rusting out in his friend's driveway.

Ray slid into the Jeep's passenger seat and closed the door behind him. "What are you grinning about, esé?"

"Am I?" Jack kept his thoughts to himself. "I'm glad to see you found the place. I'm sure the neighborhood knows you're here now too."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I heard that big block motor of yours coming before I even saw you. Really, brother, you need to invest in a newer, and quieter, ride."

"Yeah," Ray groaned. "I'll make you a deal. I'll buy a new truck the day you get your ass back on the job."

"Not ready for that," Jack reminded him.

"Neither am I." The men sat in silence for a moment before Ray asked, "How do you want to play this?"

Jack turned slightly in his seat to face his friend. "I better catch you up first. You've heard of the Whitney-Cummings'?"

Ray nodded with a shrug. "About as much as anyone—spoiled, entitled assholes—like most rich people. Is that who your client is?" His eyes widened with surprise.

Jack explained the situation and briefly explained who Ginnie was before marrying Franklin, and who they'd become as a couple through the years.

"Then a few months ago, she caught him dressing in women's clothes and pitched a fit. They seemed to work out a new normal to maintain some semblance of normalcy—he agreed to keep it at home but would be, as she put it, all man when they were in public. But now he's going out as a woman called Carol and frequenting the Majestic. According to Ginnie, Carol was his mother's name, though he seems to be trying to style himself after his ex-model wife."

Ray let out a long and low whistle. "Sounds like someone has mommy and wifey issues."

"Undoubtedly. Anyway, she hired me to follow him so she can get past her prenup restrictions for divorce. She needs photos of him to prove he's the one not keeping the marital vows and all that. First night tailing him, he led me to the club. You know the rest."

"And at some point, Lucas hired you for security. A pretty sweet deal. The wife pays you to tail her husband," Ray said, lifting one hand palm up. "The club pays you for watching their customers," he said, leveling his other hand. "You clean up on the dinero." He slapped his hands together, motioned that he was adding stacks of money together, then shoving the invisible wad into his breast pocket. "Very sweet deal. Sounds like you can afford to buy me a real nice Christmas present this year." A wide grin lifted the edges of Ray's bushy mustache; his eyes crinkled at the sides.

Jack chuckled, ignoring his friend's comment. "I've been keeping their identity to myself per Ginnie's request. I have a strong feeling she's more afraid of losing the money than her marriage and is using the family reputation as her excuse for secrecy. That's why she came to me rather than going to an investigator who caters to the obscenely rich and grossly famous."

"I get it. And now that Franklin-Carol was seen leaving with our latest victim, you think he's somehow involved with the other victims?" Ray asked.

Jack shrugged. "Right now, I don't know anything for certain, only that he was probably the last person to see Landon alive. We know Landon left with Franklin, but where they went has yet to be determined. If he took Landon home, it would have been in his Roadster. I'm trying to figure in the BMW my witness said was in front of his house that same night."

"Was he sure it was a BMW? If it was dark, maybe he didn't see a maker's symbol."

"He was pretty adamant it was a Beamer."

"Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe Franklin's only involvement was in taking Landon home that night, regardless of whatever they got up to at the victim's place," Ray suggested.

"Or maybe Franklin came back later in a different car. If he was the killer." Jack glanced back at the house. The gate had opened while they were talking, but so far, no one was leaving.

"Do you think Franklin was sleeping with Landon? He was pretty young, but it's not unheard of for young gay men to find a sugar daddy, or an older man to prefer barely legal partners," Ray said.

"Good points."

"Do you think this Ginnie woman knows if he's sleeping around? All this dressing as a woman means he's gay, right?"

"I don't know if Ginnie knows anything about her husband's extracurricular activities. What I do know is only what she told me, that he's no longer coming to their bed, so I'm assuming he's taking it somewhere else. Since he's frequenting the club, it's quite possible he is testing out his new identity in every way."

Ray nodded his agreement then asked, "If he killed Landon, do you think he was involved with the other victims . . . and killed them too?"

"Right now, everything is possible, but we need some strong evidence if the judge is going to sign off on a search warrant for this house." Jack nodded at the property. "It's my hope we don't need to go that far right now though. I doubt Franklin knows he's being tailed and thinks that his alternate identity is still secret to everyone but Ginnie."

"So, what do you suggest?"

"What I'd like us to do is go in as we normally would. You take Franklin to a quiet corner to talk and I'll deal with Ginnie. She's my client so I can catch up with her, but I'll make it look like I'm questioning her in an official capacity so Franklin doesn't feel singled out. If we play this right, Franklin won't be any the wiser and just think he's being questioned like anyone else from the club who knew the victim. We'll both get something out of the meeting."

Ray nodded again. "Good idea."

"If Franklin isn't home and it's just Ginnie, I'll explain you're helping me with security at the club. Maybe she'll let us take a look around. Then, if we see anything unusual, you can go for that warrant so we can get an official look. What do you think?" Jack suggested.

"Works for me. Are you ready?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Jack set up the video on his phone and slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He exited the Jeep and pressed the lock button on his key fob as the men strode toward the Whitney-Cummings home.

The gate had remained open so there wasn't any need to use the intercom on the pillar. This played to their benefit, as any delay in getting the gate open would not only remove the element of surprise, it also gave the occupants a chance to hide anything incriminating.

As they passed the four-bay garage, they saw one of the doors was open and the Roadster had been pulled out, as if someone was preparing to leave. They were just in time to catch Franklin at home, but was Ginnie?

At the door, Ray leaned in and rang the bell. Not only was the house pretentious, so was the bell that chimed inside like church bells. It certainly wasn't the common ding-dong in the average home.

They waited a long moment, staring at the heavy, white-painted timber door before it swung open. Jack was somewhat surprised when Ginnie answered the door and not a servant. Great, she's home too. That'll save time. By the look on her face, she was surprised to see Jack on her doorstep.

Ray showed her his badge and said, "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Inspector Reyes Navarro with the SFPD. This is my associate, Private Investigator Jack Slaughter. We're wondering if you might have a moment to speak with us."

Jack saw Franklin appear inside the house, watching from the back of the foyer. "Sir," he said by way of greeting.

Franklin stepped up beside his wife who flinched when he put his hand around her waist. "What's this all about?" He squinted at Jack. Did Franklin recognize him from the club, the night he broke up the argument with Marilyn? If he did, he didn't say anything.

"They're police . . . darling," Ginnie added, not looking directly at Jack.

Ray repeated his introductions.

"What can we do for you?" Franklin asked, looking back and forth between the men on his porch.

"This will only take a moment or two. Do you mind if we come in to talk?" Ray asked.

A furrow appeared between Franklin's obviously plucked eyebrows. "Is that necessary?"

"Not necessary if you don't mind your neighbors listening in." Ray nodded to an elderly man who'd stopped across the street with his little dog and who was obviously taking a keen interest in the interaction in the doorway.

Franklin thought for a moment then smiled and waved to the man before pulling open the door so Jack and Ray could enter. Franklin let them in only as far as the foyer. "What's this all about?"

"Sir, if I could have a word with you in private," Ray said.

"I really don't see this as necessary—"

Ray cut him off. "Please, sir. It's a delicate matter."

"Fine." Franklin led Ray through the foyer. Jack assumed by the magazine photos he'd seen years before that they'd gone into the living room. From what he could tell from where he stood, the house hadn't changed much since those photos. If anything, the walls could do with fresh paint, but otherwise it appeared the same.

"We okay to speak here?" Jack asked Ginnie with a lowered voice.

After checking to see where her husband had led Ray, Ginnie gazed up at Jack. "I think so. What's the meaning of this?" she whispered. "If you needed to speak with me, you should have called. I would have come to your office."

"It's actually better this way. I agreed to accompany the inspector in order to protect your previous business relationship with me. He now knows you hired me to work for you, and questioning Franklin privately means your husband may feel freer to discuss happenings at the club."

Ginnie was quiet for a moment then nodded her agreement.

"I also thought it would be a good opportunity to catch up with you as we haven't spoken since you came by for the photos. I haven't heard from you since I sent you my final report."

Ginnie pivoted slightly and looked in her husband's direction. Their new position also gave him a view of the living room and the men in it.

"I haven't talked with my attorney yet, but I'm sure what you gave me is fine. I've been a little busy. But you could have asked me this on the phone. What's the meaning of this? Why have you brought a detective to my home?" she demanded.

"Inspector Navarro brought me with him," Jack corrected. "There was an incident at the nightclub your husband has been frequenting and the inspector is questioning all potential witnesses who were at the club on the night."

"How does the inspector know Franklin was there? I thought our identity was safe, Jack." She kept her voice lowered, but the tone was saturated with annoyance.

"It is, for now. But there's been a death of a club patron, and Franklin was the last person seen with the victim. So—"

"Goddamn him!" she hissed under her breath. "Can he not do anything right? Everything he touches makes my life hell. Tell me everything."

"I'll tell you what I can. Ray is my former partner from when I was on the force. He's been assisting me with some event security at the Majestic Lounge, where your husband . . . spends his time. One of those patrons was found dead in his apartment. The club's security camera recorded the victim getting into your husband's Roadster and leaving the premises. The camera captured the car's license plate number which led the police here." Jack watched Ginnie's expression flash between anger and hatred and perhaps fear. Was it fear of losing her husband to prison, or anger that her private world could come crashing down around her when the media found out what was really going on behind closed doors? No doubt the media would be picking up on this sooner rather than later. He added, "Inspector Navarro is asking your husband about that now. Discreetly of course."

"He damn well better be. If anyone is going to ruin that man's life like he's ruined mine, it'll be me." Ginnie folded her arms over her breasts and flashed her gaze in her husband's direction.

Jack pulled out his notebook and pen. "Can you tell me where Franklin was six nights ago? That would have been last Sunday night, into early Monday morning."

"I don't know. Why?"

"That's when the incident took place. If you can tell me when he left and subsequently returned home, it would go a long way to establishing his whereabouts at the time of the murder. Honestly, I'd like to think this was just coincidence," he added.

Ginnie thought for a moment. "I can't say for sure. I'm usually asleep by the time he sees fit to come home."

"I know this is a difficult time for you, but do you think your husband has . . . how can I put this delicately? He was seen leaving with our victim after the club closed—"

"Do you mean, is he fucking men?" she asked.

"I was trying to be a bit more delicate, but yeah."

She glanced back toward the living room. From Jack's perspective in the foyer, Franklin looked visibly upset, not angry or defensive. Curious.

"I don't know. Sure, it's possible he's fucking men now. Was he fucking that boy? Probably. I mean, he's no longer in my bed, so he has to be going somewhere, right?" she spat. "That's really something you'll have to ask him."

Boy? Jack's spidey sense kicked in. Had Landon's murder already become public knowledge? "That's what I was hoping you'd tell me."

Ginnie glared at him. "He doesn't tell me what he's doing, so how the fuck would I know? It's not like he takes me with him."

Jack took a deep breath before he said, "I'm sorry to have upset you. Let's calm down."

Ginnie uncrossed her arms and stiffened her back, the posture meant to intimidate, but it didn't have any effect on him. "Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own home. I'll—"

"You'll do what? And if you talk any louder, your husband will know something is wrong here and your cover will be blown. I don't think you want that. Not if you want to walk out of your marriage with the nest egg you're hoping for." His words seemed to sink in, as she recrossed her arms over her heaving breasts and stepped back. "Now, as far as your husband needs to know, I've just been corroborating his alibi with you for last Sunday. Are we good with that?" When she refused to look at him, he repeated, "I said, are we good with that?"

She nodded curtly. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Can you tell me where your husband was going just before we arrived?" Jack asked.

"I don't think anywhere. He likes detailing his car. He likes it clean when he goes out."

It was Saturday night, and the last of the club's semi-finals, so Jack was sure he'd see Carol later tonight. Glancing around, he wondered where her little purse pooch was. "Where's your little friend?"

Ginnie's brows drew together. "What friend?"

"Your dog. Little dogs are notorious barkers, but the house seems pretty quiet."

Keeping her gaze on her husband, she stuttered, "Oh, he . . . he's at the groomers today. Besides, he was debarked as a puppy. He wouldn't stop yapping at every little noise or shadow."

Before Jack had a chance to comment, Ray and Franklin reappeared in the foyer. A calmness had settled between them.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" asked Ray.

Franklin waved his hand toward a hallway. "No problem at all. Happy to show you. Follow me."

Ray nodded for Jack to follow. "Mr. Whitney-Cummings is going to show me his Roadster." His friend smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"Please, call me Franklin."

Ray corrected himself. "Franklin is going to show me his Roadster. If you're done here, we can head out after we see the car."

Ginnie put on a false smile, but there was no mistaking the hint of animosity in her voice. "Franklin is very proud of his little car."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Whitney-Cummings," Jack said, then fell in line behind Ray and followed Franklin down a long hall and through a door, Ginnie behind them.

The long, four-bay garage space was cleaner than any Jack had ever seen. Everything had its place, and most of it was behind stylish cabinet doors. The polished concrete floor didn't seem to have a single spot of oil staining it. And the walls had been painted a similar neutral color as the rest of the house.

He wasn't surprised that a car filled each bay. Franklin flipped a switch and the remaining three doors opened to let in the natural light. "Let's go out this way." He moved between the wall and the first car, a sleek red Maserati GranTurismo. Once in the driveway, Jack saw that all but one of the cars had been parked nose out.

Beside the Maserati, a black BMW Z4 convertible was parked nose in. Alongside that was a black Bugatti Divo. The last bay was open, and the Roadster was still in the driveway. What Jack had thought was a black Roadster was actually a dark granite.

All of the cars in Franklin's collection definitely fit in with his previous reputation as an elitist with rich tastes, and a man who loved his cars.

His gaze flashed back to the BMW and his heart started pounding. "Nice cars, Mr. Whitney-Cummings," Jack said. "Mind if I take a closer look? On my salary, this will be the closest I'll ever get to this kind of luxury."

"Sure. I'll see if I can get Chad to pay you more."

Jack's heart nearly stopped just then. "Chad?" Franklin had recognized him. And by the look on Ginnie's face, her husband's blatant mention of the club had angered her more than Jack knew she already was.

Franklin nodded. "I've seen you in the club. Everyone knows you're there for extra security during the competition." The tone of his voice dropped, telling Jack that Franklin was aware of what had happened to so many club-goers.

"Thanks, but that's only a temporary gig." He moved forward to check out the Bugatti, but his true intention was the BMW. If Dewayne had been out looking at the car as closely as he said he'd been, it was possible his prints would be on the window. "Bugatti, eh? Very nice."

"My husband fancies himself as Bruce Wayne when we take it out," Ginnie said.

Franklin chuckled. "She thinks it looks like the Batmobile."

Ray stroked his mustache as he circled to the other side of the vehicle. "Yeah, I can see that. Does that mean you have a Batcave under your house?"

"Very nearly, Inspector. Only it's a gym. Same view overlooking the outer Bay as the living room above it and opens out to the pool and patio. There's even access down onto Baker Beach," Franklin said.

While the men talked, which also distracted Ginnie, Jack turned slightly to see if he could catch any smudges or prints on the Beamer's window. Unlike the other cars in the garage, the BMW hadn't been washed in a few days, so maybe—

Bingo!

"Hey, Ray, do you think after seeing Franklin's cars it will finally convince you to trade in your truck?" Jack asked, forcing a grin.

"You know, esé, if I had the money, I could very well trade in my old Betty." Ray said to Frankin, "You have some really nice vehicles. Thanks for letting us see them. I was admiring the Roadster, but these . . ." He let out a long and low whistle.

"We better get moving, Ray," Jack said. "I'm sure these folks have better things to do with their afternoon." Jack needed to get his friend out of there before Franklin offered to take them for a test drive. That in itself could ruin their chances of getting any evidence out of the Roadster, recently detailed or not, as well as prints off the Beamer's window.

Back at the Jeep, Jack said, "You need to get that warrant, brother. One of their cars matched my witness' description—the BMW—and there are prints on the driver's side window consistent with my witness’ description. And if Franklin really did kill Landon, we need to get whatever evidence is left from the passenger seat of his Roadster."