and killing people.”
“What are you talking about?” The statement wasn’t as much a denial as it was a feeler to find out how much I knew.
“We talked to Lauren Vandenbosch last night and she told us an interesting story.”
“Really? Why would she call you?”
“The teddy bear artist community is very tight. It’s a fur thing—you wouldn’t understand. Anyway, Lauren says that her son called to tell her that you and your partner robbed him at gunpoint last night.”
“That’s a freaking lie!”
“But you were there. Unfortunately for you, your partner was thoughtful enough to leave the bear costume in his car before being murdered,” I said, expanding on my bluff and offering supposition as fact.
“I’d like to see you prove I was there.”
Noting that Bronsey had never actually denied being at the Paladin, I continued with my disinformation campaign. “Dude, don’t worry about me proving anything. You need to be concerned with Kyle Vandenbosch. His mom called us to ask whether we thought the cops would go light on Kyle for the theft charges if he came forward to be a helpful homicide witness.”
“Against me?”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“That double-dealing little son of a bitch.” Bronsey didn’t sound angry now, so much as scared. “And he’s still got his mommy fooled, too.”
“How do you mean?”
“Before I say anything else, what do I get for cooperating?”
“Time,” I lied. “I promise to give you twenty-four hours from the end of the interview before contacting the police. You can either get a good lawyer or, if you’ve got a passport, you might consider flying someplace that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.”
“Jesus. It’s that bad, huh?” Bronsey emptied his glass with two gulps.
“Yep. Kyle’s version of the story is that you gunned your partner down during the commission of a robbery. That’s first degree with special circs.” Since Bronsey was a former cop, there was no need to add that the district attorney could ask for the death penalty in such a case.
There are times when silence is the most effective interrogation tool, so I kept quiet and waited for Bronsey to say something.
Finally, Bronsey said, “Sit down.”
Ash and I slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the table while Bronsey signaled the bartender for a refill. Once the drink was delivered, I said, “Okay Merv, why don’t we start with how Lycaon picked you to do their dirty work.”
“I’m not working for Lycaon.”
“That’s not what Kyle told his mom.”
“That’s because that little backstabber has been lying to her from the very beginning.”
“Interesting. So, who is your client?”
“I don’t know and that’s the truth.”
“Did they contact you?”
“Yeah. On Thursday afternoon I get a call from a number with a blocked ID. It’s a guy asking if I want to make two grand for a couple days’ work.”
“And you said?”
“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. The guy tells me that if I’m interested I should go up to the old Nike place on Bunker Road at six o’clock and look for a car with one of those Jack-in-the-Box heads on the antenna. Then he hangs up.”
Bronsey was referring to the decommissioned 1960s-era Nike missile base on the hilly Marin headlands north of the city. Once upon a time, it existed as an antiaircraft battery to protect San Francisco from Soviet bombers. But now the facility was a museum dedicated to the Cold War, which made it an ideal place to stage an apparent chance meeting.
I said, “Sounds pretty cloak-and-dagger. Obviously, you went.”
“Yeah. I got there early, but the car was already there. Two guys inside.”
“Make? Model?”
“A new Saturn Aura. It had Nevada plates. I found out later that the plates were reported stolen from Las Vegas back in June.”
“Somebody at the PD still runs license numbers for you, huh?”
“I have friends,” Bronsey said petulantly.
“What are you talking about?” The statement wasn’t as much a denial as it was a feeler to find out how much I knew.
“We talked to Lauren Vandenbosch last night and she told us an interesting story.”
“Really? Why would she call you?”
“The teddy bear artist community is very tight. It’s a fur thing—you wouldn’t understand. Anyway, Lauren says that her son called to tell her that you and your partner robbed him at gunpoint last night.”
“That’s a freaking lie!”
“But you were there. Unfortunately for you, your partner was thoughtful enough to leave the bear costume in his car before being murdered,” I said, expanding on my bluff and offering supposition as fact.
“I’d like to see you prove I was there.”
Noting that Bronsey had never actually denied being at the Paladin, I continued with my disinformation campaign. “Dude, don’t worry about me proving anything. You need to be concerned with Kyle Vandenbosch. His mom called us to ask whether we thought the cops would go light on Kyle for the theft charges if he came forward to be a helpful homicide witness.”
“Against me?”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“That double-dealing little son of a bitch.” Bronsey didn’t sound angry now, so much as scared. “And he’s still got his mommy fooled, too.”
“How do you mean?”
“Before I say anything else, what do I get for cooperating?”
“Time,” I lied. “I promise to give you twenty-four hours from the end of the interview before contacting the police. You can either get a good lawyer or, if you’ve got a passport, you might consider flying someplace that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.”
“Jesus. It’s that bad, huh?” Bronsey emptied his glass with two gulps.
“Yep. Kyle’s version of the story is that you gunned your partner down during the commission of a robbery. That’s first degree with special circs.” Since Bronsey was a former cop, there was no need to add that the district attorney could ask for the death penalty in such a case.
There are times when silence is the most effective interrogation tool, so I kept quiet and waited for Bronsey to say something.
Finally, Bronsey said, “Sit down.”
Ash and I slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the table while Bronsey signaled the bartender for a refill. Once the drink was delivered, I said, “Okay Merv, why don’t we start with how Lycaon picked you to do their dirty work.”
“I’m not working for Lycaon.”
“That’s not what Kyle told his mom.”
“That’s because that little backstabber has been lying to her from the very beginning.”
“Interesting. So, who is your client?”
“I don’t know and that’s the truth.”
“Did they contact you?”
“Yeah. On Thursday afternoon I get a call from a number with a blocked ID. It’s a guy asking if I want to make two grand for a couple days’ work.”
“And you said?”
“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. The guy tells me that if I’m interested I should go up to the old Nike place on Bunker Road at six o’clock and look for a car with one of those Jack-in-the-Box heads on the antenna. Then he hangs up.”
Bronsey was referring to the decommissioned 1960s-era Nike missile base on the hilly Marin headlands north of the city. Once upon a time, it existed as an antiaircraft battery to protect San Francisco from Soviet bombers. But now the facility was a museum dedicated to the Cold War, which made it an ideal place to stage an apparent chance meeting.
I said, “Sounds pretty cloak-and-dagger. Obviously, you went.”
“Yeah. I got there early, but the car was already there. Two guys inside.”
“Make? Model?”
“A new Saturn Aura. It had Nevada plates. I found out later that the plates were reported stolen from Las Vegas back in June.”
“Somebody at the PD still runs license numbers for you, huh?”
“I have friends,” Bronsey said petulantly.
Similar Books
