Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

“How many people were under your father’s personal employ?” Marge asked.

“Huh?” Grant stopped pacing. “At the ranch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who knows? Too many people with too many keys. It’s just ridiculous!”

Decker said, “I heard that the staff was vetted pretty carefully.”

“Whatever that means! Who does private security anyway? They’re either losers who couldn’t make it into the police or ex-policemen who were thrown out for being on the take. Or with Dad, it was reformed delinquents who tugged on his misguided heartstrings.”

Again, Marge and Decker exchanged glances.

Nurse Jane Edderly had returned. “We found a room for you. Please follow me.”

“Thank you for helping out,” Decker said.

Grant said, “Yeah, thanks for giving me a room in my family’s building after a six-hour emergency flight to tend to my murdered parents. Thanks a whole fucking load, Nurse Edderly!”

The nurse glanced at him but remained silent.

Mace put a hand on Grant’s shoulder, but he shook it off. The space was small but roomy enough for the four of them to sit while Grant’s remaining two lackeys had to stand. Within a few minutes, everyone was drinking bad coffee. Mace looked defeated, but Grant was still on youthful fire.

“When can I see my brother?”

“Mr. Kaffey …” Decker paused. “Would you mind if I called one of you by your first name since both of you are Mr. Kaffey?”

“Call me Mace,” the older man said.

“I frankly don’t care what the fuck you call me. Just tell me what’s going on. And who do I have to screw to see my brother?”

Marge said, “We saw your brother about twenty minutes ago. He was in a lot of pain, so the doctor upped the sedation. He’s out of it. Your seeing him is not a police decision but a medical one.”

“Then get the doctor over here!”

“I tried to have him paged,” Decker said. “He’s in surgery.”

“Grant, let’s just hear what the police have to say,” Mace told him.

Marge turned to Grant. “You’re right in several respects about the ranch’s security. There was an obvious breach. Two of the guards were homicide victims, but there are two others who were on duty who’re missing. We’re working with a man named Neptune Brady. Do you know him?”

Mace said, “Neptune has been under Guy’s employ for a while … first in the business and then he took him as his personal head of security.”

“Why?” Grant asked. “Do you suspect him?”

“Just gathering information,” Decker repeated. “What did Brady specifically do in the business?”

“I’m not sure,” Mace said. “I’m East Coast – based.”

Grant said, “He’s a licensed private detective. He did some freelance work. There were some numbers not adding up in the accounting office—embezzling. Dad put Neptune on the cases and he did good work. So Dad being Dad offered him a full-time job at the Coyote Ranch as head of security at an exorbitant salary.”

“He was a generous guy?” Marge asked.

“Generous one minute, a tightwad the next. You never knew how his pocketbook would swing. Dad was paying Neptune a fortune, but Dad insisted that was how you kept them loyal.”

“Do you get along with Mr. Brady?”

Grant said, “Neutral. We don’t have much to do with each other.”

“What about you?” Marge asked Mace.

“I barely know him. You think he did it?”

“We’re just gathering information,” Marge said. “You said something about your dad hiring delinquents?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You mentioned that your father hired security guards who were former delinquents.”

“Yeah, Gil mentioned something about that to me. Is someone going to check up on my brother?” Grant looked at his two underlings. “Joe, find out what’s happening with Mr. Kaffey.”

After the assistant left, Decker said, “Can you help me sort out the specifics of the company? For starters, how many people does Kaffey Industries employ?”

“At the height of the real estate boom, maybe a thousand,” Grant told him. “Now we’re down to around eight hundred. Six fifty on the West Coast, and Mace and I got about a hundred and fifty working for us.”

“You’re real estate developers?” Marge asked.

“Primarily,” Grant said.

“Shopping malls?”

“Primarily.”

Decker said, “Have you two always worked on the East Coast?”

“Dad decided to expand about ten years ago. At first, we were commuting bicoastally. Then we decided to relocate.”

“My wife’s from New York,” Mace said. “She jumped at the opportunity to move back east. Guy still came out every month. Not necessary for him to do so, but my brother has a hard time delegating. Grant can back me up on that.”

“Dad’s a workaholic,” Grant told him. “He not only keeps long hours, he expects everyone else to keep long hours.”

“Is that a problem?” Marge asked.

“Not with us, because we’re three thousand miles away,” Grant said. “My brother gets the brunt end. Dad accuses us of being soft because we have a life. But that’s just Dad being Dad.” Tears formed in his eyes. “Dad came from humble beginnings.”

“We both did,” Mace said with a bristle. “My father came over from Europe with nothing. He opened a small appliance repair shop back when people still repaired things. He was frugal and saved and managed to buy a couple of apartment buildings. Guy and I parlayed our dad’s holdings into an empire.”

Grant gave his uncle a hard stare and then turned his irritation on Decker. “What does this have to do with his murder?”