Laugher Read online

  “Private investigator.”

  “Looks like you had a rough night.”

  “I did. Thank you for noticing.”

  He smiled and looked at the woman. “This is my wife Valerie.”

  “Mrs. Roscoe,” I nodded to her. She acknowledged my presence behind those big sunglasses, but didn’t say anything, unless sipping a daiquiri counts as hello.

  “Forgive me for bothering you on a Sunday, sir.” I said.

  “Oh, not at all, not at all,” he said. “You’re not interrupting anything,” He laughed again and patted my back. “Why don’t we head inside?”

  “Certainly.” I looked at Mrs. Roscoe. “Pleasure meeting you.”

  She said goodbye the same way she said hello.

  Roscoe took me into the house. He tapped his empty glass. “The study is just down that hall there. I’m getting a refill. Can I get you anything?”

  “No thank you. I have a no-alcohol-before-noon rule.” That was an ardent lie, but I wanted no distractions in this interview.

  “That’s a shame,” he said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He went off towards the kitchen. I moseyed along down the hall, taking in the decoration.

  On one of the walls was a picture. Roscoe and his wife standing behind a young teenage girl in a cap and gown holding a diploma. Daughter, I assumed.

  Next to that was another. Black and white. A few young men in their mid to late-twenties with coiffed hair and dark suits with large-knotted ties, each holding a wad of cash, and smiling. They stood on a cobblestone street outside a large building with pillars and countless windows. Third from the left was a familiar face. A younger version of the man who was refilling his daiquiri.

  Once inside the study, I sat down in one of the chairs and took out my trusty notepad. Roscoe came in shortly after and sat across from me.

  “What brings you here?” He said, with a smile.

  “I was hired a few days ago to find a missing person named Denny Granger. Do you know him?”

  He sipped his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

  I took the police report out of the envelope to make sure I got the details right. “Eight years ago, Denny was arrested on an assault and battery charge. The victim’s name was Nathan Roscoe. Suffered a broken nose and minor head trauma. Are you that same Nathan Roscoe?”

  The smile was gone now. “I am. Yes. Denny Granger. I do remember him.”

  “And you are a leasing officer at the Angel City Bank and Trust?”

  “Yes. Is this about property?”

  “No. No, I just need to know as much about Denny’s past as I can.”

  He took another swig of the daiquiri and set it down. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

  “He doesn’t. He lives in New York City and is a rising star in the stand-up comedy world. He was hired to do a show at the Chuckle Hut in West Hollywood this weekend, but as soon as his plane landed, Denny disappeared.”

  “I see.”

  “Did you know anything about that?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know Denny?”

  “Used to work for me. At the bank. He was a teller. I was a branch manager at the time.”

  “Was Denny a good employee?”

  “Well, that depends. He was likeable, funny, got along well with everyone...but he was often late and not a model employee. He was only there for a few months.”

  “How was your relationship with him?”

  “Denny...he...he got along well with my daughter.”

  I could see his teeth clenching. “I see,” I said and wrote ROSCOE DAUGHTER in the notepad. “What happened the night he was arrested?”

  “Denny invited everyone at the bank to see him perform that night in some showcase. He said it was a big night for him, there would be talent scouts or agents, or whoever it is those people try to impress. But he especially wanted me there because he said I have a...a laugh that’s ‘infectious’, was the word he used.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Well, we all agreed to go and support him. But the day of the show, I found out some, uh...troubling news about my daughter. She had gotten pregnant. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Denny was the father?”

  He nodded. “Was the father, yes.”

  “You mean she had a...?”

  “A procedure. And that’s as much detail as I’ll go into about it.”

  I put my pencil to the pad, but—

  “Don’t write that down,” he said. “It’s not important.”

  I complied. “All right. Then what happened at the show?”

  “Let’s just say that I wasn’t in a laughing mood that night. When Denny’s turn came up, I sat in the back and I was silent. Completely silent the whole time, and it wasn’t going very well for him. I think he was depending on me to provide a laugh, but I couldn’t. After the show, Denny was humiliated and he confronted me outside. We argued and I told him I knew about...what happened.

  “God, she was just a girl, and Denny was nineteen. What kind of a man confuses and takes advantage of a young girl like that? He’s a criminal!” He took a long sip of his daiquiri to calm himself. “Then after that he...took a swing.”

  I wrote this down.

  “Is that all you wanted to ask me about?”

  “Mr. Roscoe, is your bank preparing to seize the Chuckle Hut’s property?”

  “We seize something just about every week, it seems. Don’t you read the papers? It’s bastards like me who caused this recession. Didn’t you know that?” He took another sip, then an angry gulp. “You said this wasn’t about that.”

  “It’s not, but that’s why I was brought into the case in the first place. I was hired by Jack Slavas, the owner of the club. He said ‘the bank’ would be foreclosing on his club unless Denny’s appearance could bring in enough cash to pay back the remaining balance on his loan, but he never specified which bank that was. Since that’s part of your business, I thought I’d ask.”

  “I’ll have to check the files at my office. I can get back to you, if you’d like.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “But I’m still confused as to how that information, either way, will help you find Denny.”

  “Just seems like a lot of coincidences colliding all at once. I’m trying to make sense of it all.”

  He finished off his daiquiri. “Well, Detective. I haven’t seen, or even thought about Denny Granger since that night. I’ve told you everything I know about this matter. Coincidences happen.”

  I smirked. “They sure do.” I stood up and put my notepad back in my pocket and grabbed a contact card out of my wallet. “Thank you for your time, sir. And if you could get back to me about the Chuckle Hut at your convenience, I’d sure appreciate it.”

  The graphite from the pencil must have rubbed off onto my fingers. They left a dark smudge on the corner of the card as I handed it to him.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” he said.

  We treaded the hallway once again and I glanced at the picture of his daughter. “She your only child? Your daughter?”

  “Yes. Lives in Chicago now. We don’t see much of her anymore, ‘cept at Christmas time. But we’re proud of her.” He laughed again.

  Passing through the kitchen, I caught Mrs. Roscoe still by the pool. Her arm was hanging down, the hand was limp. Passed out.

  We came to the front door. “So it’s just you and your wife here then?”

  “That’s right. And Lola, our housekeeper, but only on weekends.” He opened the door for me. We shook hands again.

  “Take care.” He smiled and closed the door.

  Just Roscoe, his wife, and Lola on weekends. That’s what went through my mind as I pulled the Beemer around and passed his house; past that second story window with the lace curtain.

  Chapter 12

  At home, I flopped down on my bed, hoping the familiar environment would relax me enough to sleep, but I still wasn’t tired.r />
  I took a short shower and quick shave and came back to find I had a missed call and a voicemail:

  “Hello, detective.” It was Nora. “I wanted to explain what happened last night. And apologize. I’m so sorry; I never meant for you to get hurt. Denny...he was high. He thought that you and I were...Anyway, it turns out that Barry is an old dealer he used to buy from and Denny needed a fix, he said. That’s why he fled from the airport. He was going to try and make it back for the show, but then he heard about Jack and...” She sighed. I sensed a resistance to tears. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about all this. But I hope you can forgive me, and thank you so much for finding him. I couldn’t be more grateful to you. We’re on a layover in Denver right now, on our way back to New York. I hope everything works out for you, Marshall. Goodbye.”

  I called her back and was sent straight to voicemail. I was about to leave a message when the doorbell rang.

  Charlotte. It must be. A new dose of nervous adrenaline coursed through my blood as I quickly made my way downstairs to the front door. I was excited to see that white skin, that red hair, even if it wasn’t excited to see me. But that’s not what I got.

  “Good morning,” said Grayson, with Marber standing close by. The adrenaline dissipated, and was replaced by annoyance and disappointment.

  “Gentlemen,” I said.

  “What happened to your nose?” said Grayson, examining my face.

  “A bully beat me up.”

  “That tends to happen to the weak,” he said, and smiled. “Mind if we come in?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Too fuckin’ bad,” he said in a sudden vicious tone and they stepped past me and into the foyer. I closed the door.

  “Technically, this is invasion of privacy,” I said and Grayson immediately grabbed my shoulders and threw me up against the inside of the door.

  “What the fuck?!” I said and pushed back, but Marber stepped up. They pinned me to the door.

  “I told you to keep your prick clean, Santone.”

  “You seem pretty interested in my prick, detective. Why don’t you just pull down my pants and get a good look at it?”

  “You’re withholding information about Nora Massey. We checked her cell phone records. She called you yesterday morning. You answered.”

  He was right. But now Nora was gone. If they knew that, they would think I helped her escape, and they’d be right.

  “Well?” he said.

  If I lied again, they would find out. I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t from behind bars.

  “The manifest,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll make you a deal. You show me the manifest of Denny Granger’s flight, and I’ll tell you everything I know about Nora Massey.”

  I wasn’t sure why I still wanted to see the manifest. To satisfy my curiosity, I guess, and buy me some time. Nora’s story made sense. But my trust in her had taken a hit since last night. If by some chance, Denny never was on that flight, I’d have a reason to find her. If he was, Grayson could waste his time tracking her down and find that she’s clean.

  He looked at Marber. Marber nodded. He looked back at me.

  “Get the fuck in the car,” said Grayson. He opened the door and I followed them out.

  I rode in the back of Grayson’s silver Lexus with a blue siren light on the dash. They took me to the sheriff’s station on San Vicente, to the same interrogation room I was in the day Slavas died. I had to give them some real answers or I wouldn’t be leaving this time.

  They left me there alone for a few minutes, then came back in.

  “All right. Go,” said Grayson.

  “I don’t see a flight manifest in front of me,” I said.

  “First tell us who Nora Massey is.”

  “Is this on the record, Detective?”

  “Yes. It fuckin’ is.”

  There was probably a camera somewhere recording me, but I couldn’t tell where it was, maybe it was behind the “mirror.” I took a deep breath through my nose. “Nora Massey is Denny Granger’s professional manager.”

  “Why did you say you didn’t know who she was?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see the manifest.”

  Grayson looked over to Marber, leaning against a corner, and made a gesture. Marber revealed a manila folder he had been hiding behind his back.

  “There it is,” said Grayson.

  I glared at the folder, which could have been an arrest report on a jewelry thief in Pasadena for all I knew, but I didn’t call him on it.

  “I was protecting my client’s identity. Discretion is a big part of my business.”

  “I thought Jack Slavas was your client.”

  “When Miss Massey found out Slavas was dead, she hired me herself to find Denny.”

  “She sign a contract?”

  “...No.”

  “Didn’t sign a contract?” His voice acquired an obnoxious middle-school sarcasm. “Then how do we know she really was your client?”

  I stared hard at him and took another breath through my nose. “Is this about Nora Massey, or about throwing me in a holding cell?”

  “Watch it, gumshoe.” This came from Marber, still leaning in the corner, ready to get tough when the time came, but only if I invited it. “You lied to a police officer in a fuckin’ homicide investigation. So you better start fuckin’ cooperating.”

  I looked at him a moment. “I am cooperating. I’m on your side, Detective. Didn’t you know that?” I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. But I don’t respond well to being rough-housed and threatened by two badges who can’t decide whether they want my help or my ass.”

  Grayson smirked. Marber didn’t.

  “So I admit. I lied when I said I didn’t know who Nora Massey was. Now you can waste the taxpayer’s money by prosecuting me with an obstruction of justice charge, a guy who’s bought dinner for almost every judge in this town, or you can let me help you. Now, I’d like to see the manifest, please. We had a deal.”

  Grayson knew I had a damn good point. He smirked not in confidence, but in reluctant conceit. He waved Marber over. Marber crossed and set the folder on the table. I opened it. The manifest was there.

  American Airlines, flight 1311. In the center was a diagram of the seating arrangements on the plane. Each seat was a separate square shaded in black, gray, or plain white. The seating key at the top read:

  “White: Empty

  Gray: Occupied

  Black: Occupied by Suspected Terrorist”

  Each name of the passengers were listed on the sides, divided into First, Business, and Main Cabin. I scanned the names of the passengers. There were no seats shaded in black. In the Main Cabin I found Nora Massey, Row 26 Seat C. Her seat was shaded gray. Seated directly across the aisle from her was listed Denny Granger, Row 26 Seat D. His seat was also shaded gray.

  It felt as if my head had lost all its contents and now weighed only an ounce. Nora was telling the truth. I never should have doubted her and now I felt guilty. She was probably as confused as I was.

  But the car. It was the car that bothered me. Since Denny really did run off to San Diego, whose car was he driving? And how did he get it? I had to get to Gordy and run that plate number. If Denny was guilty, he certainly wasn’t guilty alone.

  “Where is she?” said Grayson.

  I grabbed my wallet from my pocket, pulled out the check Nora left me.

  “There,” I said, pointing to her address in the corner: 124 W. 78th St, New York City, NY.

  “She left this morning.”

  “And Denny?”

  “With her.”

  Grayson kicked the wall. “Goddamnit!”

  “She snuck away with him last night. I was asleep. She called me from the airport in Denver.”

  “Do you know the fuckin’ rivers of red tape I’ll have to go through now to get him back?!”

  “Would’ve stopped them if I could’ve.”

  He turned to Marber. “G
et the Lieutenant. Give him this address and have him contact NYPD.” He held up the check, Marber scanned it and nodded and left the room. Grayson sulked. I put the check back in my wallet.

  “How sure are you that Denny’s your man?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “You seem to have all your hopes pinned on him. Aren’t there any other suspects?”