Chapter 42
Marcel
Marcel was psyched. He couldn’t wait until he got to Grimes’ office to learn what he’d dug up on Camille. If he could scare her into never resurfacing in his life again, maybe he and Sharla could actually make a go of things.
“What you got for me?” Marcel asked, not even sitting down.
“Hold on.” The investigator was a mammoth, bouncer type with colorful tats running up and down his hairy arms. “It’s not what you think. Have a seat.”
Marcel didn’t move. “Please tell me you can help me get this chick out of my life.”
“Just have a seat.”
For the next thirty minutes, Grimes took Marcel step-by-step through what he had learned.
After getting a description of the messenger from Sharla’s court clerk, Grimes spoke to clerks in three more courtrooms. They all remembered the messenger because of his curly red hair. One clerk was pretty sure he worked for a company called Ace Messenger Services, which made regular deliveries to the courthouse.
Grimes parked outside the company’s office on Figueroa and waited. It had only taken thirty-two minutes before he spotted a gruff-looking white kid with unkempt red hair rolling his ten-speed into the building. Grimes approached him on the way to another delivery.
For twenty bucks, the messenger explained that Robert Robinson, an accountant at Deloitte’s Los Angeles office, hired him for the job. The messenger didn’t know what was inside the envelope. He described Robinson as “a good-looking black dude with a dope office.” Robinson had given him strict instructions to hand the envelope to the judge’s clerk or the judge herself and no one else.
“Robinson must have a connection to Camille,” Marcel said. “I bet he’s screwing her.”
“Maybe,” Grimes replied. “I had a cop friend look him up to see if he has a record. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
Marcel scratched his chin. “She probably tricked him into using his firm’s messenger service to deliver the picture.”
“Naw, man, I don’t think he was tricked at all. The dude knew what was in that envelope. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told the messenger to only give it to the judge or her clerk.”
“They might be in it together. You think they’re trying to blackmail Sharla?”
“Or you,” Grimes replied. “But there’s been no note or demand for money.”
Marcel nodded absently, baffled by this whole ordeal. “I think I can take it from here.”
Grimes squinted. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pay Mr. Robinson a visit.”
“You don’t have any idea how this guy is involved. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll find out when I talk to him.”
“How about if I come along with you?” Grimes said. “If you try to strangle the guy like you did Camille, you could end up in jail.”
Marcel hunched his shoulders. “Sure. A big guy like you will help me scare the hell out of him.”
Pulling out his phone, Marcel made an appointment with Robinson under the ruse of needing an accountant for his new law firm. Grimes would be posing as his contractor.
An hour later, Robinson greeted them in the lobby of the accounting firm’s swanky building. Once they were inside Robinson’s office, he handed them firm brochures. Based on his eagerness, Marcel figured this was the guy’s first shot at reeling in a client of his own. He was going to love busting his bubble.
After listening to Robinson go on and on about the firm’s virtues, Marcel asked, “Do you know Camille Taylor?”
Robinson paused to mull over the name, then shook his head. “Can’t say I do.”
Marcel frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I think you do know her,” Marcel challenged.
Robinson tugged at his tie. “What’s going on here?”
“We don’t need an accountant,” Grimes conceded. “I’m a private investigator. Mr. Dennard here actually is a lawyer, but he’s not opening a law firm.”
Robinson straightened in his high-back leather chair. “So what’s this really about?”
“It’s about a long list of criminal activity.”
Robinson folded his hands and set them on the desk. “I don’t understand how any of this involves me.”
“You’re involved because you let Camille Taylor help you with her dirty work. That means you’re guilty of conspiracy.”
“But I don’t know anybody named Camille Taylor.”
“Stop playing us.” Marcel didn’t raise his voice, but his anger was apparent. “I know she gives a great blowjob, but is that worth your career?”
“Or jail time?” Grimes added.
Robinson’s lips quivered. “I don’t know how many ways I can say that I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Look, man, you’re in a lot of trouble,” Grimes said. “We’ll put all our cards on the table if you do the same. We know for a fact that you hired a messenger at Ace Messenger Services to deliver an envelope to Judge Sharla Ratliff’s chambers. Does that name ring a bell?”
Robinson’s teeth chattered. “I—I don’t know anything about that.”
“You look like you’re about to piss your pants,” Grimes teased. “Let’s cut the bull. Did you know what was in that envelope when you hired that messenger to deliver it to the judge?”
Robinson sprang to his feet. “I—I don’t think I should be talking to you guys. I may need a lawyer. You should leave.”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to need a lawyer,” Marcel said. “At a minimum, you’re looking at charges of trespass, vandalism, destruction of private property, invasion of privacy, harassment, being a peeping Tom and probably stalking too. That’s at least ten years in prison.”
“Naw, man.” Grimes shook his head. “I’d say fifteen years easy.”
“But if you’re straight with us,” Marcel continued, “we may be able to help you out of your predicament. It’s obvious that Camille used you.”
Grimes’ phone buzzed and he took it out of his shirt pocket. “Hold on. I just got a text.” He grinned up at Robinson. “So you have a criminal record, huh? And it appears you’re still on probation. I suspect your firm doesn’t know that.”
Robinson slumped back to his chair.
Marcel could tell they’d finally broken him down. “I want to know how you got that picture and everything you know about the things either you or Camille did to Judge Sharla Ratliff.”
“Okay, fine.” Robinson’s voice cracked with distress. “I’ll tell you everything. But I don’t know this Camille woman you keep bringing up. I swear I don’t.”