L.A. Boneyard (12 page)

On a second table, an answering machine was blinking. Two messages. David played the first one. Something, Russian or similar, went on for nearly a minute. The second one could have been the same voice, it only lasted a few seconds.

“That mean anything to you?” David asked the landlord.

“Sorry, no.”

“Sounds Russian to me,” Jairo said.

David frowned. They’d have to find an interpreter, and hope it was Russian. He picked up the black leather bound book.

Inside was more of the odd script, plus some hand-written notes. He began going through drawers, looking under books and papers.

“What are you looking for?” Jairo asked.

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“Pictures, passports, ID, bills, address books, doctor’s prescriptions.. anything that might give us some background on these two.”

They found no formal ID, even after an hour of searching.

But they did find several paid ConEd bills, in the name of Halyna Stakchinko, and a small notebook full of handwriting David couldn’t make heads or tails of. David would have stayed longer, but the landlord was getting impatient, and without a warrant, they couldn’t force the issue. And until they had probable cause, getting a warrant could be tricky. He decided to call it a day.

“Let’s go request a translator.” David said to Jairo as they followed the landlord to the front door. “You ever see any visitors, Mr. Larson? Anyone else ever stay here or was it always just the two women?”

“No one I knew about, but like I said, I didn’t come around often. I leave my tenants alone. Long as they pay their rent on time, I got no reason to hassle them.”

David and Jairo thanked the landlord, who locked up behind them, reminded them he would have the lease papers and photocopies ready that afternoon, and drove off.

Back at the station, David put in a formal request for a Russian interpreter, and was told one would be temporarily assigned from the Hollywood Station. He and Jairo went over the lease applications. The names were the same ones the tattoo parlor had provided. Zuzanna Konjenko and Halyna Stakchinko. He hoped their translator would come through soon. This case was going nowhere without some help. On the checks another name: Valerian Mikalenko.

His phone rang. It was Chris.

“Did you talk to anyone about the dog?”

David toyed with a pencil on his desk. “I called the dog’s breeder. She may come by to check the dog out, but she didn’t say for sure she was going to take him back.”

“Well, you need to sell her on us keeping him. You want to, don’t you?”

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“He got into a fight with Sweeney.”

Chris laughed. “Who lost? Don’t tell me, the dog did.”

“Nah, the bed sheets did. The dog’s smarting a bit. You’ll have to kiss it better when you get home.”

“So, are you hurting anywhere?”

“What? No—”

“I could kiss your hurts all better,” Chris’s voice dropped. “I could kiss all kinds of things better.”

David cleared his throat. He felt heat rush to his face, and other body parts. It didn’t help that he was in the middle of the squad room, surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged men in suits and ties. Or that Jairo was watching him, an all too knowing look on his dark, handsome face.

“Cut it out,” David said.

Chris laughed. “Gotcha. I’ll be back in a couple of days.

Keep it warm for me.”

He hung up, and David was spared any time to think about their conversation by the phone ringing again. It was Galt this time.

“Those four molars contain twenty-two carat gold. Even more curious, one of her teeth had a filling.”

“What’s so curious about that?” David asked. “Lots of people have fillings. I even have a couple.”

“Not concrete mixed.”

“Concrete—?”

“Definitely not American. My guess would be the former Soviet bloc. I’ve seen that before—a Ukrainian priest ended up on our slab a couple of years back. They called me in when there were some odd discrepancies. One was the teeth.”

“So, Ukrainian. It fits with a few other things. I wonder if I can replace that Russian interpreter with a Ukrainian one. Can you give me a time of death yet?”

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“I’d say your victim’s been in the ground at least two, maybe three months on the outside. If I had to guess I’d say eight-nine weeks.”

“Ah, thanks, doctor.” David hung up. “Looks like our victim might be Ukrainian after all.” David told Jairo about the teeth.

“Twenty-two carat gold and concrete. Now there’s a combination for you.”

David called the coroner’s office about the other two bodies, but no tox reports had come in and there was nothing yet on the other victim’s teeth. DNA was still being run; no results yet. Could be days. Sometimes David wished RHD

would take the case; they’d have better luck getting the results back sometime in living memory. Even with the brand new lab he was still stuck dealing with an overloaded system, and no clout to make them move faster.

He looked across at Jairo. “Start drafting a warrant for the Leland address. We’re looking for anything that might suggest a crime. Phone messages, notes, bills, address books, journals, whatever we can find. We can get trace in there, too. Run it by me before you submit it.”

Jairo nodded and turned to his keyboard.

Wednesday, 6:20 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
The dog and the cat had declared a truce of sorts. David found Sweeney in his usual spot on his pillow. Sergeant scrambled off the bed as soon as he entered the room, looking guilty.

“Busted,” David said. The dog smiled at him. “You learning all your bad habits from Chris? Cut it out.”

David changed into a sweatshirt. It still got cool at night, too cool for a T-shirt. He paused to give the cat some much needed attention, knowing what it was like to feel left out. Finally he trotted downstairs, Sergeant at his heels. The cat watched them go with disdain.

At the front door, David slipped his running shoes on and grabbed Sergeant’s leash. He threw the front door open just as Jairo pulled up to the curb. Popeye raced across the lawn before Jairo could get the leash on him. The two dogs greeted each other enthusiastically. It didn’t take Jairo long to get his dog leashed, and they set off for the park. There were more people out this early. Several had dogs. David noticed again that a lot of them, especially if they were walking small dogs, seemed apprehensive around Sergeant. Nobody had a problem with the big, goofy Popeye.

“Stereotypes,” Jairo said. “Guess you know all about those.”

At David’s look he added, “Big macho cop who couldn’t possibly be gay. Even when he is.”

“Let’s just run,” David snapped.

An hour later, back at the house, Jairo followed David to the front door.

“Can I get a drink of water?”

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David studied the younger man for several seconds. Finally he held the door open. “Sure, follow me.”

He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and handed it to Jairo, who stared at the label. “You know they say this stuff is bad for you.”

“How’s that?” David asked.

“It’s not as pure as the makers tell you. Lot of hype.

Basically just tap water.”

“You don’t have to drink it, you know.”

Jairo grunted and twisted the top off, guzzling half of the cold liquid in one long gulp. He smacked his lips. “Now that hits the spot.”

Sweeney entered the kitchen, stopped when he saw the stranger. Jairo and the cat stared at each other for several heartbeats. “You’re the killer cat.”

“That’s him,” David said.

Jairo stooped down to pet the animal. Sweeney moved smoothly away from the hand, sitting haughtily just out of reach. “Guess I got put in my place.”

“It’s not personal,” David said. “It’s just you.”

“I can take a hint.” This time Jairo rubbed Sergeant’s head and the dog fawned against him. “Now who’s a good boy,” he said, grinning at David. He put the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. “See you in the morning.”

“Get to work on that warrant. I’d like to present it to the judge by end of day, if possible. I’m going to work on the Lieutenant about getting the Halyna case rolled over into ours.

It ties in with it.”

“What’s your probable cause for the warrant?”

“ID on the one woman by the tattoo artist. Missing roommate of same woman. DNA match imminent. The tattoos. The pregnancies.”

“You can’t know the missing woman is our DB.”

“We go on the assumption. The women are missing, and we’ve got three bodies to account for.”

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David was thoughtful when he shut and locked the door behind Jairo and Popeye. Maybe this partnership would work out after all. Jairo was sharp, no doubt there. If he would just focus on his job, they could prove a productive team. They’d both benefit.

At nine he popped a beer open and settled in front of the TV to watch
The Green Berets
. He wasn’t a big war movie buff, but anything with John Wayne was just fine with him. He thought of Jairo’s cutting remark about stereotypes, and wondered just where he fit in that. Most of his life he’d done his best to deny what he was. It was easier to hide it than face the loathing and ridicule of his peers. But now he didn’t have the comfort of the closet, not with Chris in his life, and the whole world knowing what he was. The media had done its usual brilliant job of dismantling his cover. Chris made it worthwhile. Most of the time. Still, there were times he thought life would be simpler if he didn’t have to live in the public eye.

But it was a moot point. There was no putting that genie back in its bottle.

Jairo was already at his desk when David arrived the next day. He barely looked up from his laptop to nod, then bent back over his work. His fingers flew over the keyboard. Finally he hit a last key, and leaned back with a grunt. David slipped off his jacket and draped it over his chair. He logged into his own computer, and put the finishing touches on the daily report for Lieutenant McKee.

“That’s it, then,” Jairo said.

Before David could say anything he jumped up and headed for the squad room printer. When he came back, he handed several sheets to David.

“Tell me how this looks.”

David skimmed the warrant. Then he grabbed a pen, and read it through more closely, slashing and burning as he went.

Two years of pre-law always came in handy when he wrote up warrants. He handed the heavily marked up papers back to a scowling Jairo. “Not bad, for a first attempt.”

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Jairo took the proffered pages and bent back over his laptop, muttering under his breath. This time the revised warrant passed David’s muster. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and stood.

“Let me see the Lieutenant, then we can go find a judge about getting this signed.”

McKee nodded through David’s carefully thought out recital. Finally he picked up his phone and called Central.

Several minutes of back and forth and he hung up, a smug look on his face. “It’s all yours, Detective. I hope this is a positive move for us. I’d hate to get saddled with a 60-dayer that we asked for.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sitting judge signing warrants that week read through their request. “You have a positive ID on the woman,” he peered through reading glasses at the name, “Halyna Stakchinko?”

“Yes, your Honor, we do.”

“And you want to search her residence for signs of foul play?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

The judge nodded and pursed his lips. “You’ll be taking a crime scene technician with you, I assume.”

“Two, I think,” David said. “A serology tech, and a trace guy. Plus we need to take those tapes in and the writing for translation. I want to run them by a Russian language expert.”

The judge looked at the warrant again. “I’ll agree, with the exception of the Bible. I see no probable cause to take that.

You don’t know who the Bible belongs to, do you?”

“No, your Honor, not at this time—”

“Then there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy. I won’t allow it to be seized at this time. Bring me more evidence and we’ll revisit the search warrant.”

David wanted to disagree, but knew he’d be wasting his time. He could only hope more evidence would show up at the L.A. BONEYARD
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apartment to extend the warrant. He wanted to have a look at that book. But more important, he wanted to get someone under the house, into that crawl space. He nodded.

“Fine, your Honor.”

The judge made a notation on the document, signed the papers and handed them off to David, who passed them to Jairo. “Let’s go call SID.”

David had Jairo call the landlord and let him know they were coming back out, and this time they had a warrant. Jairo called and after he hung up, he grinned at David.

“That is one unhappy camper.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know if he’s more upset having us make him let us in, or of losing two tenants.”

“Did he give the impression he thought the women were in trouble?”

“No, he still seemed pretty shocked by the whole idea. You think he’s involved?”

“Do you?”

Jairo thought about it for several seconds then shook his sleek head. “Nah, he’s too ingenuous. He liked them, as well as any landlord can like their tenants. Besides, he’s got no reason to harm them.”

“Unless he was the father of those babies.”

Jairo smirked. “If they were as hot as the tattoo artist said can you imagine them letting that little twerp get to first base, let alone home.”

“I’ve seen stranger things,” David growled. In Chris’s orbit he didn’t qualify as much more than a “twerp.” He still wondered sometimes what Chris saw in him. Not that he’d ever talk about that kind of thing with this guy, no matter his sympathies.

David’s cell rang. He flipped it open. It was his translator, an Officer Stefan Konstatinov. “My lieutenant says I am all yours
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as long as you need me,” Konstatinov said in a light, barely perceptible accent. “What exactly are we dealing with?”