L.A. Boneyard (17 page)

“Probably being held by this Mickey character, if the paperwork was even legit.”

“He would more than likely warn them that if they tried to do anything to alert the authorities that their families back home would suffer,” Konstatinov said. David and Jairo looked at him.

“It is how these traffickers operate. They intimidate the girls and there is swift retaliation against transgressors. They are brutal.”

“Pimps usually are,” David said. “They don’t make money on compassion, though they’re usually pretty good at faking it.”

“How do you know all this?” Jairo asked Konstatinov.

“This is a much talked about crime among our people. It shames us all, colors us all with the same black brush.”

David interrupted and spoke to Jairo, “I want you to call forensics and ask when we can expect those cell phone records and the tox screen and entomology results. You,” this time the look was directed at Konstatinov, “come with me. We’re going to talk to the judge, then go see a doctor.”

But the doctor wasn’t in his office. David left a message with the receptionist, and he and Konstatinov headed back to Northeast to figure out their next move.

Saturday, 8:50 PM, Cove Ave Silver Lake, Los Angeles

.

Chris let himself in to the cool, silent house. Sergeant greeted him at the door and circled him excitedly. He patted the L.A. BONEYARD
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dog’s head. “Sorry day when a guy gets more attention from his dog than his lover.”

Sergeant went ballistic when Chris pulled out his leash. “We have to make this a quick one,” he said, exhaustion already dragging him down. All he wanted to do was curl up in front of a mindless sitcom and veg until bedtime. Which at the rate he was going was going to be before ten.

He took the same route David had told him about, down the hill and through the park. He was startled when a man stepped out of a white sports car with a brown dog and greeted Sergeant like they were long lost brothers. Only belatedly did he recognize David’s new partner. Jairo Hernandez.

He pulled Sergeant to heel and wrapped the leash around his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Brought my dog to the park,” Jairo said. “Isn’t that what everyone does?”

“You live around here?” Chris was surprised. It wasn’t an area many cops could afford, unless, like David, they lived with someone who had money.

Jairo shrugged, and gazed out over the placid lake, now lit only by a combination of city lights, and house lights glittering off the waveless surface. “It’s a nice park.”

“Yeah, it is.” Chris let out the leash and started walking north. He wasn’t surprised when Jairo followed. Not surprised, but not happy. He wasn’t sure he liked this guy he didn’t know.

But he could hardly be rude to David’s partner. He’d made that mistake with Martinez, and Martinez had won that round.

“You don’t run?” Jairo jogged in place, clearly ready to take off if encouraged. Chris shook his head.

“Sorry, no.”

“Guess you’re still tired from your traveling.”

Chris stopped and turned to stare at Jairo. “David told you that?”

“He mentioned it.” Jairo showed his teeth in what Chris figured was supposed to be a smile. To him it looked like all
138 P.A. Brown

flash and no substance. It struck Chris with mounting horror that Jairo reminded him of himself before he met David.

“Just yesterday,” Jairo kept talking.

“Yeah, I was back east.”

“Work?”

“David didn’t tell you that?” Chris felt like turning around and going home, but Sergeant didn’t deserve that. He straightened and stared at Jairo; they were nearly eye to eye. “If you need to know, I was in New York, on business. Do you want to know what I was doing?”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“Not normally. Listen, I have a dog to walk, then I have to get home. My business doesn’t end when I leave the office.”

“Guess we’re in the same boat,” Jairo said. “Neither does mine.”

Jairo finally left, but not until he had totally ruined Chris’s time out with the dog. He fed Sergeant once they got inside, and grabbed a beer from the fridge, too lazy to open a bottle of wine. He dropped onto the I-Ching chair, and moodily sipped his drink, while his gaze played across the reservoir out the big bay window. An almost full moon played hide and seek with a low lying wisp of cloud, light dancing over the restless water’s surface. The dog came to lie at his feet.

He was nearly finished his beer and was debating whether to have another or call it quits when the phone rang.

He didn’t recognize the number and picked it up with trepidation. “Yes?”

“Ah, Chris, I was hoping to catch David at home.” It was Martinez. “He’s not there is he?”

“No, he’s not,” Chris snapped. “What did you expect, he’d leave work to come home?”

“Whoa. Where’s that coming from? Something going on, Chris?”

Suddenly Chris dropped his chin into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “David’s... David’s L.A. BONEYARD
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just acting weird. Ever since he got that new partner. I don’t know what’s going on. He won’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Martinez said. “Some days are just like that. Even to someone like David, who takes pride in his work, it can get you down. Eat you up and spit you out.”

“Does that ever happen to you, Martinez? Do you ignore your family, your wife and kids, because you’re ‘down’?”

“You don’t know Inez, you say that. No one ignores that lady, not if they want to stay healthy.”

Chris forced a laugh. From David he knew that Martinez idolized his wife and five kids.

“I just wish I knew what was bugging him,” Chris said. “Can you talk to him, Martinez? Find out what’s wrong?”

“Not a good idea, man. David wouldn’t appreciate either of us butting our noses into his business.”

Chris sighed. He knew Martinez was right. It had been a long shot. If he wanted to find out what was eating at David he’d have to do it on his own.

He told Martinez he would let David know he had called.

Soon after breaking the conversation, Chris climbed the steps to bed, trailed by Sergeant who seemed subdued, as though he knew something was wrong. Just not what.

He tried to out wait David, but at midnight he had to surrender to another night spent alone. Sergeant crept into bed as he dozed off and he didn’t have the heart to kick the dog off.

It was only as sleep crept over him that he realized Jairo had never answered his question about whether he lived in Silver Lake.

When he woke the next morning the bed beside him was empty, both David and the dog were nowhere in evidence, though there was a faint lingering smell of David’s scent. Chris rolled over and hugged David’s pillow to his face, inhaling deeply. At first he thought it was the dog roaming around downstairs, then he realized it was David.

He scrambled out of bed and threw on a robe. He’d get dressed later, after David left for work.

140 P.A. Brown

He found David sitting at the engraved Santa Fe table, a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. He had the sports section of the Times open on the table before him. Sergeant lay sprawled at his feet under the table. Both of them looked up when Chris entered the room.

Chris made no move to kiss David, who didn’t seem to notice the lapse. He grabbed a coffee, dosed it liberally with flavored cream and sat opposite David.

“Busy again last night?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty hectic these days.”

“So what time did you get home?”

“Wasn’t paying much attention. What time did you go to bed?”

“Late,” Chris said flatly.

David picked up a blueberry muffin from the basket he had put together. He slathered the warm muffin with butter. He avoided Chris’s eyes as he chewed on it, eyes glued on the basketball scores inside the paper.

“Your partner came by last night. He live around here?”

David took a sudden deep breath, and Chris could have sworn his normally swarthy face grew pale. “Jairo?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You got more than one partner?”

“Ah, no, he’s the only one,” David muttered. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t really say. Just he was out walking his dog and he liked the park. So,” Chris fished out a lemon poppyseed muffin, and took a bite, though the last thing he wanted was food. A fluttering worm had invaded his gut. “He live around here?”

“Ah, don’t know exactly where he lives. It never came up...”

David dropped his half-eaten muffin onto the plate, not seeming to notice the spray of crumbs that dusted the table in front of him. He grabbed his coffee, sucking it down quickly.

He stood up.

“Well, I have to run.” David leaned over and brushed his lips over Chris’s. “Have a good day.”

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“And don’t wait up, right?”

The outer door shut and Chris sank back into his chair. He stared unseeing at the empty place across from him. The dog rose, his toenails clicking on the tile. Finally Chris got up and used a damp towel to wipe the table clean. Sergeant watched him intently.

He had lied. David had lied about not knowing where Jairo lived. David never lied. About anything.

“What the hell is going on?” Chris whispered to the dog.

Sunday, 7:55 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles

David sat at his desk, his PC booted up, but inactive. David stared at it, but didn’t see the screen. He couldn’t believe it.

What the hell was Jairo up to? Did he think if he made Chris realize what was going on, that Chris would leave him, and he’d be free to pursue Jairo? The man couldn’t be that egotistical, could he?

Or was he just playing games, letting David know he could ruin his happy little family? And what? Leave him to pick up the pieces?

Jairo came in, shrugging off his black suit jacket and flinging it over the back of his chair. He fired up his laptop.

David kept his voice low, but did nothing to conceal the fury in his tone. “You went to see Chris last night?”

Jairo blinked at him, and David could have sworn there was a small smile around his shadowed, unshaved mouth. “He tell you that? Yeah, I was in the neighborhood. Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Nothing happened between us.”

Rage flowed through David. He felt the heat in his face, and it felt like he was watching Jairo through a narrow looking-glass, that distorted the younger man’s face. “You stay the hell away from him. He’s not part of your sick fantasy.”

“Sure, no problem. He’s not my type anyway. I like strong men. The kind who know how to give orders and make you obey them.” His voice became liquid honey. “You and me, we could have something hot. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“We are having nothing,” David said. “Get that. This is not going to continue. There’s an order for you. Back down, Detective. Before I do something we’ll both be sorry for.”

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Jairo shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”

David forced himself back into work mode, knowing if he continued in this vein, he’d do or say something he’d regret.

“Call forensics. Don’t let it go until they give you something.

When you get it, write up a report and drop it on my desk. Mess it up and I’ll make you do it over.”

Jairo’s smile slipped. “Yes, Detective.” He swung around in his chair and began tapping away at his PC.

“When you’re done that, follow up on the dental records.

Then you can tackle Fenton about the tox report.”

Jairo didn’t respond that time.

David forced his attention on his own reports. He needed to write up his latest incident report with the information about the Ukrainian gynecologist, Dr. Sevchuk. First thing he needed to know was if the guy was also Zuzanna Konjenko’s doctor.

The two Jane Does found in the Griffith Park grave had also been pregnant. David didn’t believe in coincidences. Someone was killing pregnant Ukrainian women. The why totally escaped him. Could one man get three women pregnant, then decide to terminate those pregnancies the hard way? Seemed farfetched, though not an unreachable conclusion. In his fifteen years on the force, he’d seen his share of unspeakable atrocities committed for the dumbest reasons.

His cell rang. It was Martinez.

“How’s it going, cuz?”

“It’s fine,” David said, throwing a glance at Jairo then turning his back on the younger man. “Something up?”

“Nah, just in between dead
Chingasos
here. I don’t know how the hell we ever got to a place where we can elect a bloody mayor, when we can’t stop killing ourselves. Seems like we stop long enough to go to the polls, then pull out the AKs again.

And between the commission being a tool for the ACLU and community leaders only interested in getting their names in the news, it’s a wonder we can do anything about it except clean up the bodies and bag ‘em for the morgue. They representing the hood,” Martinez said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Damn fools L.A. BONEYARD
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live and die in dog years. Yeah, they representing. Should get measured for body bags when they born. So,” Martinez said laconically. “How are you guys doing? Haven’t seen you or Chris in a while.”

Something in Martinez’s voice alerted David. He straightened and said, “What do you mean?”

“Everything okay with you two?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” A light went off. “You’ve been talking to Chris.”

“I, uh, called your place last night, but you were still at work.

Wasn’t important enough to try to catch you there. Things are kosher with you guys then? It’s hard enough in this business to find someone who cares once they know what we do, but to find someone who will stick by you. That’s rare, man. You don’t want to lose that.”

“I know how special Chris is,” David said stiffly. He never thought he’d live to hear Martinez giving him romantic advice.

“You don’t need to tell me that.”

“Good. Good. So, how’s the new boot working for you?”

David was silent. He heard Martinez’s sigh.

“That bad, huh? Well, you can look at it this way, it’s only six months. I gather Chris isn’t too thrilled by the dude. He another homo-hater? Sorry, man, didn’t mean—”