Fixed in Blood (25 page)

Gabriel Lynch’s head snapped back.

“You’ve heard of him, I see.”

The lawyer tucked his notepad back into his jacket. He stood and Mort joined him. They shook hands.

“Thank you for your help, Detective.” He turned to Anthony Feldoni. “Mr. Feldoni, the studio will no longer be participating in this venture. We wish you luck in your future endeavors.”

Feldoni stepped toward him. “What the fuck you talking about? You don’t speak for the studio. You’re a suit with a three-hundred-dollar haircut. Nothing but a hired mouthpiece. You don’t have the authority.”

Gabriel Lynch squared his shoulders. “Mr. Feldoni, when I step out of this interview room, I’m going to make one phone call. Then someone
with
authority will contact your attorney to tell them we’re pulling out of this project. Consider this a courtesy heads-up.” He turned back to Mort. “Thanks again. I’ll be on the first plane south tomorrow morning, but don’t hesitate to call if I can be of any service.”

“Wait one fucking minute,” Feldoni said. “Where you goin’? What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

Lynch gave him one last look. “Here’s a recommendation on the house, Tony. Shut the hell up.” And he was gone.

Feldoni stabbed a finger toward Mort. “You got no right talking about my boy that way. No right accusing me of this shit, either. You don’t know what it’s like to be a celebrity. Everyone wantin’ a piece of you. Willin’ to say whatever it is about you or your kid just to make a payday.”

“Where’s Vincent? Tell me where he is and maybe you finally do a smart thing.”

“My son’s a good kid. Gets himself a little riled up sometimes. You can’t pin this on him.”

Mort found it interesting he didn’t say Vincent didn’t do it. “Where’s Vincent?”

“I’m going to have you so up to your ass in lawsuits you won’t be able to walk.” He puffed his chest out like he used to in all those old action movies. “Get out of my way. I got people to call. And a movie to shoot. And for the record, I want you off my set. You come near it and I’ll have security make sure you don’t.”

If he hadn’t stood over two dead girls and wasn’t worried about standing over a third, Mort might almost feel sorry for the man so used to acting like he had power he didn’t realize it was all makeup and costumes. “Here’s how it’s going to go, Tony. I’m arresting you on obstruction charges. The only place you’re going is a jail cell. And you’re going to stay there until you tell me where Vincent is.”

“The fuck I am. You can’t hold me.” Feldoni sputtered like a once powerful engine gone rusty from being idle. “People like me don’t go to jail. We go to premieres.”

Mort opened the door and two uniformed officers stepped inside. As they approached Anthony Feldoni and cuffed the once-important movie star’s hands behind his back, Mort advised him of his rights. He stepped aside to let the men lead Feldoni out of the room and down to a cell. He wondered if the man in the next room could hear the rants as Feldoni was dragged down the hall.

Mort relieved the officer standing directly behind Chris Novak and sat down at the table. Novak was chained at the wrists and ankles, and the ankle chain was locked into a bolt mounted on the floor. He stared into middle space, his face blotchy and tear stained.

“Your daughter’s been found.”

Novak kept staring at something Mort couldn’t see.

“About an hour ago.” Mort kept his voice low, father to father. “In a field behind West Seattle High School.”

Novak said nothing.

“I’m sorry.” Mort was sincere. As despicable as her father’s sins were, fourteen-year-old Maria Novak didn’t need to pay for them. “She’s at the coroner’s now. A couple of officers escorted your wife there. She had her chance to say goodbye.”

Novak’s left cheek twitched.

“We’ve got everything, Chris.” Mort kept his voice steady. “Files, computers, films. The women. This is over for you.”

Novak remained silent as stone.

“Delbe Jensen’s folks are here at the station. Roz and Bud, that’s their names. You know what they’ve been going through, don’t you? Not knowing where their girl is. Think about the torture your wife felt when Maria went missing. The pain she’s got right now.”

Novak’s jaw quivered.

“Give us something to help Delbe’s parents. Where did Feldoni plan to take that boat?”

“I don’t know,” Novak whispered. “I didn’t want to know.”

Mort believed him. They’d have to find Delbe without his help. Every tick of the clock increased the likelihood it would be her corpse they’d find. But he held out hope, shifting his focus to the latest murder.

“We should have a time of death on your daughter soon. As well as a cause. We’ll find who did this. That might bring your wife some comfort.”

“I know when.” Novak’s voice was as thin and dry as November leaves. “I know how.”

Mort looked up to make sure the small red lights of the wall-mounted cameras were on. “Were you there?”

Several moments passed before Novak answered. “I watched it. There was a film.”

Mort’s stomach lurched. “Another snuff? Of your own daughter?”

Novak blinked a numb response. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I guess you’re right. But this one was made just for me. I watched her die.” His voice quivered. “I watched him hold her under the water until she didn’t move anymore. I saw my baby die.”

“Who?” Mort asked. “Why?”

“Tokarev’s whore.”

A rushing flame of fear swept over Mort. His bones melted from the heat. As his body collapsed back into the chair, his mind worked overtime.
Not Allie. Not her. That’s why she sent Robbie the coins. She wanted to stop him. Tokarev has someone else. Another woman. She’s been replaced. Allie is in danger.

Energy flooded back to him. A father’s strength.

“Tell me what you know. Everything.”

Novak relayed the saga as if he was telling Mort a story he once heard long ago. A tale about a hustling crook who ran his uncle’s shoe shops and had a side business charging big rates for little loans to folks who couldn’t get money anywhere else. Prostitution evolved. He kept his girls on a tight leash. It wasn’t long before he could move his family into a six-bedroom house out in the burbs, away from all the onion and garlic smothering the air of the Russian section of Seattle.

Then he got a little greedy and branched into drugs. One thing led to another and he was in deep to his supplier.

Novak looked up at Mort. “You may not know who he is, but on these blocks, the legend of Vadim Tokarev is how we scare our children into saying their prayers. My supplier worked for him.”

Mort nodded and told him to go on.

“So now I’m thinking Tokarev’s gonna have my neck.” Novak shook his head. “But next thing I know, some giant pays me a visit. Never says a word. But he’s got this phone hanging from his neck and all of a sudden I’m in the clear. I got my cash to keep my supplier happy but in exchange I’m playing assistant manager to some chick with wild-ass ideas. Turns out she’s Tokarev’s whore. Wants me to operate like I’m fucking Microsoft. Make the girls happy. Teach them how to make their money work for ’em.”

“When did this start?” Mort needed to hear this happened a year ago. Long before Tokarev took Allie away.

“A couple of months back.” Novak gave a full-body spasm, like a man trying to shake off the past. “I thought I could wait it out. I mean, she wasn’t actually here. And you know how it goes with whores. Here today, gone tomorrow. I figure I just play nice until I don’t have to. Then I can go back to the way it was.”

“What happened next?”

“I was handling her. We locked horns, but pretty much things were okay. Then Tokarev sends one of his goons to see me. Somebody’s reached out to him. Wants to make a snuff. I couldn’t believe it. I figured someday maybe I’d make the move into porn. Seems like the next step. But I don’t want nothing to do with that shit. But it’s Tokarev. He’s not a guy who’s used to hearing no. He assures me all I have to do is find a place and assign a girl. The customer takes it from there. And he’s not subtle about what’s gonna happen if I let him down. So that was that. My neck or the girl’s. Crystal got the job. Tokarev’s whore went ballistic.” He slipped back into his faraway voice. “She punished me that time by taking my money.”

Mort needed more. “That time? What happened next?”

“Feldoni wanted to make another snuff. I told him no way. He must have gone straight to Tokarev, because word comes down I got no other choice. The kid gets his film.”

“And you gave the job to Francie?”

Novak nodded. He tried to lift his leg but the chains only allowed a shuffle. “She had her giant hurt me good after that one. But she don’t know it’s Tokarev making me do it yet. She thinks it’s all my idea. That’s one lover’s spat I didn’t need any part of.”

“What’s this have to do with your daughter?”
And tell me it has nothing to do with mine.

Novak went numb again. His eyes fixed on a spot on the wall and his voice went to dull monotone. “She finds out I’m taking orders from Tokarev. I don’t know how. Sends her giant back in. I figure I’m probably in for a pretty severe beating. That’s when she shows me the film.” He was silent for more than a minute, but the pain on his face told Mort he was seeing it play again in his mind.

“My daughter’s laughing,” he finally continued. “Like she’s playing hooky and having a ball. She’s with Staz, that giant the whore uses as her eyes and ears. He’s toying with her the way a cat does with a mouse before…before…” He fell silent again.

“Did you see this Staz kill your daughter?”

Novak nodded.

“What was this woman’s role in it?”
Give me something
.
Anything to tell me it’s not Allie.

Tears filled Novak’s eyes. He bit his lower lip. “She was teaching me a lesson. She wanted me to never forget I work for her. If I took another order from Tokarev, she’d kill one of my sons.” He looked to Mort and the tears fell down his cheeks. “But Tokarev came back. Feldoni wanted one more.” His eyes were blank. “So we’re dead. All of us. Already dead. It’s just a race to see who gets us first—Tokarev or his whore.”

Mort didn’t bother with promises of protection. He knew the Russian’s reach.

“This woman. Did you ever see her?”

Novak shook his head. “I imagined how she might look a dozen times. But I only heard her voice.”

Mort reached for a lifeline. “Russian accent?”

Novak blinked in surprise. As though everyone knew the gossip whispered over shots of vodka on Saturday night. “She’s American. Story is she came to him like a trophy. Used to belong to an enemy of his. But she’s Tokarev’s now. He likes her fine, no doubt about that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I tried to explain to him once the position he was putting me in. Making me cross her like that. Tokarev chuckled. Real gentle. Anybody else got in the way of his business would end up dead before morning, but he just gave a little laugh, like he was indulging a puppy licking from his plate. He even called her a pet name.”

“What was that?”

“Allichka. He called her Allichka.”

Mort’s vision disappeared for a heartbeat. He blinked and saw only a sea of red in front of him. His chest burned and his stomach heaved.

My daughter is a murderer. My Allie ordered someone to kill a little girl.

He needed to get out of there. He tried to stand, but couldn’t push himself clear of the table. He closed his eyes and took three long deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, he could see again. There was Novak, head bowed, waiting. But Mort had no more questions.

The door to the interrogation room opened. Mort didn’t turn around. He sat rigid as footsteps approached. Micki Petty stood in front of him. Mort looked up into her wholesome face.
Allie looked that way once. Didn’t she?

“Mort?” Micki asked. “Can you step outside?” She looked concerned. Did she know? Had she been watching? Of course. The cameras caught everything, creating a permanent, reviewable record of the murderous Chris Novak identifying Allie as his daughter’s murderer. He shoved himself clear of the table and followed her out the door.

“We just got a call from the Coast Guard.” Micki’s voice was quiet. “They’re coming in with two bodies. One male, one female. Male’s got his driver’s license still in his pocket. It’s Eddie Yaz.”

Mort swallowed the bile gathering at the back of his throat. “Which would make the girl?”

Micki nodded. “No ID, but the description fits. It’s Delbe Jensen.”

“And the boat?” he asked. “Vincent Feldoni?”

Micki took a deep breath.

“No sign of the boat. No sign of Feldoni.”

Mort stared at the lights across the bay. He hadn’t said a word for more than an hour. Neither had his companion. He drained the last drop from his bottle of Guinness and looked at Lydia’s glass. It was empty, too. He stood, poured from the bottle of merlot on the table between them, then went inside and got another beer from his galley. He grabbed a blanket off the couch and headed back onto the deck. July was only two days away, but the nights on the water still brought a chill. He handed it to Lydia and sat back down.

The moon was full in a cloudless sky. A faint pink glow on the eastern horizon would soon erase the stars. Maybe that’s why she was looking up.

“Jennifer okay?” he asked.

It took a while for her to answer. “Tessa found her a place. She’ll age out of foster in a couple of years. Maybe the damage will be manageable.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” he promised.

“Yes.” She kept looking at the stars. “Yes, we will.”

“Charlie Fellow’s gonna enjoy the headlines tomorrow.” Mort took a slow sip of beer. “Man, I need him out of business.”

Lydia nodded. “Greg Dystra called me…sometime today…tonight…I don’t know.” The weariness in her voice couldn’t be solely due to fatigue. “He’s left Rite Now. Wants to come see me again…coach him while he goes back into job-hunting mode.”

The glow of his deck lights accentuated the odd mixture of defeat and defiance in her eyes.

He wanted to tell her how sorry he was about Delbe, but she’d take no comfort in his sympathy. “This is a hell of a business. Like a wise woman once told me, all we can do is all we can do.”

She turned her face toward him. For a moment he saw a flash of disgust mar her sad beauty. Then it was gone. Replaced with a look of resigned acceptance for the world as it was.

“We’ll find him.” Mort hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. There was a lot of ocean out there, and no one knew the direction Vincent Feldoni pointed his boat after killing Delbe Jensen and Eddie Yavornitzky. A charmer with movie star looks could travel far. At least his father couldn’t help him anymore. Anthony Feldoni would be spending the next decade in jail for his role in helping his son elude capture. But if Vincent had the money to fund three snuff films, he had enough to bankroll a long disappearing act.

They slipped back into their silent drinking. The rheostat of dawn lightened the sky.

“You want to talk about Allie?”

“No.” He thought for a moment. “Not right now.”

The first fish of the morning jumped to claim breakfast.

“Whenever, whatever, Mort.” She drained the last of her wine. “I’m here.”

The two of them watched morning blossom over Lake Union. The dawn turned from pink to gold to blue. Most people would predict a nice day. Lights clicked on in neighboring houseboats. They both looked to the right when Agatha Skurnik’s door creaked open and Mort’s eighty-three-year-old neighbor came out to her own deck, nearly dropping her mug of coffee when she saw the two of them.

“Well, good morning,” she said. “Are you up this early or this late?”

Mort lifted his bottle of Guinness in response.

Aggie clucked and shook her head. “Dare I suppose either of you cares to join me in a kayak around the lake?”

Lydia begged off. “I’m good right here.”

Mort wondered if that was true. Was there any “right here” where Lydia really was good? He felt the cost of the past days in his bones. The pain wasn’t over. He’d have to decide how much to tell Robbie of what he’d learned about Allie. The two of them would come up with a plan to keep the twins clear of any designs she might have.

And I have to find a way to bring my girl home.
Mort inhaled deep and long, filling his lungs with the fresh smells of dawn on the lake.

“We’ll be here when you get back, Aggie.”