L.A. Boneyard (18 page)

“That’s okay,” David muttered. He was used to Martinez, which was part of the problem, wasn’t it? “Besides he’s not really a boot. He is a detective first grade.”

“Worse than a boot, you ask me. Think they know it all.

Least a boot knows he’s green.”

Which was true enough, but David’s problem with Jairo had nothing to do with what he thought he knew, but in the feeling David had that he’d like to find out what going to bed with the young man would be like. He refused to acknowledge the desire. He wasn’t like that. Wouldn’t be like that, for anyone but Chris. “Not going to happen,” he muttered.

146 P.A. Brown

“What, man? What’s not going to happen? You got some shit going down there,
socio
? Don’t fuck with me, man. You know I hate that shit worse than a liar.”

“Nothing. Everything copasetic.”

“Well, okay,” Martinez didn’t sound like he was a believer.

“We’ll have to pop out for a drink sometime, play catchup. I can tell you all about rousting bangers and playing pit bull soccer.”

“Pit bull—never mind, I don’t want to know. You almost sound like you’re having fun. You aren’t going to ask for a permanent transfer, are you?”

“Too damn many
chollos
around here,” Martinez said, under his breath. “Damn homies, always down with their brothers, don’t know enough to stay in the house, gotta run with the bangers and make macho. Bunch of bullshit. Glad I’m not like that.”

Oh no, nothing machismo about Martinez. For the first time in days David smiled. “Well, I’ll keep your desk warm.”

“Tell that little boot he messes with my stuff I’ll shine his Sam Browne with ceiling wax.”

David didn’t bother reminding Martinez that Jairo didn’t wear a Sam Browne.

He got off the phone the same time Jairo put his down with a war whoop. “Righteous shit,” he said. “I got the LUDs off that cell. And an owner.” He held up his notes and read, “So, we can get subpoenas for the owner now, right? Based on those LUDs?”

“Maybe,” David said. “Let’s see what we got first. We’ll worry about the paper later. Before we go, call forensics again about those autopsy results.”

They headed out, to sign a car out of the pool, and drove over to pick up the evidence. The LUDs, or Local Area Usage details, would tell them who, and when, the cell had called, and been called. Besides all the local calls, most modern phones contained commonly used telephone numbers, appointments and calendars.

L.A. BONEYARD
147

“Get this,” Jairo said. “One of the numbers this guy keeps calling is to a known Avenues banger.”

David straightened. “What does a dead Ukrainian hooker have to do with an Avenues banger?”

“Good question. I’ll put it in my report,” Jairo said with a touch of acid, which David ignored.

Jairo went in and retrieved the paperwork from the technician who had processed the cell. David remained in the car, where the heat from the newly risen sun quickly turned the interior into an oven. He should have been sweltering, but all he felt was a numb coldness that no amount of sun seemed able to dispel.

He had to talk to Chris. Had to make him understand that while there was nothing going on, he had
thought
about it. Chris deserved that much.

A small voice nagged him. But what if Chris got so angry he left?
Can you live with that? Can you really live without him?

If I have to
, came the cold thought.

His phone rang. It was the coroner’s office. The results of the autopsy on Zuzanna Konjenko had been finalized.

“We found the tattoo you suggested we look for,” Fenton said. “A symbol, unrecognized, on her upper thigh. And the fly eggs appear to be
Musca domestica Linnaeus
, which is just a fancy name for house fly. Often first on site and found indoors.

Suggests she was killed indoors then moved outside to be buried.”

“Thanks, Doctor. I think that’s a solid ID. It’s Zuzanna.”

“And we confirmed the presence of chloral hydrate in sufficient quantities to cause diminished capacity in the original dead woman. The one who went off the freeway overpass.”

“Knock out drops? They still use that?” The drug of choice today was GHB or ketamine.

“Good old Mickey Finns,” the forensic technician said.

“Sometimes the old ways work best.”

148 P.A. Brown

Jairo returned, and David took the printouts from him, telling him about the chloral hydrate. Jairo didn’t seem surprised. David skimmed through them, noting when the same numbers occurred. Each one would have to be run, to see who was on the other end. It would be a tedious job. He flipped through to the end of sheets. On a separate page the account holder’s name: Valerian Mikalenko. Mickey.

The second number was even more interesting. It was a Hollywood exchange, like Mikalenko’s. He flipped through the notes Jairo had made on his own discoveries. There it was: Dr.

Jozef Sevchuk, Halyna’s gynecologist.

“Bingo,” he said.

Jairo cocked his head. “What?”

“Well, there’s our connection,” he said softly. “Dr. Jozef Sevchuk called Mikalenko. Or Mikalenko called him. Now we just have to find them both and get their side of the story.”

Back at the station he pulled out the arrest report for Mikalenko. He had been sentenced to eight years, spent five in Corcoran. He tracked down his probation officer. Gus Stevenson worked out of the Los Angeles County probation office. No one was in the office on Sunday. He found Mikalenko’s last known address from DMV instead. It was on Cherokee Street in Hollywood. Not more than four blocks from Halyna and Konjenko’s house on Leland Way. Another coincidence? Or a man keeping a close eye on his stable?

David added the information to the growing file on his little-known Mikalenko. The DMV records showed a car registered to him. A 2009 Caddie. Someone was doing pretty good. The property was registered to a holding company. A front or a legitimate property holder? The owners of record didn’t seem to exist outside of paper.

He told Jairo his findings.

“So we go visit the place? See if Mickey is still in residence?”

“Do some more digging on the guy. Financials, whatever we can find. If his source of income is hinky, it may give us grounds for a search warrant.”

L.A. BONEYARD
149

Jairo snorted. “We need the warrants to find the information we need, not the other way around.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of modern day policing.”

“Sometimes I think I should have become an accountant.”

“There’s still time. Lots of people go back to school at your age.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in accounting? No one ever tries to whack a CPA.”

“I’m sure you could find someone who’d make an exception.”

“Funny.”

David shrugged. “Some excitement I can do without.”

“Don’t you get off on the adrenaline high? The rush?”

David only gave him a dark look. “If you’re going to be a blue flamer, and get us both killed, do me a favor, transfer out. I don’t need the headache.”

“I told you I’m not a quitter.”

“Bully for you.”

“Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”

“You did, remember? With your little chat with Chris?”

“That’s water under the bridge. Told you nothing happened.”

David shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“I get you,” Jairo said. “Better than you do. If you were just honest—”

“Stop it. Now.” David’s voice went up, and he was aware of several eyes swiveling toward him, and Jairo. Ears alert to some juicy gossip. “Can it, Detective.”

“Sure.” Jairo smiled again. “Whatever you say.”

150 P.A. Brown

Sunday, 11:40 AM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
Chris dragged himself upstairs to take a shower, though all he really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and escape through sleep. Escape what he wasn’t sure of, he just knew something was going on in David’s life and he wasn’t sharing.

And that scared Chris. What could be so bad David had to keep it locked up, eating him up inside? What would make David
lie
?

When he climbed out of the shower, and wandered into the bedroom, toweling himself dry, he stood a moment staring down at the king-sized bed that had been such a source of joy in their relationship. What the hell had gone wrong? He couldn’t recall the last time they had made love. He didn’t count his midnight seduction. He hadn’t given David the chance to reject his advances. Before that... it had to be before his accident. Two weeks? God, could it have been three? No, not that long. But too long. Even after four years, he and David had a very active sex life. It was the one arena where they could forget their differences. So what had changed?

Was someone else the cause?

Jairo.

Something hard and unforgiving settled in Chris’s chest.

Was David even capable of infidelity? He had always been the moral anchor in their relationship, keeping Chris on the straight and narrow, when Chris’s innate thirst for excitement had pulled him another way.

Chris threw on some jeans and a polo shirt and dashed downstairs. He had to talk to Des. Des had been in more long term relationships than Chris, who had only ever had one actual boyfriend, outside of a disastrous year spent with a flake from the Valley. BD—before David—he had played the field, a different dick every night. He could barely remember those days, or the faces and pricks that went along with them, and had never been tempted to go back. David satisfied him in more ways than he had ever imagined. But something had clearly gone wrong.

Des answered after an excruciatingly long time.

L.A. BONEYARD
151

“I need to come talk to you,” Chris said in rush, praying Des wasn’t in the middle of something. “It’s really important.”

“Sure hon, what is it?”

“I can’t say over the phone. I need to see you in person.”

“Ah, sure, babe. Come on over. Trevor and I were just sitting down to lunch. I’m sure we can stretch it to serve three—”

“I’m not hungry, and this won’t take long.” A lie, this could take all day to talk out. And if he was right in his suspicions, it could go a long way to ruining his life, let alone his day. “I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t bother changing. Throwing on a pair of sliders he grabbed his keys and bolted out the door. Sergeant followed him to the door and he felt bad telling the dog to go to his bed.

But he knew Des wouldn’t appreciate any animals in his Beverly Hills bungalow. Well, aside from Trevor. Even that whimsical thought didn’t penetrate his mood. He swung the rental car he had picked up, while the damage was being assessed on his Escape, west toward Beverly Hills. Personally he figured the little SUV was a total doom buggy, and fully expected the insurance company to write it off, which would mean shopping for another vehicle. Normally that might have been fun—he was no auto junkie like David, but he loved the new smell and high sheen of a brand new car. But now he couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm for any of it.

Des was waiting outside when he pulled up behind Trevor’s newly acquired Sky. Des’s latest acquisition, a brand new Mercedes sedan, sat in front of it.

One look at Chris’s face and Des was at his side instantly.

He took Chris’s arm and guided him into the living room, sitting him down in a chair. Seconds later Trevor brought him a mug of strong coffee.

“Drink, hon,” Des said gently. “Then talk.”

Chris did as he was told. When he put the mug down, it rattled against the koa wood table. Des ignored it, totally unlike him. He leaned toward Chris and took his hands in his.

152 P.A. Brown

“What is it Chris? What’s wrong? Is it David—?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I think it is,” Chris stammered, aware of how cold his hands were in Des’s. He stared at his best friend and felt tears form. He bit his lip, determined not to cry. “I think David might be having an affair.”

Both Des and Trevor gaped at him. Des finally spoke. “An affair?
David
?”

“I don’t know what else to think. He’s been so cold lately.

Indifferent. He works all the time; he’s never at home, and when he is he’s not
there
.” His throat closed up and he glared at Des, as though this was all his fault. “We haven’t made love in over two weeks. That’s not like David.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s...doing anything,” Des said.

“Maybe something’s going on at work. You know he never shares that with you. You always said you were glad he kept you out of it.”

“I know, but this isn’t the same. He’s got a new partner.

Jairo. He’s gorgeous and... he came around the house the other day, pretending to be walking his dog. David’s been taking Sergeant out in the evening for a run. He never asks me to go with him, he knows I hate jogging. This guy came looking for David.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Yes I do!”

“Then you need to talk to David. Tell him what you’re thinking,” Des said firmly. “I think you’ll find he has a good explanation and that your imagination’s been playing with you.

David would never do anything like that.”

“He loves you, man,” Trevor said. “You know he does.”

“Then why doesn’t he come home anymore? Why does he avoid being in bed with me? Why did he lie to me?”

Des squeezed Chris’s hands. “Ask him. It’s not fair to think this, if you won’t talk to him about it—”

“Fair?” Chris could hear the shrillness in his own voice as rage took over. “
Fair
? What’s fair about him fucking some little L.A. BONEYARD
153

twinkie who has more in common with him than I ever could?

This guy’s a cop, for God’s sake. Someone who can share David’s worst nightmare and understand it. I can never do that, as long as I live.”

Des drew him against his chest, pressing his smooth cheek against Chris’s wet one. “Shh, hon. Don’t make yourself sick with these thoughts. Talk to David. Or if you want, I’ll talk to him. Do you want me to do that—”

Trevor shook his blond head. “Not a good idea, hon. This is between Chris and David—”