L.A. Boneyard (29 page)

the brightest bulb in the drawer. Maybe his boss had been the brains of the outfit.

McKee came by his desk. “How’s Detective Hernandez doing? Things working out with him?”

“Fine,” David said stiffly, not knowing what else he could say. “He’s got some rough edges, but I think if he buckles down he’ll be an asset.” He couldn’t meet McKee’s eyes, but he could hardly tell the guy the truth, could he? All that would do was smear both him and Jairo.

“Rough edges?” McKee said. “I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Speaking of which, how is Martinez these days? Haven’t heard from his new commander. Don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Long as they don’t try to hang on to him.”

“Don’t worry, I want him back too. Don’t tell him I said this, but Martinez is a good cop. I think Hernandez could be too. Given time.”

“Time makes us all good cops.”

“Wish that were true,” McKee said. “Wish that were true.”

And went back to his office where David could see him pick up his phone.

David met with DeSoto over lunch and went over her proposed offer. Mikalenko was going to have kittens when he saw it. David raised his eyebrows as he handed the document back to her.

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“I’m giving him one chance to save his miserable ass. He knows it, this just puts it in black and white even his lawyer will understand.” Off his puzzled look she added, “I’ve known Fishburn for years. Let’s just say the gentleman makes real sharks look like a kinder and gentler species.”

After lunch DeSoto offered to take David out to the county lockup to see Mikalenko. “I’ve already talked to Fishburn and he’s expecting us.”

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“Sure. I’m just waiting for Jairo to check in over some lead he’s got. I’ll let McKee know where I am so if anything comes up he can get in touch with me.”

That done, they drove out together in DeSoto’s silver Beemer. DeSoto proved chatty once they set work aside, and he soon learned she was recently divorced, and had two children, both in private school in Brentwood. She had heard about Chris and asked if that was still ongoing. He muttered what he hoped was a non-committal reply. He wasn’t yet ready to admit to his own “divorce in progress,” still hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

Fishburn met them outside the glass doors, smoking agitatedly. He did not look happy. DeSoto greeted him effusively.

“Ready, counselor?”

“Maybe we should establish some ground rules.” Fishburn stubbed out his cigarette in one of the stone receptacles flanking the doors, as though he was still calling the shots.

“What ground rules might that be? We’ve got your client nailed on this one. If he admits to that, we’ll be off to a good start. Otherwise I might feel less inclined to deal.”

“He has good information that will help your case.”

“If he can prove that, then I’m ready to listen.”

It started out bad and went downhill from there. Mikalenko was hostile and argumentative one minute and conciliatory the next. He still didn’t seem to grasp the simple fact that he had lost this round. David almost enjoyed watching him crash and burn. But it was exhausting: giving him yards of rope, and watching him run with it, only to be reeled in like a hooked bluefin. And still he fought.

Finally even DeSoto seemed to have enough. She slapped the agreement on the table loud enough to make Mikalenko jump. Fishburn didn’t move. His eyes remained pinned to DeSoto as though he had already foreseen this move.

“We’re done, counselor,” she said. “Either your client agrees to the rules or we walk.”

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“Okay, okay, I will sign your paper. Is not important anymore.”

Mikalenko seemed genuinely resigned. He grabbed the pen out of his lawyer’s hand and scratched his signature on the legal agreement. Fishburn signed it too, and David acted as a witness.

Once the papers had been returned to DeSoto’s briefcase, she leaned back in her chair.

David produced the tape recorder they had brought with them.

“So start talking.”

“His name is Harmon Degrasses. He is not Ukrainian.”

Like that made it okay to drop the dime on him. Right now David frankly didn’t care. If Mikalenko was willing to rat him out, then David would be the cat who took him down.

“Where can we find this Degrasses?”

“He has taken a room in the Marriot.”

“Which one?”

“The big one, downtown.” Mikalenko refused to meet his gaze. David wrote the name and the hotel down. He’d check it out himself.

“I’ll be back, counselor. Better hope your client is telling the truth.”

“I tell you the truth.”

“What exactly is this guy’s role in all this?”

“He makes arrangements to bring girls into country.

Sometimes he gets them visas, but they are not allowed to use them. He keeps the visas, or sells them to other hungry women.

Ukraine is full of hungry women.”

And you’re right there feeding off their misery
. But David kept his thoughts to himself.

“How did you hook up with him?”

“What you mean, hook up?”

“How did you meet him? In Ukraine, or in the US?”

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“We meet in Odessa, on Black Sea. He was rich American on holiday.”

“Who brought up the idea of smuggling women out of Ukraine?”

“Was my idea, of course,” Mikalenko said. “Fat, bumbling American thought it would be funny to bring eager young Ukrainian women past American authority’s noses.”

“But you said he was the mastermind.”

“Pah,” Mikalenko dismissed the notion. “He was the money, that is all. Someone must have money to pay the officials, to buy the right papers and pay for girls to be taken to Mexico.

After that we must hire the, how you say, coyotes, so we can bring them into Los Angeles. These men must be watched.

They are not honorable and will take money and not deliver women.”

“No honor among thieves,” David said. Mikalenko completely missed the irony of the statement. He nodded sagely as though he was now talking to a cohort.

“They are thieves, and worse.”

“So you’ve met with Degrasses here in L.A.? Tell me what those meetings were like.”

Mikalenko grimaced. He clenched his fist, rattling the manacle that chained him to the table. “I met him first in Ukraine. He told me of some girls he knew who would like to come to America. He wanted to help them, he said. Then in December, two years ago, he instructed me to find a place where three or four girls could live. I rent the house in Hollywood and he brought the first of the girls to live there.”

“Give me names. Which girls?”

“Katrina was the first. After that Natalya, and Zuzanna.

Then Halyna.”

“Who got pregnant first?”

“That was Natalya. She was always stupid girl, always forgetting what she was told. But she was popular. The men
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love her. Childish. Simple. But once she started getting big with child, it was harder to find men who pay.”

“Why not just make her get rid of the baby?”

Mikalenko nodded. “I was going to, but then Degrasses says we can make money selling the babies. Rich Americans will pay to have beautiful Ukrainian baby.”

“How did you know the baby would be Ukrainian? What if the father was black, or Latino?”

“Bah.” Mikalenko dismissed the idea. “Our girls only go with white men. No man wants to touch a woman who has been with a colored.”

“I’m sure your customers appreciated your diligence.”

Mikalenko again missed the sarcasm in David’s tone.

“Did Natalya have her baby? What happened to it?”

“Yes, her baby was born, a son. We already had a family ready for it. The baby was taken from L.A., Natalya was told he was dead. I do not know where the family was from. Only that it was back East.”

“Would Degrasses know? Someone had to.”

“Yes, is likely he knew. Better an American make the contacts and negotiate price. They think a Ukrainian man cheating them.” Mikalenko looked put out by that, as though he was an upstanding business man and should be trusted.

“What else can you tell me about Degrasses?”

“He told me once he was a war hero. He was in the Iraq war, the Desert sand—”

“You mean Desert Storm? The Gulf War?”

“Yes, yes, that one. He made much of being a medal winner, he said the State Department would never suspect a decorated hero to be a smuggler. He was right, no one ever questioned him.”

This just got better and better. A decorated war hero, a vindictive human trafficking partner, three dead smuggling victims and three dead fetuses who never had any chance at life.

David itched to get his hands on Degrasses. But he knew the L.A. BONEYARD
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same things that had protected him from suspicion, would safeguard him against an investigation now.

David would have to tread softly here. He tapped the notebook in front of him. “I’m going to check out this guy. If he’s legit, then I’ll get back to you with more questions.”

“What you mean, legit? I tell truth—” Mikalenko protested.

“You will be scaring him away. Blowing me off.”

Nobody got more bent than a liar being called on his lies.

“I’m just going to confirm that indeed Degrasses is staying at the Marriott. I won’t let on I’m looking. I won’t blow your cover.”

Mikalenko stared at him several seconds then dropped his gaze into the lap of his orange jail house jumper. The manacles on his arms clanked as he shifted in his seat. When he spoke, his voice was full of melancholy. “I am dead man, either way.”

Was the guy fishing for sympathy? “I won’t let anything happen to you in jail.”

Mikalenko looked at his like he was a fool. Maybe he was.

“I am dead.”

“Well, let’s try to keep you alive a little while longer,” David said, not caring how callous that sounded. Only Mikalenko’s lawyer seemed to notice.

“If anything happens to him, you’ll be sure to hear from me.”

“I expect it, counselor.”

DeSoto dropped David back at the station. Once there he added notes about the interview to the murder book. Jairo was still out in the field. David wished he could talk to Chris. Chris would be able to go online and find out everything out there on this Degrasses character. Give David ammo for when he confronted the decorated war hero.

Then on the heels of that thought came another. Why not talk to Chris? He’d have a good reason. Chris would help. Even if he didn’t want David around, he wouldn’t want to let a guy like Degrasses off so easily. He would hate it as much as David
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that this guy thought he was above the law. The best part was, it would give David a chance to see Chris again. Maybe plead his case.

Before he could call, his landline rang. He scooped it up. It was a representative from Greyhound bus lines about his search for Natalya.

“The person Natalya Lapchuk purchased a one way ticket to New York that departed the Glendale station a week ago yesterday.”

Right around the time the bodies were discovered. “How long would such a trip take?”

“The average travel time is two days, eighteen hours.”

David thanked him and hung up. So Natalya had escaped.

Interesting. Had she known who the bodies in Griffith Park were?

Feeling lighter in heart, David called Chris’s BlackBerry. His nerve almost deserted him, but before it could, Chris answered.

He sounded cool and David’s heart sank. He plowed ahead anyway.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Yes?”

“It’s not about us,” David said quickly, trying to get it all out before Chris could disconnect. “It’s about something I’m working on. I need your help finding out about a guy I think is involved in something very bad.”

The coolness fell aside as Chris asked, “What kinds of things?”

“I’d rather not go into any detail, but it involves women forced into prostitution and smuggling. At least three of them are dead. So are the babies they were carrying.” He knew Chris’s sister had just had another baby, and it was as close as Chris would ever get to having his own kids. He loved his nieces and nephews.

“When do you want to meet?”

“Tonight? I’ll cook supper.”

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“You? You want to make barbecue?”

“No, I’ll pick up something else. I can cook, you know.”

“You learn something new every day. Sure come on over.

I’m working till around five-thirty. I’ll be home soon after that.”

“I’ll be there.”

Friday 5:55 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
David spent more time in Ralph’s Market in the meat aisle than he normally spent in the entire grocery store. But he wanted this meal to be perfect. Or as perfect as his non-cooking skills could make it. He finally settled on chicken and new fingerling potatoes, figuring you could hardly go wrong with chicken, and how hard could it be to roast potatoes? He saw Chris do it all the time.

Before heading over to Silver Lake, he grabbed a bottle of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc he knew Chris liked, and stopped at the florist again to get another dozen roses. Maybe this wasn’t a date, per se, but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to show Chris he still cared. Maybe he could get through to him before this went much further.

Chris and Sergeant met him at the door. Chris took the flowers and the wine and kissed David lightly before heading in to the kitchen to find a vase David had never seen before and pop the wine into the fridge.

“So what are you making me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Chris watched him unload the cloth sacks and raised his eyebrows. “A feast. You sure you don’t want any help?”

“I’m sure. Now go in the other room and have a glass of wine. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Chris backed out of the kitchen. Sergeant stayed behind. He stood beside David and occasionally would butt his head against David’s leg as though to assure himself David wasn’t going anywhere.

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David found the fresh herbs, oil and garlic he knew Chris always kept in the pantry. In twenty minutes he had the chicken in the oven and the potatoes ready.