Visible Threat (12 page)

30

M
AGDA PACED
her small office, which was a confined achievement. Two steps one direction and one and a half the other. She’d called the detectives named on the card and now awaited their arrival. She’d also told Simon about the note and immediately regretted it. Afterward it took a good thirty minutes trying to calm him down.

The detective she spoke to was pleasant but wouldn’t say what they wanted over the phone, so there was nothing Magda could tell Simon to put him at ease. Back home, Magda had considered all police to be corrupt, either in one organization’s pocket or another’s. A well-placed contribution in Varna would make just about any problem go away. But here in America, she’d tried to avoid that which she didn’t understand, and that meant avoiding contact with the local authorities.

She remembered talking to Long Beach Police detectives after her husband’s beating and the break-in at their home. They all seemed helpful, concerned, but she knew they could
never get to Demitri before Demitri could assassinate her entire family, so she’d stayed quiet. One of them seemed to sense she was holding back information, but he’d never threatened or frightened her in any way like a Bulgarian officer might have.

Sighing, she stepped out into the showroom and stood by the window. They’d be here soon, and then, as the Americans said, for Magda it would be showtime.

*   *   *

“I’ve found one entry on our database for the shopkeeper, Magda Boteva,” Ben said as he and Jack prepared to leave for Shoreline Village.

“What’s that? A traffic ticket?”

“Nope, a home invasion robbery from two years ago. It’s still open. Want to walk down to robbery and see if they remember it? Welty was the primary.”

“Darryl Welty?” Jack asked, happy with the news. Welty was one heck of an investigator. He’d be able to give them good insight on this Magda if he’d spoken to her after the robbery.

“Yep. You ready?”

“Let’s go.”

They took the stairs down to the robbery office and found Detective Welty at his desk.

“Black Sea Folk Art and Collectibles.” Welty sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Good-looking Bulgarian woman, Magda. She kind of reminded me of Angelina Jolie in a mature, understated way. I remember that case.” He turned
to his computer and punched up a screen that allowed him to recall crime reports. In a few minutes all three detectives were scanning the narrative of a home invasion robbery report.

“Seems Mrs. Boteva came home from work to find her house ransacked. Some jewelry missing but not worth enough money for all the damage that was done. The worst of it were her two kids and her husband, Anton. He was severely beaten, then left in the living room trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey. The kids
 
—twins, as I recall
 
—were tied up and shoved into a closet. I think they were seven or eight at the time.”

“Sexual assault?” Ben asked.

Welty shook his head. “No. In fact, other than being scared to death, the kids weren’t hurt. The husband took the brunt of it. He was whipped with a belt; it laid his back open. But the attackers wore masks and never said a word.”

“Leads?”

“Zip.” Darryl held his hands out, palms up. “I always thought that scene looked more like a shakedown than a robbery.”

“Shakedown? You mean, because of her business?” Jack asked.

“Maybe.” Welty frowned. “It resembled a couple of cases I handled up on Anaheim, in the Vietnamese district. Asian gangs were shaking down merchants for protection money. They’d go after families all the time. You remember we had a rash of home invasions there. This Magda was so frightened. I had the feeling she knew more than she was willing to tell us.”

“I’d be frightened too, if I came home and found my husband beat up and my kids traumatized,” Jack observed.

“It was more than that. I’d have bet money she knew who was responsible for the crime. But whoever it was had accomplished what he wanted
 
—scared her enough to keep her mouth shut.”

“Did you look into the intimidation angle? Check to see if there was evidence she was being extorted?”

“Whenever I had time, for about a year after, I went back to that case. I looked at every lead I could. Her business is clean, on the up-and-up. Whatever the beating was about, it had nothing to do with that. What’s going on with her now?”

“Her shop is connected to a homicide because of a piece of cloth we found at the crime scene. Nothing rock solid, though. Then there’s the nationality angle.” Jack explained about the dead girl.

Darryl rubbed his chin. “As I recall, Magda had a young Bulgarian girl working for her. Immigrant communities generally do stick together, so you might be on the right track. Just remember: over there, the cops are no better than mobsters. Pressing hard will get you nowhere. Time for good cop/good cop.”

*   *   *

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Ben said as he and Jack drove to Shoreline Village.

“Just thinking about what Darryl said.”

“About Magda and the break-in?”

“That, and about how Ivana was so scared of me and
Chuck. Both women come from a totally different culture. Like Darryl said, the cops are corrupt in a lot of those post-Communist countries. I hear the Mafia or the Eastern European equivalent has a lot of power over there. That angle might be playing here.”

“Bulgarian Mafia?”

Jack hiked his shoulders. “I think we need to consider it as a possibility. And be prepared for this woman to play it close to the vest. If the mob is involved in some way, she’d sure have a reason to be frightened.”

“I guess you’re right. Unfortunately something else just popped into my head. Human trafficking would be just the kind of thing a Mafia-type organization would be involved with.”

“And if Ivana ran away from the Mafia . . .”

“I’m way ahead of you. I’ll call Chuck.”

31

M
AGDA SAW THEM
get out of their car. Police detectives obviously, they were both tall and professional looking in suits and ties. She could tell they were armed, and she fought the rising panic in her chest. Glancing around the shop, she was happy for once there were no customers at the moment. Laura, her morning clerk, was busy dusting. She had been born and raised in Long Beach and had shown no alarm whatsoever when Magda had told her the police were visiting.

I should take my cue from her,
Magda thought.
She doesn’t fear these detectives; maybe I shouldn’t either.

“Laura, it looks like the police are here,” she said.

An instant later the bell on the door jingled as the two officers walked through.

“We will be back in my office,” Magda said. Laura nodded, and Magda turned to the officers. “Detectives O’Reilly and Carney, I presume?”

The taller one with dark-reddish hair answered. “Yes, I’m Jack O’Reilly, and this is my partner, Ben Carney.”
They shook hands all around, and Magda found it hard to meet their eyes. In particular, O’Reilly’s piercing gaze had such a searching look, she was certain he could see right through her.

“Can we go into my office? It’s small but more private than talking out here in the shop.”

The two men nodded and followed her back to her tiny office space.

Magda braced for their questions. “I will admit your call surprised me,” she said as she sat, working hard to keep her tone light and unaffected. “How could I possibly help the police?”

“We’ve come across a few coincidences with a case we’re working that originate in Bulgaria,” O’Reilly said. “And since you import from Bulgaria and other parts of Eastern Europe, we’re hoping you might help us clarify some things.” He set a briefcase on her desk and clicked it open. “We found this at the scene of a crime.” He held up a plastic bag containing a dirty piece of cloth.

Magda didn’t have to take the bag or look closely; she knew what it was. The pattern, the colors, were unique to handwoven blankets she purchased in Varna, from a woman who worked for Demitri. There were none in stock now, but she knew that if she’d gotten blankets from the woman, so had Demitri. Her throat tightened as panic threatened to destroy her facade. She moved her hands to her lap, where the officers couldn’t see them shake.

“Yes, I know it. I have sold such blankets in the store.” She worked hard to keep her voice level. Neither neutral face
gave any clue about the crime that involved the blanket or what her admission might mean to them. She saw nothing.

“Is there any way to trace the sales of these blankets?” the one named Carney asked.

Magda shook her head. “I don’t see how. These blankets are made by an old woman. Each one is different; they are only marked with a flimsy ‘Made in Bulgaria’ tag. And I don’t charge much for blankets like this. It’s not unusual for me to give one away when someone makes a large purchase.”

She watched as the detectives exchanged glances. Beneath her desk her fingernails dug into her palms.

“I also have some photos I’d like you to look at.” O’Reilly laid the plastic bag on her desk, and Magda could clearly see what looked like blood on the fabric. When he placed a photo in front of Magda, she nearly screamed.

“Is that young woman . . .
dea
d
?” She felt the color drain from her face and hoped the detectives took it as shock at the photo and nothing else.

“Do you know her?”

Frantically Magda shook her head. A half-truth. She’d seen the girl with Demitri, but she never knew her name. “No, no. But what has happened to her? She looks brutalized.” She jerked her eyes from the photo.

“We pulled her out of the river. Look closely, please. We have no idea what her name is, and she is a Bulgarian national.”

Magda couldn’t and didn’t even try to conceal her surprise at that statement. How could a dead girl tell them where she was from?

“Bulgarian? How do you know this?”

“Actually, dental work told us. She was obviously a poor girl who saw dentists with limited resources. The plastic crowns gave it away. Look again at the photo,” he prompted gently.

Reluctantly Magda lowered her eyes to the photo. After a long moment, she looked up again. “No, I don’t know who she is.”

“She also had a unique tattoo on her hip. I wonder if you’ve ever seen anything like this.” He placed a picture of the rose tattoo Magda knew Demitri had designed. Her throat tightened. The day he’d shown it to her, he’d told her he marked all his girls with it. It was his brand, he’d bragged.

“I’ve seen this before,” she began, not certain she could tell a bald-faced lie without giving something away. She might get away with another half-truth. “Back home, I think, but I’m not certain.”

Again, the detectives exchanged glances.

“We have another photo to show you. This girl is alive. If you read the papers, you might have seen an article about her.” O’Reilly fished around in his briefcase.

Here it comes,
Magda thought, and she decided to face this head-on. “Are you speaking about the girl from the river? I read a short paragraph about her.”

“Yes,” O’Reilly said, sliding a third photo toward her.

Magda forced a concerned frown across her brow as she looked down at the photo. A young girl with pale-blonde hair and frightened blue eyes stared back at her.

“How is this girl related to the other . . . uh, the first girl you showed me?” she asked, hoping her face looked legitimately confused.

“They are both Bulgarian, and they both have the same tattoo,” Detective Carney said. “Have you ever seen this girl?”

“No.” This time there was no lie in Magda’s answer. She had never seen this girl, but if she had Demitri’s tattoo, she was certain this was the girl who had escaped from Simon.

“Well, thank you for your time. If you can remember exactly where you saw that tattoo before, or anything else you think might help, will you call us?” O’Reilly asked. Magda nodded, and he continued. “Do you mind if we show the photos to your clerk? Perhaps she might have seen one of the girls in your shop or know something about the tattoo.”

“No, I don’t mind. If Laura can help you, I would be grateful.” Slowly Magda’s panic subsided.

“Is she your only clerk?” Carney asked. “Do you have a clerk here who is Bulgarian?”

Again Magda worked to hide her surprise. “I have a total of five clerks, and yes, one is Bulgarian. But Anka is out of town right now.” She sucked in a breath, thankful they would not be able to speak to Anka right away. “I can give you all their names if you need them.”

“We will,” O’Reilly said.

He and Carney asked her a few more questions about clientele and the local Bulgarian community while she wrote down the names and phone numbers of her clerks for them. Magda relaxed under that type of scrutiny. She knew nothing about a Bulgarian community in California, if there was one. When she’d moved to California with her family, she’d thrown herself into assimilating. Magda wanted to be American. It was the only subject she and Anton argued
about.
“Be proud of your heritage,”
he’d say.
“It will be important to our children someday.”
It wasn’t that Magda hated Bulgaria; it was more that she wanted to embrace all that was American and instill in her children an appreciation of the optimism and opportunity she’d found in this great country.

She did breathe easier when O’Reilly pushed the piece of blanket back into his briefcase and closed it, leaving only the photos out.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, and he and his partner headed out to speak to Laura.

Magda could only nod. Later, alone with her thoughts, she realized how gentle and professional the officers had been. There was no threat or implied threat in their interview, no hint that they wanted money.

Perhaps I can trust them,
she thought. She tried to think of some way to get back to them, to implicate Demitri without in any way implicating herself.
I know now is my chance. And it may be my only one. I can’t waste it.

32

T
HE NEXT DAY,
Brinna and her mother arrived at the hospital a little before eleven thirty. They’d stopped by Rose’s church and picked up an assortment of clothing. Brinna had been amazed at the selection of clothes. She’d expected a bunch of ratty hand-me-downs but found instead a lot of trendy fashions. Some even had the price tags still attached. Ivana would be pleasantly surprised, she thought.

As they waited for the elevator, Brinna took a deep breath and made a difficult decision. The anger she’d felt after hearing about Rick had faded and been replaced with bitter guilt and regret.

“Mom, I’ll meet you upstairs. I want to stop by and check on Rick, okay?” She didn’t turn to face her mom, not wanting to see the sympathy there. The last thing Brinna wanted was to enter Rick’s room choked up and teary. She’d kept her emotions in check while around her mom, and she certainly wasn’t going to break down in front of Rick.

“A good idea, I think,” Rose said. “Don’t rush your visit.
You know that I have a lot of clothes for Ivana to try on, and it will probably take a while for her to decide what she wants to wear.”

The elevator arrived, and Brinna hit floor number two for her and five for her mother. When she got off on two, there were several officers in the main waiting room
 
—some in uniform and some in plain clothes. Brinna recognized most of them as guys from Rick’s academy class. They were huddled over paperwork on a table, working on something. Jack had mentioned there was already a plan in place to make Rick’s house wheelchair accessible.

That kind of thing was common in the police force. When an officer was hurt on duty, people stepped up to the plate quickly. Guys offered up whatever skills they had to make life easier for a wounded fellow officer. It was something that made Brinna very proud to wear the blue suit. Absentmindedly she fiddled with her cast, realizing she wouldn’t be able to help with any manual labor.
I’ll have to think of some other way to help,
she thought.

“Is he up for visitors?” Brinna asked one of the guys.

He nodded. “I think so. His wife is in there. His brother went out to get some lunch.”

Brinna thanked him and walked down the hallway to room 243. Though the door was open, she knocked on the doorframe before entering. A female voice told her to come in.

Rick wore a thick brace, much like a body cast. What Brinna could see encased his chest up to his armpits and then disappeared under the blanket. His shoulders were bare and visible above the blanket. He was hooked up to various IVs
and monitors, but his expression was calm, peaceful.
Drugs?
Brinna wondered.

She cleared her throat. “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”

Rick’s wife, Molly, was seated by the bed. They both smiled.

“Just laying around, Brin.” In spite of his confinement, Rick’s voice sounded strong and confident. “Actually, I’m doing well. I’ve gotten more feeling back in my arms, and most of the scrapes and bruises are healing.” Brinna watched as Rick bent his elbows and wiggled his fingers.

Brinna grinned, hoping it didn’t look plastic. “Great news!”

“I’ll come back; I promise,” he said. “Iraq didn’t get me. Neither will the San Gabriel riverbank.”

She cleared her throat, wondering at his upbeat demeanor. Jack had said the paralysis was permanent. Was he mistaken?

“I love hearing the confidence in your voice. How are you holding up, Molly?” Brinna stopped at the foot of the bed, meeting Molly’s gaze.

“I have my husband. We can work through just about anything as long as we’re together.” She smiled and squeezed Rick’s shoulder.

“I’m gratified you guys are so positive . . .” Brinna felt her throat clog and coughed to clear it. The guilty emotions she fought so hard to keep back threatened to overflow. “I wanted to . . . Well, gosh, Rick, I feel a lot responsible for what happened. I, uh
 
—”

Rick stopped her with a wave of his hand. A frown crossed his brow. “Stop it. This wasn’t your fault. I wanted to save
that girl as much as you did. And we did. I’m proud of that. I have no regrets. Not one bit of regret.”

Brinna couldn’t speak or move, she was so afraid she’d lose it. He’d be confined for the rest of his life, and he didn’t regret it.

Molly spoke up. “God has his hand in everything
 
—we have to believe that. Nothing facing us will be easy, but we’ll get through it and something good will come out of this.”

Brinna nodded and wiped her eye with her good hand. She remembered Maggie talking about Rick and Molly going to church. She hadn’t known that they were in the same league as her mother and Jack. But maybe that was a good thing. After all, their life from now on would never be the same, and her mother always said that faith helps people through the tough times.

According to Jack, a good God could make Molly and Rick stronger through this.
I hope that’s what I’m seeing. They will need one another for the challenges they’ll face in the future.

“Do you need anything?” she asked when she trusted herself to speak. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She held up her cast. “I’m off work for a while, so I’ve got some free time.”

“Thanks for the offer.” Molly exchanged glances with Rick and then continued. “If we think of something, we’ll ask. But the chief has released Maggie to hang out with us, watch the kids, that kind of thing. She’s been a big help.”

“By the way, where is Maggie?” She’d tried to call Maggie that morning; maybe that was why her friend hadn’t answered.

“Babysitting,” Molly said. “The boys are too young to
be allowed up here to see Rick right now. It’s good knowing they’re in Maggie’s hands.”

“Maggie loves kids.” Brinna smiled. Maybe her friend wasn’t mad at her after all.

“Hey, how’s the girl?” Rick asked.

“She’s doing okay. Her name is Ivana,” Brinna explained. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. This is confidential, but she’s going to stay with my mom while we sort out her situation and wait for a spot in a shelter.”

“I guess she’s a pretty brave kid,” Rick observed. “Maggie said she’d been trafficked here and ran away from a house where she was forced into prostitution. She’s ready to leave the hospital?”

“Yes. Mom’s upstairs with her now.”

Rick’s upper body shifted in bed and he frowned. “I can’t blame her for jumping in the river. Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“I’d like to meet her, put a face to the victim, and pray for her. When you think she’s up to it, will you ask her if she’ll come talk to me?”

Shrugging, Brinna could think of no reason to say no. “Sure. Right now she’s wary of men; she’s only opened up to women. She has about zero trust in the police. Once she learns she can trust us, I’ll ask her.”

“Great.” Rick flashed a smile.

Brinna visited for a few more minutes, listening as Molly and Rick described the medical plan for him. When she left the room, bewilderment creased her brow. She seemed to feel
worse about Rick’s paralysis than he did. His life as he knew it was over, so how could he possibly have a positive outlook? She needed to speak to Maggie and hoped her friend would eventually return her calls.