L.A. Boneyard

by P. A. Brown

  He looked across at Jairo. “Start drafting a warrant for the Leland address. We’re looking for anything that might suggest a crime. Phone messages, notes, bills, address books, journals, whatever we can find. We can get trace in there, too. Run it by me before you submit it.”

  Jairo nodded and turned to his keyboard.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wednesday, 6:20 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles The dog and the cat had declared a truce of sorts. David found Sweeney in his usual spot on his pillow. Sergeant scrambled off the bed as soon as he entered the room, looking guilty.

  “Busted,” David said. The dog smiled at him. “You learning all your bad habits from Chris? Cut it out.”

  David changed into a sweatshirt. It still got cool at night, too cool for a T-shirt. He paused to give the cat some much needed attention, knowing what it was like to feel left out. Finally he trotted downstairs, Sergeant at his heels. The cat watched them go with disdain.

  At the front door, David slipped his running shoes on and grabbed Sergeant’s leash. He threw the front door open just as Jairo pulled up to the curb. Popeye raced across the lawn before Jairo could get the leash on him. The two dogs greeted each other enthusiastically. It didn’t take Jairo long to get his dog leashed, and they set off for the park. There were more people out this early. Several had dogs. David noticed again that a lot of them, especially if they were walking small dogs, seemed apprehensive around Sergeant. Nobody had a problem with the big, goofy Popeye.

  “Stereotypes,” Jairo said. “Guess you know all about those.”

  At David’s look he added, “Big macho cop who couldn’t possibly be gay. Even when he is.”

  “Let’s just run,” David snapped.

  An hour later, back at the house, Jairo followed David to the front door.

  “Can I get a drink of water?”

  96 P.A. Brown

  David studied the younger man for several seconds. Finally he held the door open. “Sure, follow me.”

  He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and handed it to Jairo, who stared at the label. “You know they say this stuff is bad for you.”

  “How’s that?” David asked.

  “It’s not as pure as the makers tell you. Lot of hype.

  Basically just tap water.”

  “You don’t have to drink it, you know.”

  Jairo grunted and twisted the top off, guzzling half of the cold liquid in one long gulp. He smacked his lips. “Now that hits the spot.”

  Sweeney entered the kitchen, stopped when he saw the stranger. Jairo and the cat stared at each other for several heartbeats. “You’re the killer cat.”

  “That’s him,” David said.

  Jairo stooped down to pet the animal. Sweeney moved smoothly away from the hand, sitting haughtily just out of reach. “Guess I got put in my place.”

  “It’s not personal,” David said. “It’s just you.”

  “I can take a hint.” This time Jairo rubbed Sergeant’s head and the dog fawned against him. “Now who’s a good boy,” he said, grinning at David. He put the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. “See you in the morning.”

  “Get to work on that warrant. I’d like to present it to the judge by end of day, if possible. I’m going to work on the Lieutenant about getting the Halyna case rolled over into ours.

  It ties in with it.”

  “What’s your probable cause for the warrant?”

  “ID on the one woman by the tattoo artist. Missing roommate of same woman. DNA match imminent. The tattoos. The pregnancies.”

  “You can’t know the missing woman is our DB.”

  “We go on the assumption. The women are missing, and we’ve got three bodies to account for.”

  L.A. BONEYARD 97

  David was thoughtful when he shut and locked the door behind Jairo and Popeye. Maybe this partnership would work out after all. Jairo was sharp, no doubt there. If he would just focus on his job, they could prove a productive team. They’d both benefit.

  At nine he popped a beer open and settled in front of the TV to watch The Green Berets. He wasn’t a big war movie buff, but anything with John Wayne was just fine with him. He thought of Jairo’s cutting remark about stereotypes, and wondered just where he fit in that. Most of his life he’d done his best to deny what he was. It was easier to hide it than face the loathing and ridicule of his peers. But now he didn’t have the comfort of the closet, not with Chris in his life, and the whole world knowing what he was. The media had done its usual brilliant job of dismantling his cover. Chris made it worthwhile. Most of the time. Still, there were times he thought life would be simpler if he didn’t have to live in the public eye.

  But it was a moot point. There was no putting that genie back in its bottle.

  Jairo was already at his desk when David arrived the next day. He barely looked up from his laptop to nod, then bent back over his work. His fingers flew over the keyboard. Finally he hit a last key, and leaned back with a grunt. David slipped off his jacket and draped it over his chair. He logged into his own computer, and put the finishing touches on the daily report for Lieutenant McKee.

  “That’s it, then,” Jairo said.

  Before David could say anything he jumped up and headed for the squad room printer. When he came back, he handed several sheets to David.

  “Tell me how this looks.”

  David skimmed the warrant. Then he grabbed a pen, and read it through more closely, slashing and burning as he went.

  Two years of pre-law always came in handy when he wrote up warrants. He handed the heavily marked up papers back to a scowling Jairo. “Not bad, for a first attempt.”

  98 P.A. Brown

  Jairo took the proffered pages and bent back over his laptop, muttering under his breath. This time the revised warrant passed David’s muster. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and stood.

  “Let me see the Lieutenant, then we can go find a judge about getting this signed.”

  McKee nodded through David’s carefully thought out recital. Finally he picked up his phone and called Central.

  Several minutes of back and forth and he hung up, a smug look on his face. “It’s all yours, Detective. I hope this is a positive move for us. I’d hate to get saddled with a 60-dayer that we asked for.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sitting judge signing warrants that week read through their request. “You have a positive ID on the woman,” he peered through reading glasses at the name, “Halyna Stakchinko?”

  “Yes, your Honor, we do.”

  “And you want to search her residence for signs of foul play?”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  The judge nodded and pursed his lips. “You’ll be taking a crime scene technician with you, I assume.”

  “Two, I think,” David said. “A serology tech, and a trace guy. Plus we need to take those tapes in and the writing for translation. I want to run them by a Russian language expert.”

  The judge looked at the warrant again. “I’ll agree, with the exception of the Bible. I see no probable cause to take that.

  You don’t know who the Bible belongs to, do you?”

  “No, your Honor, not at this time—”

  “Then there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy. I won’t allow it to be seized at this time. Bring me more evidence and we’ll revisit the search warrant.”

  David wanted to disagree, but knew he’d be wasting his time. He could only hope more evidence would show up at the L.A. BONEYARD 99

  apartment to extend the warrant. He wanted to have a look at that book. But more important, he wanted to get someone under the house, into that crawl space. He nodded.

  “Fine, your Honor.”

  The judge made a notation on the document, signed the papers and handed them off to David, who passed them to Jairo. “Let’s go call SID.”

  David had Jairo call the landlord and let him know they were coming back out, and this time they had a warrant
. Jairo called and after he hung up, he grinned at David.

  “That is one unhappy camper.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t know if he’s more upset having us make him let us in, or of losing two tenants.”

  “Did he give the impression he thought the women were in trouble?”

  “No, he still seemed pretty shocked by the whole idea. You think he’s involved?”

  “Do you?”

  Jairo thought about it for several seconds then shook his sleek head. “Nah, he’s too ingenuous. He liked them, as well as any landlord can like their tenants. Besides, he’s got no reason to harm them.”

  “Unless he was the father of those babies.”

  Jairo smirked. “If they were as hot as the tattoo artist said can you imagine them letting that little twerp get to first base, let alone home.”

  “I’ve seen stranger things,” David growled. In Chris’s orbit he didn’t qualify as much more than a “twerp.” He still wondered sometimes what Chris saw in him. Not that he’d ever talk about that kind of thing with this guy, no matter his sympathies.

  David’s cell rang. He flipped it open. It was his translator, an Officer Stefan Konstatinov. “My lieutenant says I am all yours 100 P.A. Brown

  as long as you need me,” Konstatinov said in a light, barely perceptible accent. “What exactly are we dealing with?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’ve got some handwritten notes and a couple of answering machine messages. Two roommates missing, at least one presumed to be the victim of foul play. We don’t have an ID on our second victim yet, or the third one.”

  “Three?” Konstatinov said. “All Russian?”

  “Don’t know that either. I’m hoping you can help us figure that out. We’ve got a search warrant for the house, the landlord’s meeting us there later today. You look and tell us what you think.” David rattled off the address.

  “I will be there,” Konstatinov said and rang off.

  “One down, two to go,” David said. He picked up his landline.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thursday, 11:45 AM, Leland Way, Hollywood Larson met them on the front veranda of the Craftsman house. His weasel eyes darted between the six people who crowded onto the small concrete porch. He stared at the kits the two technicians carried, then met David’s eyes.

  “Please tell me what you think happened here. Are the girls in trouble?”

  “I’m afraid it might be worse than that, Mr. Larson.” David drew the image of the bridge toss victim out and handed it to the landlord. “Is this your tenant?”

  Larson went pale and swallowed convulsively. “Y-yes, that’s her. What the hell happened to her?”

  “She was murdered,” David said.

  “By who?”

  “That’s what we hope to find out.”

  With more alacrity than he had shown earlier, Larson let them into the house. It was just as gloomy and airless as it had been the first time. David immediately crossed to the answering machine. Bingo. Another message.

  Before he signaled Konstatinov over, he set the warrant out on the nearly empty kitchen table. Then he pointed at the blinking answering machine. “Can you translate?”

  Konstatinov played the messages. The third one sounded like a different voice than the first two. Guttural and harsh, like that of a heavy smoker. Konstatinov nodded when all three had played.

  “Not Russian,” he said. “Ukrainian. You’re in luck, I speak both. My mother married a Ukrainian man.”

  “So what are they saying?”

  102 P.A. Brown

  “The first one talks of their first meeting with the one called Zuzanna. He wants to know if her friend will join them next time. The next message is from the same man. He’s angry because Zuzanna didn’t show up for their ‘date.’”

  David glanced at Larson who was avidly listening to the conversation. He stepped between Larson and Konstatinov.

  “Sir,” he said. “This is a police matter now. I promise I’ll return the key to you when we’re done.”

  Larson didn’t want to go, but David didn’t give him the option. He threw one last glance at the answering machine, then he handed David the house key and slipped outside. David glanced at Jairo.

  “Secure the place, okay? Don’t let anyone in.”

  Jairo nodded.

  “Okay,” David said to Konstatinov, “So the first two are the same man. Any name given?”

  “He called himself Johnny,” Konstatinov said. “But I doubt that is his real name.”

  “Maybe a job description,” Jairo said. “Were the two hookers?” When David threw him a look, he headed toward the front door.

  “Bible reading hookers?” David muttered. “Guess it wouldn’t be the first time. What was the third message?”

  “That the two had better be ready when he came to get them. It was time, he said.”

  “Time for what?” David asked.

  “He didn’t say,” Konstatinov said.

  While Konstatinov listened to all three messages again, the two other technicians began to set up for their tests. The sixth man lugged around his 3D Leica camera. The evidence technician was a lanky red-headed woman, who sported a frizzy afro under her sterile cap, took out a mini vacuum, and carried it into the first bedroom. The serology technician, already suited up in protective clothing, popped the evidence kit open and prepped his Bluestar solution. Once done, he went around L.A. BONEYARD 103

  closing all the curtains and plunging the room into darkness; he lingered in the living room. He couldn’t do his tests until the other tech was done. David brought a flashlight out and used it to provide light. Jairo reentered the room.

  Konstatinov began to go through the various notes David had spotted the day before. They tagged each one into evidence, then moved on to the odd shrine in the east corner. David shone his light into the corner.

  “It’s a postina, an ikon corner,” Konstatinov said, pointing at various items on the wall and the table, which David promptly directed the photographer to get. “That’s an ikon of St.

  Nicholas, a crucifix” He indicated a wooden cross beside the crucifix, and the red and white embroidered towel draped over several religious images on the wall. “A blessing cross, and a rushnyk—probably embroidered by one of the girls. Most Ukrainian women pride themselves on their skills. Looks like nyzynka, an embroidery technique used in the Chernihiv region, in northern Ukraine. They’re famous for their very simple red and white rushnyky. That figure is a BEREHENYA, a goddess.

  All those little images around it are symbols of the goddess.

  Mostly fertility related. The hanging lamp is a lampadka. It would be filled with oil and lit at special times.”

  “Which all implies some pretty strong devotion, doesn’t it?

  Would women like that really be prostitutes?” Jairo seemed skeptical, whether of the dead woman’s devotion or of her profession.

  “They might, if they weren’t given a choice,” David said.

  “Prostitution is rarely the victimless crime the social liberals claim.”

  Konstatinov nodded. “A lot of Ukrainian women find themselves forced into slavery against their will. They are tricked with promises of lucrative jobs in America. Only when they are smuggled into the country do they learn that the ‘job’ is servicing men or working illegal peep shows where they do much more than put on shows.”

  “So why kill them?” Jairo asked no one in particular.

  104 P.A. Brown

  “Good question. Not a very sound business move,” David said. “So there’s something more going on here.”

  “Maybe they tried to break free,” Konstatinov said.

  David had trouble believing that. “From everything we’ve heard about these two, they were very beautiful. That makes them a valuable commodity. Not something you throw away over a little rebellion. Not when there are ways to ensure their cooperation. Holding their babies would be enough to ensure most women cooperated
.”

  “Or threats to the families they left behind,” Konstatinov said.

  “Okay,” Jairo said. “Then what happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when I figure it out,” David said.

  Konstatinov stooped and picked up the half embroidered cloth in his gloved hand and held it up to the light. It had more of the odd lettering on it. “It says CHRISTOS VOSKRE S, or Christ is risen. It’s an Easter basket cover. It would have been put over a woven basket following church on Easter day. The basket would have had a ham, kolbassy, a round loaf of homemade Paska bread, salt, a few nice pastries, maybe some wine, and of course a decorated egg.”

  “So they were getting ready for Easter. That’s when?” David pulled his Rolex out and checked the date. “Sorry, when is Easter this year?”

  “April 24th,” Konstatinov said. “But the Russian Orthodox Easter is a week later.”

  The serology technician poked his head out of the bedroom.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  The three men broke off their conversation and headed for the back room. When they entered, the flashlight was flicked off and the alternate light source was turned on. Once sprayed, the Bluestar would react to blood and glow in the light. No amount of cleaning could completely remove the stuff.

  The room looked like a slaughter house.

  L.A. BONEYARD 105

  Actually it looked like a funhouse freak show where someone had splashed the horror house with Day-Glo paint.

  The walls glowed with an eerie blue light, and David saw the pillow was stained with fluids, though everything had looked pristine in the daylight. The photographer worked feverishly, knowing the Bluestar effect would only last a short while, though unlike luminol, the tests could be done again and again without degrading the blood being sampled. The presumptive test done, the serology tech began the confirmatory tests which would corroborate the substance was indeed blood and whether it was human. Then the typing would be done, and samples for DNA testing taken. It was all very labor intensive, and David knew it might be weeks before they got the results back. He felt a surge of anger that whoever had done this was not only still out there, but could kill again, and they couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him, until they could figure out who he was.