L.A. Boneyard

by P. A. Brown

  The same routine was performed in the second bedroom. It was clean of any body fluids. The bathroom was next. It was another Day-Glo nightmare. Someone had tried to wash the sink, but enough residue remained to be clearly visible.

  “Clean out the trap,” David said. “And while you’re at it, check the shower drains too.”

  While that was being done David returned to the living room where Konstatinov was looking over the ikon corner.

  Jairo followed. Konstatinov glanced up at their entrance. He held up a letter-sized envelope.

  “I found this behind the Christo’s icon.” He flipped the unsealed flap open and showed David several large denomination bills. There was writing on the outside.

  “What does it say?”

  “MAMUHA.” Konstatinov touched the outer envelope.

  “Means momma.”

  David’s eyebrows shot up. “Did they know trouble was coming? They hid this to make sure someone wouldn’t find it.”

  “Not necessarily,” Konstatinov said. “Lot of people keep money in safekeeping by putting them in the backs of icons.

  Nothing sinister or hinky about it. My Baba does it all the 106 P.A. Brown

  time.” He looked shamefaced. “When we were little we used to borrow from it all the time.”

  Another possible angle shut down. David glanced at the Bible, but with it being off limits he didn’t dare ask Konstatinov to look through it. If the results of the search were as positive as David suspected they would be, he’d get an amendment on the warrant to include the Bible. He did point it out to Konstatinov, who read the front cover.

  “Looks like old Church Slavonic. It’s only used in the church services, kind of like Latin in the Roman Catholic church.”

  The trace technician came up to them. “Anything else you want me to sample?”

  “You got both bedrooms?” Jairo asked. He indicated the living room. “And in here?”

  “All done.”

  “The serologist will take care of the bathroom and kitchen, if needed. Then get the crawl space under the house. Don’t forget to get soil samples, as well as checking for fluids,” David said.

  The technician nodded and headed outside. Someone—

  Jairo?—had strung barrier tape up around the front of the house. A small crowd was now clustered on the front lawn.

  David spotted a couple of local reporters. If they saw him, they weren’t letting on. They crowded against the barrier tape and questioned neighbors, no doubt trying to get some inside dirt.

  He’d send Jairo out later to deflect them. Let him face the dragons. Then he’d find out what real man-eaters were like. He could use his considerable charms on them. Maybe he’d even get some of the publicity all Hollywood players seemed to crave.

  It took the better part of the day to finish up the small house. As he’d suspected, the crawl space showed signs that at least one body had been there at one point. The technician thought there might be enough DNA to figure out who once the samples were tested, probably weeks from now.

  L.A. BONEYARD 107

  Finally they wrapped it up. David pocketed the house keys, and the warrant that had sat out in plain view all day, and waited for everyone to file past him. The reporters had given up when no breaking news was forthcoming and no scandals were elicited by bored neighbors. Only a couple of area residents saw them leave.

  David locked up and followed Jairo to his unmarked. He cranked the window open and took a deep breath of exhaust laden air. The industrial stink coated the back of his tongue.

  “You want to grab a beer on the way home?” Jairo asked.

  “Can’t,” David said. “Got to take care of the dog. Besides, there’s a Lakers game on tonight.”

  “We could take it in at Leo’s.”

  “Sorry, can’t do that.”

  Jairo dropped it.

  David spent an hour at the station writing up his incident report. He logged on and added his files to Halyna Stakchinko’s murder book. Two other books sat on his desk, neither with names. He knew the two Jane Does were linked to Stakchinko, he just had to prove it. He hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew by requesting the case of the woman Chris had hit.

  At six he put everything back and signed off his PC.

  Grabbing his jacket he headed home. After feeding the dog and making sure everyone had water, he took a shower and browsed the fridge to see what was available. Usually if Chris knew he was going to be out of town he fixed up some easy meals that he left in the fridge for David. But this time there’d been no prep time. David had to fall back on his old stand by: a can of soup and some leftover French bread, toasted.

  His cell phone rang as he was putting on his Nikes. It was Jairo. “I’m just outside. You going running?”

  David looked down at Sergeant, already standing by the door. He closed his eyes, knowing he should say no, knowing he wasn’t going to. “Yeah, we’re almost ready.”

  108 P.A. Brown

  “Meet you down by the lake,” Jairo said and cut the connection.

  Jairo and Popeye were easy to spot in the fading light over the lake. As usual Jairo wore all black, and his short cropped hair framed his dark face and sharp cheekbones. He grinned at David, and crouched to roll Sergeant over on his back, rubbing his tan belly. Popeye bounced up and down, eager to run.

  It was full dark by the time they got back to David’s. All four of them were puffing from the strenuous run. David unlocked the door and indicated Jairo should enter first. In the kitchen David opened the fridge. He glanced at Jairo. “Beer?”

  “Sure.” Jairo held his eyes for a single heartbeat, then took the proffered bottle and followed David into the media room.

  He whistled at the sixty-four inch plasma screen Chris had treated them to late last year. “Living large agrees with you.”

  David found the Laker’s game and sat in his lounger. Jairo took the love seat Chris and he often shared on evenings they were both home. At the end of the second period, David stood up.

  “Want another?” He held up his empty bottle.

  “I’m driving, I shouldn’t...”

  David got one for himself. The game was tight and fast paced. The kind of game that reminded David of why he loved basketball. He had one more beer, offering Jairo another chance, which he declined.

  “I’ll have a water, though.”

  David came back with both. Jairo seemed antsy. He played with the label on his bottled water.

  “What’s your gut say about this case?”

  “Which one?”

  “Weren’t you the one saying you thought they were all linked?”

  “Okay, I agree. So do I think we have any hope of solving any of them?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  L.A. BONEYARD 109

  “There’s always hope,” David said dryly, knowing it wasn’t the answer Jairo wanted. He added, “We’ve got some promising leads. Don’t believe everything you hear about it having to be solved in forty-eight hours or it’s bust. Sometimes the turtle really does win the race. So yeah, the short answer is I still think it’s solvable. I’ll let you know when I change my mind.”

  David could tell Jairo doubted that, but kept his disbelief to himself. David didn’t bother telling him that the only thing that made the job bearable was the prospect, sometimes so distant it didn’t even appear on the horizon, that this case was solvable, that this case would be closed to his satisfaction, that kept him slogging through the daily crap. Jairo would have to make that discovery himself. David watched Jairo, but when he maintained his silence he went back to watching the game. It was the second half and the Lakers were doing well.

  They finished the game in companionable silence. The Lakers won.

  David collected their bottles and took them into the kitchen.

  Jairo followed. David dropped the two into the recycling bin under the sink, and turned to lead Jairo to the front door.

  Jairo stepped in front of h
im. David looked down at the shorter man. “What—?”

  Jairo put his hands on either side of David’s face, leaned forward and kissed him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Thursday, 9:15 PM, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles David meant to push him away. Instead he opened his mouth and groaned when Jairo’s tongue invaded his mouth.

  This was wrong. He couldn’t let this happen—but even as the thought skittered through him, he was aroused, his erection pressing against Jairo’s belly, his hands winding through Jairo’s short hair, pulling him closer.

  Their tongues tangled and he could feel their hearts beating a ragged matching tattoo. His smell was intoxicating and even the feel of Jairo’s rough face was arousing.

  David was barely aware of Jairo shoving his sweats down his thighs, then he was kneeling on the floor with his hot mouth wrapped around David’s erection. David cried out.

  He had no idea how far it would have gone. If the woman hadn’t knocked on the door, he might have let Jairo finish what he started, to his eternal shame.

  At first he thought the thunderous pounding was his heart, but when the dog started barking, he realized someone was there. He pushed Jairo away and stumbled back, catching himself on the counter. Jairo looked up at him, eyes glazed, lips parted and breathing hard. His shirt was askew and the flat expanse of his belly was exposed to David’s hungry eyes.

  “David—”

  “Cover yourself,” David said in a strangled voice. At the same time, he shoved his cock back into his sweats so hard he pinched himself in the process. He sucked in his breath, welcoming the pain. It brought him back to his senses, which had deserted him so completely. He left Jairo in the kitchen and grabbed Sergeant’s collar, telling him to sit before he threw the door open.

  112 P.A. Brown

  A short-haired Latino woman stood in their courtyard, a frown on her round face. She smiled when she saw Sergeant.

  “Well, aren’t you looking handsome?” She raised her eyes to David’s. “From what you told me I was expecting... well, I don’t know what I was expecting. Nothing good.” She held out her hand. “I’m Karla Fortunesca, the breeder.”

  David dropped his hand to the dog’s head and rubbed his warm flesh. “He was in pretty rough shape when my partner found him...” He trailed off, not at all sure how this woman might react to his living arrangements. “I think you can see he’s quite at home here. Ah, why didn’t you call, I wasn’t expecting anyone...”

  “I guess you can say I wanted to see you unprepared. People put on a face when they’re expecting company. My dogs are too important to me to be fooled that way.”

  David suspected this woman was fooled by very little. “I think you’ll find Sergeant is very happy here.”

  “Sergeant, huh? Funny, it suits him. Yes, I can see he’s happy. So,” she grew more serious. “Tell me about yourself.

  You’re a police officer?”

  “Detective,” David said, all too aware of Jairo coming up behind him with Popeye. “I’m currently assigned to the Northeast Division. This,” he indicated Jairo, “is my partner and his dog, Popeye.”

  “Have you ever owned a dog before?”

  “When I was younger. I own cats right now.”

  “And how does Zeus get along with them?”

  “Zeus?”

  “That was his kennel name before Mr. Simons bought him.”

  She frowned, clearly unhappy with that memory. “I’m usually pretty good at seeing through people like that, but I missed it this time. I’ve never had one of my dogs abandoned like that.”

  “No, ma’am. But I assure you, we’re serious about giving him a good home. And I think he and the cat have reached an understanding.”

  L.A. BONEYARD 113

  “Is your, ah, partner home right now?”

  “Sorry, he’s back east on business.”

  Her frown deepened. “I’d like to meet with him before I make a decision, if I could.”

  “I’m sure he’d be glad to come out and meet you at your convenience.”

  She seemed to abruptly make a decision. “I’ll leave it as it is for now, but I will insist on meeting both of you together before I agree to sign the AKC papers over to you.” She threw an enigmatic look at Jairo, who returned the look coolly.

  David extended his hand. “Agreed.”

  She shook his hand, then paused to pat Sergeant and Popeye one more time, and left. David closed the door and stood staring at it for several heartbeats. Behind him he heard Jairo step closer.

  “Get out,” he said, his voice flat.

  “David—”

  “Get out, now. Before I do something I’ll regret and it won’t be what you want.”

  Jairo collected his dog and left. David locked the door behind him and stood there for a long time.

  Sergeant came up beside him and shoved his nose into David’s hand, whining softly. David dropped into a crouch and hugged the dog to his chest. He buried his face against the dog’s neck.

  “God, how did I mess up so bad?”

  Sergeant licked his face and pressed closer. David raised his head and looked down at the animal.

  “Is that your answer to everything?”

  Sergeant wagged his stubby tail. Before he could change his mind, David grabbed Sergeant’s leash and headed outdoors, jacketless, hoping the cool temperature that had fallen over the area earlier, replacing the unseasonal warmth, would clear his head and chill out his overactive imagination. He could all too easily see Jairo in his bed, rising to meet him, impaled on his 114 P.A. Brown

  cock. What was it Jairo had said: Incendio y hielo. Fire and ice. He wasn’t used to being the object of anyone’s desire. Even before he had met Chris, he’d rarely been tempted by any of the pretty boys who were into cops or bears. Sometimes his needs overcame his natural distaste for the fumbling mess of unfamiliar partners, and he had picked one of them up. It never lasted more than a few sweaty hours. Not until Chris forced himself past all of David’s carefully erected barriers.

  So what had possessed him to respond to Jairo’s clumsy seduction? What possessed him to want so much more?

  A cold wind blew off Silver Lake, and despite the sweat he built up, or because of it, he was shivering by the time he and the dog stumbled back into the house. The phone was ringing, a persistent burr that forced a response. He snapped it up and barked, “Yes.”

  “Jesus, did I wake you up?” It was Chris. “I didn’t think it was that late back there.”

  David sank into Chris’s I-Ching chair. “I—” God, he thought he’d have more time to wrap his head around what had happened. Or almost happened, he reminded himself. He fumbled to hold the phone in his suddenly sweaty hand. “I—

  oh, hi.”

  “Were you in bed? I’m sorry to wake you—”

  “No, that’s okay. I had the dog out for a run...”

  “Oh good. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. The flight leaves here eleven-forty-five, I’ll be in Burbank at one-twelve.

  Can you pick me up or should I grab a cab?”

  David rubbed his temple where a headache was starting to bloom. “I can pick you up.”

  “Miss me?” Chris whispered. “I missed you. Make yourself available tomorrow and I’ll show you how much.”

  David closed his eyes. But he couldn’t shut out the image of Chris’s beautiful face, or the look of revulsion he could expect if he revealed what he had nearly done. But how could he not tell? He wasn’t a liar, and he’d never hidden from the truth before. Was he going to start now?

  L.A. BONEYARD 115

  “I’ll be there. Maybe we can eat out tomorrow, since we missed supper.”

  “We didn’t miss it. It was for this Sunday. Geez, do I need to send you an invitation to get your attention?”

  “We can still go out tomorrow,” David said, knowing damn well he had to be ready to face Chris tomorrow and school himself not to give his betrayal away. How was he going to do that when ever
y bone in his body demanded he confess? Could he live with himself if he told the truth?

  Could he live with himself if he didn’t?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Friday, 7:25 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles

  David arrived at the station while the graveyard shift was wrapping up. He huddled over his desk while the day shift drifted in and the squad room came alive with chattering voices, shrilling phones and the smell of fresh brewed coffee. He took several phone calls related to various cases and drank copious amounts of coffee before the morning shift officially started.

  It was five minutes past eight when Jairo threw his coat over the back of his chair and set his laptop case on the floor beside his chair.

  “You’re late,” David said.

  “Traffic—”

  “Then leave earlier.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket, making sure his Smith & Wesson was secure in its shoulder holster and slipped the coat on. “We have a call-out to Glassell Park. A drive-by on Drew. You’re the senior on this one.”

  Drew had become the most notorious area in the Northeast division, full of Avenues gangbangers and Las Sureños who had turned the never peaceful neighborhood into a gang and drug riddled enclave, ruled by AK-47s, Tek-9s and meth. Nearly three years ago, a combined force of cops and federal agents had stormed Drew Street and cleaned out the worst of the viper’s nest, snagging the gang leaders and sending the rest scattering. They hadn’t scattered very far, and those that hadn’t been picked up in later raids had regrouped, and were trying to own the street again. The cops at Northeast were just as determined to keep them out.

  “Ah, el barrio bajo,” Jairo said.

  David looked at him. “The low neighborhood? Don’t tell me you’ve got family there, too?”

  118 P.A. Brown

  “Nah, not immediate family. Distant cousins from Tlalchapa. Rough place, I’ve heard.”