Never Girl

by Ana Valen

  “No. What services are you referring to?”

  “Reimbursement for time off work, reimbursement for bereavement counseling—things like that.”

  Raven again looked into the rearview. “Would you be interested in bereavement counseling? Or is that unnecessary?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Raven refocused on the road. “Good. I’ll get started on that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Claire shot another look towards Adams. He remained facing forward. But now, his shoulders had tensed.

  They arrived at UCLA, and Raven parked in a restricted area. All three of them exited, and Adams again led the way. This time he guided them towards a granite-colored building.

  Inside, Claire encountered the expected hospital-like interior—clean, brightly lit, bland color combinations. She hated these places. They always brought back painful memories.

  After some maneuvering, the trio entered a room with a panoramic window. Beyond the window were metal tables, sinks, and depressing overhead lights. There was also no body.

  “I’ll let them know we’re ready,” Adams said.

  He took a side exit and disappeared. That left her alone with Raven.

  Claire crossed her arms. Any second now, Raven would accuse her of murder. That never happened. Raven merely stood there, her own arms crossed.

  “I loved my brother,” Claire said, deciding to go on the offensive.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Claire shook her head. What was up with this person?

  The side door opened and Claire looked in this direction.

  “They’re bringing in the body,” Adams said. He walked over and stopped beside her.

  Claire again focused on the window. The opposite room was still empty, but gurney wheels started creaking. A second later, the gurney eased into view, along with the medical staff member who was pushing it. Atop the gurney was a body, the corpse covered by a white sheet.

  The staff member stopped and pulled back the sheet, but they only exposed the upper body and chest. It was Jessie… sort of.

  Jessie’s eyes were closed and there was discoloration in his face. That made him hard to identify. But there was no denying his angular features, his stylish brown hair, and his pronounced jawline. Those attributes had always attracted scores of women. Not anymore.

  “Claire?” Adams softly asked.

  “It’s him. It’s Jessie.”

  Adams turned to the staff member and nodded. The staff member pulled the sheet back over.

  “Wait,” Claire called out. “Pull it down once more. And this time, pull it farther. I want to see his gunshot wounds.”

  “Claire,” Adams said, “that’s not necessary. You carried out your function. And the damage is extensive.”

  She turned to Adams. “Please. I need to see it.”

  Adams turned to the staff member and nodded once more. When she looked back to the window, the staff member pulled the sheet beyond Jessie’s abdomen.

  She eyed the deep-red perforations dotting his stomach. The holes were numerous, each with dried blood crusting the rim. His midsection was also horribly discolored. His midsection. Jessie’s chiseled abs had also attracted scores of females. Not anymore.

  Claire stepped to the window, placed her hands on the metal ledge, and dug her fingers into the cold steel.

  “You Goddamn idiot,” she muttered. “You Goddamn idiot.”

  Adams softly cupped her shoulder. “Claire?”

  She barely noticed this. She kept her focus on her dead brother. She then looked at the window’s reflection, where Raven stood there eyeing her.

  Claire leaned back and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.” She looked to Adams. “It’s just…”

  “It’s fine,” he followed. “There’s no need to apologize.” He again looked towards the staff member and nodded.

  The sheet went over and the gurney wheels started rolling.

  “Would you like to go now?” Adams asked.

  “Please.”

  Adams again led the way. As she followed him, Raven kept eyeing her.

  ***

  Back inside the cruiser, Claire watched the city rolling by. Five minutes later, they arrived at the motor pool. Raven parked in the same spot, and all three of them exited. They started for the street, but before crossing, the detectives turned to her.

  “Claire,” Adams said, “we’ll need to speak in greater detail. But today was heavy, so we can postpone this. We’ll contact you when we’re ready. In the meanwhile, feel free to contact us.” He pulled a card and extended it.

  She took the card. “Thank you. I appreciate you making yourself available. I also appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  Adams smiled. “You’re very welcome. We’ll be in touch.”

  He and Raven crossed the street, and she started back towards the public parking lot. After reaching her Acura, she unlocked the vehicle and opened the door.

  “Claire,” called out a female voice.

  She looked over and there was Raven, walking towards her. “Yes?”

  Raven stopped a few feet away. “If you want to assist us, quit fucking around.”

  Claire hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. Stop fucking around. Your brother’s death didn’t surprise you. It angered you, but you expected it. That means you know something about it.”

  Claire looked towards the station. Adams stood there watching them. While refocusing on Raven, she recalled that she needed to know where the investigation was headed. Maybe this was her opportunity.

  “There is something going on,” Claire said. “But I don’t know what.”

  “Do you at least have a theory?”

  “Not a good one.”

  “Well,” Raven responded, “I have a theory too.”

  “Fine. Tell me what it is.”

  “I will. As long as you do the same.”

  Claire hesitated once more. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Raven pulled her own card and handed it over. “I’ll contact you in a few hours. Later tonight, we’ll meet up and talk things over.”

  Claire took the card. “No problem. But one question. Will Detective Adams be there?”

  Raven held her gaze for a moment. “No.” She turned and walked off.

  Claire examined the card and nodded. Good. Detective Adams wouldn’t be there. He was more genial, but also more by the book. When considering what she wanted, that wouldn’t suffice.

  Chapter 4

  Harlan Nichols waited inside of his dark-blue 1996 Nissan Maxima. He had parked the car on North Tigertail Road, doing so after night had descended over the city.

  North Tigertail was one of many streets that curved along the soft hills of Brentwood Heights. In this affluent area, sizable estates lined the roads, the homes enjoying ample privacy thanks to their massive walls. That figured. If the wealthy enjoyed anything, it was seclusion. That way they could enjoy their lavish lifestyles in peace.

  Harlan was indifferent towards the wealthy. He felt the same towards the poor and middle class. In his eyes, everyone was identical. They all chased whatever pleasures they could before the reaper caught up to them. Death—that was the great equalizer. It would come for those in these estates, along with those in the city’s rundown tenements. But for one of these wealthy residents, it would come within a few minutes.

  He checked his analog watch. The hands reported ten minutes to 9:00pm. Over the past hour, luxury cars had come and gone, but none stopped at the estate he observed—the estate across the street from his parked car. Harlan had expected the owner’s associates to arrive. But so far, nothing. That meant he was good to move.

  He used a gloved hand to open the glove box. Inside, he accessed a hidden partition and pulled his 9mm Sig Sauer P226. He closed the glove box, rested the pistol in his lap, and opened the center console. He accessed another hidden compartment and pulled th
e pistol’s suppressor. He screwed the component into place and press-checked the weapon. With a hollow-point chambered, he released the slide, slipped the pistol into his hooded sweatshirt’s pocket, and pulled over his hood.

  He opened the door and stepped into the chilly night air. After softly closing the door, he made his way across the street. He also lifted the black shawl around his neck, covering his nose and mouth.

  He bypassed the target home and continued along a predetermined route, one he finalized days ago. The pathway would avoid the home’s external security cameras, along with other potential hazards.

  He traversed an empty lot, jumped over a fence, and landed on the dirt of the nearby hills. Hunkering down, he headed towards the target house, which was now two estates away. Thanks to the downward slope, he would remain hidden from the two homes’ backyards.

  Voices emanated from the first home. Apparently, they were having a backyard party. He didn’t expect that given the temperature. He edged upward and peered through a slit in the wooden fence. Four people were there, each huddled around a fireplace, wine glasses in hand. They would never spot him. They were too busy imitating a wine commercial. They even had the appropriate upbeat music in the background. He continued onward.

  While passing the second home, a barking dog came rushing towards him. He stopped and glanced towards the first home. The group never looked over. But why would they? That would interrupt their good time. He kept moving, and the dog kept barking. When he reached the target home, the dog’s complaints died down.

  He similarly peeked over the edge and surveyed the backyard. Deserted. As for the home, a few lights were on, but no sign of his target. Then the target eased by a second floor window.

  Harlan climbed over the fence, stepped onto the wooden porch, and crept across the sizable deck. He passed an elaborate pool, along with an elaborate waterfall, and reached the back entrance. He drew his pistol, slid open the door, and stepped inside.

  He waited and listened, both hands on his weapon. The target was upstairs rummaging through items. Now it sounded like he was placing the items into luggage compartments. That would make sense.

  Harlan made his way through the home. He looked around while moving, ready to open fire on anyone he encountered. That didn’t happen. It also didn’t seem likely.

  He headed upstairs and found a mostly darkened hallway. The only light streamed from an open bedroom—the target’s bedroom. Now easing down the hallway, he again checked around. Still nothing.

  He stopped at the bedroom doorway and took cover behind the threshold. He edged inside, and there was the target, sure enough packing items into suitcases.

  The target had betrayed Alexander Kovalenko—a local mob boss and Harlan’s employer. It figured that the target was now clearing out. Harlan didn’t know anything beyond this, and he didn’t care. Like so many times before, Kovalenko gave him the kill order, and he got to work. This instance was no different. Or was it?

  For years, Harlan had carried out his work without thought or emotion. This let him pull triggers without qualms. But lately, he had questioned his uncaring outlook. Was the universe really comprised of insignificant matter, all of it destined for nothingness?

  The target froze by his bed, his hands inside his suitcase.

  Harlan came back into the moment, raised his pistol, and locked the gunsights on the man’s head. Harlan then waited, his muscly arms keeping the weapon rock-steady.

  The target turned to him, and Harlan pulled the trigger.

  The suppressed pistol made a muffled snap, and the target’s head bucked backwards. The target fell without extending his arms, the man dead before he hit the ground. As he thumped onto the carpet, Harlan lowered his pistol and inventoried himself.

  He found nothing. His heartrate hadn’t increased, his breathing hadn’t changed, and stress hormones hadn’t flooded his system. He was empty, just like everything else.

  He walked into the room, pulled a burner phone, and activated the rudimentary camera. He snapped some photos of the body—visual proof for Kovalenko. With the device put away, he turned to leave. But before exiting, he stopped and looked back.

  He observed the body, surprised that he just now saw the person’s face. Or rather, he just now registered his face. Back when he was studying the target, his face was simply colors and shapes, all of which Harlan would use for hunting purposes. Now, these attributes amounted to personhood.

  The man was olive-skinned, thin, and in his upper forties. Just above his eyebrow was the entry wound, a deep red tunnel with blood barely oozing out. The back of his head was a different affair. Blood pumped from behind the man’s head, soaking into the beige carpet. As for the man’s eyes, both were empty and staring into nothingness.

  What did those eyes register before blinking out? Did they see the reaper? Probably not. And even if they had seen Harlan, so what? The man, along with everything else, would eventually become nothingness—just dead matter floating in a dead universe.

  Harlan turned from the corpse and headed towards the door. While walking, he slipped his pistol into his sweatshirt pocket.

  He exited along the same route. He also kept his hood over his head and his shawl over his face. Time to check in with the boss and see what else was on the agenda.

  Chapter 5

  Claire drove her Acura towards Brentwood. Earlier this evening, she spoke with Detective Raven, and they planned to meet at the Starbucks on San Vicente and Barrington. While cruising through the semi-populated streets, she considered her strategy. Forthcoming or evasive?

  She needed to know where the investigation was headed, and that required cooperation. At the same time, she didn’t want to reveal her secrets. That would give the authorities ammunition against her. Perhaps she could be forthcoming, but just enough to get what she wanted.

  She arrived at the Starbucks and looked for parking outside. Nothing. After circling the café, she turned onto Gorham, pulled alongside a gas station, and parked along the street. With the engine off, she climbed out and started for the coffee shop.

  People sat inside the café, but they also occupied the outdoor seating section. That surprised her given the evening chill. Figuring Raven was inside, she approached the entrance and reached for the door.

  “Claire,” Raven called out.

  Claire lowered her hand and looked over. Looks like Raven had elected for outdoor seating. Claire made her way over, pulled back a chair, and sat across from the detective.

  “Happy birthday,” Raven continued, sliding over a coffee cup. “There’s tons of creamer and sugar in there. Something tells me you like it that way.”

  “Actually, I’m not really into coffee. I prefer tea.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Claire didn’t rise to the bait. She merely lifted her cup and sipped. She was better off getting on Raven’s good side. That’s why she smiled after sipping. “On second thought, this is pretty good. I might switch to coffee.”

  “Atta girl.”

  Claire took another sip and lowered her cup. “So, where does the investigation stand?”

  Raven kept quiet.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “Your parents died a while back.”

  “Yeah. I already told you that.”

  “I know. But you failed to mention how rich they were.”

  “They had money, but they weren’t rich.”

  “They had three million dollars in savings, home equity, and stock options.” Raven lifted her own cup and sipped. “I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s rich.”

  “If you say so. But how does this relate to the case?”

  “That depends. How much of that wealth went your way?”

  Claire leaned back. Goddammit. She knew where Raven was going with this.

  “I looked into you and your brother,” Raven continued. “You live in a decent condo and you drive a decent Acura. He lived in a lavish house and drove a BMW M8—both of whic
h were paid off.”

  “Are you asking if I killed him for money?”

  “No. I’m asking what happened to your parent’s wealth. How much did he get, and how much did you get?”

  “He got most of it, alright? That’s because he felt deserving of a larger share.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he did the bulwark on obtaining their assets.”

  “Nice to know. Now let me ask you one more time. How much did he get, and how much did you get?”

  Claire dug her thumbs into her cup. She wanted to get on Raven’s good side, but Raven wasn’t making that easy.

  “If we’re going to work together,” Raven followed, “we need to communicate openly.”

  “I got five-hundred thousand, and he got a little over two million.”

  “Shit. Sounds like a pretty raw deal for you.”

  “It wasn’t exactly ideal.”

  “Did that make you mad?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you fight him over it?”

  “Yes. But he reminded me over and over that he secured their assets. He also said that if it wasn’t for him, we probably wouldn’t have gotten anything.”

  “You didn’t get a lawyer involved?”

  “I considered that, but I changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that wasn’t guaranteed to solve anything. Plus, I knew it would lead to hatred between us. So I simply let it go.”

  “That was big of you. Especially since he didn’t receive a little over two million. It was closer to two-and-a-half million. Or more precisely, $2,437,000.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes. “If you already knew that, why did you ask me?”

  Raven lifted her cup and sipped.

  “I get it,” Claire said. “You wanted to see if I would lie.” She likewise sipped. “Since I passed your test, can you now tell me about the investigation?”

  Raven sipped some more. “As you already know, your brother was shot multiple times in the stomach. What you don’t know is that his wallet was found nearby with the cash and credit cards missing.”

  “So it was a robbery?” Claire nodded. “That makes sense. Jessie was always a flashy person.”