Never Girl

by Ana Valen

  “Hang on. You’re getting things out of order. First, you get the evidence. Then you get the arrest warrant.”

  “Lieutenant,” Adams said, “we don’t have time for that.”

  Brand took a breath. “Adams, I stuck you with Raven so you could keep her in line. Now it seems like she’s influencing you.” Brand looked at Raven. “No offense. Actually, I rather enjoy your take-no-prisoners attitude. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

  Raven smiled. “I’m glad for that. But this idea didn’t come from me. Adams proposed it.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “Claire is sticking around because she wants us to acknowledge her loss. At the same time, she doesn’t want to get caught. With us closing in, she’s becoming more and more of a flight risk. We need to move fast.”

  “So while I’m pushing through this warrant,” Brand said, “you’ll be…”

  “Gathering the evidence to support it.”

  Brand gave him a look.

  “I’ll put my reputation on it,” he added. “If this thing blows up, it’s on me.”

  “Actually, it’ll be on me. Nevertheless, I’m game. Claire outsmarted us and I don’t want her getting away with it. That’ll make me look like an idiot, and I’m hoping to make captain someday.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant,” Adams said.

  “Yeah,” Raven added. “Thanks, L.T.”

  They both turned.

  “Hey,” Brand called out.

  She and Adams stopped and turned back.

  “But make damn sure you get that evidence. Because if this thing does blow up, I’ll spend the next decade in my current position, as your supervisor. And every day, I’ll remember that you two are the reason why I’m here. And I’ll act accordingly. Clear?”

  “Crystal clear,” Raven said.

  “Good. Then get out there and help me make captain.”

  Chapter 45

  Claire walked out of Men’s Central Jail and headed back to her car. After reaching the vehicle, she opened the driver’s door, threw her purse and suitcase inside, then climbed aboard and slammed the door.

  “Fuck!” she grunted, her hands gripped around the steering wheel.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. The effort had marginal success.

  Now what?

  She should leave. She should put all of this behind her and clear out. That was especially true with Raven closing in. But could she leave? Could she depart without having completed her assignment?

  “Fuck!” he shouted once more, now striking the steering wheel.

  She was so close. She was one step away from wrapping this up when James monumentally failed her.

  James. The thought of him made her seethe.

  She still wanted to force his hand. But how could she? With James behind bars, she couldn’t reach him. But could someone else?

  She grabbed her purse, retrieved her old phone, and went into her contacts. After dialing her new business partner, she placed the phone to her ear.

  “Ms. Jacobson,” Kovalenko said, his voice uncommonly subdued. “Now is not a good time.”

  “Mr. Kovalenko, I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m afraid that is not possible. Our business matters are concluded.”

  “Mr. Kovalenko—”

  “Claire, listen to what I’m saying. We can no longer conduct any business. The last business venture did not turn out favorably. Therefore, we have nothing to discuss. Leave it at that. Do not make me investigate how things went askew. Because if I do, and I find out you were responsible, I will reopen our business relationship, but for a reason you will not like. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand you perfectly. And that’s why I’m calling. I know who killed Harlan.”

  Kovalenko paused. “You know who was behind this?” he growled.

  “Yes. It was—”

  “No. Do not tell me over the phone. Come see me in person.”

  “But—”

  Click.

  She sat there for a moment. Then she slowly lowered her phone. Shit. Meeting Kovalenko was the last thing she wanted. Not only would that waste time, Kovalenko could be perceptive. If he sniffed out her true knowledge, who knows what he might do. But what other choice did she have?

  She pressed the engine’s push-start button, placed the car into gear, and got on the road. Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the Bayside Clothing Warehouse. She pulled into the now familiar lot and parked in the same space as before. After climbing out, she started for the warehouse.

  She entered through the loading dock and tightened her face. The place was devoid of activity. No trucks, no workers, no beeping forklifts—nothing. That was slightly off putting.

  She continued through the desolate workspace and entered the management area. She finally encountered signs of life, but it didn’t bode well for her tightening nerves.

  Eastern European men walked around in dark suits. Each person was massive, and most were giving orders with angry voices. Goddamn. Why did Kovalenko insist that she come?

  She finally reached his office and knocked. Unlike before, when he merrily invited her in, he unleashed a string of heated words, all of them in his native tongue.

  “Mr. Kovalenko?” she asked.

  “Claire. Come in here.”

  She slowly opened the door and stepped inside. More men were present than normal. And like those outside, everyone bore ill intentions.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Kovalenko continued, waving her along.

  She closed the door, approached his desk, and froze. Atop the desk were pliers, vice grips, ballpeen hammers—all sorts of tools that surely wouldn’t be used for manual labor.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She looked up. “Well what?”

  “Your news. You said you had some news.”

  “Right. I um—I know who killed Harlan.”

  Kovalenko translated this to those in the room. The men’s faces turned granite-like.

  “Who?” Kovalenko asked.

  She swallowed. “James Reed.”

  “James Reed? Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “How do you know?”

  She looked down at the torture devices. “First off, what are you planning to do?”

  “We’re going to scour the city for whoever who killed Harlan. When we find him, we’re going to start ripping off body parts and breaking bones.”

  She swallowed once more. Damn. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “But you’re saying it was James Reed?” he asked. “Claire.”

  “Yes,” she huffed while looking up. “It was James Reed.”

  “Once more. How do you know?”

  “Because James told me. He also told me that he was Susan’s secret lover. It was him all along.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Harlan found this out. And when James learned that his cover was blown, he killed Harlan to maintain the secret.”

  Kovalenko grabbed the ballpeen hammer and slammed it into his desk. The hammer struck with an awful explosion, making her jump. Kovalenko updated his men.

  “What’s wrong?” she quaked.

  “I wanted to personally torture whoever killed Harlan. But with James in prison, I can’t.”

  “Wait. You already knew that James was arrested?”

  “Yes. And I knew this was for murdering Harlan. But I didn’t know if James was actually responsible. Now I do.”

  “And because he’s in prison, you can’t get to him?”

  Kovalenko grabbed the pliers and tapped his chest. “I can’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll have someone on the inside kill him.”

  She parted her lips. Oh, fuck.

  “Thank you for the update, Claire.”

  “You’re welcome. But um—when are you going to have someone kill him?”

  Kovalenko stared at her. “You should go.”

  She waited for an answer,
her knees growing weak.

  “You should go right now,” he added.

  With the other men also staring, she turned on her rubbery legs and started for the door.

  Back inside her Acura, she ran her hands through her hair.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  That didn’t go as planned.

  She wanted Kovalenko to order James’ death, because James would then work with the authorities in exchange for protection. She didn’t actually want him ending up dead. With the Eastern European reaper now in motion, she would have to save him.

  Chapter 46

  Detective Raven pulled into the parking lot of Mike’s Pizzeria. She wasn’t driving the Crown Victoria as Adams took their vehicle to Claire’s condo. Adams went to obtain the condo’s surveillance footage, because with luck, it showed Claire leaving on the night of the murder. Raven was here to see if Claire had actually ordered a pizza.

  She parked the Chevy Caprice, climbed out, and made her way to the restaurant. After entering, she approached the ordering counter.

  “Hi, there,” greeted a young female worker. The teenager wore all black, including a Mike’s Pizzeria baseball cap. “What can I get you?”

  “Hi,” Raven responded. “I’m actually not here to eat.” She pulled her badge. “My name is Detective Stacy Raven. I’m a homicide investigator with the LAPD. I was wondering if I could speak with an employee.”

  “Oh,” the woman responded, some concern edging into her face. “I should probably get the owner. Just one second.”

  “No problem.”

  The woman turned and walked off. She returned with a Caucasian man in his early forties.

  “Afternoon, officer,” the man said, speaking with a slight New York accent. “How can I help you?”

  “Good afternoon. Is there someplace we can talk?”

  “Absolutely. My office is right this way.” He gestured her around the counter.

  Raven followed him through the kitchen, where workers slung dough, used wooden oars to pull pizzas from ovens, and placed massive pies into cardboard boxes. After passing through the savory atmosphere, they entered a small office with weak lighting.

  “Have a seat,” he went on, gesturing to a guest chair.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay. I just need to verify something.”

  “Certainly.” He sat behind a paper-scattered desk. “What did you need to verify?”

  “That someone ordered a pizza last Thursday, probably around 7:00pm. The person I’m asking about is Claire Jacobson. I’m fairly certain that she placed the order, but I’m more concerned about where she placed it.”

  The man rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “That might be difficult to determine. We keep names, phone numbers, and customer orders, but that won’t pinpoint the customer’s location.”

  “What about delivery personnel?”

  “What about them?”

  “If someone delivered the pizza to her place, maybe they came across her.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. And I have two delivery guys. One works the afternoon, the other works the evening. My evening guy just started. Let me see where he’s at.” He pulled his phone, dialed a number, and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Frankie. What’s your location?” The man lowered the phone. “He just pulled into the parking lot.” He raised the phone. “Great. Come by my office. No, no, you’re not in trouble. Just come over. Thanks.”

  Raven smiled her appreciation.

  A minute later, a young man entered. He also wore a black getup, complete with a Mike’s baseball cap.

  “What did I—” He cut himself off after spotting her.

  “Frankie,” the owner said, “this is a Detective with the LAPD. She has some questions for you.”

  Frankie lifted his hands. “Whoa, now.”

  “Relax,” the manager followed. “I already told you, you’re not in trouble.”

  “It’s true,” Raven followed. “I’m just wondering about a delivery placed last Thursday.” Raven gave him Claire’s address and room number. “Do you recall making a delivery there?”

  “You mean the place with the note?” Frankie asked.

  “What note?”

  “There was a note on the door. It said to leave the pizza outside.”

  “So you never saw the tenant?”

  “Nope. And I knocked, because I didn’t feel right leaving the order there. Anyone could come by and take it.”

  “So nobody answered the door?”

  “Nope. And to cover my ass, I took a picture of that note.”

  “Let me see the picture.”

  Frankie pulled his cellphone, went into the device, and turned it towards her. She leaned in and viewed the image. Sure enough, it was Claire’s door. And there was the note, telling the delivery person to drop off the pie.

  Raven looked up. “Is your phone connected to the cloud?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because cloud-saved photos document their times and locations.” She pulled an evidence bag and opened it. “Drop your phone inside. I’m taking it with me.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. Your phone is now evidence in a homicide. And don’t worry. You’ll get it back.”

  “But it’s my phone.”

  “Frankie,” the manager admonished.

  Frankie grumbled and placed it inside.

  “Thanks,” Raven responded, sealing the bag. “Oh. And you’ll probably have to testify about this.”

  “Come on, man.”

  “Frankie,” the manager repeated.

  ***

  Detective Adams walked into Claire’s condominium complex and approached the front desk. “Good afternoon,” he called out.

  The receptionist looked up from her computer. “Good afternoon. How can I— Oh, wait. You’re the detective, right? The one looking into that matter?”

  “That’s right. We’ve had some developments and I was hoping for additional information.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “The building’s security footage.”

  “That’s no problem. We just need a search warrant.”

  “The thing is, I don’t have a warrant. I would normally get one but we’re in a time crunch.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. But unless you have a court order, there’s nothing we can do.”

  He smiled as best he could. “Is your supervisor available?”

  “Absolutely. Just one second.” She picked up a receiver and placed a call. “Hey, it’s me. There’s an LAPD detective here. He would like to see you. Sure. I’ll send him over.” She hung up. “You can go ahead. Just walk through those doors on your right, make a left, and go all the way down. You’ll come across her office. Her name is Maribel Reno.”

  “Great. Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He passed through the doors and entered what seemed like a social area. The room had people sitting at elegant computer terminals, grabbing coffee from a self-serve bar, or curled up on trendy couches with laptops. He followed the receptionist’s directions and stopped at the supervisor’s door. While peering through the small opening, he knocked.

  Maribel looked up from behind her desk. “Detective. Please come in.”

  Adams opened the door. “Thank you, Ms. Reno.” He closed the door behind him.

  “Please, call me Maribel. And how can I help you?”

  “Like I explained to your receptionist, I was hoping to acquire the building’s security footage.”

  “No problem. Do you have a warrant?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Right. Your receptionist said as much. However, the suspect is a flight risk and we need to move quickly.”

  “I understand. But if I provide the footage without a warrant, that would violate our tenants’ privacy. That could land us in serious legal trouble.”

&n
bsp; He nodded while channeling his inner Raven. “I see. But I’m curious. What might be more problematic? A court battle or negative publicity?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “The suspect is wanted for two murders. She used this complex as her base of operations. If she escapes, we’ll issue a press conference to alert the public. In the conference, we’ll disclose her activity in this building, and that we failed to apprehend her because you were uncooperative.”

  “Detective, that’s unfair. Honestly, we want to help. But not at the expense of our tenants’ privacy.”

  “Fine. Then our department will work around this. Instead of directly targeting the suspect, we’ll flood the building with officers. We’ll also set up roadblocks around the building, then stop and search all vehicles. And we’ll maintain those roadblocks until we’re satisfied that the suspect is no longer here. Both options are perfectly within the confines of the law.”

  Maribel leaned back and worked around her jaw.

  “Gee,” Adams continued, nodding towards the social area. “I wonder how those hipsters will feel about being late to yoga class, or their screen writer’s meetup, or their work shift at the new tech startup.”

  Maribel leaned forward and lifted her hands. “Okay, okay. How about this? I’ll let you view the footage. Will that work?”

  He made a show of considering. “Yeah. I think that’ll suffice.”

  “And afterward, will you not implement police saturation?”

  “Correct. Once I verify what I want, there’s no need for additional police presence.”

  She stood. “Fantastic. Let’s go to the security office.”

  Chapter 47

  Raven walked into the station and made her way to homicide. Adams was already there. He sat at his desk typing furiously. Damn. Maybe he didn’t get the security footage from Claire’s condo. Maybe he needed a warrant after all.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  Adams spun towards her. “Hey.”

  “Did you get the footage?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shit. How long is the warrant going to take?”

  He held up his hand. “I didn’t get the footage, but I saw it.”