by Terri Nolan
Soto sipped his tea. “I believe so.”
“Matt would never put my life in jeopardy by getting me involved with dirty deeds.”
But Matt had done exactly that when he slipped a mysterious message into her back pocket. And why Birdie felt inclined to defend him after his betrayal was beyond logic. Except … a small part of her clung to the belief that Matt had a purpose she wasn’t yet aware of.
“Please look at it from my perspective,” whispered Soto harshly. “There’s a box of evidence missing. I have no clue where it is.” He looked at her with weepy eyes and held up a key. “It’s the same as yours.”
She held the key next to the one Matt sneaked into her back pocket. It was an exact duplicate. “So?”
“It’s a demonstration that we were partners. Since you’ve been to the EZ-Stor,” said Soto, “you know what the padlock looks like. Have you seen another?”
“No. Why?”
“Matt had two locks custom made. They’re tamper resistant with an exploding dye that doesn’t wash off if the lock is improperly opened. I don’t know where the other one is.”
“Two different locks keyed exactly the same?”
“Fewer keys to keep track of.”
“That’s logical. But why would Matt leave me a key with no instructions for its use?”
“I thought he must have. Something went amiss after he was shot last year.” The words came out slow. Almost like an afterthought.
“It was a domestic,” she offered. “You know how dangerous they are. Emotions all fired up. Altered states generating hatred and despair and absolute strength. And he was working alone that day.” She felt the enormity of the words even before she spoke. “Arthur was out sick.”
The shooting was still under investigation. No suspect has been named. Just like the Paige Street murder. And Arthur was involved by his noninvolvement. But Soto had already stated he wasn’t involved in this new thing. The thing involving bad cops.
“The call for service was bogus,” said Soto. “A chance to kill a cop. Any cop. But Matt felt differently. While he was still in the hospital he told me he felt it was an ambush. That’s why he wrote his will. I beg you to help me as Matt’s trusted friend. Matt may have died protecting that last box. We can’t let his death be in vain.”
“Are you suggesting his death was anything other than an accident?”
“All I know is that Matt was out of contact the week before he died.”
That’s right, thought Birdie. She ate a bite of her cookie and washed it down with espresso, deep in thought. She’d also tried to reach him that last week. He hadn’t returned her calls and he’d missed appointments.
“He finally called me on Friday, but he died before giving me the last box.”
“It might be at Henshaw House,” Birdie said, all the while hating the thought of having to go back to the place Matt spent his last moments on earth.
“It wasn’t in either residence. I’ve looked.”
Birdie veiled her anger. “I’m Matt’s heir. No one, not even his family, has the right to search his homes or his possessions. Was it breaking and entering or trespassing?”
Soto nodded his head in contrition. “No property was damaged. Nothing was taken.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Of course,” he said. “I was desperate. I didn’t want you or his family involved.”
“But now you have no choice. You told me the box contained evidence that would break open the case. You’ve told me of the pains taken to conceal and secure the evidence. Yet you conducted an illegal search. If you’d found it, you wouldn’t be able to use it.”
Soto rubbed his face. “It had been such a long fight that I figured I’d discover a way around that fact. I’m truly sorry for invading his privacy. And yours.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything left to say. If I find the box I’ll let you know.” Birdie rose, but had one last thing to say before she departed. “Cease the surveillance.”
Soto took out his phone. “Consider it done.”
twenty-five
Birdie stuck her nose in the lovely arrangement of pink sweet peas and inhaled the candy-like scent. She thanked the floral delivery guy and shut the door. She sat on the lower step and pulled out the card. Thank you for everything. I’m ready when you are. ♥ Ron. How did he know sweet peas were her favorite? And what did the heart mean? She carried the flowers upstairs and positioned them on the kitchen bar so she couldn’t dwell on them or the man who sent them.
She sat back at her desk, twirled a pencil, and looked up at the white board. Priority one: zero in on how to approach Matt’s quest—Paige Street for sure; the money an obvious indicator. Priority two: find out why he committed suicide. Three: determine if Soto and Matt’s investigation was connected. Soto, the notorious hard-liner, was so hungry to get his hands on that last box of evidence that he actually broke the law.
“Why?” said Birdie aloud. “It contained the key piece of evidence.” She flicked the pencil in the air like a baton. Caught it. “The one that would break open the case.” Twirled the pencil between her fingers. “The one that would bring indictments.” She bounced the pencil on its eraser. “Indictments of what?” She broke the pencil in half.
Bad cops … highest level … secreted into administrative divisions.
Birdie continued the linear thinking in her head. So what if the conversation was off the record and confidential? If you need advice and have to break your word—on which you’ve built your reputation—who do you call? Simple. Deputy District Attorney Daniel Eubanks, a Major Crimes prosecutor.
Birdie initially met Daniel when she interviewed him for a feature story for the cop magazine Blue Beat. Then their paths often crossed in the hallways and elevators of the Criminal Courts Building. Even though he later came to know her intimately, he never stopped calling her by her professional name. For her part, she dropped all formality once they started having sex.
She and Danny had dated hard for six weeks. Spent all their non-work hours together. Screwed like crazy. Gerard didn’t like that she dated a black man. Her father’s disapproval was part of the appeal during her rule-breaking, alcoholic days. Danny’s tough good looks didn’t hurt either. He had a rugged, incorruptible, oh-so-sexy, don’t-get-in-my-way look.
Birdie reached him on his cell.
“Elizabeth Keane,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”
“Hi, Danny. How are things up on the seventeenth floor?”
“The air is good. How are you?”
“The best I can be. You heard about Matt?”
“Couldn’t avoid it. How are you and Jorge managing?”
“Come on Danny, you know he prefers George. Doesn’t matter anyway. We broke up.”
“And now? Another cop or would-be cop?”
Would-be cop directly referenced Denis. He was aware that Denis had once applied with the LAPD but failed the psychological and didn’t get hired. Birdie detected a bit of jealousy in the slam because he never liked Denis.
“I’m not dating. You?”
“You know how it is. The job,” said Danny.
“Same old excuse.”
“I made time for you.”
“And we had a lot of fun, but it was doomed from the beginning.”
“Right. Prosecutors and journalists don’t mingle well. Too much opportunity for conflict of interest. So, talk to me. Is this call personal or professional?”
After establishing that neither was dating she could play it personal, but Danny kept everything close to the chest. That trait made him a good poker player. And extremely trustworthy. But he wouldn’t respond well if she jumped right in and asked him for advice about indictments of bad cops and Soto and Matt’s long-time investigation.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Birdie, “Ever since Matt
died a lot of weird stuff has been going on. Shit. Where do I begin? For starters, Matt made me his heir and my house was broken into and this guy, this thief, rummaged through his things and then shot himself. And then—”
“Hold on, Elizabeth. Not on the phone. Come to the office?”
“No way I’m driving into downtown on a Friday. Too much traffic.”
Her doorbell buzzed. “Hold on, Danny, someone’s at my door.” She pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Hi, Birdie,” said a voice squeezed by electricity. “It’s Emmett Whelan. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure, Emmett, I’m on the phone right now. I’ll buzz you in. Help yourself to coffee in the kitchen.” She pressed the electronic lock. Then back to Danny, “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Did I hear correctly?” said Danny. “Emmett Whelan is there? At your house? Are you home alone?” Birdie detected a sliver of anxiety in his voice.
“Yeah.”
Danny was silent for a few beats before saying, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Just then Emmett walked past the opening to her office, drummed his fingers against the wall as he continued toward the kitchen.
“I’ve an appointment at the PAB to see Narciso Alejo.”
“The Paige Street taskforce lead?”
“Yeah. That’s part of why I’m calling. Seems Matt wanted me to get back into it.”
Then Birdie remembered the sweet pea arrangement on the bar in her kitchen. Emmett couldn’t avoid seeing them. Would he look at the card? Did she need to ask that question?
“Danny, I better go. I’ll call back.”
As she hung up the phone she thought she heard him say, “Tomorrow.”
Birdie jogged toward the kitchen. As she rounded the corner she could smell the leftover booze mixed with stale cigar smoke emanating from Emmett’s skin. It was a sickening combination that made her stomach churn. He waved the card.
“Heart Ron. What does that mean?”
She snapped the card from his hand. “I don’t know, Emmett.”
“Seems you’re already over my brother.” He said it with a slight slur. Still drunk.
“I loved Matt. I love him still. Nothing’s changed. What brings you here, Emmett?”
“The offer of a cocktail would be hospitable.”
“I’m an alcoholic. I don’t have liquor in my house,” she lied, opening the fridge. “I have bottled tea or Coke. Or coffee.”
“I’ll take the soda.”
Birdie opened the top, surprised the leftover rum mixer still had fizz. She gathered some ice into a glass and poured it slowly, then motioned him to the living room.
Emmett sat up straight and purposefully proud, just like his father. Birdie sank into a chair, hugged her knees and wondered why he came. If she wanted to know what it was, she’d have to wait or bait and throw line.
She was impatient as usual.
“I assume you know Matt left you out of his will. What are your thoughts about that?”
Emmett shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not surprised. It’s just that … I’m in a financial bind and Matt agreed to loan me some money. He didn’t get the chance before he died.”
“Liar. Matt was a prolific writer and I have his journals. I’ve been spending a lot of time with them.” Let him come to his own conclusion about what that meant.
“You know?” he said.
“I know his side of the story,” she bluffed. “I’d like to hear yours.”
He drained the Coke and poured more into the glass. He drained that one too and put the glass down. He leaned forward as if talking to a friend. It was an awkward contrivance.
“Linda and Eileen remained friends after the annulment,” he said. “She’s a regular at our house. One night years ago she had too much to drink and Eileen insisted I drive her home … I didn’t intend … she started it.” His lips split into a thin smile as though reliving the memory. “She’s a beautiful woman …”
This was about screwing Matt’s ex-wife. Emmett’s ex-crush.
“Matt found out?”
“Yeah,” came out with burped Coke bubbles.
“Why would he care?”
“Seems they were testing reconciliation at that time. Linda was thrilled when she became pregnant. She always wanted Matt’s baby and finally got her wish. Matt never wanted children. That was one of many problems in their marriage.” He sneered at Birdie. “Had I known she was re-involved with my brother, I wouldn’t have had sex with her.”
Birdie held her hands so tight together she felt the blood pooling in her wrists.
Emmett continued. “Matt was convinced the baby wasn’t his. He demanded a DNA test. After a long go around with the lawyers, he got his test. It proved he wasn’t the father.”
Birdie exhaled and let go of her hands, allowed the feeling to return to her fingertips.
“The test suggested a high probability that a male relative fathered the child. It didn’t take him long to figure it out.”
“Linda seduced you to get pregnant and pass the baby off as Matt’s?”
He nodded. “I believed Linda when she said it wasn’t mine. She convinced Matt that it was my idea to pass off the baby as his in order to get a settlement.”
“Why? Linda is a trust fund baby.”
“It wasn’t really about money. It was about love and entrapment. She wanted Matt back and was convinced that his sense of obligation would bring them together. When that didn’t work, she blamed me for forcing her into a lie. All I’m guilty of is an adulterous one-night-stand. As for the rest, it was all her.”
Birdie wondered if Emmett could see the relief on her face. She reflected on April’s green eyes. Looked into Emmett’s. Both brothers inherited their mother’s intense color. If April were Matt’s child, he would have provided for her, regardless of his relationship with the mother. And neither April nor Linda were left a penny. Emmett returned Birdie’s gaze with welling eyes.
“I saw Linda sitting nearby at the funeral Mass. How does that make you feel?”
“Afraid. Eileen doesn’t know. When Linda is drunk her tongue gets loose. I feel a constant threat.”
“Who does know?”
“Junior of course. Arthur.”
“Arthur?”
“He was Matt’s partner for all those years. Matt must’ve told him.”
Birdie remembered the way Arthur squeezed Emmett’s shoulder at the wake. “Is Arthur blackmailing you?”
“Of course not.” He chewed on the words just long enough for Birdie to detect the lie. About Arthur or blackmail?
“How much money do you need?”
“One-and-a-half large.”
“Geeze. Why so much?”
“Debts. I’ll pay it back with interest.”
“How do you suppose you’ll be able to pay off a loan of this size, even if I give you a good interest rate? You’d be chasing your tail.”
His face glistened with evaporating booze. “I’m stuck.”
Birdie mulled the options and came to a quick conclusion. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you the money with conditions. Secrets continually weigh you down with fear. Confront the issue and it will no longer have any power over you. With Linda being a presence in Eileen’s life she will find out one day. The truth should come from you, not Linda or a bl—” she almost said blackmailer, “—anybody else. Respect Eileen. Tell her and your money worries will go away. Guaranteed. You have one week to confess.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Emmett’s scorn was evident.
“I’m serious. The money as a gift with strings attached, or nothing. You decide. Matt made no arrangement with you. I know this for a fact.” Her eyes bored into his.
Emmett looked at her sideways, his eyes fixed at the periphery of her face.
“Do you accept my terms?”
Emmett sucked his upper lip. “I accept.”
Later, she watched from the living room window as Emmett left with a check safely tucked into his pocket. As he turned to get into his car, she was struck by the look on his face—absolute hatred. Aimed at himself for having to let go of his pride and ask for a handout? Or directed at Birdie for reasons unknown? It was then she realized he hadn’t even said thank you.
Birdie returned to her office and erased the April notation. What a relief.
The board changed with Soto’s revelations. There was a second padlock that secured evidence of bad cop behavior. O’Brien was hired by bad cops. Two suicides: Matt’s might have been assisted, O’Brien’s was not. One murder: Reidy. Soto brought up murder in reference to Matt. Birdie discounted it then and now. She had insider knowledge. Still … she dialed Ron’s number.
“Hello, Birdie.”
“I met with an associate of Matt’s,” she said. “He suggested murder.”
Ron took a deep breath. “Right to business then? Elizabeth?”
“For now.”
“Alright. I can’t prove murder. There’s no evidence. Hoy told me of your suicide theory at the cemetery. I can’t prove that either.”
“What about assisted termination? Jacob would know how to do it.”
“I’ve confirmed his whereabouts Friday afternoon through eleven o’clock Sunday when he left his home in San Diego to drive to Lake Henshaw. He didn’t have the opportunity.”
“How did you know to do that?”
“Wow. You have no faith in my investigative skills. Remember what I said, I prove my conclusion and disprove all other explanations. Besides, I’m already getting to know how you think. How you process. You’d come at me with that new-and-improved theory sooner rather than later and you’d give me hell if I didn’t check it out.”
“I’m that transparent?”
“Either that or I’m extremely good.”
Birdie heard his grin.
“So he did it on his own.”
“I’m an hour away from filing my final report. It’s going to state that Matthew Whelan died of an accidental overdose. The coroner will have the final say. As much as I like you I cannot change my conclusion based on your emotions.”