Quintero loomed over them, supervising the recovery. As Davie got near, he turned to her. “I called the squad room. One of our guys checked the property lines. Your guess was right—the box was buried in Topanga State Park. Brink’ll say it wasn’t on his property and therefore, it’s not his.”
“It might not matter,” Davie said, holding up the key, “if his fingerprints are on this or whatever is inside that box.”
Quintero dusted the key for prints but they were smudged and of no use, so he slipped the key into the padlock. It popped open. Inside was a disassembled semi-automatic sniper rifle—an M110—the weapon likely used to target Dag Lunds. Also inside were Zeke Woodrow’s missing dog tag and a letter to the Army Zeke had written, outlining John Latham’s crimes.
Vaughn whistled softly. “Brink must have figured the original file was on Zeke’s computer. That’s why he stole it. Risky keeping all this evidence so close to his house.”
“No more so than storing it in a rented storage locker,” Davie said. “I’m guessing he wanted it to be accessible. He knows we’ve been here once and saw the house was empty. He also told us TidePool would probably leave it empty. This place is isolated, so he assumed it was safe to leave the weapon buried on the hillside.”
“He may have thought he was safe until he bought these.”
Davie turned and saw Striker holding a towel, the same beige color as the ones she’d found in the downstairs bathroom.
“A guy’s got to take a shower,” Vaughn said.
Striker held up a slip of paper. “The price tags were in a wastebasket upstairs, along with a receipt from a department store. Guess where he bought them.”
Davie accepted the paper from his outstretched hand. She studied the sales slip, saw the name of the store, the list of each purchase—two bath, two hand, two wash, two kitchen. Next she read the date and time of the sale. Her jaw tingled as she lifted her head and stared at Striker. “He bought these towels at a store in Las Vegas on the same day Juno Karst was found dead a few miles away.”
Vaughn let out a soft whistle. “That’s cold. He kills a man and then goes shopping for bathroom accessories.”
Quintero wandered into the room from the patio. “What’s going on? Find something interesting?”
Striker briefed him and then added, “The store will probably have surveillance video. If we’re lucky, we can confirm it was Brink who made the purchase. The sales slip indicates he used a credit card. He might have charged other services, like at a hotel or rental car.”
“Let’s go hook him up,” Vaughn said.
Quintero extracted the gum from his mouth, wrapped it in a piece of paper, and slid it into his jacket pocket. “I get that you want to prove you’re a badass with a DIA, but it’s too dangerous. We’ll present it to the DA’s office. Once we get a warrant, the team will scoop him up.”
Quintero was talking about a Detective Initiated Arrest and he was right. It was dangerous, but the detectives who put the case together always wanted to make the arrest.
Davie leaned in to get Quintero’s attention. “We still don’t know if Brink acted alone or if Latham was involved.”
“Latham is back in Hong Kong.”
Davie frowned. “How do you know that?”
“We heard from Immigration this morning. Latham flew out of the Vancouver airport yesterday. Border agents have no record he ever crossed into the US and no indication that Brink flew to Canada to meet him.”
Everything was moving quickly now. Brink would be picked up soon. After the search team finished taking photos and collecting evidence, they returned everything else to its original location and locked the front door.
The two RHD detectives drove the rifle and case to the crime lab to have it compared to the shell casings they’d found in Kern County. Davie and Vaughn returned to headquarters, where Davie updated her reports and all the supporting evidence to present to the DA’s office. Then she turned the file over to Quintero.
Vaughn sat with his feet on his desk. “You want to take bets on how long it will take for the warrant to get into the system?”
Davie sat on a nearby chair. “Sometimes it takes a while, but I’m sure Quintero will hover over them until it’s done. The surveillance team is following Brink, so at least we know where he is.”
While Davie waited for Quintero and Striker to return from the DA’s office, her partner asked the department store to send a copy of their surveillance video. With all the evidence piling up against him, she hoped Brink would make it easy on himself and surrender.
The case was out of her hands now. Detective Quintero was the I/O. It was his show. She felt deflated. Dag Lunds wouldn’t be there when they made the arrest. Quintero would never have agreed to that because having a civilian present would only complicate the operation and possibly endanger lives. She might not be there, either, and that disappointed her.
Vaughn was meeting a new love interest for drinks later that night, so Davie decided to go home and check on Hootch. On her way, she stopped by the pet store and bought him some new toys, including a feather attached to a pole, a cloth mouse filled with catnip, and a scratch post the same shade of wisteria as the walls in her cottage. She hoped it compensated for her failure as a caregiver.
Davie drove her Camaro past the gates of Alexander Camden’s mansion to her guesthouse at the back of the property. As she got out of the car, she noticed the sun had coaxed the scent of rosemary from the bushes in Alex’s herb garden. She grabbed the cat toys and scratch post from the trunk and went inside the cottage, where she found Hootch curled up in his usual spot on the kitchen counter. Those impossibly long whiskers sprouting from the white fur around his mouth and his silky coat made him seem beatific. The way he stared out the window sometimes made her wonder if he was looking for Zeke to come and rescue him.
She set the sack of toys on the couch and the scratch post on the floor. “What do you see out there?”
Hootch turned toward her, his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just asking.”
She filled his dish with kibble and added fresh water to his bowl. “You should really cut me some slack. I’ve never had a cat before, so I’m not sure what to do.”
Hootch continued watching her. She found the brush from Dr. Dimetri and swept it through his coat. “I’m not doing a great job of taking care of you, but I’m trying.”
The cat didn’t seem to mind being brushed, so she kept it up until clumps of hair accumulated between the bristles. She ran her hand over Hootch’s coat from his charcoal and beige head to his long silky tail until he began to purr. She picked him up for the first time since that day he’d crawled up the Topanga hillside. He was heavy. Again, she estimated twelve or thirteen pounds. She carried him to the couch and set him down near the sack from the pet store.
“I bought you some cool stuff.” She pulled out the catnip mouse and laid it in front of Hootch. He sniffed at it but didn’t seem interested. He also rejected the feather on the pole. Even when she dangled it in front of his nose, he just glared at her with a look that said, Really? That’s the best you can do?
She couldn’t even pick out a decent cat toy. Worse yet, she was now talking to Hootch and pretending to read his mind, which made her wonder if she had gone off the rails. Bringing him here had been a mistake. He should be in a permanent home right now with good cat toys instead of with her and a lame feather on a stick.
Engaging the cat seemed futile. Instead of wasting her time trying to be charming, she showered and went to bed. Sometime in the night, she woke up and found Hootch again curled up in the crook of her arm. The next morning he was gone from her side. All the proof left of his midnight visitation was a clump of charcoal cat hair stuck to her pillow.
39
The following morning Davie arrived downtown and ran into Detective Striker at the front en
trance of the Police Administration Building. As they walked up the steps, he told her that the DA’s office had filed the case and issued an arrest warrant. They were waiting for it to officially appear in the system before arresting Brink.
Striker showed his ID to the officer at the front desk. “The surveillance team reported Brink left his Sherman Oaks apartment at about five p.m., carrying a large duffle bag. They followed him to a private shooting range in the Santa Monica Mountains. He stayed for a couple of hours. Then he drove back to the apartment and didn’t leave for the rest of the night.”
Davie also flashed her ID and followed Striker to the elevator. “Did they question anybody at the range?”
Striker pushed the up button. “They interviewed the owner. He said Brink showed up about a month ago to shoot and has returned at least two or three times a week since then. Brink told him he was moving his company to L.A. and looking for office space.”
“His company?”
“That’s what he said. After a couple of sessions watching Brink shoot, the owner complimented him on his accuracy. That’s when Brink told him he was a weapons instructor for a gun club. Brink seemed reluctant to name the group but finally did. The owner said he knew of them as anti-government survivalists.”
“That explains a lot.”
Striker continued briefing her as they stepped into the empty elevator car and rode to the sixth floor. “At 7:35 a.m. this morning, they followed his Mercedes into the parking garage of his office building. A member of the surveillance team verified he entered the suite and is still inside. He never went back to Topanga, so he doesn’t know we were there unless Amber Johnson told him.”
“I doubt she’d do that,” Davie said. “She’s too freaked out.”
When they arrived in the squad room, Quintero hurried toward Striker’s desk. “The warrant is in the system. Our team has eyes on Brink. Let’s pick him up.”
“He’s got an elderly temp working for him,” Davie said. “I don’t want her to get hurt. Maybe we should wait until he leaves the office.”
“He just drove out of the garage,” Quintero said. “A black-and-white is following him. The blue-suits will stop the car for a traffic violation. He won’t be expecting that. We’ll arrest him and impound the car. I’m off to the Westside now. Vaughn, you come with me. Richards, you ride shotgun with Striker.”
Davie was worried about Fern. She hoped Brink had cancelled her temp assignment and Fern was safe at home with her face plastered with cosmetic mud. She didn’t want to think of what Brink might do to her if he found out she’d been talking to the police.
Striker adjusted the weapon in his shoulder holster. Davie pulled her raid jacket out of the desk drawer. Both jogged to the garage. Striker motioned her into the passenger seat. “Buckle up.”
She assumed he was joking. She never wore a seatbelt unless she was in a high-speed chase. It limited her mobility. Striker was a competent driver so she felt little risk of a collision. Once they entered the freeway, Striker picked up the radio. He gave his personal ID to Dispatch and requested Code 3. Once he got a confirmation, he pulled down the light bar from under the windshield visor and activated the lights and siren. The car accelerated. The air was thick with tension as they sped to the location. Vaughn and Quintero were just ahead of them in an unmarked car.
Quintero’s voice crackled over the radio. “Suspect’s Mercedes is driving south on Westwood Boulevard. Chances are he’ll be armed when we stop him, so everybody stay safe.”
Davie heard another voice. This time it was one of the patrol officers. “Mercedes turning east on Olympic Boulevard, traveling in the inside lane. We’ll stop him at Century Park East. Waiting for traffic to clear.”
“Are they sure it’s him?” Davie said.
Striker kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Life doesn’t come with guarantees.”
Once they got near Olympic Boulevard he turned off the siren. He eased into traffic but kept well behind the patrol car. All eyes were focused on the Mercedes as it approached the intersection of Olympic and Century Park East. Traffic was light so Davie had a clear view of Brink’s car. The driver appeared to be alone in the front seat with a ball cap pulled down over his face, just like the person who’d left the scene of Zeke’s murder.
Just ahead, the black-and-white pulled up behind the Mercedes and the siren chirped twice. Davie was relieved when Brink’s vehicle slowed and then stopped. This would be over soon.
Striker inched the car closer. Davie saw one officer exit the vehicle and walk cautiously to the passenger-side window of the Mercedes. The other officer moved near the trunk of Brink’s car, forming a triangular pattern to keep from hitting his partner if shots were fired.
Davie watched as the door of the Mercedes slowly opened and a shoe appeared. It was black and small. The rhinestone cats on the toe sparkled in the sun. Fern.
She turned to Striker. “We’ve been punked.” She drew her weapon and bolted from the car. Striker followed.
Fern inched out of the front seat. The ball cap was tilted to the side of her head and she was clutching her chest. “Don’t shoot me!”
Vaughn appeared behind Davie. “Jeez, she’s having a heart attack. That’s all we need.”
Davie jogged toward the car but didn’t holster her gun. For all she knew, Brink was hiding in the backseat or in the trunk. “Fern put your hands behind your head.”
The woman seemed flustered and scared. “I can’t. Bad shoulder.”
“Okay. Hold them out to your sides.”
“Anything you say. Just don’t kill me.”
“Is anybody in the car with you?”
“No. Just me.”
Davie crept closer. “Do you have any weapons, Fern?”
“Of course not,” she said in her nasally voice. “Who do you think I am? Ma Barker? What’s going on here?”
Striker positioned himself near Davie at the Mercedes, his weapon drawn. The patrol officers opened each car door and the trunk to make sure nobody was inside as Davie patted Fern down. “Why are you driving Mr. Brink’s car?”
“He asked me to pick up his dry cleaning. He offered me fifty bucks under the table, so I said yes.”
“Why the hat?”
She pulled off the ball cap and patted her gray bob. “It was part of the deal. What did I care? For fifty bucks I’d wear a feather duster on my head. The guy’s a little eccentric if you ask me.” She leaned toward Davie and whispered, “He talks to himself, you know. He doesn’t think I can hear him, but my ears are good.”
Davie continued questioning Fern while Striker looked on. “Where is Mr. Brink now?”
“Back at the office, I guess.”
“Do you have a key?”
“Temps don’t have keys.” Fern’s complexion turned pale as she fanned her face with her hand. “Too much excitement. I need to sit down.” Striker took her arm and gently eased her onto the front seat of Brink’s Mercedes. She beamed him a look of fealty and adoration.
“We’re going to tow the car, Fern,” Davie said. “Somebody will drive you to our headquarters to take your statement. Then they’ll see you get a ride home.”
“Mr. Brink isn’t going to like that. I don’t want to leave him in the lurch.”
“Fern, you’re a temp.”
“So what? I still have principles.”
Davie helped Fern out of the Mercedes. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain when I see him. Meanwhile, your agency should find you another job.”
Davie turned Fern over to one of the RHD detectives. Then she found her partner.
Vaughn was steamed. “What a screw up. Let’s check Brink’s office.”
“He’s not there,” she said.
“At least he’s got an active arrest warrant. Let’s hope he gets stopped for speeding.”
Davie was angry and no atte
mpt by her partner to spin this screw-up into gold was going to change that. Brink was in the wind. She wouldn’t rest until he was in custody.
40
Alden Brink was nowhere to be found. Somehow he’d slipped out of the building without being seen. Fern claimed she didn’t know anything about his plans or where he’d gone. After Quintero debriefed the team, Davie called Lunds to warn him Brink was on the run. Then she and Vaughn drove back to headquarters.
Davie spent the next few hours searching for evidence to strengthen the case against Brink—information about the BMW, credit card charges he may have made near the murder scenes, telephone calls, emails.
It had been a frustrating day and she didn’t want to rehash the failed effort to arrest Brink with Quintero or anyone else. She’d been cooped up for hours at desks or in cars. Exercise is what she needed. She told her partner she was going home for a swim.
“I’m too wound up to go home,” he said. “You want to grab something to eat? We could walk over to Luigi’s.”
“I thought you had a date.”
“I cancelled. Again. I have a feeling that relationship is over.”
The restaurant was several blocks away but walking was exactly what she needed, so she locked her desk and logged out. She and Vaughn had eaten at Luigi’s before. The restaurant’s wood-paneled bar was a favorite spot for people who worked downtown, theater patrons, and a few actual Italians. Vaughn’s mother had given the Bolognese sauce her personal seal of approval. They snagged a small table near the kitchen and ordered a split of Chianti.
When the wine arrived, Vaughn raised his glass in a toast. “To next time.”
Davie ignored him. She was in no mood to joke about failing to arrest a murder suspect. “We should call Dag Lunds again. He offered to help. Maybe he can lure Brink out.”
Outside the Wire Page 23