The two had long had a contentious relationship, but it was mostly one way.
Thompson didn’t like Kaye’s penchant for bending the rules, riding a motorcycle on duty, or the Big Boar MC colors his detective habitually wore, but he tolerated those things because Kaye was the best investigator he had. Kaye made arrests and closed cases, and that was the business they were in.
Good numbers keep bosses happy, no matter what the business.
“In my office, now,” Thompson growled as he walked past Kaye.
“What did I do now?” Kaye asked after taking the chair across from Thompson. “One day back. I think that’s a new personal best.”
Thompson stared at him, clearly not appreciating Kaye’s attempt at humor.
“Does the name Megan Sullivan mean anything to you?”
Kaye started to answer ‘no’, but suddenly the name clicked.
“I talked to a realtor named Megan Sullivan on the phone yesterday,” Kaye said, then gave Thompson the quick and dirty on the murders at Paloma Canyon and recounted the circumstances of his conversation with Sullivan.
Thompson’s mood improved as Kaye ran it down.
“Okay,” he said when Kaye was done. “I get it, and I agree with your choices under the circumstances.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Unfortunately for you, and for me because I just got my ass chewed by the Bureau Commander, this Sullivan woman is friends with Stella Smithers.”
“Smithers, as in Deputy Chief Smithers?”
Thompson nodded. “She called Smithers last night and told him you refused to take a crime report and left the scene.”
“Crime?” Kaye asked. “What crime?”
“Apparently the house in question was broken into at some point and was vandalized. I guess there’s a lot of damage.”
“I had no way of knowing that. In fact, I made the conscious decision not to go through the gate without a warrant because it might bring into question anything I found.”
“I agree,” Thompson said. “I also agree that going to talk to Geller’s wife trumped you cooling your heels for an hour or more waiting for Sullivan when there was no indication a crime had been committed.”
“So we’re good?”
“We’re good,” Thompson nodded. “But I need you to put what you just told me in writing; an e-mail is fine; so I can give it to the Commander, who can then take it to Smithers.”
“I’ll do it right now,” Kaye said. “Oh, and I talked to your Ferrari-crazy firefighter this morning.”
“And?”
Kaye ran it down, and he could tell his Captain’s curiosity was piqued.
“You think this kid might actually be on to something?”
“I think if I don’t run it down I’m not doing my job.”
“You gonna talk to our traffic guys and the LAFD arson investigator?”
Kaye thought about it for a moment.
“I don’t think so, at least not yet,” he replied. “I don’t want to start off by stepping on toes, and I think it’d be better if I went at it like it was a new case, no preconceptions, and see what I come up with.”
“Sounds good to me,” Thompson said. “But it’s low priority, okay? Focus on the Geller murder for now.”
“It wasn’t just Geller. A young woman was killed, too.”
“I know, I know. But she’s not on the news, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Kaye said, rising. “I’m meeting with Geller’s wife and her lawyer this afternoon.”
“Let me know how that goes.”
Kaye went back to his desk and spent five minutes writing an e-mail about his telephone conversation with Megan Sullivan and the surrounding circs, then sent it to Thompson. Then he spent an hour making updates to the Geller file. As yet he had no forensics information from either Arch or the crime lab, so the file contained a lot of fluff, but not a whiff of progress.
***
When he’d dotted the last ‘i’ and crossed the last ‘t’, Kaye checked the time. He was hungry, and basically had time to kill until his meeting with Feinmann and Ziva Geller.
He grabbed the reports on the Ferrari crash, scanned through them quickly to find what he needed, grabbed his jacket and headed out.
After stopping for a quick bite on San Vicente, he headed for Beverly Hills.
As many times as he’d been to and through Beverly Hills he’d never noticed the Ferrari dealership. There was no on-street parking in front of the place and he circled the block three times before finding a place to park the Harley.
The nondescript store front on the street side was compensated for by the wide bank of overhead doors facing the street the next block over, two of which were up to take advantage of the Chamber of Commerce weather.
Kaye walked in and stopped to stare at the millions of dollars worth of rolling sculpture on display. Many of the cars were collectibles protected behind glass walls, others were surrounded by red velvet cordons strung between golden stanchions. He’d never been an exotic car devotee, even though he could afford any of the cars he could see. When he wasn’t riding one of the Harleys in his collection he drove a newer model crew cab pickup that served his needs. It had very low mileage.
“Good afternoon,” a voice said from behind him. Kaye turned to see a man dressed in a stylish navy blue suit, accented by a red tie, standing a few feet away with hands clasped expectantly.
“Welcome to Ferrari. My name is Anthony. How may I be of service today?”
“Detective Kaye, LAPD.” He pulled back his jacket to show his badge. “I’d like to see a four eighty-eight Spider, please.”
Anthony had obviously learned not to judge a potential customer by occupation or dress, because he simply said, “Of course. Follow me,” and headed for the front of the store.
Kaye could immediately see the appeal of the car. Sleek, sexy, and the distinctive Ferrari red color guaranteed it wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Anthony launched into his very low-key, soft-pedal sales presentation describing the features and performance of the car.
“I assume you can put on a roof panel,” Kaye said when Anthony asked if he had questions.
“Of course,” Anthony replied. “One push of a button and the car becomes weather tight.”
“It’s onboard?”
“Yes, it stows beneath the tonneau cover. Up and down in only seconds.”
“I’m impressed,” Kaye said. “Is this one available?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Anthony said. “This one is waiting for the owner to come take delivery. We’re currently taking orders for delivery eight to twelve months out.”
“Business is good, eh?”
“Very, but I wouldn’t recommend the four eighty-eight for you.”
“Why is that?”
“With your size, Detective, I doubt you would find it comfortable.”
“That’s kind of what I thought when I saw it, too,” Kaye admitted. “I’m really not here to buy a car.”
“I assumed that,” Anthony said. “You’re here to talk about Mr. Howell’s unfortunate crash and demise.”
“I am.”
“Frankly, I expected someone much sooner. Let’s go sit down.”
Kaye followed Anthony into a lavishly appointed office unlike anything he’d ever seen at a car dealership. It looked to him more like the drawing room of an Italian palazzo.
“So, how can I help you?” Anthony asked when they were seated.
“I’m taking a fresh look at the accident,” Kaye said. “Just trying to tie up a few loose ends.”
“Why? The fire department and your traffic people ruled Mr. Howell’s death the result of a single-vehicle accident. I thought the matter was closed.”
“Let’s just say I might have some new information,” Kaye said. “I’m skeptical, and, hey, it’s what they pay me to do.”
Anthony stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk.
“We’re s
keptical, too.”
“We?” Kaye asked. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“All of us,” Anthony replied. “The entire Ferrari family. The engineers in Maranello are beside themselves trying to figure out why there was a fire.”
“So it was unusual?”
“It wasn’t simply unusual,” Anthony said. “It’s inexplicable. Our cars are the finest designs and engineering in the world. But human beings drive them, so accidents happen. We understand that, but based on the visible damage to the car Mr. Howell should have walked away from that crash without a scratch and the car certainly should not have burned.”
“You saw the car?”
“Of course. We recovered it and had it brought here for examination.”
“Who examined it?”
“The company sent engineers from Italy.”
“What did they find?”
“That’s just it,” Anthony said. “They found nothing obvious that would have caused a fire anywhere in the car, much less one that apparently started in front of the firewall.”
“They concluded the fire didn’t start in the engine compartment?”
“That is correct.”
“Anything else?”
“One of the engineers was baffled by the damage patterns. It seems the built-in crumple zones failed to perform as designed.”
“Where’s the car now?” Kaye asked.
“It was crated and shipped to the factory for more analysis.”
“They did that?”
“Certainly,” Anthony said, nodding. “It may have gotten two column inches in the Times, Detective, but in our industry it was major news.”
“Why is that?”
“Ferrari is the premier marque in the automotive world. We take great pride in our cars. When one of our owners dies in a relatively slow-speed, one vehicle crash, we want to know why so we can keep it from happening again.”
“And maybe avoid a major product liability lawsuit.” Kaye said.
“Certainly, there is that,” Anthony said. “But that’s a possibility for the legal department to deal with. Believe me when I say the engineers are taking this very personally. Someone died. They want to know if they made a mistake that caused that to happen.”
“I imagine so,” Kaye said. “What can you tell me about Mr. Howell?”
“Nice guy,” Anthony said. “When someone waits for their car as long as he did they become a frequent, albeit sometimes impatient, visitor. Mr. Howell traveled extensively, but he came in regularly.”
“How long did he have to wait?”
“About a year.”
“You’re kidding.”
Anthony laughed.
“I’ll admit it was longer than usual, but Mr. Howell’s car had some special modifications to accommodate his prosthesis.”
“Prosthesis?”
“Yes,” Anthony said. “Mr. Howell lost his left leg while serving in Iraq. I don’t know the entire story, of course, but he certainly didn’t let it slow him down.”
“What kind of special modifications are we talking about?” Kaye asked, thinking that might account for the unusual damage patterns Edler saw.
“Nothing very technical, really, and certainly nothing that would have contributed to the crash or the fire. There were some changes to the door hinges, the seat mounting and the rocker panel on the driver’s side to make it easier for him to get in and out of the car. Our engineers have already ruled out all those things.”
“Do you know what Mr. Howell did?” Kaye asked. “I mean, there probably aren’t a lot of disabled vets who can afford to plunk down that kind of money for a car.”
“Oh, Mr. Howell did very well. He was the CEO of his own firm, doing some kind of government contract security work. Let me pull up his owner profile and I’ll give you the name and address of the company.”
Anthony swiveled his chair to face his computer monitor and slid a keyboard tray from under the desktop.
“Ah, here we are,” he said after a moment. “Leigh Howell” – he spelled out L-E-I-G-H for Kaye’s benefit – “Chairman and CEO of Black Scimitar Corporation.”
Kaye had never heard of the company, but didn’t think it would be hard to track down.
“When Howell came and picked up his car, did he come by himself?” he asked.
“I assume he was dropped off for the appointment,” Anthony said. “But, yes, he came in from the front, by himself.”
“So he wasn’t with anyone else who might have been on a motorcycle?”
“I never saw anyone else. One of our concierge staff met Mr. Howell at the front door. If you’d like to talk to her, I can certainly arrange that.”
“What time did he leave the store?” Kaye asked.
“Hmm…” Anthony murmured before turning back to his computer. “His delivery appointment was at eleven a.m., and the process takes about two hours, so, say about one.”
“Anything at all unusual about the delivery? Did Howell seem okay? Problems?”
“Nothing at all that I remember, except that he was very excited to finally have his car.”
“Thank you for your time, Anthony,” Kaye said, rising. “Is there anything else, anything at all that you think I should know?”
Anthony hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “I blame myself, really. I should have insisted that Mr. Howell complete our driving school, and I didn’t. He always said he was too busy.”
“Driving school?”
“Yes. A mid-engine car, especially one with that much horsepower, is a completely different animal. If you’ve never driven one before, well, let’s just say there is a learning curve.”
“You think Howell maybe just got in over his head? Too fast, too soon?”
“I think that must be considered as a cause of the accident,” Anthony said. “Why there was a fire, though, is the big unknown.”
“If your engineers make a determination on that, would you let me know, please?” Kaye handed Anthony a business card.
“Of course.”
Kaye left through the front door. Looking both ways he saw signals at the closest intersections. Knowing the alley behind the store was one way, he walked east to the cross street.
There were traffic cameras covering all directions.
***
Kaye rolled into the station parking lot a little after 3:30 p.m.
He spent a few minutes bringing Captain Thompson up to date on his visit to the Ferrari dealer, getting back to his desk just in time to answer his phone.
It was Patty.
“Detective, I have a Mr. Feinmann and Mrs. Geller here to see you.”
“Thanks, Patty. On my way.”
Kaye guessed Feinmann to be fifty. The attorney was tall, balding on top but with shaggy black hair going to silver over his shirt collar and ears. He wore black horn-rimmed glasses and a suit Kaye guessed at three grand, minimum.
Ziva Geller’s age was anybody’s guess, and the estimate went up as Kaye got closer. Her clothes were conservative, her jewelry was not.
Kaye introduced himself and said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Geller.”
“I’m not,” she shot back. “Saves me a lot of money and trouble.”
“Ziva,” Feinmann said, “we talked about this, remember?”
“Of course I remember, Howard,” she said. “I’m upset, but I’m not senile.”
“Let’s talk in private,” Kaye said. “Follow me, please.”
He led them to an interview room. On the way he grabbed a more comfortable chair for Ziva Geller and rolled it into the room.
When they were all seated, Kaye led off.
“I’d like to thank you for coming in so soon, Mrs. Geller. After our conversation last evening, I didn’t expect it.”
“I apologize for being rude,” Geller said. “I was only following Howard’s instructions.”
Feinmann caught Kaye’s eye and the attorney rolled his and shook his head ever so slightly.
“I un
derstand,” Kaye said.
“Before we begin,” Feinmann said, “I’d like to state for the record that my client is here voluntarily, and I’d also like to set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” Kaye asked. “Look, Counselor, this isn’t an interrogation. I’m just looking for background information on Mr. Geller. Things like friends, business associates, enemies, things like that. I figure if anybody knows those things, it’s your client. Besides, she can always refuse to answer if she prefers not to.”
“First, then,” Feinmann said, “I’d like to know if Mrs. Geller is either a suspect or person of interest in Mr. Geller’s murder.”
“She is not,” Kaye said.
“Will you be Mirandizing her?”
“No.”
“Are you recording this interview?”
“No,” Kaye said, “but I will be taking notes.”
“I can live with that,” Feinmann said before turning to Geller. “Ziva, the important thing here is that you don’t have to answer any questions at all, or any questions you’d prefer not to. Do you understand?”
Kaye idly thought that for a guy who claimed to be rusty on criminal defense, Feinmann was doing a pretty good job of explaining Miranda all by himself.
“I understand,” Geller said. “Go ahead, Detective Kaye.”
Kaye began with the pro forma stuff: Name, age, address, Avi Geller’s business address, etc. Then he asked how long the Gellers had been married.
“Almost thirty-four years,” she replied. “Three wonderful children, all successful.”
“Yet you were in the process of divorcing him?” Kaye asked.
“Yes, and no,” Geller said. “Howard, would you explain?”
“Certainly,” Feinmann said. “Detective, Mrs. Geller came to me several months ago and asked me to draw up divorce papers. But they’ve never been filed or served.”
“Why not?” Kaye asked.
“I still loved him,” Geller answered. “I kept hoping things would straighten out.”
“What things?” Kaye asked.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Feinmann interjected.
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