Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  Identifying Jane Doe had done absolutely nothing to bring the case into focus. If anything, it was even blurrier now.

  Kaye’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of Captain Thompson’s gruff voice.

  “Kaye, in my office now.”

  Kaye followed his boss and took a chair across the desk.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he sat down.

  Thompson put his elbows on his desk, leaned forward and stared at Kaye.

  “What’s going on with you and this Megan Sullivan woman?”

  “Excuse me?” Kaye asked. “What kind of question is that?”

  “It’s a simple question, goddamn it. From your Captain. What’s going on with you two?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Kaye replied. “I’ve never even met the woman, and if I hadn’t seen her picture on a real estate sign, I couldn’t pick her out of a crowd of two. What’s this about?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Thompson said. “Have you called her?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kaye said. “I called her the day, early evening really, of Avi Geller’s murder and I called her this morning.”

  “How many times, total?”

  “Those two times. That’s it. I didn’t even talk to her this morning. Left a voice mail.”

  “About what?”

  “Information relevant to the Geller case.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “I was at the security company office this morning because I believe the shooter went through the property to get access to the golf course. The house is for sale and Sullivan has the listing. That’s why I made the first call. Today I wanted gate camera footage and the system log showing in and out traffic. Sullivan had already been in last Friday asking for the same things. They wouldn’t give them to me without a warrant or Sullivan’s permission, so I called and left a voice mail. She hasn’t called me back.”

  “Get a warrant,” Thompson said, his expression deadpan.

  “With all due respect –”

  “Kaye,” Thompson interrupted forcefully, “whenever you start off by saying that, I know you’re about to cause me grief. Get a warrant or an okay from the DA. Do you read me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay away from the Sullivan woman.”

  “I’ll ask one more time, and I deserve an answer…sir,” Kaye said. “What’s this about?”

  Thompson sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “Okay, you should know that she officially beefed you to Internal Affairs late this morning. Claims you’ve been stalking her and harassing her with phone calls under the guise of police business. Told IA she was thinking about getting a restraining order.”

  Kaye laughed. “Let her try. As far as I know I’ve never been within ten miles of the woman.”

  “You don’t get it, Kaye. She’s friends with the brass. This will be on the front page of the Times tomorrow morning.”

  “I could not possibly care less,” Kaye said, starting to rise. “Am I dismissed?”

  “No, you are not. Is there any progress on finding Avi Geller’s murderer?”

  “I just identified the young woman with him. Nicole Ingram, from Amarillo, Texas.”

  “Okay, good. Stay on it. I’m getting a lot of pressure from downtown to find Geller’s killer.” Thompson said. “You are now dismissed. And, Kaye, stay away from Megan Sullivan.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kaye said. “But know this. I will get the security system info, and without an unnecessary warrant, and if I find anything that helps me identify the killer, the first time I see Megan Sullivan will be to arrest her for interfering with a homicide investigation.”

  “It’ll never stick.”

  “Who cares?” Kaye said mockingly. “It’ll be on the front page of the Times, right?”

  He went back to his desk, saw a pop-up notification of an e-mail from Arch, and opened it.

  Kaye,

  That was fast. Must be why you’re the detective…lol. I’ll expect a call from the parents and make necessary arrangements. By the way, not that it matters, but Ms. Ingram’s drug of choice was heroin. The final reports on her and Geller are attached.

  Arch

  Kaye skimmed the reports, looking specifically for any mention of recent sexual activity by either victim. None had been noted. There was, however, a reference to a small scar inside her right elbow. He downloaded and saved the file attachments to the case folder, grabbed the Big Boar jacket off the chair, shrugged into it and headed for the door.

  On the way he glanced at the clock.

  3:45 p.m.

  Close enough for government work, he thought as he pushed out the door and headed for the Harley.

  ***

  If Megan Sullivan was trying to distract Kaye from the Geller investigation, it worked.

  He spent the evening doing legal research and trying to figure out why she would make a bogus complaint to the Department.

  He reached two conclusions.

  He’d call Kayla Okafor tomorrow to verify his opinion on the legal aspect.

  And Megan Sullivan quietly slid from Kaye’s mental list of Contacts to being a Person of Interest.

  DAY 9

  Tuesday Week 2

  It was 10:15 a.m. in Amarillo, Texas when Kaye got to the station.

  He hated making these calls. It was, without doubt, the one part of his job he loathed. He knew he’d have to meditate over a beer or two later and try to reconcile how the Universe could be so supposedly interconnected, yet so random and so shitty. It just didn’t work.

  With a sigh, he leaned forward, grabbed the carpet with his boots, bellied up to the desk and picked up the phone.

  He punched in the Amarillo area code and the number, and waited.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice answered.

  “Hello. May I please speak to Bradley or Sylvia Ingram please.”

  “This is Sylvia Ingram. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Kaye took a deep breath.

  “Mrs. Ingram, my name is Ben Kaye. I’m a detective with –”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Did you find her? Please tell me you found Nicole.”

  Kaye heard the rising hysteria in her voice and swallowed hard.

  Before he could speak, though, he heard a low male voice in the background.

  “Give me the phone, darlin’. C’mon, Syl, give me the phone.”

  A moment later the man spoke to Kaye.

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Sir, my name is Ben Kaye. I’m a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. Am I speaking with Bradley Ingram?”

  “You are,” Ingram replied. “Are you calling about Nicole, our daughter? Did you find her?”

  “Yes, sir, I did,” Kaye said as gently as he could. “I’m very sorry to tell you that Nicole is deceased.”

  Kaye heard Bradly Ingram take a long, slow deep breath, then a series of quick, ragged ones as he fought off a sob.

  Kaye waited patiently.

  “Where did you find her?” Ingram asked after a moment, his voice subdued.

  “She was the victim of a homicide last week here in Los Angeles. She had no identification on her at the time, so it took me awhile.”

  “I think you’ve made a mistake, Detective Kaye. Our daughter went missing seven months ago. We reported it to the Santa Barbara authorities.”

  “I know, Mr. Ingram,” Kaye said. “I spoke with Deputy Stephenson at the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Office yesterday afternoon.”

  “She’s been alive all this time?” Ingram asked, obviously bewildered. “Why didn’t she call us? Nicole always called us.”

  “I can’t answer that question, Mr. Ingram. At least not yet.”

  “Are you sure it’s her? I mean, absolutely sure?”

  “I don’t have a legal identification yet from somebody who knew her, which is something we need to talk about, but sir, please believe me when I say I would never call you with this kind of news if I wasn’t positive it’s Nicol
e. Your daughter had a small scar near the corner of her mouth, and one inside her right elbow, correct.”

  “She did,” Ingram said, and Kaye could almost hear the surrender in the man’s voice. “Got them both the first time she got tossed by a horse.”

  Kaye could hear sobbing in the background.

  “How did she die?” Ingram asked.

  “She was shot,” Kaye replied. “It’s probably small consolation, Mr. Ingram, but the medical examiner said death was almost instantaneous. She didn’t suffer.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “Not yet, but I will,” Kaye said. “I know this is a terrible shock, Mr. Ingram, but could I ask you a few questions while I have you on the phone?”

  “If it’ll help you catch Nicole’s killer, you ask whatever you want.”

  “Did your daughter like Los Angeles? Had she made friends?”

  “She loved it,” Ingram said. “Told us it was exciting, and the place for her to be to do what she wanted to do. Nicole never had trouble making friends, I just can’t focus and recall names right now.”

  “That’s fine,” Kaye said. “Did she have a regular job somewhere?”

  “Yeah, she did,” Ingram said. “She worked in some big blue glass building she called the Blue Whale. Had all that design stuff in it.”

  “The Pacific Design Campus?”

  “That’s it,” Ingram confirmed. “She was an event planner or coordinator, something like that.”

  “She didn’t work for one of the designers with a showroom in the building?”

  “Nope, she worked directly for the people who run the place.”

  “Got it. The next one is tough,” Kaye said, then paused a beat before asking, “Did Nicole have any history of drug use?”

  There was a brief silence before Ingram answered.

  “Not that I know of. I mean, except for when her doctors prescribed her something. Why would you ask me that?”

  “The medical examiner found injection marks between her toes and she had heroin in her system when she died.”

  “Between her toes?” Ingram asked, incredulous. “Why the hell would she…?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” Kaye said, “but in my experience users who do that don’t want visible marks on their arms, usually for social reasons.”

  “She didn’t want anybody to know she was an addict?”

  “That’s my guess,” Kaye said. “Deputy Stephenson in Santa Barbara told me that you told him that Nicole was an aspiring screenwriter and was up there for a meeting to pitch a script. Is that right?”

  “Yep,” Ingram said. “She was real excited. Said it could be her first big break.”

  “Did she tell you who she was meeting?”

  “Not that I recall, but hold on.”

  Kaye heard Ingram calm his wife down, then repeat the question to her. There was a brief silence before he came back on.

  “Sorry, my wife doesn’t know, either.”

  “That’s okay,” Kaye said. “Did you daughter ever mention the name Avi? Maybe Avi Geller, or AZG Productions?”

  Ingram asked his wife again before answering.

  “Not that we remember. Who is this Avi Geller guy? You think he’s the one who shot Nicole?”

  “No. Avi Geller was shot and killed at the same time as your daughter. They were together. Geller was a movie producer.”

  “You know, I heard about that. It even made our local news.” Ingram stifled another sob. “Who’d’ve thought that unidentified woman would be my little girl.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Ingram, and please pass my condolences, and those of the LAPD and Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Office, along to Mrs. Ingram. That’s all I have right now.”

  “When can I come get her?” Ingram asked instantly.

  “You’ll need to contact the medical examiner’s office for that.” Kaye gave Ingram the phone number. “Ask for Doctor Archuleta and tell him we’ve talked. He’ll ask you to make the identification, so be prepared.”

  “I can do that. Can I ask you a question? There’s one thing I just can’t wrap my head around.”

  “Go right ahead. I’ll answer the best I can.”

  “Why wouldn’t Nicole have called her momma for seven months? I mean, they were close, real close. Didn’t go two days without talking for two hours. Something else happened to her in the meantime, after she went missing. Maybe the drugs? I’d like to ask you to look into that, too, if you could.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You want to see me when I come to get my baby girl?”

  “It’s not necessary,” Kaye replied. “But I’m certainly not going to tell you that you can’t call me or come by the station.” He gave Ingram the address.

  “Okay, good to know. Thank you.”

  “One more thing?” Kaye asked.

  “Sure.”

  “After you and Mrs. Ingram have had some time to process this, would you put your heads together and see if you can remember any names of people Nicole knew out here? You could maybe re-read letters or old e-mails or texts, if you have them, to jog your memory. Even first names would help. And let me know?”

  “We’ll do it,” Ingram replied. “I’ll let you know what we come up with.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ingram. I’m very sorry to have to deliver this news to you on the phone, but sometimes that’s just the way it is. Call me, anytime, and rest assured, when I get to the bottom of this, I’ll be in touch”

  “Thank you, Detective Kaye.”

  Before Bradley Ingram hung up Kaye heard Sylvia Ingram break into a long, sad wail.

  He sat and regrouped for a while, going back through the conversation and trying to figure out how he could have made it easier on Nicole Ingram’s parents. He remembered the agony of being told by the ER doctor that Amy had died of her crash injuries, and couldn’t imagine having had to wait seven months, not knowing and somehow going about his life, to find out. He knew there was no easy way to tell a parent their child was dead, and he also knew that if it ever got easy for him, it was time to find something else to do.

  The best thing he could do for the Ingrams would be to find their daughter’s killer.

  He roused himself and turned back to his computer, composing another e-mail to add to the thread with Arch.

  Spoke to Bradley and Sylvia Ingram about their daughter, Nicole. You should expect a call. He knows he has to make an ID.

  Kaye

  Arch must’ve been sitting at his computer, because his reply was immediate.

  He’s already called. He’ll be here Thursday morning.

  Arch

  P.S. Thanks for making the call. I really, truly, honestly HATE having to do that.

  “You and me both, Arch,” Kaye muttered. “You and me both.”

  ***

  Kaye’s next call was to Kayla Okafor.

  He’d decided not to write a warrant affidavit for the SecureLife data and make the trek downtown, since it would eat up half his day doing something he didn’t think needed to be done.

  Kaye hadn’t finished law school, but his two years put him ahead of nearly all his colleagues and gave him a solid working relationship with several of the ADAs.

  “Good morning, Counselor,” he said when she picked up. “Ben Kaye. How are you?”

  “I’m busy,” Okafor replied. “I don’t mean to be short, Detective, but what can I do for you?”

  Kaye explained the situation and SecureLife’s refusal to release the digital log files to him without a search warrant, then outlined his argument that neither SecureLife nor Megan Sullivan had protection under a reasonable expectation of privacy.

  “This is the Geller homicide, right?” Okafor asked.

  “Well, it’s not technically a case for you yet,” Kaye said. “Nothing’s been filed, but, yeah, it’s that investigation.”

  “Okay. My first conclusion is that you’re right, at least about SecureLife. In essence, they’re simply
a witness with no protections against being compelled to testify, as it were.

  “The Sullivan woman is a tougher call,” Okafor went on. “She’s acting in agency for the homeowner’s, correct?”

  “Her sign’s hanging on the gate.”

  “If the agent relationship is limited to the sale of the property, you’re in the clear.”

  “But?”

  “But,” Okafor said, “if she has a broader relationship with the clients, like a general Power of Attorney, you’re in murky waters. She could possibly assert standing, especially since she beat you to the files.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “She planted her flag on that information. She made a claim of ownership, as it were.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I’m not saying she’d prevail, but we both know a judge is just a lawyer who calls balls and strikes. She might get the call, she might not.”

  “In your opinion, what should I do?” Kaye asked.

  “Call Sullivan and ask her, first of all, to turn over the files to you. If she refuses, ask her if she has a notarized general Power of Attorney signed by her clients.”

  “I can’t,” Kaye said and explained about the complaint to Internal Affairs.

  “You’re kidding?” Okafor said, then went quiet. “Okay, serious question, Detective,” she said after a moment. “Is there any basis for the complaint? Your answer is off the record.”

  “Absolutely not,” Kaye replied. “I’ve spoken to the woman on the phone once, left one voice mail, and have never laid eyes on her.”

  “Let me think,” Okafor said.

  Kaye waited.

  “Okay,” Okafor said finally. “Here’s what you do. Go to the security company and submit a written request for the files directly to their legal counsel. Give them a very tight deadline, like, say twenty-four hours.”

  “If they still refuse?”

  “Arrest the person who conveys that refusal for obstruction of justice by withholding material information in a homicide.”