“Think it would stick?” Kaye asked.
“Probably not,” Okafor conceded. “But it might. In the long run, Sullivan made a mistake going to SecureLife and viewing the video clips before she told them not to give them to you. It makes her look like she’s hiding something.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Then she compounded her error by filing a complaint that is, on its face, false. She’s clearly trying to impede your investigation.”
“I just want those files.”
“You’ll get them. Just do what I just told you. Oh, and Kaye?”
“Yeah?”
“If you identify a suspect from those files, bring me an arrest warrant affidavit for the Sullivan woman.”
“I can do that.”
Kaye bent to the task of writing a short and sweet demand letter to SecureLife. While he worked he decided to get out of the office and deliver it in person, then just stand there waiting in order to provoke a response one way or the other.
He printed the letter, spun around to grab his jacket and saw two suits heading straight for him.
“Detective Kaye?” One of them said when they got close.
“That’s me,” Kaye replied. “Let me guess. Internal Affairs.”
“Correct,” the same guy replied. “I’m Sloan, this is my partner, Detective Leale.”
“Kaye,” Leale said, nodding. “Been a while.”
“This is about Megan Sullivan,” Kaye said.
“It is,” Sloan confirmed. “Mind if we grab a couple chairs and sit down, or would you rather do this in private?”
“Grab some chairs.”
“So you know about the complaint?” Sloan asked after he sat down.
“Captain Thompson filled me in,” Kaye replied.
Sloan and Leale exchanged glances, then Sloan advised Kaye of his rights and asked if he wanted a Rep present.
Kaye waived and declined the Rep.
“Do you acknowledge knowing and calling Megan Sullivan?” Leale asked.
“I don’t know her, and I’ve called her in an official capacity, yes,” Kaye said. He spent five minutes running down the circumstances of how he came to call Sullivan on the night of the murders and leave her a voice mail when he called from SecureLife, and that she had never returned his call. “In fact,” he added, “I talked to ADA Okafor not twenty minutes ago to figure out how to get what I need without involving Sullivan. I don’t really need her any more. Did she tell you she’s friends with Smithers’ wife?”
“She did,” Sloan said. “You’re saying you’ve only spoken to her once, and on another occasion left her one voice mail?”
“That’s correct,” Kaye said. “I’ve never even seen the woman in person. I’ve only seen her photo on a for sale sign.” He pulled out his phone, opened it to the home screen and handed it to Sloan. “My call history will confirm the dates and times of the calls.”
“Individual calls can be deleted,” Leale said condescendingly.
“I’m aware of that,” Kaye said. “Make a note of my number, Sherlock, and call the provider. Then ask Sullivan for her records. I bet she refuses to give them to you.”
“No reason to be antagonistic, Detective,” Sloan said, glancing at Leale before asking Kaye, “Is this the only phone you have?”
“The only cell, yeah,” Kaye replied, then gave them his home land line number. “Look, this is bullshit.”
“So why does Sullivan have a hard-on for you, Kaye, if you’ve never even met her?” Leale asked.
“I have no idea,” Kaye said. “But I’m going to find out. Call Okafor and ask her what she thinks.”
“You do not own or use another cell phone?” Sloan asked. “No burners, right?”
“Correct,” Kaye replied. “What’s she claiming, anyway? You Mirandized me, which tells me she’s making a criminal allegation, right?”
“We can’t tell you that,” Sloan said. “One more question and we’re done for now.”
“Go ahead,” Kaye said.
“Where were you this past weekend?”
“Saturday I rode up to Santa Barbara and Santa Ynez to do background on the Geller case. Got home about the time the sun went down. Sunday I was home most of the time except when I went to visit a friend.”
“Can you verify those locations?” Leale asked.
“I can,” Kaye replied. “In fact, call Officer Reid of the Village of Chumash Oaks PD. I’m sure he’ll remember me. I had a late lunch at a place called Auggie’s Wine’N’Diner in Santa Ynez, then hung out for a while. The owner will verify that.”
“Sounds almost like you went to great lengths to establish an alibi,” Leale said.
“Hardly,” Kaye said. “Reid stopped me for speeding. We did not become friends.”
“Did he cite you?” Sloan asked.
“No.”
“Too bad,” Leale smirked.
“Can it, Ernie,” Sloan said to his partner, then asked Kaye, “Who’s the friend you went to see on Sunday?”
“I call him Roshi,” Kaye said. “He’s the head monk at the Kyokoku-Dera Zen Monastery in the Hollywood Hills.”
“How long were you there?” Sloan asked.
“Maybe an hour, maybe a little more,” Kaye replied. “I got there about noon.”
“After that?” Sloan asked.
“Home,” Kaye said, shrugging. “You know, day off stuff.”
Sloan studied him for a moment, then stood up.
“Okay, I think we’ve got the picture.” He turned to Leale. “Let’s go.”
“See you around, Kaye,” Leale said back over his shoulder as he headed after Sloan. “Real soon.”
Kaye watched them leave the squad room. Before he could turn back to his desk he saw Thompson heading his way, a bundle of papers in hand.
“IA?” the Captain asked, looking after Sloan and Leale.
“Yep.”
“Have you seen the Times today?”
“I have not,” Kaye admitted.
Thompson handed Kaye the paper bundle. It unfolded to become the front page section of the Los Angeles Times. Below the fold was a prominent headline: LAPD Detective Accused of Stalking. Below that was the subhead: Detective Long Notorious In Department.
“Did they read you your rights and ask about a Rep?” Thompson asked.
“They did.”
“And?”
“I waived and talked to them,” Kaye said. “They can’t have anything because there is nothing for them to have. Captain, the whole thing is some kind of smoke screen. I just need to figure out what’s in it for Sullivan.”
“You will,” Thompson said. “Hey, you got anything yet on Ferrari Guy?”
“I do,” Kaye said. “I’ve seen Beverly Hills PD traffic video showing the same kind of motorcycle Edler says he saw following the Ferrari from the dealership all the way out of town on Santa Monica Boulevard. I’ve got a request into our traffic department for any video they have from up on Mulholland. And get this. Turns out Howell was ex-military and big in the counter-terrorism community. The guy who’s temporarily running Howell’s company said there were a lot of people around the world who would’ve blown the guy up given half a chance.”
“You think this could be a terrorism thing?” Thompson asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Kaye said. “But the pieces are all there.”
“Let me know as soon as you find out if that bike was still dogging the Ferrari up on Mulholland,” Thompson said. “If this thing has any kind of connection to Howell’s history in the military, I think it should go to the FBI.”
“Agreed,” Kaye said. “You’ll know as soon as I do.”
***
The morning was shot, and Kaye was hungry. Rather than move the bike and try to find a parking place, he walked around the corner to a local deli. Everybody who watches TV knows about cop bars, but nobody but the cops know about cop delicatessens.
He ordered a sandwich, found an empty table, took out the no
tebook he jokingly referred to as his paper brains, and started planning his next moves.
Getting the names of Nicole Ingram’s friends in L.A. would be a huge help. Surely Ingram would’ve mentioned her big break to them, maybe dropping a name to impress them. And there was her employer at The Blue Whale.
He needed to find out if Avi and Ziva Geller owned property in or near Santa Barbara. That would be simple.
It also occurred to him that Les Baruch, or someone else at AZG Productions, might be able to access Avi Geller’s calendar history or have a comprehensive list of the proposals the firm had received in the past year. If Nicole Ingram’s name was on it, that would help connect some of the dots. If not, at least it would give him a long list of people who might have been angry with Geller. Lather, rinse, repeat until the dirt finally comes out.
He finished his sandwich and gulped down the rest of his iced tea. As he flipped the notebook closed he caught a glimpse of the page list of names and tee times he’d gotten from Lon Burridge for the day Geller had argued with the unknown guy.
A name jumped off the page.
Adrian G.
But no last name.
Adrian Gagnon, maybe?
Whoever Adrian G. was had signed in two guests by their initials: R.H. and R.M.
Kaye wondered if there had been no last name on the log sheet, or if he’d simply had too much on his mind to write it down.
The thought dictated his first stop of the afternoon.
***
Forty minutes later Kaye rolled up to the gate at Paloma Canyon Country Club, flashed his badge and drove down to the main parking lot.
It took less than five minutes to determine that Nicole Ingram’s silver Jetta with Texas plates was not in the lot. He went back to the gate and asked the attendant if there was any other parking for the club.
“Yeah,” the kid said. “We have overflow and employee parking. Go up the hill and take the first left. You can’t miss it.”
Kaye checked the overflow lot with the same results. No Jetta.
To make sure, he went back to the main lot, parked, and headed for the clubhouse. It took him only a couple minutes to locate Carol Soares.
“Detective Kaye,” she greeted him. “What a surprise. What can I do for you?”
“I’m checking on something that might be relevant to Avi Geller’s murder,” Kaye replied. “I was wondering if you, or whoever would be responsible for it, might have had a car towed from your parking lots in, say, the last ten days.”
“You mean since the shootings, right?”
“Yes, and it would have been a silver VW Jetta with Texas plates.”
“Our guests sometimes get the proverbial wild hair and leave their cars here for extended periods of time, so a manager has to approve anything like that. You’d be surprised how many trips to Cabo start right here,” Soares said, smiling. “We haven’t towed anything in quite some time, and that was a member’s car that wouldn’t start.”
“Does that extend to the overflow and employee lot?”
“It does. Sorry I can’t help you, Detective.”
“Thanks for your time, Ms. Soares,” Kaye said. “It was a long shot, but I needed to check.”
“Is it connected to the young woman who was with Avi?”
“Maybe, but…” Kaye replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Can you check something else for me, though?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have a member with the last name of Gagnon? First name Adrian.”
“Follow me,” she said, then led Kaye to the Pro Shop and logged into one of the terminals there. After a moment of searching, she looked up and said, “I actually have multiple Gagnons.”
“Any of them have the first name of Adrian?” Kaye asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking up. “Mr. Adrian Gagnon joined us about a year ago.”
***
As soon as Kaye was out of sight, Soares went outside, found a quiet, out of sight spot, and made a call.
“Kaye was just here,” she said when the call was answered. “He was asking about a car and about Adrian.”
She listened.
“Silver Jetta with Texas plates,” she said. “Is that something we need to worry about?”
She listened again.
“You know you’re going to have to do something about that guy, right?” she said.
She listened one more time.
“Okay,” she said finally. “But I can’t keep --”
Interrupted, she stopped and listened.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” she said at last, exasperation in her voice, then hung up. “Bastard.”
***
It wasn’t quite 2:00 p.m. when Kaye walked into AZG Productions and asked to see Les Baruch.
Baruch emerged several minutes later, wearing a black suit and yarmulke.
“What can I do for you this time, Detective?” he asked. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“I won’t keep you long. I have two things I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know if the Gellers owned any property, either a house or a condo, in the Santa Barbara area? Or had a place there they went to regularly?”
For an instant Baruch looked taken aback, then replied, “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve identified the young woman who was killed with Mr. Geller,” Kaye said. “She was an aspiring screenwriter, and my information is that she’d been to Santa Barbara several months ago to pitch a script. I’m trying to determine if that’s how she knew your boss.”
“What was her name?” Baruch asked.
“Nicole Ingram.”
Baruch glanced nervously at his watch, then looked at Kaye and blushed. “Sorry. But I’ve only got a minute. Come with me.”
He led Kaye to his office.
“We keep a spreadsheet of everything we receive, and from whom,” he explained as he tapped away at his keyboard. He dipped his chin and looked over the top of his glasses to scan the monitor.
“Hmm,” Baruch said as he glanced up at Kaye. “I’ve never heard of Nicole Ingram, but her name is in our log. Says here we received a screenplay from her about eight months ago, but the first follow-up note is ‘copyright’ with a question mark, entered about three weeks later.”
“What do you think that means?” Kaye asked.
“Not sure, but I’d guess there was a question whether she had the rights to sell what she was peddling.”
“You said ‘first note’. Are there more?”
“Just one,” Baruch replied. “About a month later it says ‘UTL’.”
“UTL as in Unable to Locate?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Who made those entries?” Kaye asked.
Baruch looked up at Kaye and said, “Avi.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. The spreadsheet is set up so we can all scan and search the master list and cross reference it to make sure we avoid confusion and duplication. The sheet for Nicole Ingram was Avi’s.”
“Was it always like that?”
“Well, not always,” Baruch said. “Years ago, of course, everything was paper. But we’ve been digital for a long time. We get too many project proposals through the door these days to keep track of them on paper. We’d have an army of clerical people instead of talent evaluators.”
“So that means Avi dealt with Nicole Ingram directly?”
“Almost certainly,” Baruch said, then glanced at his watch again. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I have to run. Avi’s funeral is this afternoon and Ziva told us she would read the will at the burial site.”
“Is that usual?” Kaye asked.
“Well, yes and no,” Baruch said. “Avi and Ziva weren’t what you would call Orthodox, but they were strong in their faith. I’m sure Avi left a secular will for the division of the estate and won’t leave it to Halachic Law. But, knowing Avi, I’m betting he also left an ethical will that Ziva wi
ll read to the children. The fact that it’s been a week and Avi still isn’t buried is very upsetting to Ziva.”
“I understand,” Kaye said. “Please apologize to her for me about that, but under the circumstances there wasn’t much else we could do. I have one more request.”
“What’s that?”
“Please don’t tell Mrs. Geller about this conversation. I’d like to do that myself.”
Baruch looked confused, but said, “Okay, I mean, if that’s the way you want it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baruch.”
***
Kaye pondered what he’d learned from Baruch as he rode to SecureLife Security.
That Nicole Ingram’s name was in Geller’s database helped connect the dots, but the notes raised more questions. Geller’s time notes pretty much matched Nicole’s last contact with her family, but why the seven month gap? If nothing else, the gap between Ingram’s proposal to Geller and Geller’s note that he was unable to locate her helped define a possible time window for another event, one that caused her to quit calling her mother.
And if the Gellers didn’t have a place in Santa Barbara, who had Ingram gone to see?
He dismissed the question as he parked the bike at SecureLife.
He went through the entry procedure again and found Marella at her desk. He told her he needed to speak to whoever had decided not to turn over the files on his previous visit, and held up the envelope containing his letter for emphasis.
“That won’t be necessary, Detective,” she said. “I took it upon myself to follow-up on your request for the files. Long story short, I would have called you before the end of the day. The release of the files to the LAPD has been approved. Sorry for the confusion.”
“What changed?” Kaye asked.
“Well, I, uh, sort of jumped the chain of command. I mean, two people died, so I called our corporate lawyers directly. After I explained the situation, they called me back and said to give you the files. Said that Ms. Sullivan lacked… oh, what was it…?”
“Standing?” Kaye prompted.
“That’s it,” Marella said. “Standing, whatever that means, unless we had specific paperwork from our contracted clients, which we apparently do not have. Our lawyer said to go ahead and give you the files, and if Ms. Sullivan wants to fight you in court, that’s up to her. It’s not our battle. The only thing I don’t have, and couldn’t give you anyway, are the sign-in sheets she leaves in the house for when people enter. Those are hers.”
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