Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  The light cycled again, to green for Mulholland. Kaye focused on the south-facing camera, watching for the motorcycle to come up the hill. All of the cars waiting on the east side of the intersection turned, either toward Hollywood or The Valley.

  He watched patiently, not remembering the exact light sequence.

  Five seconds later, the white Hayabusa went through the intersection, westbound, at a high rate of speed, swerving sharply to miss a car turning from eastbound Mulholland toward The Valley.

  He backed up the video and froze it as the Hayabusa entered the intersection and enlarged the image. The rider’s face was completely hidden by the full face shield. He was already sure, but toggled to the west-facing camera and found the view of the bike going through the intersection. He enlarged it enough to confirm it was the same plate number Ross had recorded.

  Kaye went from camera to camera, freezing the images so he could closely study the rider. He’d ridden a Hayabusa and knew the bike’s size and geometry, neither of which suited his massive size. He studied the rider’s position and posture, hand and foot placement, and size relative to the bike.

  Five minutes later, ninety-five percent convinced, he leaned back.

  The rider was almost certainly a woman.

  ***

  Kaye knocked on the Captain’s door and Thompson said, “Come” without looking up from the report he was reading.

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

  “I think the firefighter was right about the Ferrari.”

  Thompson dropped his pen and leaned back.

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. He described a motorcycle he saw twice during their response, but the timing of when and where he saw it didn’t work out. I got traffic cam video from Beverly Hills PD and our people, and the same bike followed the Ferrari all the way from the dealer to Mulholland.”

  “You think the biker might have caused the crash?” Thompson asked.

  “Edler thinks it was a bomb,” Kaye confirmed. “And the kid knows his stuff about the car.”

  “A bomb?” Thompson asked, clearly skeptical. “Is it too late to test for residue?”

  “Time’s not the problem. Location is. The car’s in Italy.”

  “What?”

  “Ferrari came and got it so they could try and figure out exactly what happened. They’re with Edler on the fact that there should never have been a fire, and they’re worried they’re selling a four hundred grand disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Thompson muttered.

  “My sentiments, exactly,” Kaye said. “I’ll keep chasing it and see what I can do.”

  “Okay. Did you ask Edler if he told the LAFD and our investigator everything he told you?”

  “I did. He said he tried, but feels like they just blew him off.”

  “Hmm,” Thompson said, then went quiet.

  Kaye waited.

  “Okay,” the Captain said after a moment. “Open a homicide on the victim. Run it independently…keep the LAFD and Traffic out of it for now. I don’t want them fucking with the investigation to cover their own asses. If you get even a whiff, and I mean anything, about a possible connection to Howell’s military history, this all goes to the Feds.”

  “Understood.”

  “Anything new on the Geller case?” Thompson asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yeah,” Kaye replied, then gave his boss a quick run-down on the security system finding. “I’ve got to track down this Lisa Riley and see if she went to the house on the day of the murder, but if it wasn’t her, my next stop is Megan Sullivan.”

  “IA’s not going to like that.”

  “They’re the least of my worries right now.”

  “They shouldn’t be,” Thompson said.

  “Captain,” Kaye said, “if the day comes that a Megan Sullivan can hide from us behind our own policies and procedures, we’re all in trouble.”

  “You got that right. Just let me know ahead of time if you’re going to call or go looking for Sullivan. I’ll cover your ass with IA.”

  “That works,” Kaye said, rising. “Thanks, Cap.”

  Back at his desk Kaye picked up the phone and called Anthony at the Ferrari store.

  “Detective Kaye,” the salesman said when he picked up. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

  “I have some news about Mr. Howell’s crash. And I need a favor.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Kaye told Anthony that he’d looked into the crash and uncovered inconsistencies that convinced him to take a closer look.

  “Long story short,” he said in conclusion, “I’m investigating Mr. Howell’s death as a possible homicide.”

  “Thank you,” Anthony said. “Lord knows we got nowhere with the Beverly Hills police.”

  “Don’t sell them short,” Kaye said. “I talked to them. They did dig into it, they just didn’t find any evidence of a crime in their jurisdiction. But it was the traffic cam video one of their people saved that got my attention.”

  “That makes me feel a little better,” Anthony said. “You said you needed a favor?”

  “I do. Would you be able to call the engineers at Ferrari and ask them to check something for me?”

  “Of course. What are they looking for?”

  “I’d like them to closely examine the damage in and around the passenger compartment to see if, in their opinion, it’s consistent with an explosion. If they have the capability, they might want to test for explosives residue.”

  “Explosion? Inside the car?” Anthony asked, his tone incredulous. “That totally…” He paused for two beats and then said, “Oh, my god, you really think there was a bomb, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Anthony. At this point I’m just checking everything I can think of.”

  “Oh, my god!” the man repeated. “Where would it have come from? You don’t think we…?”

  “Absolutely not, Anthony. You or your staff are not suspected of any wrong-doing.”

  “I’ll call Maranello first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ll let me know what they find out, right?”

  “Of course. Thank you, Detective. Thank you so much.”

  ***

  Kaye spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on paperwork. He opened a case on Rod Howell’s death and started making a ‘to do’ list.

  He finally wrapped the day and headed for the parking lot. He ran into Lister and Hilliard on the way out the door.

  “Anything on the headless guy from the parking garage?” he asked Hilliard.

  “Not yet,” Hilliard replied. “I’m going to call RHD before we clear and see if they’ve come up anything.”

  “Hey, Kaye,” Lister piped up. “Saw your name in the paper. Front page.”

  “There’s nothing to it.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lister said. “You know how it works with those guys. Kick us whether we’re up or down. Dirty laundry, Henley style.”

  ***

  Kaye saw the piece of paper before he got to the parked Road King. It was stuffed between the windshield bag and the windshield.

  It was another note written in Japanese Kanji.

  Kaye folded it and put it in the Big Boar jacket pocket, then looked around. Who the hell was following him? He’d seen no hint of any sort of tail.

  It was time to start paying closer attention.

  DAY 11

  Thursday Week 2

  Riley Realty occupied half of a former residential duplex on Bundy not far from Olympic. The other half bore a sign for a law practice. The lot next door had been turned into parking, with the obligatory signs threatening to tow away anybody who parked there without business with the lawyer or realtor.

  By 7:30 a.m. Kaye was parked on the street nearby, watching and waiting.

  He’d also kept a close eye on traffic during his ride in, and scanned for any familiar vehicles now looking for other nearby parking spots.
>
  At 8:20 a.m. a black Ford Explorer came down Bundy from the north and swung into the parking lot. A tall blonde got out, walked to the realty office door, and let herself in.

  Kaye fired up the Road King and less than fifteen seconds later pulled into the parking spot next to the Explorer. It had tinted windows that, back in the day, he would have considered illegal.

  And it had license plates.

  He recognized the number as recent issue and the expiration stickers were for ten months in the future.

  He wrote down the number to check later.

  He pulled on the realty office door, most of which was glass, and found it locked, so he pulled out his badge wallet and knocked.

  The woman he’d seen, whom he recognized up close as the woman whose photo was on the website, came to the door.

  “I’m not open,” she said through the glass when she saw him.

  He held up his ID.

  “Ms. Riley, I’m Detective Kaye, LAPD. I need to talk to you.”

  Her brow furrowed, but she immediately unlocked the door and held it open.

  “Come in. What’s this about?”

  Kaye stepped inside and she closed and locked the door behind him, but didn’t ask him to sit down.

  “I need to ask you some questions about the house in Paloma Canyon listed with Megan Sullivan at Classic Realty.”

  Oh,” Riley said. “Is this about the vandalism? I heard about that.”

  “Not exactly,” Kaye said. “But it could be connected.”

  “Okay, how can I help you?”

  “You’ve shown the house several times, right?”

  “Yes, quite a few times, in fact,” she said, nodding. “It’s a great spot. I think the original price was a bit steep, but the new price is driving a lot of traffic. It should sell now.”

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  “Oh, let me think,” she said, and Kaye could see the wheels turning while she clicked back through the days. “Today is Thursday, so it must’ve been Monday afternoon, three days ago.”

  “Were the landscapers there when you showed the house on Monday?

  “I didn’t see them, no.”

  “Before that?” Kaye asked.

  “That would have been the Saturday before the vandalism,” Riley said. “In fact, it was the same potential buyers I took back again three days ago.”

  “Do you have the codes for the gate and front door?”

  “I do. Megan gave them to me. I always sign the login sheet,” she said. “May I ask what’s going on here?”

  Kaye ignored the question and asked, “How long have you had your Explorer?”

  The change of subject threw her.

  “Uh…I don’t know,” she stammered. “I guess about two months. Why?”

  “When did you get your license plates?”

  “They came in the mail, I think about two weeks after I bought the car. Again, why?”

  “So you didn’t show the house that Monday, ten days ago?”

  “I did not,” she replied. “I wanted to show it that day, but Megan told me it was unavailable. Some kind of security problem or something.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No. Sorry, I didn’t think it was my business to ask for details.”

  “But you went to the house anyway, right?” Kaye asked.

  “I did not. Why would you ask me that?”

  “A black Explorer was seen at the house a week ago Monday,” Kaye replied.

  “Well, it wasn’t me,” she said testily.

  “You’re sure about that?” Kaye pressed.

  “Yes, Detective, I’m sure.”

  “So there’s no way a witness could have seen your Explorer, with you driving, go in and out of the gate on Monday morning of last week? You didn’t just stop by, you know, in case? I know you’d hate to lose a sales commission on an eighteen million dollar house.”

  “Absolutely not! You can check the…” She stopped short, then said, “Oh, my god, that’s it. The gate cameras were broken weren’t they? That’s why I couldn’t show the house. Do you really think I had something to do with the vandalism?”

  “The cameras weren’t broken, Ms. Riley, and someone was careful to avoid them, then tampered with the system while they were inside. You, and your Explorer, match the description provided by a witness.”

  “But that’s… It wasn’t…” she stammered. “I swear, Detective, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I had nothing to do with vandalizing that house.”

  “What’s your relationship with Megan Sullivan?”

  “Professional, I guess is the best description,” she replied. “I mean, we’re not friends, but we’re not enemies, either. Sometimes we work together, but mostly we’re rivals. It’s real estate, you know?”

  “You said Sullivan gave you the security codes, right?”

  “She did, but not just to me. She gave them to other agents she trusts, but we had to run our potential buyers by her first. I mean, it wasn’t like she published the codes with the listing.”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Riley.”

  “You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”

  “No,” Kaye replied. “There are some things I can check to verify your story. If they don’t line up, we may need to talk again…at the station.”

  Riley gulped and went pale.

  “It wasn’t me,” she said. She unlocked the door to let Kaye out. “It wasn’t.”

  “One last thing,” Kaye said. “Before I go, would you mind if I took your picture?”

  “My picture? Why?”

  “It would help me clear this up quickly, especially if you didn’t go by the house,” Kaye said.

  “Oh, sure, why not?” Riley said, raising her hands in surrender.

  Kaye took a quick photo, thanked her again, and headed for the bike.

  He swung over and sat there, considering Riley’s story.

  His gut instinct was that she was telling the truth, that it hadn’t been her Explorer Rigo had seen at the house the morning before the murders.

  But someone Rigo called The Boss Lady had driven a black Explorer through the open gate, gone inside, turned off the outside cameras, and left. Kaye doubted that person had just gotten lucky with the security system. They probably knew exactly when to come and go without showing up on the video.

  But after talking to Lisa Riley, he was right back where he’d started.

  Pretty much nowhere.

  ***

  When Kaye got back to the station he immediately went in search of Patty Phillips. He found her at her desk.

  “Hey, Patty,” he greeted her. “If you have some time, I’m in need of your computer expertise.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Have a seat. What’cha need?”

  Kaye sat and explained he needed to track down the details on a vehicle registration, beyond just what came up in the system when a plate was run, and gave her the plate number of Lisa Riley’s Explorer.

  She went to work, doing her keyboard magic.

  “Okay, here we are,” she said after a moment. “Two thousand twenty Ford Explorer, black, jointly registered to Lisa Riley, dba Riley Realty, and Ford Credit. So it’s probably a lease.”

  “Can you tell me when she leased it?”

  “Hang on,” Patty said, clicking on a link in the screen, then studying what came up. “Just over two months ago.” She pointed to the date field so Kaye could see it.

  “Does DMV record when plates are issued?” he asked.

  Patty laughed and said, “DMV records everything.”

  She clicked on another link and the screen changed.

  “According to DMV, the plates were mailed eleven days, including weekends, after the dealer submitted the paperwork, and that can take a few days.”

  “So it could’ve been two weeks or more,” Kaye said. “Seems like a long time.”

  “That’s why the new paper plates are good for a month. Bureaucracy, you know.�
��

  “Who was the dealer?”

  She gave him the name of a dealer in the South Bay.

  Clearly, even if it had taken three weeks, Riley had received her plates weeks before Rigo saw a matching vehicle with a paper plate at the house. But Kaye knew that didn’t mean the plates had been on the vehicle that day. Plates came off as easily as they went on, and if the paper plate was still valid someone trying to confuse the issue could simply put it back on. He couldn’t rule Riley out yet, but she got points for being truthful.

  “Thanks, Patty,” he said. “Hey, can you pull up a driver’s license for me?”

  “Sure. Who we looking for?”

  “Megan Sullivan. I don’t have anything else except that her vehicle registration shows her address in the west L.A. or Malibu area, but I’ll recognize her picture. I think.”

  Patty switched screens and went to work.

  “Wow,” she leaned back and said a few minutes later. “Who’d have thought there were that many Megan Sullivans in California?”

  “Can you sort?”

  “Sure.”

  “Narrow it down to dates of birth in the late seventies and early eighties.”

  She did, which cut the list considerably.

  “Now,” Kaye said, “can you look up by ZIP codes?”

  “Sure.”

  “West side of the County, but I don’t think in the Valley. Closer to me.”

  Patty checked a map and entered the parameters. The list narrowed to six.

  “Okay,” Kaye said, “Let’s see what they look like.”

  Patty started working through the list.

  “That’s her,” Kaye said when they came to the third name on the list. “Can you tell if it’s current?”

  “The license is valid,” Patty said. “But if she doesn’t report a move, or a change, it doesn’t get updated.”

  “Print that for me, will you?”

  Patty sent a screen print while Kaye grabbed his phone, pulled up the picture of Lisa Riley and compared it to the photo on Sullivan’s license.

  Rigo was off the hook. The two woman clearly weren’t sisters, but without the other information on the license, including that Riley was several inches taller, they were very similar right down to the glasses.