Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  “So, you don’t know of anyone who would have a motive to kill Mr. Geller?”

  “Heaven’s no,” Ruthie said emphatically. “Avi was a wonderful man. Kind, generous, and fair.”

  “Still, somebody shot him,” Kaye pointed out. “I think whoever killed Geller also killed Nicole just because she was there.”

  She shrugged and said, “I think you’re wrong, Detective. It’s about the treasure. The words.”

  “Is there anything else you can think of that might help me find who killed Nicole and Avi Geller? Anything at all?”

  “Find that tall boy. He did it. His aura was pure evil.”

  “I’ll do that,” Kaye said. “Oh, one more thing. Did Nicole tell you what Geller thought about her screenplay?”

  “She said he was very interested and would get back to her very soon.”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Williams,” Kaye said, rising. He took out the obligatory business card and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”

  Kaye was halfway to the stairs when he heard Ruthie call to him.

  “Detective Kaye, wait!”

  He turned to see her standing in her open doorway, a brown paper-wrapped bundle in her hands.

  “I almost forgot I had this,” she said when he walked back. “She gave it to me for safe keeping. If you know how to reach her parents, I think they should have it.”

  “What is it?” he asked, hefting it.

  “Nicole’s treasure,” the old woman said as a tear slid down her cheek. “Guard it with your life.”

  ***

  Kaye walked to the truck. From twenty feet away he saw the piece of paper pinned down by the driver’s side windshield wiper and swore softly as he looked around.

  It was another note written in Kanji.

  He got in the truck, looked at it again, crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder into the back seat.

  Somebody’s just messing with you, he told himself. Don’t let them get to you.

  Somebody who was very, very good at covert surveillance.

  He sat in the truck thinking about his conversation with Ruthie Williams. He hadn’t even considered, until now, anyway, that Avi Geller, and not Nicole Ingram, may have been the collateral damage. He doubted it, but it now had to be in the mix, just in case.

  ***

  Kaye got back to the Squad just before 5:00 p.m., hoping Captain Thompson was still in his office.

  He was, working his way through the never-ending stack of reports.

  “Captain, can I interrupt you for a minute?”

  “Come on in,” Thompson said, dropping his pen and rubbing his eyes.

  Kaye sat in the chair across the desk. “Do you still have my old phone? Here, I mean.”

  “I do. Why?”

  “I need to get some of my contacts off it. It’s not an emergency, but it is a royal pain in the butt.”

  Thompson studied him closely before saying, “Okay, I guess we can do that.” He opened his top desk drawer and extracted the phone, powered it on, waited for it to find service and download what it had missed, then handed it to Kaye.

  Five minutes later Kaye powered off the phone and handed it back to the Captain, who put it back in the drawer.

  “Thanks, Cap.”

  DAY 16

  Tuesday Week 3

  The photo lineup he’d asked Patty to put together was on his desk when Kaye got to the Squad. As usual, she’d done a great job. Almost too good, in fact. Kaye had to look carefully to pick out Megan Sullivan.

  His first call was to Hernan to find out where Rigo’s crew was working. Luckily, they were at another house in Paloma Canyon and not halfway to Palos Verdes.

  He rode past his house of interest on the way and was surprised to see a ‘Sold’ sign attached to the sign bearing Sullivan’s photo.

  “Well, shit,” he muttered. The sale, especially if it was a cash deal with a short closing time, could compromise his investigation. He idly thought about calling Sullivan to congratulate her on the sale, but knew it would be a foolish thing to do.

  Five minutes later he rolled up to the address Hernan had given him. Men were working in the yard and two maroon pickups bearing the Gallegos Landscaping logo, one with a trailer for landscaping equipment hitched to the back, were parked on the street. He parked, retrieved the lineup folder from the saddlebags and went in search of Rigo.

  “Rigo?” he asked the first man he encountered.

  “Out back,” the man paused long enough to say and point.

  Kaye walked around the house and stopped. After watching the dynamic of the crew for only a few seconds he was able to tell which man was Rigo.

  “Rigo, right?” he said. “I’m Detective Kaye. We spoke on the phone with Hernan.”

  “I remember,” the young man said, apprehension in his eyes as the other workers stopped to watch.

  “Relax, Rigo, nobody’s in trouble. I’m here because I need your help.”

  The apprehension disappeared and Rigo asked, “What can I do for you, Senor?”

  “When we talked, you said you saw a woman you called La Jefa come to the house, driving a new black Explorer. Remember?”

  “Si,” Rigo said, nodding. “I remember.”

  “I’d like to show you some pictures and see if you can pick out the woman you saw that day. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure.”

  Kaye went through the standard photo line-up spiel, then handed the folder to Rigo.

  The man studied the photos for less than ten seconds before turning it around toward Kaye and pointing at one of the pictures.

  “That’s the woman I saw. La Jefa.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” Rigo said.

  He was pointing at Megan Sullivan.

  “Why do you call her La Jefa?” Kaye asked, causing one of the other workers standing close by to snicker.

  Rigo shot the man a hard look, then turned to Kaye and said, “She orders us around like we work for her, not Senor Gallegos. So we call her boss. La Jefa. In this case it is not a sign of respect.”

  “You also said you thought someone else might have been in the car with her.”

  “I think so, but I’m not positive, and if there was I didn’t really see them. Sorry.”

  “Did anybody else see?” Kaye asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Rigo said. “But my crew has changed since then. I’ll ask around if you want me to.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Kaye said. “And, hey, did you notice if the back gate, the one that leads out to the hill, was locked that day?”

  “Si, it was when I checked it,” Rigo said.

  “One more question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why did he,” Kaye looked at the other nearby worker, “laugh when I asked why you call the woman La Jefa?”

  “The crew has another name for her,” Rigo said, looking down.

  “What’s that? It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

  Rigo looked back up at Kaye.

  “Bruja,” he said softly. Witch. “She’s very, how you say, critical?”

  “Yeah,” Kaye said. “I can relate to that.”

  By the time Kaye got back to the Harley the crew had finished and were loading up their tools and equipment.

  He idly wondered if Hernan and Rigo knew anything about taking care of grape vines.

  ***

  The meeting with Ziva Geller and Howard Feinmann was set for 11:00 a.m. It was 11:05 a.m. when Kaye pulled into the parking lot, parked, and hurried for the door.

  Kaye had figured Howard Feinmann for a solo, maybe a small, practice. Boutique law, at boutique prices.

  That wasn’t what he walked into.

  The building was an old, three-story warehouse converted to office space and the firm’s name was the only one listed on the main entry doors. Feinmann was the third of four partner names, and Kaye assumed they were the firm’s founders. When he pushed t
hrough the doors into the lobby and saw the full directory, he stopped and did a double-take. There were at least forty additional names listed.

  Don’t underestimate this guy, he told himself.

  The reception desk, staffed with three people, was straight ahead and he told one of them why he was there.

  “Mr. Feinmann is expecting you,” she said. “Ten minutes ago.”

  Kaye smiled his best and said, “I invoke Los Angeles Standard Excuse Number One.”

  She looked at him askance.

  “Traffic,” he said, knocking his knuckles on top of the desk.

  She laughed, then directed him to Feinmann’s office.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said when he walked in.

  Feinmann was seated at a conference table on one side of his spacious office. Ziva Geller sat beside him.

  Kaye took a seat across from Feinmann.

  “Okay.” Feinmann got right to it. “You asked for this meeting.”

  “I did,” Kaye acknowledged, looking at Ziva Geller. “I have some information I think your client will find interesting.”

  “That would be…?” Feinmann said.

  Kaye reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the photo of Nicole Ingram her father had given him. He leaned across the desk and laid it in front of Ziva Geller.

  “Do you recognize her?” he asked.

  She glanced at the photo, then looked at Kaye.

  “I do not.”

  “Her name is Nicole Ingram,” Kaye said.

  “This affects my client how?” Feinmann asked brusquely.

  “She’s the young woman who was shot with your husband, Mrs. Geller,” Kaye said in reply.

  “Then she’s a whore,” Ziva blurted.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Kaye said. “At least not when she first met your husband about eight months ago. She was a screenwriter, or maybe I should say aspiring screenwriter. From Amarillo, Texas.”

  Ziva picked up the photo and studied it.

  “Oh, my God. I think Avi might have mentioned this girl,” she barely whispered.

  “Ziva, you don’t –” Feinmann started to say.

  “Yes, Howard, I do.” She turned to Kaye. “About that time, Avi told me a young lady he’d never heard of just walked into his office and asked to see somebody, anybody about a screenplay. He was standing at the front desk and had a minute, so…

  “She had a concept and a script,” Ziva went on. “Avi said it was brilliant, like nothing he’d ever seen. I remember him saying ‘even Shakespeare didn’t think of this one’.”

  “Did he option it?” Feinmann asked. “Because if he did, you own it now, Ziva.”

  “He didn’t,” Kaye said.

  “That’s right,” Ziva said. “Avi said it was so good, too good, that he wanted to do some checking around. He could never find her again.”

  “Nicole Ingram went missing a short time after meeting with your husband,” Kaye said. “Even her parents didn’t hear from her for seven months before her death. They reported her missing to the Santa Barbara authorities.”

  “Did she live there?” Ziva asked.

  “No,” Kaye replied. “But the last time she talked to her mother, Nicole told her she was in Santa Barbara to meet a producer about the script.”

  “You think it was Avi?” Feinmann asked.

  “No,” Kaye said. “I don’t know who it was. It might not even have anything to do with her disappearance or murder. All I know is what she told her mother, and nobody she knew ever saw or heard from her again after she went up there.”

  “How did she end up with Avi on the golf course?” Ziva asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kaye said. “Not yet, anyway. She certainly wasn’t a member at Paloma Canyon, and on the starter’s list she was down as Jane Smith. She didn’t drive there, because I looked for the car she was driving when she disappeared.”

  “Jane Smith?” Ziva asked.

  “That’s how she was signed in,” Kaye confirmed.

  “By Avi?” Ziva asked. “Why would he do that if he knew her name?”

  “I can only speculate,” Kaye said. “She may have been hiding from someone. The last months of her life were not kind to her.”

  “What does that mean?” Feinmann asked.

  “She had heroin in her system when she died,” Kaye replied.

  “Perhaps she simply succumbed to the temptations of Hollywood,” Feinmann offered. “She wouldn’t be the first.”

  “True,” Kaye said. “But from talking to her family and friends, I doubt that’s the case.”

  Feinmann studied Kaye for a moment, slightly and slowly nodding his head.

  “Okay,” the lawyer said at last. “I understand your concerns about Ms. Ingram, but those concerns are, frankly, not ours. Ours center around Avi’s death and you, and by extension the LAPD, finding whoever killed him.”

  “That’s my objective, Counselor.”

  “So why the sad tale of Nicole Ingram?” Feinmann asked.

  “Because,” Kaye replied, looking at Ziva Geller, “I think there’s a possibility that Nicole Ingram, not your husband, was the real target.”

  “That’s absurd!” Feinmann exploded. “Why would somebody orchestrate an elaborate scheme to kill a, what, twenty-four year old junkie, and probably a prostitute, and then shoot a major, well-respected Hollywood producer? Just for fun? I don’t think so.”

  Kaye shrugged. He wasn’t about to share his theories on the case with Howard Feinmann, especially when he still lacked a lot of the pieces.

  Feinmann glared at Kaye and said, “Will there be anything else, Detective?”

  “Actually, yes.” Kaye looked at Ziva again. “Mrs. Geller, did you find any record of the real estate transaction we discussed previously?”

  Ziva glanced at Feinmann, who gave a slight nod.

  “I did,” she said. “I found two withdrawals from our trust accounts, each for twenty-five million dollars. One was about two years ago, not long after Avi and I fought about this, the other was not long after the first of this year.”

  “Were they payable to a company called Valle delle Viti?” Kaye asked.

  “Yes,” Ziva replied. “Just like you said.”

  “Has any money come back in?” Kaye asked.

  “Not that I could find,” Ziva said.

  “One more,” Kaye said. “Mrs. Geller, do you know a Megan Sullivan?”

  “Yes, I know Megan,” Ziva replied without hesitation. “In fact, we had lunch together yesterday.”

  “How’d you meet her?”

  “She sold Avi and me our house in Paloma Canyon a few years back. She’s a little younger, but we hit it off and became friends. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” Kaye said. “I came across her name, that’s all.”

  “She’s a nice girl,” Ziva said. “We occasionally go to the club together.”

  “The club?” Kaye asked.

  “Paloma Canyon.”

  “Ms. Sullivan is a member?” Kaye asked, surprised.

  “Of course not,” Ziva said. “She goes as my guest.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Feinmann said. “But if we’re just chit-chatting, I do have another meeting. Sorry, Ziva.”

  “No need to apologize, Howard. With what you bill me per hour, fifteen minutes saves me enough to buy a nice pair of Italian shoes.” She laughed.

  Kaye saw Feinmann start to turn red and said, “I’m done, Counselor. I appreciate your time, and yours, Mrs. Geller.”

  “I’ll walk out with Detective Kaye,” Ziva said. “That is, if you don’t mind, Howard.”

  “As long as you don’t mind I don’t walk you out, that’s fine.”

  Good-byes were exchanged and Kaye walked with Ziva Geller toward the front doors.

  “Thank you,” she said to Kaye.

  “For?”

  “For letting me know that Avi wasn’t out on the golf course with some shiksa bimbo, that he knew her from his business. I owe you a favor.�
�

  “You’re welcome,” Kaye said. “Honestly, Mrs. Geller, I just can’t find, yet anyway, anything or anybody that might have led to a motive for your husband’s murder.”

  “I’m not surprised, Detective. Everybody loved Avi, even the people he turned down.”

  “That’s what Les Baruch told me.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Can I ask for that favor, Mrs. Geller?”

  “You can ask.”

  “Don’t tell Megan Sullivan I asked about her today,” Kaye said.

  Ziva stopped just inside the doors and looked at him.

  “May I ask why?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Kaye said. “At least not right now.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Tit for tat. We’re even.”

  She turned and headed out the doors, leaving Kaye staring at the ‘K’ section of the firm’s directory. He immediately wondered how long Howard Feinmann had been of counsel to Ziva Geller.

  She was waiting for him outside the front doors.

  “I was just thinking,” she said. “It might be a good idea if you owed me a favor.”

  “You can always ask, too,” he said, smiling.

  “Something occurred to me during our meeting that I think you might find useful.”

  “What would I owe you in return?”

  “Too soon to tell,” she said. “In fact, how about this? You decide what the favor is worth, and when the time comes, you pay me back. If I think you’re short-changing me, I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You said the young lady screenwriter went to Santa Barbara to meet a producer, right?”

  “I did,” Kaye replied.

  “Well, there was a big surprise at Avi’s funeral when the will was read.”

  “Really? What kind of surprise?”

  “Turned out Avi didn’t give the company to Les,” she said, referring to Baruch. “He gave it to our oldest son, Schmuel.”

  “I bet Baruch was upset.”

  “Upset doesn’t begin to cover it,” she said. “I think ‘pissed off beyond belief’ is the phrase you want. Les was late to the service, and was already very upset when he arrived. Howard seemed really upset after that, too, although I don’t know why.”