“You didn’t get the gun from your brother-in-law?”
She looked at Kaye questioningly. “No. Why would you think that?”
“But you did borrow your cousin’s Explorer.”
“Yeah, but please don’t drag her into this. She doesn’t know anything.”
“I can’t promise that,” Kaye said. “I’ll probably have to talk to her just to confirm what you’re telling us. But back to my original question. How’d you get tangled up with Bettencourt?”
“When I met him at the club dinner that night, I thought he was very handsome and charming,” Sullivan said. “Then, over the next month or so we just seemed to keep bumping into each other. I know it’ll sound like an excuse, but my husband travels a lot, and, well, it just… happened.”
“You were having an affair with Dennis Bettencourt?” Kaye asked.
“Yes,” Sullivan said, barely whispering. “I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. Then I found out he was recording us when we…” Her voice trailed off again.
“And he blackmailed you,” Kaye said.
“Not directly, but it was implied. Besides, at the time I didn’t care. I was infatuated. I just couldn’t stop. My marriage, such as it was, just fell apart, and I hardly cared. Dennis even talked me into being in one of his movies. He owned me after that.” She looked up at Kaye and he saw tears in her eyes. “Sometimes you find out things about yourself you were better off not knowing.” She sat quietly for a moment, then asked, “So, what happens now?”
“Detective Kaye will place you under arrest,” Okafor replied. “You’ll be transported to jail and booked in. And I must warn you, if you have any communication with Dennis Bettencourt your deal is off the table.”
“I won’t call him,” Sullivan said. “If he finds out I talked to you, he’ll kill me if he gets the chance.”
“We don’t want that,” Okafor said, then turned to Kaye. “If you’re okay with it, I’ll go get started on warrant affidavits and requests on Bettencourt. Since I was here and heard the whole thing, it should be a slam dunk.”
“That’s fine,” Kaye said.
Okafor packed up her things and headed out.
“Megan,” Kaye said, “before we go, I need the names and contact information for the owners of the house. I’ll need to notify them when I execute the search warrant.”
Sullivan gave him the information.
“Now I’d like to run some names by you. Tell me if you know them. It’s off the record, okay?”
“Sure, why not,” Sullivan said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Jeffrey King?”
“Yeah, I’ve met Jeff, but I wouldn’t say I know him,” she said. “Short, a little pudgy, glasses. Works for Howard, kind of his right hand man from what I gathered.”
“Leigh Howell?” Kaye asked. “You might know him as Rod.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Clifford Collum.”
“No.”
“Adrian Gagnon.”
“Him, I know,” Sullivan said. “He’s friends with Dennis. I think maybe they went to school together, or have a mutual friend or something.”
“Really?” Kaye asked. “Where’d you meet Gagnon?”
“Dennis took me to a resort up by Santa Barbara. We ran into Adrian there.”
“Valle delle Viti? The hotel and winery that looks like an old Italian village?”
“That’s the place.”
“How many times did you go?”
“Dennis took me a couple of times.”
“Did you meet anyone else there? Maybe through Adrian Gagnon?”
She thought about it for a moment, then said, “Both times we had dinner with Adrian, and once this other guy came,” Sullivan said. “They were all friends, but I think he runs the place, or manages it, or something. I could tell he was a bigshot.”
“What was his name?”
“Lorenzo,” she said. “But he told me to call him Renzo. Sorry, I don’t remember his last name, but I know it was Italian.”
“How old is Renzo?”
“Late twenties, maybe early thirties. In the same ballpark as Dennis and Adrian, anyway.”
Kaye knew that Renzo Maisano had to be the R.M. that argued with Avi Geller at Paloma Canyon Country Club.
“Just a couple more,” Kaye said. “How about Les Baruch?”
“I’ve never met him, but I know he worked for Avi Geller. Ziva talked about him a lot, almost like a family member.”
“Okay,” Kaye said. “Last name. Tamara Goschen.”
“I think I’ve heard Adrian mention that name. Maybe she came to work for him or something? But I’ve never met her.”
“You said that the Nicole who could ruin Dennis was one of his stable of performers. Do you know how that came about?”
“I’m not positive,” Sullivan said slowly, clearly dredging her memory, “but I think maybe that Renzo guy put them together.”
***
Kaye called a uniformed unit to transport Sullivan, and an hour later he had turned her over to the Custody Services Division.
Before he left the building he tried Auggie’s number again.
Same result: Voice mail box full.
It was still relatively early, and Okafor was working on warrant affidavits. He really wanted the warrant for Bettencourt’s DNA in hand before he went hunting for the guy because it was a solid, defensible reason for picking him up.
He wasn’t sure that was the real reason, or if he was just trying to buy some time to look for Auggie before he had to hunt down Bettencourt.
Before he headed out, he tried Auggie’s number. No answer and mail box still full.
***
Thirty minutes later Kaye rolled into the station parking lot and headed inside.
Patty Phillips saw him come in and waved for him to come see her.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Great,” Kaye said. “We got her, and she gave up Dennis Bettencourt.”
“Outstanding.” Patty exclaimed, holding up a hand for a high five. “I knew you’d figure it out.”
“I appreciate the confidence, Patty.”
“And I wanted to tell you,” she said, “you had a visitor looking for you first thing this morning.”
“Really? Who?”
“A very old Japanese man in an orange robe,” Patty said. “If I understood him correctly, he said he was your Roshi? Or maybe that was his name, I’m not sure.”
Kaye was surprised. He’d known Roshi for years and had never known the old monk to leave the grounds of Kyokoku-Dera Monastery.
“Did he say what he needed?”
“Only that he wanted to see you,” she replied. “I told him you had court this morning and didn’t know when you’d be here.”
“Okay, thanks Patty. I’ll go by and see him.”
Captain Thompson saw him push through the Squad doors and met him at his desk.
“Well, what happened?”
“She fired Feinmann, asked for a deal, then rolled when Okafor offered her one,” Kaye replied. “Dennis Bettencourt is the shooter, and Nicole Ingram, not Avi Geller, was the original target.”
“No shit?” Thompson said, amazed.
“Yeah, but it’s deeper than that,” Kaye said. “Turns out Bettencourt is also connected to people at Black Scimitar and Valle delle Viti, and I think Howard Feinmann, the lawyer, is in this up to his eyeballs, way beyond attorney-client privilege. Valle delle Viti’s registered agent works for him and Feinmann’s firm did all their legal dirty work during development.”
“You’re kidding?” Thompson asked, aghast.
“I wish I was.”
“So, what’s next? You going hunting for Bettencourt?”
“Not yet,” Kaye replied, and saw the skepticism on Thompson’s face. “Okafor’s drafting warrant affidavits. I want them in hand before I snag the guy. She said she’d let me know, and Gardner recused herself from the case, so she has to find another ju
dge.”
“Gardner what? I don’t even pretend to understand that.”
“Covering her ass, I guess,” Kaye said. “She may have strayed off the reservation by letting me question Sullivan this morning.”
“Okay,” Thompson said, nodding. “Outstanding work, Detective. Again, keep me in the loop, please.”
“Appreciate it, Captain, but hold that thought until I have all these people in cuffs.”
Kaye went back to his desk and started getting his next moves organized.
Despite the time difference, his first call was to the homeowners in Italy.
At first, the man he spoke with was upset about the late call, but Kaye managed to calm him down and explain the situation.
“Our realtor can let you in,” the man said after Kaye told him about the warrant.
“I’m afraid Ms. Sullivan isn’t available,” Kaye said. “Is it okay if I deal directly with the security company?”
“Sure.”
It turned into a very fruitful conversation. Kaye learned that Sullivan had never notified them of the vandalism report and that they had never received a Notice of Claim from their insurance company about the damages. To Kaye, that meant Sullivan, or maybe Bettencourt, paid out of pocket to avoid disclosing the incident. He also learned that the house had, indeed, sold, but the closing wasn’t set for another two weeks.
His next call was to Marella at SecureLife to tell her he would be entering the house in Paloma Canyon, probably the following morning, to execute a search warrant, that he would call first, and not to send the cavalry if the alarms went off.
He spent most of the rest of the day making paper on the day’s events and developments.
Just as he was wrapping it up and thinking about going home, his desk phone rang.
“I’ve got your warrants, Detective,” Okafor said. “Search warrants for the house in Paloma Canyon, Bettencourt’s house and his DNA, and an arrest warrant for him. I called Forensics and gave them a heads up. Just call them in the morning. Do you want to come get the warrants tonight or should I put them in the interdepartmental packet?”
“The packet will work. I’ll look for them in the morning.” Kaye hesitated for a second, then said, “I do have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think we should have told Sullivan how deep Feinmann was wrapped up in the whole thing? At the very least, I’d think there was a conflict of interest.”
Okafor went silent for a moment, then replied, “I don’t think we were obligated to do that. I did tell Gardner, and if she thought it was something that should have been disclosed, she would have ordered us to do so. Or she would have done so herself. Besides, Sullivan fired him.”
“Yeah, I know. That bothers me, too. I got the feeling the whole firing thing may be some kind of strategy by Feinmann. If it’s not, it just kind of bothers me she doesn’t know about Feinmann’s involvement.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over it, Detective. Megan Sullivan is right where she belongs, and I’ll be in court in the morning arguing against bail.”
“Okay. Good work today, Counselor.”
“Thank you. Now, just catch Dennis Bettencourt.”
“That’s the plan.”
Before heading home he tried Auggie’s number one more time.
Nothing.
DAY 23
Tuesday Week 4
When Kaye got to the Squad an envelope with copies of the warrants was already on his desk.
He was reviewing them and mentally allocating his time and resources when Lister, whistling a happy tune, walked in.
“Good morning,” Kaye greeted her. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Walkin’ on sunshine,” she said with a smile as she shucked off her jacket and hung it on her chair.
“What’s the happy occasion?”
“Hooked up Billy Joe and Bobbi Sue late yesterday afternoon. Except they weren’t Billy Joe and Bobby Sue, young lovers wanted in El Paso for robbing a gas station. Richard and Jeanine. Dick and Jenny, two meth head losers from Fresno.”
“You sound almost disappointed.”
“Oh, no,” Lister said. “Not at all. A closed case is a good thing.”
“How’d you break it?”
“Stroke of luck,” she replied. “Ironically, from the garbage.”
“What?”
Lister rolled her eyes and said, “Hey, that’s okay. Probably not what you’re into. Anyway, a sharp-eyed citizen saw somebody dump something into a dumpster and take off, so he checked it out. Disguises. He called it in.”
“Did he see a vehicle?”
“He did, but no plate number. I checked the business security and ATM cameras in the area and came up with a good image. From there I just went all Sparks and pretended I was Sherlock Holmes.”
“You got them?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“I didn’t understand a lot of what you just said.”
“Yeah, Kaye, I got them,” she said. “Recovered a shitload of swag, too.”
Kaye just shook his head and asked, “What are you working on now, this morning?”
“I’m waiting for the Captain to tell me.”
“I could use you.”
“Like partners?” Lister asked, grinning. “I’m in!”
Kaye told her about the hearing, Sullivan’s subsequent arrest, that she had given up Dennis Bettencourt as the shooter, and laid out the morning plan. First up was meeting a forensics team at the house in Paloma Canyon and executing that search warrant.
“Are we waiting around?” Lister asked.
“No. Once the techs are inside we go look for Bettencourt. He lives in the canal neighborhood in Venice.”
“I’m ready when you are.” She smiled, winked and added, “Partner.”
“You’re driving.”
On the way to Paloma Canyon Kaye called Forensics and asked for a response to the scene. Then he called Marella at SecureLife, explained that he had a search warrant for the house and asked her to have a mobile response guard meet him there to receive service and provide access. He made it clear that whoever responded was welcome to remain on-scene during the search, as long as they stayed out of the way and secured the premises afterwards.
When Lister rolled up to the house there was a SecureLife vehicle already there. Kaye was surprised to see Marella leaning against the front fender.
“Good morning, Detective Kaye,” she said as he and Lister approached.
“Good morning to you,” Kaye responded. “This is Detective Lister.”
“His partner,” Lister chimed in, drawing a look from Kaye.
“I didn’t expect you to show up personally,” Kaye continued, “but thanks for coming.”
“Due diligence, Detective,” Marella said. “I assume you’ve spoken to the owners?”
“I have. Last night.” He handed her a copy of the warrant. “Are you staying?”
“I’d like to,” Marella said. “I find it fascinating. Are you staying?”
“No,” Kaye replied. “We’re off to find someone else. The forensics team supervisor will have command and will answer any questions you have.”
“Do you plan to take anything from the house?”
“The only things we’re looking for are prints and trace evidence that might connect a known suspect to the scene. The team will vacuum, open drains, and dust whatever they think might yield some results, things like that. They might take any open food containers or dirty dishes they find, if there are any, but nothing that can be considered personal property is specified in the warrant. If they do take anything at all, you’ll get a receipt.”
“I’m looking forward to watching,” Marella said, then hastily added, “without getting in the way, of course.”
The forensics team showed up less than five minutes later. Kaye introduced Marella to the Supervisor, spent five minutes explaining exactly what he was looking for and wanted done, then he and Lister excused th
emselves and headed for Venice.
On the way Kaye called and arranged for a uniformed, two-man beat car as back-up.
They met a half-mile from Bettencourt’s house. Kaye briefed them and Lister on the general geography and layout, then outlined his plan.
“Watch this guy,” he cautioned the officers. “He’s big, and he’s already killed two people, so he’s got nothing to lose.”
“But we’re not kicking the door?” one of the officers asked.
“No,” Kaye said. “If he’s not there now I don’t want to leave his place in the condition that shouts ‘the cops were here’. He’ll run for sure. I’d rather wait on him a bit.”
It turned out, to Lister’s dismay, to be a fruitless effort.
The house was closed up tight, all the blinds closed and drapes drawn, and Kaye’s pounding on the front door failed to raise a response.
They tried the garage door to check for vehicles, but it, too, was locked.
Kaye cut the patrol officers loose. He and Lister stood in front of Bettencourt’s garage door.
“That sucks,” she said. “I really wanted to help you get this douche bag.”
“We’ll get him. He’s in the system.”
“You’re giving up?”
“For today,” Kaye said. “I have someone else I need to go see on another matter.”
“I’ll come with.”
“Not on this one, Mel. Sorry.”
“Kaye, you’re bad company. You’ll leave me abandoned and alone?”
“I can’t leave you. You’re driving, remember? Besides, it’s personal.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Lister said, smiling. “That I can live with.”
They turned to head for Lister’s unit just in time to see the garage door on the opposite side of the alley open. The first thing they saw was a set of pale, spindly legs and knobby knees way too skinny to fill the legs of the plaid shorts that came next. When the door topped out they saw an old man, his shoulders like a hanger for his red polo shirt, staring at them.
“I think Bob’s gone,” the old man said.
“Bob?” Kaye said. “We’re not looking for anyone named Bob.”
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