Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2)

by C. E. Tobisman

  “It could be a month before we seek indictments,” said Albert.

  A month in protective custody. Caroline had a hard time signing up for that.

  “Let’s deal with this witness first,” she said.

  “Okay, let’s get on with it,” said Albert, looking to the rookie. “My section chief wants the witness delivered to our Alameda Street office. We’ll take it from there.”

  “The witness is a bit fragile,” Caroline said. The protective urge that rose in her was unexpected, but powerful. She knew that Federica was emotionally ill equipped for the intensity of what was coming. The interviews. The hearings. Caroline’s impotent urge to shield Federica from the stress wasn’t unlike what Caroline had experienced with her own mother. Life was especially hard for those who’d won the dark lottery of bad brain chemistry.

  “I promise she’s in good hands,” said Officer Grady. “We often cooperate with the US Attorney’s Office in sensitive situations. We receive extensive training in determining how and where local police and the DA have jurisdiction, and when the marshals and feds run the show. It’s more complicated than you’d think,” the rookie continued before launching into a description of the criteria used to make such complex determinations.

  Ignoring the rookie’s exegesis, Caroline scanned the surroundings for danger.

  The only vehicles at the station were Albert’s Volkswagen and the squad car.

  Caroline squinted to see the rookie’s partner. He sat in the driver’s seat of the black-and-white with his elbow propped in the open window. He rested his head against his hand. Even wearing sunglasses, Caroline could see his pained expression. He was probably wishing he’d brought some duct tape to use on his partner’s mouth.

  Seeing nothing amiss, Caroline reached into her pocket for the burner phone she’d use to call her uncle. They’d picked up a second phone on the way over for her uncle for this moment.

  As Caroline watched, the officer in the squad car took off his hat. He wiped his inky-black hair off his forehead before replacing his hat and tipping his head back against his hand.

  With a pang in her stomach, Caroline realized she’d seen him before. It took a moment to recall where.

  Then it hit her. That captain. The one who’d been so solicitous when she’d gone to the police station to look at mug shots. Captain Nelson—that was his name.

  The coincidence seemed fortuitous for half a heartbeat.

  But then Caroline realized what was happening.

  She had walked into a trap.

  With sudden certainty, she knew if she handed Federica over, Captain Nelson would find a way to lose her, most likely to the hands of the hit man waiting somewhere nearby.

  Officer Grady was still talking, but Caroline no longer heard him. Her mind raced, her focus narrowing down to the critical path before her. She needed to escape. She needed to extract herself from the conversation and run.

  But how?

  The rookie didn’t know anything. Caroline was sure of it. He exuded that special species of cluelessness reserved for newbies of all stripes who’ve had a little training and think they know everything. Could she warn him? Could she enlist his help? Or would his partner simply close the gap between the squad car and where she stood in the few seconds it would take for him to step down on the accelerator?

  Turning her attention to Albert, Caroline weighed whether she could say anything to him.

  He’d said his supervisor had arranged things. Did she believe Albert had not been involved in the arrangements? She’d trusted Albert. She’d shared information with him. She’d treated him as an ally. A friend, even. But she’d been betrayed before by people she trusted. She needed to decide whether she was being betrayed again.

  Caroline realized that Albert had stopped paying attention to the rookie.

  He was watching her.

  The tips of his dark eyebrows dipped toward each other in question.

  In answer, Caroline shifted her balance to her left foot. With a nonchalant sweep of her right foot, she carved a shape in the dirt in front of her. The number 88.

  Then she waited.

  Albert’s brow knit for another moment.

  Then understanding blossomed in his eyes.

  The number 88 was the symbol of the dissident Burmese group that Albert’s parents had fought for. The number symbolized freedom to him, Caroline hoped.

  She glanced at the rookie, who still wasn’t paying attention to anything except his own voice. Good. Time to give meaning to her code.

  With a small, almost imperceptible step, she slid her shoe through the 88, crossing it out.

  Then she let her eyes drift over to the black-and-white squad car.

  When she looked back at Albert, his eyes held apprehension. And fear.

  “That’s great, Officer,” said Albert, cutting off the rookie’s monologue. “You certainly do know a lot about interoffice cooperation. But I need to get back to the office. I think it’s time to have Ms. Auden retrieve the witness.”

  “Right. Of course,” Officer Grady said, a flush of red rising from his cheeks up to his pale ears as he probably realized he’d been talking too long.

  “I’ll go get her now,” Caroline said. “The witness is understandably terrified. It could take me a moment to bring her over here. Please be patient.”

  “No problem at all,” said Albert with a forced smile.

  The buzzing of Caroline’s blood racing past her ears drowned out whatever the rookie said after that as she turned and walked away. If the police car followed her, she’d run in another direction, she decided. She wouldn’t lead them to her friends.

  She consoled herself that Lani and Jake were safe at the residence hotel with the laptop. If she didn’t make it back—if Hitch and Federica didn’t make it back—at least Lani and Jake would have all of the information on the laptop. They could take it to someone. An honest cop. A good detective. The contingency plan was weak, but it gave Caroline some solace as she walked away from Albert and the squad car, aware of everyone’s eyes on her back.

  Caroline strained her ears, scanning the auditory landscape for any sounds behind her.

  She heard nothing. But she knew she wasn’t safe yet.

  Now, everything came down to what Albert did. This was the moment when he’d either protect her or betray her. With a word, he could bring the police down on her and, almost certainly, on the Eldorado that was parked nearby.

  Caroline tried not to let her fear show in her pace.

  Just another few yards until she reached the edge of the service station’s sight line.

  When she cleared the corner, she ran.

  CHAPTER 28

  Caroline caught up with the Eldorado on Colyton Street and East Fifth.

  Hitch slowed the car, and Caroline scrambled into the backseat.

  She yanked the door shut.

  “Go,” she panted, clasping her uncle on the shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  “Bad drop.”

  “Was it Albert?” Hitch swerved away from the curb. His worried eyes darted up to the rearview mirror.

  “Drive like a normal person,” Caroline said. “Don’t stand out.”

  When Hitch had let the car slow to the speed of the other cars, Caroline leaned back against the cushioned seat and released a long breath. She was safe. For now.

  “It wasn’t Albert,” Caroline said, answering her uncle’s question. “Could be his supervisor, though. Or maybe someone at the hotel.”

  “The desk clerk?” Hitch asked.

  “Maybe.” Caroline recalled the suspicious expression on the face of the desk clerk who’d watched their strange comings and goings. Had someone paid him for information? She had no way of knowing.

  She had one consolation, though. No one had followed her from the service station. Albert had kept Officer Grady talking long enough to let her escape. Albert hadn’t betrayed her. She still had an ally. And she still had Federica. The ex-caregiver sa
t forward in her seat, her hands over her head, in crash position. Terrified, but alive.

  “We need to reschedule the drop,” Caroline said, taking in Federica’s horrified visage. The woman wasn’t safe and knew it. She’d narrowly avoided capture.

  But Hitch shook his head. “You’ve got to give Albert time to regroup. He’s going to have to separate himself from local PD and figure out who he can trust at the US Attorney’s Office. He can’t bring Federica in yet.”

  Caroline ran a hand through her hair. She’d thought she had all of the pieces necessary to end the nightmare that Simon had wrought for them all. Protective custody for the key witness. Criminal prosecution for Simon and his cohorts. But now all the neat little pieces lay scattered on the floor. She was still on her own. Federica was still in danger.

  Her uncle was right. She needed another plan.

  The cityscape drifted by in the Eldorado’s side window. People going to the market. People out for walks. Tourists. Laborers. Just the normal denizens of downtown.

  Caroline’s eyes settled on a half-built condominium project. The skeletal frame of the building stretched up five floors, then stopped. Its girders suggested more floors had been planned, but the construction site held no workers. No equipment. Where there should’ve been cranes, there were pigeons.

  It was just one of many abandoned jobs that riddled the edges of downtown. Projects that developers had started in better economic times, only to abandon later.

  Caroline’s mind turned to Simon.

  Somehow he’d survived the downturn. If anything, he was thriving. The city was poised to approve his Bunker Hill project. The planned structure would accommodate city offices and high-end clientele. Was it impervious to the economic downturn? Apparently the city thought so, or it wouldn’t be contemplating supporting the project.

  But what about Simon? Was he impervious to the downturn? Or had the declining real estate market hurt his business?

  Caroline knew that some unscrupulous developers used the capital from their newer projects to service debts on their older projects. Was that what Simon was doing? It was possible. But presumably the city was checking Simon’s books to make sure that wasn’t happening.

  A tingling sensation spread down Caroline’s arms as the kernel of an idea lodged itself in her mind.

  Tipping her face down so that she was parallel with Federica’s, Caroline put a hand on the ex-caregiver’s shoulder.

  “I know you’re scared, but everything’s going to be all right,” she said.

  A gap in Federica’s red hair parted so that one green eye peeked out. It held disbelief.

  “I’m going to get us out of this,” Caroline insisted, “but I’m going to need your help.”

  Now Federica’s eyes held curiosity.

  “I want you to tell me everything you know about Simon Reed,” Caroline said. “Tell me what you’ve heard Vizzi say about Greenleaf Development and the Bunker Hill project.”

  Caroline sat in a corner of the pool hall, avoiding the eyes of the gangsters that populated the bar and leered at the small woman sitting alone in a corner booth.

  The information that Federica provided had led to inquiries that had yielded a plan: at 7:30 p.m., the city council would host a public hearing on Greenleaf Development’s Bunker Hill project. Simon would be there. And so would Caroline. But first she had to prepare.

  She had five hours to trace the intricate web that Simon had spun. Five hours to learn what she needed to know to bring Oasis and Greenleaf and Simon down. It wasn’t much time.

  Caroline’s fingers flew across the keys of her laptop as she began with the idea that had taken root in the backseat of the Eldorado. Linking to the cache of documents she’d retrieved from Amy’s Oasis hack, Caroline found what she sought: the contracts among Oasis, Greenleaf Development, and the city.

  Her eyes scrutinized the pages of each contract until she found the default provisions—the terms governing the parties’ failure to abide by the contract’s terms. In each contract, the terms were the same—if Greenleaf or Oasis fell behind, the city had the right to conduct an audit and, if irregularities were found, the city had a right to back out of the project with a payment by Greenleaf and Oasis equal to the city’s investment.

  Leaning back in the red vinyl booth, Caroline considered the information.

  Contrary to her hunch, the city didn’t have a mechanism to prevent Simon from using the city’s money to pay his debts on his other projects. But the city did have a way to recoup city funds if Simon failed to hit his benchmarks or if he fell behind on his commitments.

  Again, Caroline contemplated the abandoned projects dotting the skyline. Most developers had been hit by the declining real estate market. But the fact that the city was moving forward with its hearing on the Bunker Hill project suggested that Simon had stayed in the city’s good graces. And that meant his financial footing had remained secure despite the downturn.

  But how? Was he just a better businessman than the other developers? Or had he had some help remaining afloat?

  To try to answer the question, Caroline turned toward the part of Simon’s life that he’d kept out of sight. Away from the politicians who extolled him. Away from the publicly revered father who’d raised him. She turned to the early days of Greenleaf Development. The days when the fortunate son of a beloved television star had launched his new venture.

  Simon had bragged about his investors—that dogged crew of brave do-gooders who’d launched his career. But he’d never named them. And Caroline had never found them.

  Now, Caroline tried again to determine their identities.

  Again, she ran searches designed to unearth the people who’d been the key to Simon’s career and perhaps to his continuing financial fortitude.

  But again, she found nothing. Not a single investor’s name appeared anywhere.

  Exhaling, Caroline ran a hand through her short hair.

  Names. The absence of names had been a theme in Simon’s scheming. Federica Muller. Patricia Amos. All of the other CNAs, whose names were undoubtedly fake. That the investors were nameless, too, tickled some instinct. It bespoke a greater plot, one whose shape she was only now beginning to see in its entirety. But one that she needed to grasp quickly.

  She tried not to think about the Eldorado that was safely ensconced four blocks away in the self-park lot of the Millennium Biltmore. She’d figured the fancy hotel was the least likely place anyone would look for a group of homeless people.

  She also tried not to think about the hit man. She’d avoided his trap at the service station, but she knew what the close call meant: Simon’s minions had figured out where she was.

  She only hoped that the public spot—the loud pool hall—would provide her with some measure of safety while she used the establishment’s Wi-Fi connection to finish her research.

  Giving up on Simon’s investors, Caroline turned to her next concern: the Parrino Court property that Amy had discovered Oasis owned. Zillow showed the price the property had fetched each time it had changed hands over the years. Although the real estate market had gone up and down, the price of the industrial property near the Los Angeles River had remained low. It was a piece-of-junk asset with no obvious purpose for Oasis.

  But Caroline knew it had to be important. Simon’s purchases were always deliberate. Each was a playing piece on his chessboard. That Oasis had bought the land a year earlier meant something, and Caroline had a hunch what it was.

  Caroline reviewed her notes about the structure of Simon’s most publicized deals. Greenleaf Development had built its projects by using creative combinations of bonds, debt financing, and investments. For his public-private partnerships, Simon sometimes also utilized one more tool: land swaps—trading private property for the long-term use of government land.

  Perhaps Simon planned to use Parrino Court for a land swap in the Bunker Hill deal?

  There was an easy way to find out.

  Caroline navigated
to the City of Los Angeles website and she found the link she sought: Agendas for Public Hearings.

  The upcoming hearings were arranged chronologically.

  She opened the top one.

  Details of the Bunker Hill project filled the screen. Pages of architectural specifications. Proposed approval documents from the city. Environmental impact reports and traffic reports. Somewhere in the documentation, she hoped to find some mention of a land swap.

  Disregarding the glances of the men playing pool, she scanned page after page until she found what she sought.

  “Bingo,” she murmured.

  She smiled to herself before turning to the next piece of the puzzle.

  Caroline looked at the neon clock hanging over the bar—6:25 p.m.

  Exhaling, she closed her laptop.

  She’d used the time as well as she could. She’d satisfied her curiosity about Parrino Court. She’d hacked another server. She’d even made calls to the people whose help she needed in order to ensnare Simon.

  Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Caroline walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. It was better to go to war on an empty bladder.

  The bathroom smelled almost as bad as the food being served at the bar. Stale bread and cold fried chicken. The drunk patrons didn’t care so long as it was salty.

  To protect her nostrils, Caroline breathed through her mouth. It was a trick she’d learned in the last week. Along with a great many other things.

  By the time Caroline headed toward the back door of the bar, she was at peace.

  A week of running had left her nerves raw, but the sensation that flowed across them now wasn’t fear. It was acceptance. She had no ability to control the people she’d called to assist her. She could only hope they understood the stakes and cared enough to show up.