“That’s it. No more pain pills.” She didn’t have the luxury of time. The longer she delayed the search, the less chance she had of finding Elise, dead or alive.
Chapter 19
A key rattled the lock and the door opened. Elise sat up, knees to her chin, and waited. This time a short, stocky man walked into the room carrying a metal tray. He turned on the overhead light and set the tray next to the bed. Some kind of weird looking food sat on a green plastic plate along with a plastic fork, another glass of murky water, and a syringe.
The tribal tattoos on the man’s shaved head and curling along his neck gave him a fierce appearance. He picked up the syringe and reached for her. Elise cried out and tried to wrench her arm away, but he was too quick and too strong.
“Stop it—” she shrieked, fear clouding her vision.
Tattoo backhanded her across the face. Shocked into silence, she touched her mouth. Her fingers came away bloody. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would jump into her throat and cut off her air. Can a seventeen-year-old have a heart attack?
He grasped her wrist and pulled her arm straight with one hand while holding the syringe with the other. Elise squeezed her eyes shut. Salty tears slipped down her cheeks, stinging the cut on her lip. At the prick of the needle a whimper escaped her. She opened her eyes to slits and watched her blood fill the syringe. When it was full, Tattoo removed the needle and reached in his pocket for a crumpled tissue, which he threw at her. Elise pressed it on the needle site and bent her arm to stop the bleeding.
“Eat,” he said as he slid the syringe into a paper bag. Her stomach roiled at the gelatinous, oblong roll of unidentifiable food next to a pile of sauerkraut resting on the scarred plastic plate.
“Don’t you have any bottled water?” she asked in a tiny voice.
The tattooed man stood with his arms crossed and stared at her. Elise quickly dropped her gaze. Ravenous, she reached for the plastic fork on the tray and cut off a slender wedge of the roll. She picked up the slice with the tips of two fingers and bit into it, holding her breath at the tangy smell of the sauerkraut.
The lukewarm blob turned out to be cooked cabbage stuffed with soggy rice and onions and some kind of questionable ground meat. There didn’t seem to be much seasoning and Elise wondered why anyone would go to the trouble to make such bad food. She tried another bite but spit it out onto the plate. The stocky man continued to stare and she suppressed a shudder.
The real possibility of being raped with no one to hear her cries skated through her mind, but she quickly replaced the thought with one of him telling the person in charge to let her go since she cooperated so well. She held her breath and forced down the last of the cabbage roll, fearing it would be hours before her next meal.
Finished, she wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible. The man reached for the plate and lightly brushed her thigh. Reflexively, Elise shrank back, jerking away from his touch. A flicker of anger crossed his face.
To her immense relief he left, slamming the door behind him.
The key rattled in the lock and she began to breathe again.
Chapter 20
“What do you mean, they’re pulling the case?” Leine looked at Lou in disbelief, her anger rising. The bitch shot, or BS, which Leine had nicknamed the hole in her arm, was particularly active today, giving her no end of grief. The combination of the pain and the frustrating weakness in her left hand was enough to send her into orbit.
“Mrs. Bennett called this morning and they want you—us—to stop searching for Elise. She heard about your run-in with the locals in TJ, and she’s worried you’re out of your league.”
“Out of my league? That’s a good one. And who the hell told them, anyway?” Leine paced the floor of the office, trying to work off the nervous energy that had plagued her since she’d gotten back to LA. Belinda Bennett’s decision was like throwing cold water on the gains she’d made in finding Elise. “Now is the time I should be looking for her, Lou. You know that. I’m not hamstrung by the same rules as law enforcement. And what about Josh? For god’s sake, the kid’s dead in a ravine with his face blown off and his kidneys hacked out.”
Lou sighed and shook his head. “It’s out of our hands, Leine. Gunderson and Nabokov are working with the local police regarding Josh.”
“Funny, I haven’t seen anything on the news about the murder.”
“They’re keeping it quiet.”
“Of course they are. Wouldn’t want stories of some kid’s death and missing kidneys to curtail the flow of tourists into the new and improved TJ now, would we?” Leine yanked her purse off of Lou’s desk and walked to the door. She turned to look at him. “I’m not letting go of this one.”
“I know,” Lou said. “Watch yourself.”
Leine walked to her car and got in, throwing her bag into the passenger seat with a little too much force. She intended to drive out to the Bennett’s to try to convince them to allow her to continue to look for their daughter. A quick glance at the clock on the dash told her that would have to wait. First, she’d promised to meet with Santa and his new partner.
He’d been noncommittal in his assessment of the new homicide detective, insisting he wanted Leine’s honest take on her. That in itself intrigued Leine. She wondered how Santa would fare working with a female partner. Granted, before he met Leine he’d been known by his fellow detectives in LAPD’s Robbery/Homicide Division as “The Swinging Dick,” riffing off his notorious reputation with the ladies. Apparently, all that changed when Leine showed up. She doubted the female detective would have any problems working with the new and improved Santiago Jensen.
Leine pulled into the parking lot of the Asia-Pacific Grill with five minutes to spare. She checked her face and hair in the mirror before she got out and walked into the restaurant.
The interior was cool and dark; upscale Thai meets Hollywood. Elegant, dark wood tables and chairs with an Asian motif, accented by framed photographs of visiting celebrities. Leine’s mouth watered at the fragrance of basil and curry floating through the air. The hostess ushered her past a massive statue of Buddha to a table near the back. A copper fountain splashed into a colorful, glass-bottomed pool, its interior home to several overgrown koi.
Leine spotted Santa across the room. His partner—sunglasses perched atop long blonde hair—sat with her back to Leine. As she came around the front of the table, a jolt of surprise slid through her.
Santa smiled as he rose and pulled out Leine’s chair. She had to force herself to sit. The woman was drop-dead, California-blond, flawlessly tanned gorgeous, with a body that would make Barbie jealous.
“Leine Basso, this is Heather Brodie. Heather, Leine.”
Heather extended her perfectly manicured hand. Leine blinked several times and after a brief hesitation returned the gesture.
“It’s great to finally meet you, Leine. Santiago’s told me so much about you.”
Interesting. Leine cocked her head and looked at Santa, wondering how long he and Brodacious had been partners. When he’d suggested lunch the evening before, it was the first she’d heard of her. Santa avoided Leine’s gaze and passed her a plate of steamed edamame.
“Has he? I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage, Heather, because I know next to nothing about you.” Leine smiled sweetly at Santa as she tore into the edamame pod with her teeth.
Oblivious to the underlying tension growing between Leine and Santa, Heather grinned and bobbed her head. “Of course,” she said, waving her hand at the detective. “He probably doesn’t want to bother you with boring RHD stuff. There’s not much to know about me, really. I was born and raised in Southern California, and I love to surf. In my off hours you can usually find me wherever the waves are. Other than that, I’m pretty boring.” Heather grinned again, her perfect white teeth like little pearls against her precious, shell-pink lips. “I understand you work with SHEN?”
Leine nodded. “I started with them ab
out a year ago.”
Heather leaned forward in her seat. “I remember watching the news when you exposed that global network of pedophiles selling movies to each other. Ugh.” Heather’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I couldn’t believe Stone Ellison was at the center of the whole thing. You did a great service for trafficked children everywhere.”
Okay, so she’s working me. I can live with that, Leine mused. On the other hand, Santa appeared to be a tad uncomfortable. Good. I can live with that, too.
“Yes, well, thankfully he’s no longer a threat.”
If Leine had her way, Stone Ellison would be singing soprano in hell. She’d had her chance, but held off killing him because he was unarmed and she’d have been brought up on yet another murder charge. At the time she’d been wrongly accused of three homicides, and the odds had not been in her favor. Thankfully, Ellison was in prison working off a very long, very unpleasant sentence and would likely die behind bars. Leine found solace in the fact that most of the prison population did not look kindly on pedophiles.
“I was just telling Santiago about my kids.”
“How many do you have?” Leine asked. She has kids? With that body?
“Forty-two,” she said.
Leine gave her a puzzled look.
“I work with at-risk youth down at a community center on La Cienega. We try to funnel them into classes they’ll enjoy so they’ll stay in school, maybe look at further training. So far, seven have enrolled in community colleges. Crossing fingers they go the distance.”
Santa broke in. “Heather won this year’s Los ANGELenos Award for the program, beating out a couple of state senators.”
Heather lowered her eyes as her cheeks grew the same shade as her lipstick. “Oh, stop it. It’s not like I did it all by myself, you know. I had tons of help.”
Lovely, Leine thought. Not only was Heather Brodie gorgeous and athletic, but she had an altruistic side. Leine realized she had a stranglehold on her water and relaxed her hand.
“You must be proud,” Leine said, and took a sip.
“It’s nice to know you can make a difference, right?” Heather frowned and her eyebrows actually came together.
Shit. The woman doesn’t even use Botox. Leine surreptitiously checked out her bustline, trying to determine if they were real or not. Leine opted for fake, giving herself a small measure of satisfaction.
Very small.
“So I hear you and Santiago have taken up kite surfing? Awesome, right?”
Leine sighed inwardly. The woman probably resuscitated winos. Better to just go with the flow. No sense getting jealous. It wasn’t like she and Santa had ever brought up the subject of exclusivity. She had no hold on him and what or whom he did. Nevertheless, a tiny voice in the back of her brain kept comparing herself to this blonde bombshell, hoping for a telltale sign of insufficiency in the woman or at the very least, a nefarious case of bad breath.
She got nothing.
As the meal wore on, Heather proved to be an avid listener, an interesting and witty conversationalist, and extremely intelligent. She was also kind, compassionate, and helpful. Leine fought against the catty voices vying for dominance inside her head, countering them with a positive spin every time one appeared to be going off the rails.
She hated that she was jealous and had no idea how to rid herself of the emotion. By the end of the meal, Leine was longing for the old days when she’d receive orders to eliminate a target in some godforsaken corner of the world, allowing her to leave real life behind while she focused on doing her job.
Leine excused herself and made her way to the bathroom, hoping for a respite from Heather’s never-ending happy dance. What was it with some people? Life was not one endlessly beautiful day followed by another. She found herself longing to inject sarcasm into the three-way conversation, and had to bite her tongue several times lest she come across as overly jaded and cynical.
At the sink, Leine rinsed her face in cold water and stared at her reflection in the mirror. That’s what killing people for a living did to you. It made you hard. Tough. Suspicious. She tore off a paper towel and dried her face. It wasn’t something she could change.
Not now.
Hell, who was she kidding? She lost her innocence as soon as she’d agreed to that first job. Jaded? Yep. Cynical? You bet. She didn’t know one person that had killed someone either for God or country who wasn’t. Correction: only counting the non-psychotic ones. She wondered if Brodacious had ever killed anyone.
Doubtful.
Leine tossed the paper towel and was about to go back to the table when Heather walked into the bathroom.
“I was hoping you’d still be in here,” she said, smiling.
Leine plastered on a smile to match and said, “Why is that?”
She glanced behind her and then checked the stalls. “I wanted to ask you something about Santiago.”
Wary, Leine kept the smile. “Ask away,” she said.
“How do you deal with all the anal retentive stuff?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, how he insists on lining up his equipment in the trunk exactly the same way every time he signs out a car. How he crosses himself three times when he first sees a vic. Or, how he has to have three napkins with every meal. Not one, not two. Three. One for his lap, one for his hands, and apparently one for the grand finale. He thinks no one catches it, but I do.”
Leine couldn’t help but smile. She found Santa’s need for order endearing, and understood why he held fast to the things he did. Most cops she’d met had some kind of superstition they relied on in the field. But she also understood how it could drive the average person nuts. Having come from a background that dealt in chaos, Leine had adopted a few of those quirks herself, although they weren’t nearly as ingrained as Santa’s.
“I know it seems overly careful, Heather. You have to realize we all have our eccentricities. Santa’s are because of his history. Obviously. I’m not going to divulge anything about his past. He’ll have to do that in his own time. I will tell you this: with all he’s been through it’s a miracle he’s not locked up somewhere, living on Thorazine and gummy bears.”
“I know. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s just that I’m the new kid on the block, and I’m getting a ration of crap from the guys in the department, including your boyfriend. And yeah, I know I have to suck it up, it’s all part of the deal.” Heather leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. “I’ve wanted this unit ever since I became a cop, but the reality is a little different than what I’d envisioned. I was hoping we could be friends. It’s been…a difficult adjustment.”
“I can imagine. Look.” Leine joined her against the sink. “Don’t let the guys get you down. You’re gorgeous and they probably don’t know how to deal with gorgeous. Rise above it. Give them back everything they shove at you and more. I’ll bet sooner or later they’ll leave you alone. You gotta give them time to get used to you. Believe me, I know.”
Heather glanced at Leine. “What did you do before you started working for SHEN?”
“We should probably be getting back. Santa’s going to wonder what happened to his dates.” Leine moved off the sink and walked to the door. Taking the hint, Heather followed her out and back to their table.
Santa looked from Leine to Heather, back to Leine. “What’d I miss?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing. Girl talk,” Leine answered.
“Yeah. Right.” Santa smirked, giving Leine a sidelong glance, obviously not falling for the feint. “Since when did you add ‘girl talk’ to your resume?”
Heather cut in. “Leave her alone. She wanted to know where I got my lipstick.”
Leine laughed, knowing Santa would grill her later on, once they were home. A little uncertainty would be good for him.
Chapter 21
Leine drove west along Sunset to North Beverly Drive and then onto Laurel Way. Downshifting with each hairpin turn, she searched the addres
ses for the Bennetts’ home. According to the map on her phone the modern, three-story residence sat nestled among all the other massive mansions in the canyon, near the top of the ridge. Three more corners revealed the address she was looking for—copper numbers set in stone just above street level.
She turned left and drove through the open gate past the security camera, and climbed the drive. The house came into view at the top—angles of concrete and glass, huge gray and white Super Legos with massive windows, surrounded by a permeably paved drive and eco-friendly landscaping. An enormous round sculpture of polished onyx with a metal rod spiked through the center rested in a serene pond. Water flowed along the rod, collected at its base and then disappeared.
Leine parked her car and got out. The driveway continued under the house to below-grade parking. The open garage door revealed a glimpse of a red 1961 Ferrari—a 250 GT California Spyder, if she wasn’t mistaken. She made her way along the walkway to the glass-enclosed entrance and pressed the doorbell.
With a solemn expression Teuta Vercuni walked toward her through an interior set of glass doors. The housekeeper opened the door and stood aside to let Leine in.
“Thank you, Teuta,” Leine said as she entered. Teuta nodded and closed the door after her.
“I have broken heart that Mrs. Bennett does not allow for you to continue with your business,” she said in a low voice.
Teuta led her through the entry and into a spacious living room filled with a veritable museum of Danish Modern pieces atop white marble tile. Bright swatches of Rothko-esque artwork dotted the walls, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean on one side and the San Fernando Valley on the other.
The housekeeper’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “My poor Eliseka,” she murmured.
“That’s why I’m here, Teuta. I want to understand why Mrs. Bennett chose to call off our investigation.”
The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller Page 12