“Keep digging,” I said. “It’s important to find out if Chofsky cut a deal with the Russian Mafia to get his daughter back.”
Did you ever have one of those ideas where you know you should ignore it, but you do it anyway? This idea would allow me to go on my usual mid-week date with Kelly and also work on the case. But, that little voice inside of me was screaming, “You’re an idiot if you do this.” I ignored the little voice and called my mother. “Hi, Mom. I have an idea I think you’ll like, but I’m worried that it could turn out badly.”
“What is it dear?” she asked.
“Would you and Dad like to accompany me and my girlfriend to the Padres game tonight. I could get a little more advice from Dad on my case and both of you could meet Kelly,” I said with apprehension.
“That sounds marvelous,” she said enthusiastically.
“I think the two of you would get along well. I’m just worried Dad will say something that will make me regret doing this,” I said.
“I can certainly understand why you would feel that way. It was very insensitive of him to use the word Wop in front of that lovely Italian girl you brought home before the prom,” she said.
“That’s just one of many times he’s offended a friend of mine,” I said.
“He’s actually gotten much better since he retired. He hardly ever uses ethnic slurs anymore, and now he only curses at strangers when he’s driving,” she said with a small measure of pride in her voice.
“If we do this, we should probably meet at the ballpark,” I said.
“That would be best,” she said reassuringly. After a brief pause she added, “Why don’t you sit between your dad and Kelly, and I’ll sit on the other side of her. This way you’ll be able to chat with your dad and I can pull her attention away if he starts to say anything I think would upset you.”
“Great plan, though I still feel like I’m going to regret this,” I said.
“Kelly sounds Irish. What’s her last name?” she asked.
“Kennedy,” I replied.
“Your dad will be thrilled. What could go wrong?” she asked.
“For one, her family is alcoholic,” I said. “I can see the first words out of his mouth being, ‘I’ll bet you’ve had some wild parties on St. Patrick’s Day.”
“What a shame,” she said sympathetically. “Your Uncle Bert in Cleveland is a mess. That’s why he’s never been invited out to visit. And, your third cousin, Matilda, has liver damage from her bad habits. I’ll tell your father about her situation and give him a list of taboo topics. OK?” she asked.
“OK. Let’s meet in front of Gate C at 6:45. I’ll get the tickets. If Kelly has a problem I’ll call back,” I said.
Mom replied, “Relax. We’re going to have a wonderful time.”
I called Kelly and, although two baseball games in one week was definitely not what she had in mind for the evening, she was thrilled that I asked her to finally meet my parents. We’ll see how thrilled she is after the game.
On our drive to the park I said, “Kelly, I know you’ve been very up-front with me about your family and I haven’t said much about mine. I think you’ll get along well with my mother. In fact, she asked that you sit between us, which I think is a great idea.”
“That’s fine with me,” she said.
“But Dad is another story. As you know, he was a city cop for 30 years,” I said. “When you spend that much time interacting with the dregs of society, you can get very insensitive. Dad tends to say things that I find embarrassing. I’m just worried that he’ll offend you and I’ll spend the next two months wondering if you think I’ll turn out just like him.”
Kelly replied, “There is nothing your father could say or do that could come close to what I’ve experienced with my family.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But, I’m still going to feel embarrassed and wonder what you’re thinking.”
“I’ll tell you what. If your dad says anything that I think will embarrass you, look at me. I’ll give you a wink that means he’s still not in the same league with my family. OK?” she asked.
“OK,” I replied as we pulled into the parking lot.
She said, “All I ask is that you make an effort to have a good time tonight and don’t let your dad get under your skin, or I’ll pinch you.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
“You heard me. And, if I catch you throwing gasoline on the first little spark, you’re going to owe me a month of chick flicks. Do we understand each other?” she asked authoritatively.
“Yes Miss Kennedy,” I replied, like one of her students being taken to task.
I secured the best seats available, which turned out to be quite good since the Padres were ten games out of first place in mid-August. After I did the introductions, Mom insisted Kelly call them Molly and Jim. This was a first. Dad seemed to choose his words carefully, and managed to keep his foot out of his mouth, as we made our way through a concession stand line and to our seats. Mom took charge when we arrived and got everyone situated in the desired spots. Dad was on the aisle, followed by me, Kelly and Mom.
Once we got settled in and Mom engaged Kelly’s attention, Dad asked, “Any new developments in the case?”
Over the first three innings I gave Dad a summary of all that had transpired, except for the gunshots in the parking lot of the Ukrainian Citizen’s Club. I stopped only for the Star Spangled Banner, and when Kelly asked me to hail a soda vendor. After I had finished Dad asked, “What do you think you’ll find in Tecate?”
“I’m convinced that the money to finance Koflanovich came out of Yuliya,” I said. “Do you think it’s possible that the guy with the money might be calling the shots at Cerise?”
“That’s good thinking son,” said Dad. “I guess that matchbook-cover detective school is finally paying off. Did you hear anything at the birthday party that might help confirm your suspicion?”
“Most of the older men were speaking Russian. The Learn Russian at Home in your Spare Time course must have been on another matchbook,” I said. I hadn’t realized my voice had gotten louder until I felt Kelly’s fingers drumming on my leg. When I looked, her fingers moved into the pinch position and tapped my leg twice while she continued a pleasant conversation with my mother. That engineer at Perfect Pitch has nothing on Kelly when it comes to multitasking.
The women took a rest room break in the sixth inning and came back with refreshments, including beers for the guys. Mom said, “Jim, you haven’t had much of a chance to get to know Kelly. She’s really a lovely girl.”
Dad looked over me at the women and replied, “It’s hard to be sociable when your son’s chewing your ear off. Do you like baseball, Kelly?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I don’t watch it on TV, but I love coming out to the ball yard.”
“That’s great. I thought this one,” he said pointing a thumb in my chest, “was going to grow up to think second base meant an extra four-string guitar. But he’s turning out alright.” Dad smiled at me, actually thinking he paid me a compliment.
Kelly could sense that I was getting angry. I opened my mouth to say something, but she beat me to the punch by saying, “Jim, have you ever seen the movie Steel Magnolias?”
Dad replied, “Isn’t that a chick flick? I don’t go for them, but I’m sure Molly’s seen it.”
Kelly said, “I just saw it and really enjoyed it. I’m going to talk with Molly about it while you two go back to your shoptalk. OK?”
Dad said, “Sure, you do that.” Then he turned to me, and in a quiet voice said, “Does she drag you off to see those things?”
“Not yet,” I replied.
Over the next couple of innings Dad shared stories about cases he worked that had some similarities. When we got into the top of the ninth inning he said, “I’ve got a confession to make. I made a lot of my cases working closely with Forensics. O’Hara said he’d check with them about your case and meet me at Casey’s Bar. When I got there he was sitting w
ith Dennis Fallon, the Forensics Department night supervisor. As he was giving us the grisly details, O’Malley and McCoy joined us. When he was done, O’Malley, who has a bunch of relatives in Belfast, said the IRA has been using blasting cap bombs for the past 50 years.”
“Dad, I appreciate your help, but, unless the IRA and the Russian Mafia worked out a merger that nobody knows about, I don’t see how that’s gonna help,” I said.
He responded, “Since I retired I’ve been helping your mother with her jigsaw puzzles. It seems like with every puzzle I work on I come across a couple of pieces that look like they don’t belong. Do you think I should throw those pieces out?”
“I see where you’re going, Dad. But I also know that you and your buddies think the world revolves around the Emerald Isle. Thanks for helping out,” I said as the announcer gave us the final score, Giants 3, Padres 1.
When we got to the parking lot and were about to part company, Dad gave me a curious look that I had never seen before. He then gave Kelly a little hug (another first) and said, “You’re welcome to come over for a visit anytime.”
As we walked toward my car Kelly said, “Your mom is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’re a lucky guy.”
I replied, “You’re not kidding.” Holding my thumb and forefinger an inch apart I added, “I came this close to a month of Fried Green Tomatoes and The Bridges of Madison County.”
“You got that right,” she replied.
When we found the Acura, I noticed that the black rubber weather strip alongside the driver’s side window was pushed in toward the bottom. It looked like somebody tried using a coat hanger to pop the door lock. “Kelly, would you do me a favor and run over to the vendor by the entrance and pick up a miniature Padres bat for my nephew?” I asked as I handed her a $20 bill.
“Sure,” she replied as she snatched the bill out of my hand. Without asking questions she walked toward the entrance. I don’t know much about car bombs except that they’re usually located either under the driver’s seat, the dashboard, or the hood. As she walked away I carefully ran my hand under the passenger seat and found nothing. I walked around to my side and repeated the procedure until my fingers touched a hard, plastic object. I withdrew my hand as carefully as possible and reached into the console for my flashlight. With both of my knees on the parking lot pavement, I turned on the flashlight and placed it on the floor so that it would illuminate the space under my seat. As I leaned forward to rest my head on the floor, a bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. When my eyes adjusted to the light I let out a loud sigh as I recognized the object to be my nephew’s Darth Vader action figure. While I was down there, I looked under the dash and noticed nothing unusual.
After getting to my feet, and brushing off my knees, I popped the hood and began my final inspection. I noticed a red wire running under the air filter and bent down lower to have a closer look. When I reached the lowest point in my bend, I was sure I had detonated a bomb. My body flinched in one huge spasm and I banged my head hard on the hood as I bolted upright. In a dazed state I heard Kelly say, “I’m so sorry, Jason. I had no idea you’d react like that.”
When my eyes refocused I saw Kelly holding a miniature blue baseball bat and realized she had spanked me on the butt. “I think you had better drive home,” I said as I cradled my head and eased myself into the passenger seat.
Chapter 7
On Thursday morning we slept in until 9:30 AM and Kelly was extra attentive, perceiving that our relationship had gone to the next level with the meeting of my parents. She made crab omelets and asked a lot of questions about what my mom was like at various stages of my development.
I found a parking spot two blocks from my office and checked my watch just before walking through the door. It was 11:33 AM. As I entered Duffy Investigations, the first thing I saw was a file cabinet lying sideways on the carpet. I pulled my gun and stepped into the reception area. My heart sank. Lying on the floor was Jeannine with a gag in her mouth and her hands and feet tied together. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist and my first thought was that she had been raped.
When she heard the door open, she let out a muffled scream. She had her back to me and probably thought the perpetrators had returned. When she realized it was me, she started to cry. I removed the gag, untied her and held her as she hyperventilated and went into a panic attack. I found her prescription for Xanex in her purse and gave her a double dose. After about five minutes she was calm enough to talk. In the meantime I called the police.
“I look awful! I know I look awful!” she exclaimed between gasps.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“Two men in black ski masks came in right after 9:00. They pointed guns at me and asked who else was here,” she gasped. “I think I said, ‘nobody’ but I’m not sure. Then they tied me up, put a gag in my mouth and searched the office. They took both of our computers.”
“Did they hurt you or do anything to you?” I asked as I prepared myself for the worst.
“Yes! It was horrible!” she screamed and again started to cry.
In as calm a voice as I could muster, I said, “If you’ll tell me what they did I can help you when the police get here.”
After stammering a couple of times she said, “The big one grabbed me by the arm and smudged my blouse. I tried to struggle, but the little one pulled my hair by my French braid and said if I didn’t shut up he was going to tie the braid around my neck and hang me from the ceiling fan.” Her hands began to shake.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“They tied me up and threw me on the carpet,” she stammered.
“Did they do anything else to hurt you?” I asked. She nodded and her chin quivered uncontrollably. “What?” I asked.
“They broke my nail!” she blurted out as she held up her middle finger, flipping me off. I sat with her and waited for the police. I guess her skirt hiked up as she struggled to get free.
A squad car arrived about ten minutes after I called, and the officers made sure we didn’t touch anything until the place could be dusted for prints. We learned from Jeannine that the perps wore gloves, so the cops let me walk around to see if anything else was missing besides the computers. About a half-hour later Walter Shamansky made his entrance. He spoke with the patrolmen, then made his way into my inner office where he found me looking at a group of files thrown across the floor. He said, “You really ought to consider hiring a cleaning service. The slovenly look doesn’t cut it in La Jolla.”
“This was the work of the Russians. I’m sure,” I said.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“They took everything relating to the case, including all of Cory’s photographs. Nothing else appears to be missing,” I said. “Any chance of getting a search warrant for Cerise’s office?” I asked.
“I think the chances are pretty slim that they’d bring everything back to the office. If we get a warrant now and come up with nothing, it will be three times as tough to get another one on this case,” he said.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked feeling my adrenaline pumping. “My receptionist was assaulted at gunpoint, my office was robbed and we have a very good idea of who did it.”
“While you were in here I asked your gal if the perps had accents,” he said.
“And?” I asked.
“Red-blooded Americans, both of them,” he said.
“What about the parade of hired guns Cory photographed going into Cerise Records on Monday? It could have been a couple of those guys,” I said.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so. From everything I’ve learned so far, Koflanovich is a careful man. I can’t picture him running an open casting call for a robbery,” he said.
I had to admit that Shamansky made a lot of sense. As I calmed down my brain started functioning again and I said, “When I was at the Ukrainian Citizen’s Club most of the guys under 40 had no accent. I think they were the Chofsky clan from Teca
te.”
“That listens,” Shamansky said. “Is this the branch of the family that’s been in the US for almost 100 years?”
“One and the same. In fact, I recently learned that John Koflanovich changed his name when he entered the United States. It was Ivan Chofsky,” I said.
“All in the family,” he said. “I like it even better. But now the hard part is getting cooperation from Tecate PD. If we’re reluctant to get a warrant on Koflanovich, they’ll never approve one for a local company that employs recently discharged service men.”
I said, “I know exactly how I’m going to pay you back that favor.” I then proceeded to give him the details of my plans for the weekend.
After the police left I told Jeannine I was hiring a bodyguard for her and the office. “Not a stranger,” she said. I made a few suggestions, but none met with her approval. Finally she said, “Delbert Henson.”
Fingernails scraped down a chalkboard in my mind. I could taste terrycloth in my teeth. Delbert Henson was in my therapy group with Jeannine for about a year. He suffers from delusions of grandeur. Every week Delbert would tell us a story where he ended up the hero. His self-lauding style and air of superiority made most of his fellow group members gag. They would tell him he was full of shit and get angry with him for making absolutely no effort to change. Jeannine never said a word about him in group or in individual therapy sessions. I always assumed she didn’t like him because he was about 100 pounds overweight, wore dirty T-shirts, and even dirtier sneakers to every session. He was the exact opposite of Jeannine.
“I think we need someone who is licensed to carry a gun. Somebody who understands police techniques and could actually defend you if these guys ever decide to come back,” I said in a boss-like tone.
Jeannine replied, “If you hire Delbert to protect me, I’ll clean up the office and keep coming to work. If not, I’m going to need a very long vacation. He still goes to the Center. He’s seeing Jake.”
Rock & Roll Homicide Page 7