by Mary Marks
Pastor Sandoval left the second message. “Hello, Mrs. Rose. I don’t know if you heard what happened in the Sepulveda Basin this morning, but I’ve got a big crisis on my hands. My church is filled with homeless refugees who’re destitute and scared. The couple we talked about is convinced what happened was a warning to them. They plan to drive north tonight. I won’t stop them, but I did persuade them to talk to you before they leave. Please call me at this number.”
No! If Javier and Graciela leave town, there’ll be no one to give Ed an alibi. No one to identify the real killer. The DA will arrest Ed and charge him with murder.
Sandoval answered on the second ring. A din of upset voices filled the background. He must be in the storefront with many of the displaced people. I pictured Christ in the mural stretching his arms out over the crowd. “Pastor Sandoval, I’m sick about what happened this morning. I just came back from surveying the damage.”
“The people we talked about, they’re leaving after dark. If you show up here at nine tonight, I’ll arrange for them to speak to you just before they go. You must come alone. I’ll be here to translate and ensure their safety.”
“What if we can get them political asylum and put them in protective custody? I have an attorney working on safe haven right now.”
“Mrs. Rose, the United States government destroyed their homes this morning. Do you think the same government will protect them?”
How could I argue? Powerful people were connected to the Beaumont School, and the school was in bed with the army. They might even be in bed with the US Attorney’s Office. Maybe Sandoval was right. Maybe the witnesses wouldn’t be safe in protective custody in Los Angeles. Maybe they would be better off escaping north.
“You may be right, Mr. Sandoval. I appreciate your help. I’ll meet you at your church at nine.”
Next I called Ed Pappas. Five minutes later, Ed showed up at my door, with a brown leather computer bag slung over his shoulder. Light brown hair hung in his eyes and deep concern creased his features. He placed the bag on my coffee table, reached in, and pulled out his laptop and a gun.
“I’ve called Crusher. He’s arranging for one of us to be with you twenty-four/seven. I’ll be here until he closes the shop. Then he’s coming over. This gun goes wherever you go. What happened?”
I told him about visiting the Sepulveda Basin in the morning with Hilda after Valley Allstar Construction destroyed the area and drove out all the people living there. I filled him in on the conversation I overheard between Lawanda Price and her boss, Barbara Hardisty, a few days ago. Then I told him about the confrontation with Price and her threat of “I know where you live.” I showed him the piece of mutilated quilt I found tied to my front door.
He clenched his fists. “I wish I’d never let you get involved in this.”
I removed the tamales from the microwave and put them on a plate. They’d gone from frozen to hot and back to cold again. Ed refused the offer of food. “I’ve eaten. You go ahead.”
I handed Ed my cell phone, picked up a fork, and tucked into the first tamale. “Ed, can you show me how to take photos and use this as a tape recorder?”
He laughed. “I assume you’re not heavy into communication devices.”
“Ummff,” I answered, nodding with a mouthful of food.
He walked me through the remarkably easy steps and I took his photo. “Now I can look at your handsome face whenever I want,” I teased.
We sat in the living room for the next couple of hours; Ed worked on his laptop while I picked up the Dresden Plate quilt and resumed quilting.
Tires squealed outside and I looked up. Two squad cars stopped in front of Ed’s house; an unmarked car blocked the street. Detective Kaplan, Beavers’s younger partner, got out with his gun drawn.
“Crap! Ed, go hide in my bedroom. The cops are at your house.”
He got up and walked toward the window to look. “What the—”
“Stop! They’ll see you through the window. Go quickly.” I pointed down the hall. “My bedroom’s in the back of the house. They won’t be able to see you back there. Close the drapes.”
I sat in the chair and watched. When the police determined Ed wasn’t home, they got back in their cars. Kaplan looked around, spotted my house, and swaggered toward my door. He knew where I lived, all right. Four months ago, he’d arrested me right on this very spot. I had no choice but to open the door when he knocked, but I didn’t let him come in.
“What do you want now?” I demanded.
“Pappas. He’s not at home. Do you know where he is?”
“Yes. He’s in a cheap motel making love to your mother.”
Kaplan’s dark eyes snapped. He looked past me into my living room and caught sight of Ed’s gun on my coffee table.
He pointed his finger accusingly. “Whose gun is that?”
“Mine. For protection.”
“I think you’re hiding Pappas. I’m coming in.” He took a step forward.
I held out my arm. “Not without probable cause, you’re not. Get a warrant, Kaplan. Better yet, get a clue.” I slammed the door in his face.
I quickly called Beavers. “Arlo, your smarmy little partner, Kaplan, was just at my front door, and he wanted to search my house without a warrant. He had some crazy idea Ed Pappas is here.” I looked up. Ed stepped out of my bedroom into the hallway. I put my finger to my lips.
“Why would he think that?”
I cleared my throat. “He may have seen a gun on my coffee table.”
Silence. Beavers was probably remembering the time four months ago when I borrowed a gun from Lucy to protect myself against a killer. Finally he said, “Again? You think someone’s after you again?”
“Did you hear about what happened in the wildlife reserve this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what I said about someone in the engineer corps not wanting the police to find the witnesses to Dax Martin’s murder?”
“Yeah, but destroying the wildlife reserve seems like an extreme measure to make a couple of witnesses disappear. So, who’s after you this time?” There was a certain mocking tone in his voice.
“Lawanda Price threatened me this morning.”
“How did she threaten you?”
“She said, ‘I know where you live.’”
“That’s it?” He clearly wasn’t convinced I was in trouble.
“Then she tied a cloth to my front door.”
“A cloth? Sounds downright menacing.”
I ignored the sarcasm. “Listen, I know stuff about her and her boss, Barbara Hardisty—criminal stuff that may be connected to Dax Martin’s murder. I’ll be happy to tell you everything after I tie up a few loose ends this afternoon, but you have to get Kaplan off my back.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’ve been right before. Just give me twenty-four hours.”
“Kaplan seems to have a special animosity toward you. Do you know what that’s all about?”
“No idea. I’ve always been nice to him.”
Beavers grunted. “If you really are in danger, go to your friend’s house. Don’t rely on a gun.”
“I’ve got bodyguards.”
His voice lowered a notch. “Levy.”
“Let’s not go there, Arlo. Let’s wait to have that conversation when we both have the time.”
“You mean when we both have the bandwidth?” He threw my expression back at me from our conversation yesterday.
“Arlo, Kaplan was going to arrest Ed.”
“Correct. The DA’s ready to prosecute Ed Pappas for the murder of Dax Martin.”
“Why? The evidence is circumstantial.”
“There’s pressure from the US Attorney’s Office to wrap up the investigation.”
“And you buy that?”
“Not necessarily. Mostly because of what you just told me, but if you know where Ed Pappas is, you should have him surrender with his attorney.” Beavers never aske
d me if Ed was actually at my house or if I knew where he was. He knew me too well. Beavers trusted me to do the right thing. It was a sign he might be thawing—too bad it was too late.
I hung up the phone.
“Is it safe to come out?”
“Let me close the drapes in the living room first.”
We sat at the kitchen table, drinking wine. I told Ed about my conversation with Beavers. “The good news is he no longer believes you’re a suspect, but he says you need to call your attorney and surrender yourself voluntarily. Arlo Beavers is a smart detective. He’ll get to the truth, especially if we give him all we know.”
Ed rubbed his forehead. “We should ask Simon, especially since I’m about to be arrested.”
Ed called Simon Aiken and told him about the cops coming to arrest him. Then he handed the phone to me. “Simon wants to talk to you.”
“Hey, Martha. You don’t want to be arrested for harboring a fugitive. I’ll be there at five-thirty to pick up Ed and surrender him to the police. Dana just called to alert the DA, so the cops shouldn’t be bothering you again, even though they have a warrant. If they do show up, just let Ed go quietly. Make sure they see you recording the arrest on your cell phone. That should keep things peaceful.” Aiken referred to the LAPD’s reputation for shooting suspects at the slightest provocation.
“Okay. Simon, did you hear what happened at the wildlife reserve this morning?”
“No.”
I filled him in on the devastation of the area by Valley Allstar Construction, the confrontation with Lawanda Price, and her threat. “Simon, I’m not sure working with the Feds to get refugee status for Javier and Graciela is the safest thing to do right now. The Army Corps of Engineers took extreme measures to get rid of and intimidate any possible witnesses today when they destroyed the homeless community. Detective Beavers confirmed the DA is being pressured by the US Attorney’s Office to prosecute Ed and wrap up the investigation.”
Aiken swore. “You’re right. Since the US Attorney’s Office is working to protect the engineer corps, we can’t let them get their hands on those witnesses.”
I told him about Pastor Sandoval’s call. “I’ve got a brief opportunity to speak to Javier and Graciela tonight before they leave Los Angeles. I’m going to show them Ed’s picture and then I’m going to record what they say. That’s probably as much as we’ll ever get from them.”
“It won’t be good enough in court.”
“Trust me. It’ll be good enough for Arlo Beavers.”
CHAPTER 31
Simon Aiken and Crusher converged on my house at the same time later in the afternoon. Aiken wore a navy blue suit; his engagement diamond sparkled in his ear. “Martha, you’re going to interview the witnesses tonight at nine?”
I nodded.
“Good. Hopefully, they saw enough to rule out Ed as the killer. If they do rule him out, we should be able to get him back home tomorrow.”
Ed reached in his pocket for his house key, which he placed on my coffee table next to his computer and his gun. “Hold on to these for me?”
“Of course.” A lump filled my throat.
Aiken clapped a hand on Ed’s shoulder. “You ready, dude?”
Ed nodded.
“Then let’s do this.”
I rushed to Ed and threw my arms around him. “Don’t worry. I’m going to do everything I can to help get you out of this. Detective Beavers doesn’t think you’re guilty either. He’ll find the real killer.”
Ed Pappas held on to the hug for a long time. He whispered into my ear, “You’re my Jewish mom, Martha.” Then he kissed my cheek and looked at Crusher. “Take care of her, bro.”
Crusher nodded and they did that dancing-hand thing guys do.
Ed squared his shoulders. “I’m ready, man.”
Twenty minutes after they left, the doorbell rang. Detective Kaplan and the four uniforms behind him accounted for five firearms in five hands. He flashed a warrant. “I know he’s here, Ms. Rose. Step aside so we can bring him in.” Clearly, no one thought to tell Kaplan that Ed was turning himself in to the police at six.
I stepped back in disbelief and did as I was told. When Kaplan saw Crusher, he barked, “Hands on your head, Levy!” Insidious fingers of a migraine slowly squeezed my forehead. Could this day get any worse?
Crusher looked at me, rolled his eyes, and complied. He’d discreetly slipped Ed’s gun out of sight. One of the uniforms trained his gun on us while the others rushed through my house and searched every room.
I heard them, one by one, yelling, “Clear.”
Kaplan reappeared with a scowl on his face, demanding, “Where’d he go?”
“You must have missed the memo, Detective. Ed Pappas just turned himself in to the police with his attorney. If you want to find him, you’ll have to go back to the station.”
Kaplan’s face turned red and he pulled out his cell phone. After a brief conversation, he said to the uniforms, “Pappas is in custody.”
As they walked out the front door, I said to Kaplan, “How’s your mother?”
He slammed the door and my head started pounding.
Crusher took Ed’s gun out of the computer case. “Technically, as an ex-con, I’m not allowed to touch this.” He picked up the gun, made sure a round was chambered, and slipped it back into the computer case.
I rubbed my forehead and went straight for my meds, washing them down with a glass of water from the faucet in the kitchen.
Crusher looked at the brown plastic prescription bottle in my hand. “What’re those for?”
“Headache. Bad.”
He stepped close to me and gently kneaded my neck and shoulders. I slumped into the comfort of his large hands working the hard knots in my muscles. In his deep voice, he quietly murmured, “You’ve had a bad day, babe. I could make it a lot better.”
I looked at him. A picture of Kerry Andreason in a hot-pink minidress shaking her tail flashed through my mind, and I was tempted, but not for long. I said the first thing I thought that might discourage Crusher. “I’m in love with Arlo Beavers.”
Crusher was nobody’s fool. He must have sensed my relationship with Beavers had completely tanked. He brushed back one of my curls and his eyes searched my face. “How’s that working out for you?”
It wasn’t working out, of course, and we both knew it. Arlo laughed at me yesterday and then kissed that flirty blonde, Kerry Andreason. Later in the day, when I said the L-word, he told me we needed to talk about it. He probably wanted to tell me it was too late. Then this afternoon, he didn’t even mention talking at all. He just told me to go to Lucy’s house if I thought I was in danger. I turned away—anger and hurt burning in my cheeks.
“You need to get some rest, babe. Go lie down. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go. No one can hurt you while I’m here.”
The rumble of his voice was surprisingly reassuring. I walked to my bedroom and climbed under my Ohio Star quilt; Bumper joined me on top of the bed. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to oblivion.
Two hours later, someone gently rubbed my back and shoulders, waking me from a deep sleep. Crusher sat on the side of my bed, causing me to roll toward the big dent he made in the mattress. “It’s eight-thirty, babe. How’s your headache?”
I opened my eyes and smiled. “Gone. Thanks, Yossi.” I gestured toward the door. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“Dang. Our first time in bed together and it was so brief.”
I got up, splashed cold water on my face, and eventually made my way to the living room, where he waited.
Crusher tucked Ed’s gun inside his leather vest and made sure no one lurked outside the house. Then he hurried me into his truck and we took off for Van Nuys.
We arrived at the church five minutes early. Pastor Sandoval waited inside. He looked at Crusher and stood. “Mrs. Rose, I asked you to come alone.”
“I’m sorry, Pastor Sandoval, but I’ve been threatened too. This is Yossi Levy. He’s
my friend and bodyguard. He was the one who drove supplies to the homeless on Sunday.”
Sandoval relaxed and offered his hand. “They told me ‘un gigante rojo’ came to give them blankets, but I thought they were exaggerating. Now I’m looking at the red giant with my own eyes.”
I looked around in panic when I realized the three of us were alone. “Where are all the people? Are we too late?”
“No. I managed to find temporary shelter for most of the homeless with church families or in shelters. The Acevedos are still in the safe house. I’m going to drive you to where they’re staying.”
Crusher stepped forward. “I’ll drive my car. We’ll follow you.”
Sandoval pressed his lips together. “You said someone might be after you. If they followed you here, they’ll follow you to the safe house. I can’t let that happen. There’s a back entrance to this building. We’ll slip out the door and walk to the next street, where my car is waiting.”
Crusher nodded and pulled out the gun as we followed Pastor Sandoval out the back door into a dark alley. We ducked between two apartment buildings, weaving our way through a line of foul-smelling plastic garbage cans to the street beyond. A dark blue Chevy sedan was parked at the curb. Crusher sat up front with Sandoval and hid the gun again. We drove two blocks down the street with the headlights off and turned north. Just before we merged into the cross traffic on Sherman Way, Sandoval turned on the lights.
He drove evasively, with one eye in the rearview mirror. We turned up and down streets, doubled back, then ended up at a small house on Saticoy Street, near White Oak Avenue.
Crusher put his hand on Sandoval’s shoulder. “You handled that like a pro. Where’d you learn those tactics?”
Sandoval smiled. “We’re only a small stopover in an underground railroad, Mr. Levy. With the help of God, we save innocent lives.”
A minute later we were in the tiny living room of a California bungalow built in the 1940s. A striped Mexican blanket hung over the back of the old blue sofa, and every flat surface in the room was covered with school pictures of four children progressing through the years. The remnants of a spicy dinner remained in the air, and my stomach juices churned in hunger.