Glass Houses

by Terri Nolan

The server brought over a platter of nachos. Both men stared at it.

  Noa said, “Beans fried in lard, tortilla chips from some factory, chunks of overcooked, hormone-fed chicken, a sprinkling of iceberg lettuce, and jalapeño peppers covered with processed milk artificially colored to resemble cheese. I’m not eating that shit.”

  Ron stuck his fork into it. “Do what skinny girls do … move it around the plate to make it look like you’re eating. Where were we? Right. Matt didn’t have a sister.”

  “You were at the Whelan family plot for his funeral. Didn’t you see the piece of granite marking his sister’s grave site?”

  “I did. They named the child Mary Junior after her mother, but Birdie told me the child was stillborn.”

  “Because that’s what the family reported. It’s easy to explain a stillbirth because shit happens. Babies die in utero. But Mary Junior lived a day. That’s a live birth. That’s a birth certificate. And Matt was ten years old when Mary was born. He could pass for someone 10 years younger.”

  “She also has a death certificate.”

  “A different document.”

  “He can’t pass as a female.”

  “No. But he can pass as a “Marty.” Only the T is missing. On a keyboard, the R, T, and Y are next to each other. An easy misspell. Clerical error.”

  “You’re telling me his new name is Marty?”

  “Not necessarily, but Birdie’s considered it. She investigated and discovered Mary’s live birth. She’s already cross-checked the list for that first name and found some. But she covered her bases and checked everything within her search parameters. Male and female. She’s also seeking court records of name changes. Let’s say he used Mary Junior’s birth certificate. He might be able to claim that the first name was inadvertently spelled wrong, but he can’t go around using the same last name. He’d petition a court for a change in surname. Birdie started with local counties—Los Angeles, Orange, Ventura, etcetera. It’s only a matter of time before she acquires a long list of name-change requests. Then she could match the results with the data she’s already acquired and come up with a shortlist of names that matches all three of her parameters. She’ll investigate each name by obtaining a likeness.” Noa held up three fingers. “Name, ID, face. She’ll find him.”

  “How long?”

  “Any day now. She might already have his new name, but not know which of the tens of thousands of names is his.”

  “She’s seriously breaking the law.”

  “Yeah, well, algorithms don’t have ethics.”

  “Thick-headed Irishwoman. He’s the only thing we fight about.”

  “She’s focused, no doubt. That kind of passion spills over to other parts of life.” Noa winked.

  “Once upon a time,” said Ron and left it at that. He might’ve been willing to discuss the pre-Birdie sex life, but when you find the one all sharing ceases.

  “She’s a gorgeous nerdy girl. I see the appeal.”

  “What I’m hearing is that you’re open to the idea of a proper relationship.”

  “Pshaw. I got into her life. Just ’preciating.”

  “Did her cousin call?”

  “Who?”

  “Honorable bastard.”

  “Corps values, man. Honor, courage, commitment.”

  “Ooo-rah.”

  They clicked glasses.

  “Why is Birdie looking for Matt?” said Noa. “You never said.”

  “She wants a face-to-face accounting of his actions. Answers to outstanding questions.”

  “She loves him hard to go through this much work.”

  “I keep telling her that you can’t pull one thread from a tapestry without destroying the whole thing. But she wants what she wants and nothing, not even me, can stop her.”

  “Poetic. You worried she might run off with him?”

  “Oh, man … I’ve obsessed over that question. But to live underground? Logic says no way.”

  “Love isn’t logical.”

  “No question. Their bond is strong. He’s not around and yet he is. He invades our space. His power is illustrated by a narrative that didn’t end with his death. I don’t like it. Most times I feel like the second choice, man. The default.”

  Noa took a big pull of tequila, never removing his eyes from Ron. Studying. “Sorry, brother. I know you fell hard and fast.”

  “It hurts,” whispered Ron.

  The few patrons in the bar cheered when the Angels scored.

  “Has she created a new identity?” said Ron.

  “No. But now that you mention it … she queried both genders. I thought it was because some first names can be male or female, Blair, Pat, Dylan, Terry, Alex, like that. But, what if she suspects that Matt created a second set? One for her?”

  “Son … of … a … bitch,” said Ron. “That makes sense. During the death scene prep I cleared the house. He came in behind me and left breadcrumbs in the form of photos. He counted on the fact that she’d do what she does and figure out the truth. He also knew that Birdie would look for him because that’s her nature.”

  “Even if she found him, and even if he has a new identity for her, that doesn’t guarantee she’d actually join him.”

  “He might be able to persuade her.”

  “Then why not speak to her directly?”

  “Because this way … because of the time and dedication required, she’d come to him of her own free will. That’d be important to him. He put the choice in her hands just like he did with the Paige Street evidence.”

  “We’ll know eventually, won’t we?”

  “Will you know his new name and whereabouts when she knows?”

  “We’ll see. She’s being extremely careful. She’s spoofing her external IP and using proxy servers. She changes it up every so often.”

  “I’ve no idea what that means.”

  “She’s making it appear as if she’s elsewhere other than Hancock Park. That’s why it took me so long to find her—she’s slowing down detection. Keyword … slowing … not hiding. Even she knows that if someone’s looking in the right places, they’ll find her. She’s not using her office computer so she probably has a burner laptop—something small and concealable that she can lock up. She’ll wipe it clean and destroy it when she’s done. Nevertheless, she keeps running security sweeps and my spyware is getting swept out. I have to continually re-insert it.”

  “You’re big brother. Can’t you put something in there that won’t get kicked out?”

  “Sure. I could even insert one that would self-destruct. But if it were ever discovered by some governmental agency … say the FBI …

  I get paid a shitload of money to do what I like doing. I’m not going to risk it.”

  “Why would the FBI–? Of course, they’ve been invited in by the LAPD to investigate the Blue Bandits. That would include Gerard’s family. Most especially his daughter, the journalist with the mansion.”

  Noa nodded.

  “She going to get caught?” said Ron.

  “I don’t see it. What she’s doing isn’t malicious so she’s under the radar. Plus, she’ll be done by the time the FBI serves the warrants.”

  “Should I warn her?”

  “Absolutely not. First thing she’ll ask is how you know. She’s not stupid.”

  “If she’ll be done by the time the FBI gets around then why are you worried about your spy program?”

  “It’s a rubber. I’m playing safe.”

  “As soon as she knows his name and gets his face, I need to know, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need it.”

  “Not good enough,” said Noa.

  “Matt wanted me to look after her. Build a future. That’s what we discussed. He betrayed me when he left her clues to the real deal.”

  “
You’re full of shit.”

  “No, I’m not. Matt and I swore fealty to each other. He undermined me by leaving trace that he knew Birdie would follow. If he had simply died as planned, Birdie and I wouldn’t be in this impossible situation.”

  “Don’t screw with me, Hughes. I know you too well. Tell me straight. Are you going to go all Wild West and kill your so-called competition?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  twenty-five

  “I’m tired,” said Thom. “I still have a lot of work to do tonight and I have a meeting first thing in the morning. I’ll give you the broad strokes. Let me finish before you hit me with questions or yell at me for my stupidity.”

  Once again, Thom had the Keane family’s rapt attention.

  “On Saturday night, I hooked up with a girl I met in a bar. We had sex in the backseat of her car. We liked each other, spent some time together, end of story.”

  Only it’s not, thought Birdie.

  “Sunday morning. George and I are dispatched to a multiple. A family. Two adults, two children. Funny that, we weren’t on the callout board. Once at the scene it immediately became apparent that we were going to play catch up. Division Command had originally dispatched Seymour and Morgan because they were the team on the board. They started investigating. Called out SID. My lieutenant, Lance Craig, came to the scene and discharged S&M and directed DC to call us. Craig had already left by the time we arrived. Meanwhile, the field work had commenced. For one, a forensic tech did a field process on the person reporting. Her name is Jelena and she’s the foster daughter of the dead couple—a city attorney named Dominic Lawrence and his wife. Uniforms had begun canvassing the area looking for weapons and interviewing neighbors. It’s about here where I learn that Jelena was the woman I had sex with the night before.”

  There was a communal groan.

  “I immediately phoned Craig,” said Thom. “Didn’t give it a second thought. I told him I was compromised because I had sex with her the night before. He didn’t care. He said, and I quote, ‘this case is not going to round three.’ End quote. Since he refused to let me step out, what could I do? I couldn’t have any contact with her at all, so we split forces. George interviewed the girl while I processed the house.

  “The scene was extremely clean. Everyone executed in their sleep. The killer left behind a message on a bathroom mirror written in blood. I also determined that the kids were killed first. During the interview the PR told George she wasn’t sad the kids were dead. She’s since been upgraded to a person of interest.”

  Thom paused long enough to mop up casserole broth with a piece of bread and wash it down with the last of his wine. Nora took advantage of the brief lull to begin clearing the table and prepare dessert.

  “Next morning,” continued Thom, “George and I went to work early to prepare the murder book. Our plan was to pitch Craig in the hope that he’d reassign the case. We made our presentation and he asked a few questions. Everyone here knows that my encounter with the girl taints the process and it will follow me to trial. Craig knows this more than anyone. He’s always quoting the manual about procedures and conflict of interest. But he’s determined to keep us, meaning me, on it. Here’s where it gets goofy.”

  “As if it’s not already,” said Louis.

  “Right,” said Thom. “Craig asked George to step out of the room. He threatened me with my job if I repeated what he was about to say.”

  Nora ceased dessert prep and returned her attention to Thom.

  “He told me that he already knew I had been with the girl because I was under surveillance. He told me I was the subject of an integrity audit and by coming forward with my compromised position I had passed. He refused to say whether it was the department or the feds who were watching me, but he did say that the decision to keep me on the case came from upper command.”

  Louis began to speak, but Thom silenced him with a palm.

  “Let me finish, Dad.”

  Louis nodded and jiggled his rounded palm in a “drink” gesture to Nora.

  “While Craig is shitting on my career, George found a law enforcement bulletin from the Santa Monica PD. They had the same bloody message at a scene. So now we have a serial on our hands. Once again, I pleaded with Craig. Told him to let SMPD take the lead. It was the perfect opportunity to get out from under it. But he refused. And once again George and I separate forces. I went to Santa Monica to work on the Deats murder while George continued with the Lawrence murder.”

  Nora brought a tray with a decanter of brandy and glasses to the table. No one spoke as Arthur poured for Louis and then Thom. After a swirl, Thom continued.

  “Deats’ body was two weeks dead before it was found. After re-processing the scene I immediately went to the Lawrence autopsy. I’m just about to go in when Craig phoned me. There were two more hits on the SMPD bulletin.” Thom held up eight fingers. “We now have eight bodies in three jurisdictions. Craig is assembling the detectives and made me lead. We’re meeting at oh-eight-hundred. And that’s what I know.”

  “No one can accuse the Keanes of living on the fringe. We are in the mucky shit all day, every day,” said Birdie.

  Arthur raised a glass of brandy. “Here, here.”

  “Something stinks,” said Louis.

  “Ya think?” said Thom, emphasizing the sarcasm.

  “Watch it, boy,” said Nora.

  “Sorry, Ma.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Louis, “but why is a pseudo taskforce being organized under Homicide instead of Special? Also, don’t SIS detectives usually support taskforces?”

  Thom spread his hands. “I don’t know. The playbook seems to be continually rewritten based on some report or another.”

  “Did you tell George?” asked Arthur.

  “Of course. He’s my partner. It affects him, too. He wondered if he was also under surveillance. I didn’t ask Craig specifically about George, but I asked about my family and Craig didn’t say one way or the other.”

  “Have you been interviewed about the Blue Bandits?” said Maggie. “I mean, since we all were?”

  Louis, Thom, Arthur, and Maggie were questioned by internal affairs and gave statements to the district attorney shortly after Gerard’s funeral. At least the authorities had the courtesy of waiting until he was buried before they came knocking.

  Birdie’s only interview came from detectives—now members of the Blue Bandits taskforce. And she kept getting called back to the DA’s office. No one knew it then, but Gerard had mailed her information that he had not copied for the DA: a journal of crimes going back nearly twelve years with a matching ledger. She used this information to negotiate with the DA. It helped that Assistant District Attorney, Daniel Eubanks, a friend and advocate, was on her side. At the same time, she was talking to her old bosses at the Los Angeles Times and got them on board with an exclusive. With a media powerhouse behind her, she leveraged the information and made a deal.

  Complete immunity for every member of her family.

  No admission of guilt. No criminal conspiracy. No aiding and abetting. No complicity. No obstruction. No accessory after the fact.

  And none of them had any idea. Though they benefitted from the deal, she deemed it best they not know. They could go about their professional lives without prejudice or guilt for something they hadn’t done anyway.

  She realized now that the reason she pushed for their familial confession was to abate her own guilt because immunity implies wrongdoing. Thom and Arthur never participated in Gerard’s activities, but neither did they confront him and try to persuade him to cease—as far as she knew. And even if they had, it was best they never share that information. Ever. Because that would exacerbate the original dilemma.

  Now that everyone else knew that Thom and Arthur knew, they could better watch each other’s back.

  Only …
one nasty thought niggled at Birdie. In an effort to protect her family had she inadvertently pushed the authorities to look for other ways to discredit or punish them for the crimes committed by someone they loved? Secret ways?

  They all shook their heads “no” in response to Maggie’s question.

  “How did Craig know about the hookup?” said Arthur.

  “The elusive they were watching me. He said the girl’s plate was run, her identity established. After she popped up again as the person reporting a crime, Craig changed it up to test me.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” said Louis. “A good supervisor knows his men. Who’s stepping out, who drinks, who gambles. From what I know of Craig’s reputation he’s especially good. Even if he had a beef with you, Thom, he wouldn’t jeopardize the case of a city attorney and then a serial. Upper command would never keep a compromised detective on a high-profile media case. No way. Also, you’d not be a solo target. As a dispatcher and Gerard’s widow, Maggie would be first up. They’d be especially interested in her financials. I also doubt the FBI is already conducting surveillance.”

  “Let’s suppose Craig were acting alone. What would his motive be?” said Arthur.

  “Too difficult to know at this point,” said Louis.

  “We need to cut to the bone,” said Birdie. “What’s more important right now are the whys. Why would Craig tip you off ? Why say something and put you on your guard? Also, if he were working alone, that is, not under a directive, he’d have a partner. To make surveillance effective it’d have to be twenty-four-seven. Otherwise, what’s the point? Something important could go undetected. Who is that person or persons? I agree with Louis, even though the FBI has been invited to the party I don’t think they’re ready to serve.”

  “I also agree,” said Arthur. “Is Craig close to Narciso Alejo?”

  “You and Alejo,” said Thom. “Get over it.”

  “I can’t. I hate the dude.”

  Nora set a peach cobbler on the table. “It’s too early in the season for stone fruits,” she said. “This was made from last summer’s canning.”

  Birdie took a whiff. “Sunshine, roasted oats, brown sugar, a touch of … hmm?”