by Robert Crais
Cole put the phone aside, and picked up the note.
“I’ll see what I can do. How are these people connected?”
“Ana Markovic was the Meyers’ nanny. She died this morning. Rina was her sister. She has a friend called Yanni. I’m not sure how he spells it. Rina was at the hospital before her sister died. She was standing guard because she believed the people who shot her sister might come around to finish the job.”
“You think she knows something?”
“They’re Serbian. Rahmi says his cousin hooked up with a Serbian gangster. What are the odds?”
Cole thought about it. Los Angeles has always had a small Serbian population, but, just as the Russian and Armenian populations increased after the Soviet Union collapsed, the Serbian and expatriate Yugoslavian populations shot up after the conflicts in the nineties. Criminals and organized gangsters arrived along with everyone else, and L.A. now had significant numbers of criminal gang sets from all over Eastern Europe. But even with the increasing populations, the numbers of East Europeans remained statistically small. A Latin, African-American, or Anglo connection would have meant nothing. A Balkan connection in Westwood was worth checking out.
Cole placed the note with the phone.
“Your pal Rina, you think she’d talk to me?”
“No.”
Cole stared at the information Pike had cribbed onto the sheet. It wasn’t much.
“Where did Ana live?”
“With Frank.”
“Maybe she had another place for the weekends.”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess you and I aren’t up to speed on the nanny lifestyle.”
“No.”
The classic Pike conversation.
“What I’m getting at here is that talking to people who knew this girl might be a good place to start. I’ll need the names of her friends, maybe some phone numbers, things like that. If the sister won’t talk to us, can we get into the crime scene?”
“I’ll take care of it. Also, John Chen is on the SID team. He’s running the physical evidence.”
Cole nodded. Chen was good, and Chen had worked with them before. Cole would call him after Pike left.
Two seagulls appeared in the empty blue nothing outside the glass. Cole watched them float on their invisible sea, tiny heads turning. One of them suddenly dropped out of sight. His partner watched the other fall, then folded his wings and followed.
Cole said, “And Terrio doesn’t know about Jamal and the Serbian connection?”
“No.”
“You going to tell him?”
“No. I want to find them before the police.”
Pike was staring at him, but his face was as empty of expression as always, the dark glasses like two black holes cut into space. The stillness in Pike was amazing.
Cole looked for the gulls again, but they were still gone. The winter sky was a milky blue, just edging into gray from the haze. Cole got up, went around his desk to the little fridge under the Pinocchio clock, and took out a bottle of water. He offered it to Pike. Pike shook his head once. Cole brought it back to his desk.
Cole glanced at the news story again, the one Pike had not touched. The second paragraph, where the names of the murdered victims were given. Frank, Cindy, Frank, Jr., Joe. The youngest was Joey. Executed. The word chosen by the journalist to describe what had happened. Executed. Cole had not stopped thinking about that word since he read the story. He knew better, but the writer was good. She had burned a few words onto a blank page, forcing Cole and her other readers to imagine the scene, and there it was. A black steel muzzle to the head. Clenched eyes, tears squeezing through stitched lids, maybe the sobbing and screaming, and the short, sharp BAM that ends all of it. The sobbing stops, the face grows serene as its lines relax in death, and all that remains is the mother’s screams. Cindy would have been last. Cole folded the article and pushed it aside, wondering the thing he had been wondering since reading the article yesterday-whether or not the youngest boy, Joey, had been named after Pike.
Who was Frank Meyer?
One of my guys.
Cole had learned enough over the years to know what was meant. Pike had been able to hand-pick his guys, which meant he chose people he respected. Then, because they were Pike’s guys, he would have arranged for their gear, and meals, and equipment, made sure they were paid on time, that their contracts were honored, and that they were properly equipped for the job at hand. He would have taken care of them, and they would have taken care of him, and he would not have let them sell their lives cheaply.
Who was Frank Meyer?
One of my guys.
Cole said, “I don’t need to hide from what you’re going to do. You haven’t done it yet. Maybe things will change. Maybe the police will find them first.”
Pike said, “Mm.”
Cole studied Pike, and thought that Pike was studying him back, but maybe Pike was just looking. Cole never knew what Pike was thinking. Maybe Pike was just waiting for Cole to say something. Pike was very patient.
Cole said, “I want you to hear this, and think about it. I don’t think Terrio is necessarily wrong. If I were him, I would be looking at Meyer, too. What if it turns out Frank isn’t the man you knew. What if Terrio’s right?”
The flat black lenses seemed to bore into Cole as if they were portholes into another dimension.
“He’s still one of my guys.”
The seagulls reappeared, drawing Cole’s eye. They hung in the air, tiny heads flicking left and right as they glanced at each other. Then, as one, the two birds looked at Cole. They stared with their merciless eyes, then banked away. Gone.
Cole said, “You see that?”
But when Cole looked over, Pike was gone, too.
13
Two men and a woman in dark blue business suits were walking up Frank’s drive when Pike cruised past. A senior uniformed officer with the stars on her collar that marked her as a deputy chief was gesturing as the three civilians followed. Downtown brass giving a few big-shots the tour.
A single black-and-white command car was parked at the curb, indicating the officer had driven the civilians herself. No other official vehicles were present. Three days after the murders, the lab rats had found everything there was to find. Pike knew the house would remain sealed until the science people were certain they wouldn’t need additional samples. When they gave the okay, the detectives would release the house to Frank and Cindy’s estate, and someone would notify Ana Markovic’s family that they could claim her possessions. Pike wondered if Ana’s parents lived in Serbia, and if they had been notified. He wondered if they were flying in to claim their daughter’s body, and whether they could afford it.
Pike circled a nearby park, slowly winding his way back to Frank’s. He approached from the opposite direction this time, and parked two blocks up the street with an easy, eyes-forward view of the command car.
The senior officer and her guests stayed inside for forty-two minutes. This was much longer than Pike would have expected, but then they came back down the drive, climbed into the command car, and drove away.
Pike waited five minutes, then pulled forward to park across from Frank’s. An older woman with white hair was walking a little white dog. The dog was short, and old, with a heavy body and eyes that had been playful before they were tired. Pike let them pass, then walked up Frank’s drive, and entered through the side gate as he had two nights before.
Someone had taped a piece of cardboard over the broken pane in the French door. Pike pushed the cardboard aside and let himself in. After four days, the blood pooled on the floors had soured and mildewed. Pike ignored the smell, and went to Ana Markovic’s room.
The handmade Valentine poster made by Frank’s boys, the posters of European soccer players, the tiny desk with its clutter of magazines and laptop computer all remained as Pike remembered. The screen saver was still playing-a young Hawaiian surf stud riding a wave that swallowed him, only to be
resurrected and swallowed again in an endless loop. Pike closed the screen, unplugged the power cord, and placed the computer by the door. He searched through the drawers and clutter, hoping for some kind of address book or cell phone, but found neither. Instead, he found a high school yearbook and some birthday and holiday cards. He put the cards in the yearbook, and the yearbook with the computer.
Pike was bothered by the absence of a phone. He looked under and around the desk, then pulled a mound of sheets and a comforter from the bed. He found rumpled clothes, two open boxes of cookies, an open box of Pampers, some magazines, three partially consumed bottles of water, a paperback novel about vampires, an unopened bag of Peanut M amp;M’s, and a single unused tampon still in its wrapper. He found the messy clutter of a young woman who liked to shove everything in the corner, but no phone. Pike lifted the mattress. Nothing.
Pike realized he had not found a purse or wallet, either. It occurred to him that her phone had probably been in her purse, and the paramedics might have taken her purse along when they rushed her to the hospital. Pike made a mental note to tell Cole. Cole could check to see if this was what happened, and whether or not the hospital still had the purse in their possession.
The tiny room held a closet smaller than a phone booth. The bathroom was across the hall. Pike went through the closet first, then the bath. The closet floor was deep with clothes, shoes, and an empty backpack. A corkboard had been tacked to the inside of the door and was covered with snapshots, cards, pictures cut from magazines, ticket stubs, and drawings. Ana was in most of the pictures, but not all, posing with people her own age, everyone smiling or mugging for the camera. Most of them had probably been taken in the past couple of years, and a few had writing. Luv, Krissy. You da bomb! BFF! Like that.
Pike didn’t take them all. He selected pictures that appeared the most recent, and those with handwritten notes and names, and tucked them into the yearbook. He had just crossed the hall into the bathroom when he heard a car door. He picked up the computer and yearbook, hurried to the front of the house, and saw two unmarked Crown Vics. Terrio and Deets were already out of their car, and two more detectives were climbing out of the second car. Terrio and Deets went to Pike’s Jeep, then scowled toward the house.
Pike left the way he had entered, went around to the side of the house, then slipped through the hedges to the wall. He didn’t go over. He stripped a.25 caliber Beretta from his ankle and a Colt.357 Python from his waist, then chinned himself up to see what was on the other side. He dropped the computer, yearbook, and guns into a soft cushion of calla lilies, then let himself out the side gate onto the drive.
Terrio and the others were halfway up the drive when Pike stepped out, letting them see him.
Terrio said, “You forget what that yellow tape means?”
“I wanted to see what happened.”
“You have no business seeing what happened. Did you enter the premises?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see.”
Deets grinned at the other detectives.
“I like it. We have breaking and entering, illegal entry, interfering with a lawful investigation. How about adding burglary, Pike? Did you take anything?”
Pike spread his arms, offering to let them search.
“See for yourself.”
Deets moved behind Pike.
“Good idea. I’ve heard about this guy, Jack. Never know what he might be packing.”
The younger detective ran his hands over Pike’s legs, pockets, and belt line, but his grin collapsed when he found nothing.
Terrio didn’t look so happy about it, either, but he tipped his head toward the house, speaking to the other detectives.
“I’ll catch up with you. I’m going to walk Mr. Pike to his car.”
Terrio didn’t say anything more until they reached the street. He leaned against Pike’s Jeep. This bothered Pike, but he didn’t object.
Terrio studied Frank’s house for a moment.
“Why’d you come here?”
“To see. Like I told you.”
“That why you went to the hospital?”
Pike wondered how Terrio knew.
“That’s right.”
“The girl died this morning. That makes twelve homicides. If you think I’m spending all my resources digging up dirt on your friend, you’re wrong.”
Pike didn’t respond. He figured Terrio would make his point soon enough.
“I’ve got the mayor, the police commissioner, and the brass on my arm. I’ve got a rising body count, and no certain suspects. If you know something that could help, you should tell me.”
“Can’t help you.”
Terrio stared at Pike for a moment, then laughed.
“Sure. Sure you can’t. You’re here because you want to see.”
Pike’s cell phone buzzed. It buzzed so loudly that Terrio stepped away from the Jeep.
“Why don’t you get it, Pike? Might be important.”
Pike didn’t move. The buzzing stopped when the call went to voice mail.
Terrio said, “Get out of here.”
Pike watched him head toward the house. Pike knew Terrio would glance back when he reached Frank’s door, so he got into his Jeep and pulled away. He drove far enough so he couldn’t be seen from Frank’s house, then jogged back through the neighbor’s yard to the calla lily bed, recovered his guns and the things he had taken, and walked away.
14
Pike drove to the far side of the park before he pulled over to check his phone. Cole had left a message, asking him to call.
When Cole answered, Pike said, “Me.”
“You wanted to know how a gangster could be connected to the nanny?”
Cole was being dramatic, and continued without waiting for an answer.
“Here’s a hint. Your girl Rina works for the Serbian mob.”
“Ana’s sister.”
“That’s right. Her sister is the connection.”
Pike watched the children in the park. He watched the toddlers run with short, awkward steps, and little ones try to stack blocks, and fail, because their tiny hands were too small to hold the blocks well.
“You’ve been on this less than two hours.”
“Am I not the World’s Greatest Detective?”
Pike glanced at his watch.
“Ninety-two minutes.”
“Karina Markovic, also known as Karen Mark, age twenty-six, arrested twice for prostitution, once for assault, and once for robbery-a john claimed she stole his wallet. Total jail time served is nine days. She was busted in a Serbian sex crib up in the Valley. She’s been in this country for at least eight years, and she’s probably here illegally.”
The San Fernando Valley was the porn capital of the world, and the Russian gangs discovered it as soon as they arrived. The sex trade was an easy moneymaker, but American women were difficult to control, so the Russians brought Russian girls over, and each new wave of East European gang sets followed the pattern-from the Ukrainians to the Armenians to the Serbs.
Pike said, “Does she have warrants?”
“None at this time, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. Her license plate came back as inactive, which means the plate is not in active registration through the DMV.”
“Her car is stolen.”
“Stolen, or built from stripped parts. The Eastern Bloc gangs are into that-they build them from stolen parts, and ship them home. She might not know it was stolen. She might not even know the plate is no good. But the apartment address you gave me? Definitely not hers. The registered tenant is one Janic-with-a-J Pevich.”
Cole pronounced Janic with a y. Yanni.
“He have a record?”
“Nothing that I found, but the day is young.”
Pike lowered the phone, but did not move. He watched the children playing, and thought that now he understood why Rina Markovic was armed and afraid. The Serbian mob owned her, and someone in the Serbian mob had k
illed her sister. Pike wondered if this was the fourth man.
Either way, Rina knew who pulled the trigger.
Pike made his way toward Yanni’s apartment, wondering if Rina was there or if she had already moved on. Pike wasn’t worried about it. Even if she had gone, he could make Yanni tell him where to find her.
Pike cruised through the small visitors’ parking lot where Yanni’s truck had been parked before, but now it was gone. He took a space at the end of the lot, and tucked the Python under his belt. He didn’t bother to hide the pry bar.
Pike waited until two joggers passed, then hopped the gate into the residents’ parking lot. Rina Markovic’s car was still in the parking spot for apartment 2205.
Pike left the parking garage like any other resident and made his way along a sidewalk between the buildings. The grounds were large, with eight separate three-story buildings laid out like four “equals” signs end to end in a line. The buildings followed a curve of land between the river channel and a residential street, and were pleasantly shaded with tall gray eucalyptus trees and thick oleanders. Pike searched almost ten minutes before he realized the apartment number wasn’t 2205, but was apartment 205 in building number 2. He found the apartment in the second-to-last building.
It was quiet at the rear buildings, with all the daytime activity around the pool and up front by the mailboxes and parking garages.
Pike climbed a flight of stairs, found 205, and listened at the door. The apartment was silent, so he covered the peephole and knocked. When no one answered, he knocked again, harder, but still heard nothing.
Pike checked the area to make sure no one was watching, then wedged the end of the pry bar into the jamb where the dead bolt was seated. The door had more play than he expected, so Pike pressed harder, and realized the dead bolt wasn’t locked. He gave the pry bar a hard shove, and the jamb gave at the knob lock. Pike stepped inside, then closed the door, having to force it past the splintered jamb.
Pike found himself in a small, simply furnished apartment that was dim because of the pulled curtains. He was in the living room, facing an open kitchen to his right and a bedroom to his left. The kitchen and bedroom were separated by a door that was probably a bathroom. The bedroom door was open, but the bathroom door was closed. The shower was running.