Bite Back Box Set 2

by Mark Henwick

The girls wheeled the rest of the Harleys around and headed off like crows following the black van.

  The Altau patrol emerged with Horseshoe and let him go.

  He walked off, glaring at all of us, but not saying anything.

  “Any reaction on our mission last night?” I asked one of the patrol who was monitoring police radios.

  “Nothing special. This is LA.” He shrugged as if that explained everything. “Don’t want to make a habit of destroying buildings, but you did good there, House. It was fun, too.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder and they headed off.

  Finally, Alex took the last van, with Vera and Elizabetta. He was going to drop Elizabetta at a café downtown, then he’d take Vera back to the house in Hollywood Hills.

  There was no way I was leaving the Kawasaki at the unsafe safe house, and no quick way to load it into the back of the van, so Yelena slid on behind me and we played follow the van through the early morning traffic. I passed the time trying to compartmentalize all the Were politics and leaving my head clear for whatever Elizabetta could tell me about Forsythe.

  It was time I gave him some serious attention.

  Chapter 29

  Alex led us downtown to the Old Bank district before he pulled over and Elizabetta got out. My wolfy nose could smell the coffee from the street.

  Alex left.

  Over her protests about guarding me, I sent Yelena to go with Elizabetta into the restaurant. “Get me something with scrambled eggs and toast and coffee and stuff.”

  “Stuff. You Yanks.” Yelena walked stiffly to the restaurant, shivering. Fun as it was, if we were going to use the Kawasaki a lot, we’d need to dress more warmly.

  I found a free parking space for the trail bike a block away and trotted back, my stomach grumbling.

  They were sitting at a table with a good view of the people walking past outside.

  “You want Bitches’ Brew or Black Gold?” Yelena asked, indicating the two coffees in front of her. “They’re good.”

  “You cheating bitch. You’ve been drinking from both of them.”

  “Is old Carpathian custom,” she said, looking down her nose as if that was an honored tradition I should know about.

  “Bullshit, thief.”

  I grabbed the one on her left and sipped.

  Oh, yes! Glorious.

  Elizabetta smiled a little at our joking, but she looked pale and tired. I guess we were all looking like that after being up all night.

  Our food arrived before I could start any conversation, and for a few minutes Yelena and I were busy eating. Elizabetta nibbled and pushed her omelet around the plate.

  The eagerness to get more information on Forsythe was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, but I was wondering how to ask her tactfully what the matter was with her and Tom first.

  She beat me to the punch, putting down her fork before she’d even eaten half her meal.

  “I’ve got some information on Forsythe,” she said, and handed me a USB drive.

  “Liz, you and Tom—”

  She stopped me. “It’s all right. I’ll tell you the background,” she said. “I guess that’ll cover what you want to know.”

  The actor-between-roles who was waiting on our table came around and gave us coffee refills.

  After he’d left, she started again.

  “The Assembly has security procedures that are mandatory for meetings of more than a half-dozen Athanate Houses. The old Assembly, I mean, and I know they aren’t around anymore, but we’d never have gotten Houses to come to LA without assurances that those procedures were in force. Not after the last Assembly in Denver.”

  Where Matlal had tried to attack the Assembly, willing to kill his own associates so long as he killed more Panethus Houses at the same time.

  “There’s an important requirement in all those procedures: for Athanate or kin to infiltrate the local police force at senior and operational levels. It’s normally the responsibility of the local House, but Tarez has had no time to establish himself.”

  She poked her omelet again with her fork.

  “Skylur managed to put someone in the Office of the Chief. It was more difficult to get someone into the operational side in a hurry. So I’m it.”

  “How could you get in quicker than anyone else?”

  “I used to live in LA seven years ago.” Her voice caught, and she paused for a second. “Tom was down here with Paul and Jason on some mission for Bian. I met them completely by accident. You know how they say sometimes you just know. Well, I saw Tom Sherman and I knew. Didn’t make any difference that I had to move to Denver, any more than when I found out about the Athanate.”

  She put her fork down and left the omelet alone to concentrate on her coffee. She hadn’t looked Yelena or me in the face since we’d sat down.

  “The thing is, the guy I was dating back then was in the police, Jefferson Reed. He’s still around. He’s still single, and he’s in the Major Crimes Division.” She waved down the road toward City Hall, where the huge angular building that was the police HQ loomed.

  “They can’t ask you to take up with your old boyfriend, can they? I mean—”

  “Check your oath. Skylur doesn’t have to ask; he can tell me.”

  “But you’re not Athanate, you’re kin,” I said. “Kin don’t take the oath.”

  “And so? Tom’s oath makes him responsible for making me obey, if necessary.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “In fact, Skylur asked and I agreed. It is important.”

  I looked at the little USB drive sitting on the table in front of me. If I took that, it made what Elizabetta had to do partly my fault.

  Yelena reached over and pocketed the drive before I could say anything else.

  “Jefferson gets in early to work and then comes in here to have breakfast,” Elizabetta said, looking at the front door. “I join him most days.”

  She shifted gears, becoming all business. “The data on the drive is from an electronic bug I’ve planted on his laptop. The techs call it vamping.” Her mouth twisted in a half-smile. “So, anyway, basically I vamp his entire drive every week, including all the database queries and responses he’s done recently. Good news for Skylur: Major Crimes has no idea about the Athanate or the meeting.”

  She waved down the actor and got us another refill.

  “We shouldn’t be here when Reed arrives,” I said. “We could blow your cover.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I need to give you the background on Forsythe, so you know what you’re dealing with.”

  I nodded reluctantly.

  “Okay. So, I’m grabbing Jefferson’s Major Crimes data and internal memos, then Bian asks me to check on Forsythe. I thought that’d be a whole lot more tricky and risky, getting the bug to issue its own database searches. As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary.”

  We all leaned forward as she dropped her voice.

  “Jefferson’s already got a directory of data about Forsythe.” She tilted her head. “It’s not completely clear, but here’s what I think is going on. Jefferson and his captain, a guy called Simpson who runs Major Crimes, they believe organized crime has its claws into the police and the DA’s office. They’ve brought in an ADA, a woman called Bailey, and no one else. This is an off-the-books, need-to-know investigation. They have data on about twenty people, including people in the DA’s office, mayor’s office, judges, the industry, you name it. Even policemen in Major Crimes.” She paused. “Anyway, one of the people they’re looking at is Forsythe.”

  Another burst of adrenaline. A wolf-vision of a prey sighted through a screen of trees.

  Elizabetta saw it and held up her hand to slow me down.

  “The guy is clean, according to the top level data. I mean he doesn’t even have parking tickets.”

  She took a sip of her coffee.

  “He’s named in some civil cases. That’s not surprising; you can’t do business in this city without it happening, but here’s the rub: something alwa
ys happens. Plaintiff doesn’t show, backs off, dies in an accident, whatever. Or the case gets settled out of court. Or the judge throws it out. Always something. And his name also comes up in police files about unsolved criminal cases. Same kind of thing: no evidence, evidence misplaced, witnesses recanted or disappeared or died. You name it.”

  “What type of cases?” My breath felt short, as if I’d been running.

  “Murder, assault, blackmail, bribery, money laundering, prostitution…” She stopped abruptly; her eyes flicked up at me, and down again. “Rape.”

  My gut tightened again.

  She went on. “There’s more the further back I looked. It slowed down. Last couple of years—nothing.”

  “He’s not doing it anymore?” Yelena clearly didn’t believe it.

  Elizabetta shook her head. “He’s just gotten smarter. At least that’s what Jefferson’s messages with Captain Simpson suggest.”

  There was a silence at the table.

  Forsythe wasn’t just a sadistic rapist. According to the LAPD, he was a criminal boss.

  What did that mean for me?

  I could find something on all those cover-ups and unravel some of the old cases. That’d put him away for life, by the sound of it.

  Or I could kill him. That option hadn’t gone away.

  “I found a case,” Elizabetta said. “Last one where Forsythe was accused of rape. The victim’s still around. It’s on the drive in the file called TJ. Maybe…”

  “Maybe we could get something from her the police couldn’t.”

  Elizabetta looked at me. “Maybe you could…or Yelena, or Bian.” She flinched as she said it.

  No.

  I felt ill. “I’m not going to compel someone who’s been through that,” I said. That would feel like I was as bad as Forsythe.

  Yelena shook her head too.

  She nodded, relieved, and dropped her head.

  “We should go,” Yelena said.

  Elizabetta looked at her watch. “Jefferson isn’t due for another fifteen. Please stay. Just a couple more minutes.”

  “Of course.” I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “And thank you for doing this for us. I know this must be a bad time for you.”

  That sounded so lame, considering what she was going through.

  “It’s worse for Tom,” she said, but she wasn’t convincing me.

  The restaurant’s front door swung open and she looked up.

  In one instant, she changed.

  “Jefferson,” she called, and waved. Her back was straight, her face transformed with a big smile. It was like a different woman stood up to greet her boyfriend.

  Except for the eyes—they didn’t change.

  “Shit,” Yelena muttered.

  As for LAPD Lieutenant Jefferson Reed…well, it was strange, I felt I almost knew him.

  He was a tall, well-built and handsome African American man in his thirties. As he walked smoothly over to our table, he folded away his obligatory shades to reveal eyes that were quick and shrewd. His pale gray suit hung just so, looking both cool and professional at the same time.

  I thought the reason he felt so familiar was, minor differences aside, this guy was José Morales’ double from a couple of years ago. The same cool, tailored look that would look good on the news, the same sense of controlled, burning ambition, the same sense of a really smart man going places.

  José had made it from lieutenant to captain in Denver’s Major Crimes Division. Jefferson was on the exact same ladder. And as with José, this was a man who could either be immensely beneficial to us, or would whip the rug from under our feet.

  We, meaning the Athanate, needed to treat him like smoking nitroglycerine.

  And we, meaning Yelena and I, needed to be out of here like yesterday’s news.

  “Liz,” he murmured as they embraced, but his eyes were on Yelena and me.

  “My friends visiting from Denver, Yelena and Amber,” Elizabetta introduced us. “My boyfriend, Jefferson.”

  “Ladies,” he said guardedly, all old-world formal.

  This was really bad. Just for openers, we had no idea what stories she’d told him about why she left and why she was back in LA. Exactly the sort of thing that might come up in casual get-to-know-you conversation.

  I got up as Jefferson registered Elizabetta’s red eyes and commented.

  “Oh, it’s silly,” Elizabetta explained. “We were just partying way too late last night.”

  That had an element of truth to it.

  “Yeah. Please, don’t break it up. Look, Liz, I can’t stay,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch. “My meeting just got moved forward an hour. I came in to apologize and promise to take you out this evening. If you’re not too tired.”

  Lucky break for us.

  I laughed. “We all need to get some sleep. We’ll leave the pair of you for the moment and get a cab,” I said. “See you outside, Liz.”

  Yelena stood.

  “Nice to meet you.” I offered a hand to Jefferson.

  “Likewise.” He shook. “Looking forward to something more relaxed next time. Maybe we can do dinner. You can tell me all about Denver.”

  “Sounds excellent,” I lied.

  Yelena and I gave him big smiles and beat a retreat.

  “Shit, that was bad luck,” Yelena said outside.

  “He came early,” I said, but Yelena was right. We should never have risked meeting her ‘boyfriend’ without a thorough preparation and a good reason. Yelena had lived as a spy in Basilikos. I’d been undercover for Ops 4-10. Neither of us would have been here if we’d made these sort of mistakes back then.

  The thought that worried me was that Elizabetta didn’t have the training we’d had.

  Yelena had a cab company on speed dial, and the guy drove up just as Jefferson and Elizabetta came out of the restaurant. Jefferson gave us a wave and headed north to the police headquarters building. Elizabetta joined us.

  “We’ll take the Kawasaki,” I said. “Cab’s for you.”

  “Hold on,” she said. “You’re going to check out this case of Forsythe’s, aren’t you? Can I come with you?”

  “But you’re exhausted, Liz.”

  “What, I should go back to Tom’s apartment?” she said. “They’ll all be packing to go join him in Albuquerque.”

  “Okay,” I said, and bit my lip. “Come along. And what about you come stay with us afterwards. We’ve got lots of room.”

  She looked pleased at the invitation, and so, instead of heading off home, we went visiting.

  Chapter 30

  Tove Johansen. Twenty-two years old. Born on the family farm outside Clearbrook, up in the Red River basin of Minnesota. Fresh off the flight from Minneapolis four years ago, eager to show LA she had what it took to be an actress.

  Year of auditions and waiting tables; empty promises and leaking hopes.

  Three years ago made a claim to police that Forsythe had raped her.

  Case thrown out.

  Working name Celeste.

  Five convictions for prostitution and drugs.

  Currently living in a squat yellow apartment building just off Sepulveda in Van Nuys, walking distance from rooms by the hour along the boulevard. Despair drifting up from the hot streets like an invisible, poisonous gas.

  She hadn’t been expecting visitors.

  Once Elizabetta persuaded her to let us in, Tove made some faint effort to clear a place for us to sit. Unappetizing, half-eaten meals went in the sink. Clothes were thrown on the bed. Glittery, eye-catching, tight. Desperate. She threw a coat over them.

  Her movements were sluggish, her blue eyes too bright. Her pale hair was matted and dull; her hands fluttered like butterflies.

  She was just focused enough to take some cash off Elizabetta.

  When she became aware of me looking at the state of the veins in her arms, she put on a shabby sweater and hugged herself.

  “Don’t know why you want to talk about it,” she said and shrug
ged. “Your money, your time. You’ll never get it in print.”

  “We aren’t journalists,” Elizabetta said.

  “Police?” Her eyes came up to glare at us, genuine anger breaking through to animate her face.

  I shook my head.

  It was too much effort for her to keep the anger going. She sank down on the bed and waved a hand.

  “Ask away.”

  Elizabetta glanced at me. She’d told me the basics in the cab as we’d been driven from downtown, with Yelena following on the Kawasaki. I nodded at her to continue. Yelena and I were going to try and see if Tove was telling the truth. I hoped her drug-induced daze wasn’t going to make that impossible.

  “Tove,” Yelena began, “you’ve had convictions for drugs, including drugs that might affect your memory. How can we be sure what you claimed is true?”

  Tove snorted. “You can’t. That’s the whole fucking problem, isn’t it?”

  “Were you on drugs the night he raped you?”

  “Only the ones he gave me,” Tove snapped at her. “Before and after.”

  She might as well have punched me in the stomach.

  Yelena looked at me, worried by my reaction.

  I settled it down. It served no purpose to react like that. I had to keep it under control; otherwise I’d distract Yelena. But Tove Johansen hadn’t lied.

  “Rohypnol?” Elizabetta asked.

  “No. Roofies screw with your head, make it difficult to remember. I knew exactly what he was doing. Him and his friends.”

  “You felt weak, barely able to stand, but still aware?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  Tove nodded.

  Elizabetta kept pressing. “The convictions you have—”

  “I never touched the stuff,” Tove said angrily, and then slumped back. “Not then. Those first convictions afterwards, the ones when I went to the cops about him. I was set up.” She sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  “I believe you,” I said.

  She laughed. A harsh, bitter sound. “Good cop, bad cop? Spare me. Yeah, I have convictions. I have a habit. I do what I do to feed it. Since that’s what the DA told me I was, what other choice did I have?”