The Sin Keeper

by Gary Winston Brown

  “Whatever you say, Chief.”

  “And Jack?”

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “Your wife’s meatloaf…”

  “What about it?”

  “Give Hallier the recipe. Tell him to lock it away some place that no one will ever find it again.”

  “Good idea,” Poole said. “How about Nevada. Area 51.”

  Jenkins smiled. “That should be secure enough.”

  Poole shook his head and turned away. “I’ll tell the boys to clean up.”

  “Good man.”

  “And don’t forget about Friday,” Poole called out.

  “Friday?”

  “Nora invited you to our place for dinner, remember?”

  Jenkins put his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t.”

  Poole waved over his shoulder as he walked away. “Damn straight I would. I’ll let her know it’s your favorite.”

  Chief Jenkins sat in his Jeep outside the barricade and reviewed his officer’s incident reports prior to handing the case over to the Department of Defense.

  Earl Kent walked over and leaned against the door. “I hear the feds are taking it from here,” he said.

  Jenkins kept reading. “Looks that way, doc.” He held up Kent’s paperwork. “Anything you want to add?”

  Kent shook his head. “It’s all there. Best I can give you, anyway. I’m just a simple medical examiner.”

  “A simple, Johns Hopkins-educated medical examiner,” Jenkins added. “Tell me the truth, doc. What do you make out of all this? Last night I dealt with the first homicide Corona has seen in a decade and today you’re scraping human paste off the ground. Next thing we know, the government shows up at our investigation and tells us thanks for keeping dinner warm, now kindly piss-off.”

  Dr. Kent shrugged his shoulders. “Right place, wrong time, Chief. Nothing more to it than that.” The coroner’s phone rang. He stepped away and took the call.

  Jenkins returned to his paperwork. Two military vehicles pulled up to the entrance to the shopping plaza. He watched Deputy Poole point them in the direction of the crime scene and wave them through.

  Dr. Kent pocketed his phone as he walked back to the Jeep. “That was forensics. Odontology confirmed the dental implant belonged to Dan Labrada.”

  “At least now we know who our vic is,” Jenkins said. “The only remaining questions are who killed him and why. Maybe Poole’s right.”

  “That it could be drug-related?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kent shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “The manner of death for starters” Kent said. “Unless Labrada was some kind of drug kingpin or organized crime boss it’s highly unlikely he would come to that kind of an end. And if he was a drug lord or Mafia he probably would have come up on your radar a long time ago.”

  “True.”

  “Second, if he was a high-value player DEA, FBI or DHS would have advised you that they were conducting an op in your jurisdiction.

  “You ever consider trading in your scalpel for a badge, doc?” Jenkins asked.

  Kent smiled. “Third… the Department of Defense took over your investigation, not the DEA, FBI or DHS. DARPA doesn’t deal with narcotics or organized crime. What about the wife in Norco? Did your officers check her out?”

  Jenkins nodded. “She hadn’t heard from Labrada since yesterday. From what I understand didn’t care if she ever did again. Apparently the two of them are on the ropes. She was planning on asking him for a divorce just as soon as she worked up the nerve. She gave us everything we asked for. Labrada was clean.”

  “Too bad. It could have made life a little easier.”

  “Yeah.”

  The military vehicles accelerated through the parking lot and rolled to a stop in front of Chief Jenkins and Dr. Kent. Colonel Hallier greeted the soldiers.

  Jenkins stepped out of the Jeep. “I guess it’s time I get this over with.”

  “I suppose so,” Kent replied.

  The men watched as Hallier’s soldiers removed several cases marked HAZMAT from their vehicles and carried them into the crime scene.

  “Think Hallier would keep you updated on the case if you asked him nicely?” Kent asked.

  Chief Jenkins shook his head. “Fat chance. I’d have better luck winning the Powerball.”

  CHAPTER 40

  THE HOUR was late, and Terminal D at Sheremetyevo International Airport was quiet. Marina Puzanova sat in the Aeroflot departure lounge waiting to board the final flight of the night leaving for Los Angeles from Moscow.

  She removed the U2 recorder from her purse, plugged it into her cell phone and listened again to the call: ‘I know who you are... I know what you are... I know what you did... Is Ilya enjoying his studies at Cal State?’

  Bastard!

  She removed a notebook from her handbag and listed the details of the call: American accent. Middle age. The sound of waves. The cry of seagulls. Dammit! So little to go on. Frustrated, she shoved the notepad back into her purse.

  He seemed to know exactly who she was, what type of business she was involved in, and specific details about The Company.

  There was only one possible explanation that made sense. Verenich had been compromised.

  Whoever the caller was, he had gained access to her through Taras. From the moment they had first met Marina knew the American attorney couldn’t be trusted. If her superiors had listened to her and taken her concerns about him more seriously she wouldn’t be sitting in the airport lounge right now, waiting to fly halfway around the world to take care of a problem that could have been dealt with long ago with a bullet to the lawyer’s head.

  Marina’s cell phone rang. The code number ‘000’ appeared on the screen. It was Kastonov, chairman of The Company. She answered the call.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kastonov.”

  “Marina, my dear,” Kastonov said joyfully. “How are you?”

  She tried to suppress the anxiety in her voice. “Very well, sir.”

  “Splendid. First, let me apologize for calling you at this late hour,” Kastonov said. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve had a very long day.”

  “It’s no intrusion whatsoever, sir. How can I help you?”

  “I promise I won’t take more than a minute of your time.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Very good. A quick question for you, if I may.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The warm tone melted from Kastonov’s voice. “My colleagues and I would like to know why you’re leaving for America without permission.”

  Marina’s throat felt dry. She had been under surveillance by Company operatives and didn’t know it. But why?

  She swallowed hard. “Sir?”

  “Now Marina,” Kastonov said, “you know as well as I do that we have rules in place for a reason. I would encourage you to look at this situation from my perspective. When a respected member of my organization, and one of my best people I might add, arbitrarily decides to leave the country, without warning or any upline communication with her handlers…well, what am I to think?”

  “Sir, it’s just that…”

  “What do you suppose would be the first thought to go through my mind in a situation like that?”

  “Mr. Kastonov, if I may be permitted to explain…”

  “It’s that someone has made a deal. I’m not saying for a minute that is the case with you, my dear. I wouldn’t want you to think that that would be my first thought where you are concerned. Because if it were I can assure you I wouldn’t have given you the courtesy of this phone call.”

  Marina was quiet.

  “Are you still there, my dear?”

  She paused. “I am.”

  “Good. Now do us both a favor. Go home. Get a good night’s rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning. I’m quite sure we can put this little misunderstanding behind us.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.” />
  Kastonov was silent.

  The Aeroflot-hostess announced the business passengers pre-boarding call over the sound system. Marina stood from her seat and extended the pull-up the handle on her carry-on case.

  “My business in the United States is personal, Mr. Kastonov. It has nothing to do with The Company. We will discuss it on my return.”

  “Marina. I strongly suggest you cancel your travel plans and leave the airport immediately,” Kastonov replied.

  “This does not concern you or The Company.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake,” Ms. Puzanova.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Kastonov.” Marina terminated the call. She let out a long deep breath. Good God, she thought. What have I done? By hanging up on Kastonov she had stepped way over the line. They would make her accountable for her actions upon her return to Moscow. But none of that mattered now.

  Her only concern right now was protecting Ilya from danger.

  As she walked down the gangway and entered the aircraft the stranger’s words played in her mind: ‘I’m going to take it all apart… in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.’

  We’ll see about that, she thought.

  She had already established set her priorities. First, secure Ilya. Second, terminate Verenich.

  Marina stored her case in the overhead compartment and took her seat. She looked out the window of the aircraft and thought about her call with Kastonov. Insubordination of any kind was not tolerated. There were sure to be consequences.

  Maybe it was time for a new start, in a new country, with a new identity. Perhaps making a deal with the Americans in exchange for her knowledge of The Company might not be such a bad idea after all.

  Marina fastened her seat belt and selected a magazine from the seatback pocket in front of her. The cover read, “America’s 100 Safest Cities.” She opened the magazine and skimmed through the article:

  Sunnyvale, California. The home of Silicon Valley offered plenty of companies in which she could invest her wealth and live very comfortably for the rest of her life.

  Honolulu, Hawaii. The year-round warmth of Hawaii would indeed be a welcome change to the cold of Moscow.

  Alexandria, Virginia. Some of the richest and most powerful men and women in the country lived there. She would have no trouble moving in such circles.

  So many choices...

  Kastonov’s call had been the tipping point. She had made up her mind. The time had come for her to leave The Company and get out of the business.

  After she had settled her personal affairs she would meet with the FBI.

  She laid the magazine in her lap and closed her eyes.

  White sand, hot sun, ocean breeze.

  Hawaii it would be.

  Before long the stress of the day overpowered her. She fell asleep. In her dream, she was walking along a secluded stretch of sandy beach. She could feel the heat of the sun on her face and the waves lapping at her feet. She had also found love on this island paradise. He put his arm around her, pulled her close and whispered in her ear: “I know who you are… I know what you are… I know what you did…”

  Marina woke with a start.

  The engines revved and receded as the aircraft taxied to the takeoff runway.

  CHAPTER 41

  JORDAN RECEIVED a second call from Agent Hawkins. “Go ahead, Hawk.”

  “Ever heard of a guy by the name of Alexi Vasiliev?” Agent Hawkins asked.

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Jordan said. Chris shook his head. “Not for Chris either.”

  “Vasiliev used to be a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia. I think Rosenfeld may have been acquiring his art and antiquities through him.”

  “Are you saying Rosenfeld was connected to the Russian mob?” Jordan asked.

  “I can’t confirm that yet. Our guys lifted several sets of prints from the back of the Pont Neuf and the Codex Leicester in Rosenfeld’s bedroom. IAFIS came back with three hits. Rosenfeld’s, of course, but also prints belonging to Alexi Vasiliev and another Russian, Vyacheslav Usoyan.”

  “Head of the Solntsevskaya Bratva,” Chris said. “Russia’s largest crime organization.”

  “That’s right,” Hawkins said. “Vasiliev is Usoyan’s brother-in-law. According to our intelligence Usoyan brought him into the family business a few years back. Seems he took to it pretty fast and received a number of rapid promotions within the Bratva, mostly due to his reputation for having an eye for art. Pretty soon he became the Bratva’s go-to guy for stolen art and artifacts. They placed hundreds of stolen pieces into the hands of the elite over the years, primarily with collectors in the United States, Canada, France, Spain and Portugal.”

  “Wasn’t Usoyan on the Bureau’s Top Ten Most Wanted a couple of years back?” Chris asked.

  “Indeed. He was arrested in Russia for tax fraud, of all things, related to a financial institution of which he was the principal. It seems having access to all that money was a little too tempting. Usoyan ripped off his investors for millions. Thousands of investors here in the States and abroad got burned. Many lost everything they had. We tried to arrest him when he was in the country but missed our window of opportunity by a matter of hours. By the time we received his arrest warrant he was already on a flight back to Russia. Since they have no extradition treaty with the United States it was over for us. Usoyan suspected law enforcement was on to him back home and he was right. Russian authorities took him into custody the second he stepped off the plane in Moscow. He handed the reins over to Vasiliev until he was released on bail. Since then he’s gone underground. No one has seen or heard from him in years.”

  “Why would Rosenfeld buy his art from mobsters?” Jordan asked. “He could have easily afforded to pay whatever price the market was asking.”

  “Not in this case,” Hawkins said. “These pieces have historical significance. They’re not for sale. They’re meant to be appreciated by the world, not just one man. But individuals with unlimited financial resources, like Rosenfeld, know who to connect with to make such acquisitions happen. And that kind of money buys silence.”

  “What I don’t understand is why Rosenfeld would even want to be associated with Vasiliev or Usoyan,” Jordan asked.

  “I have an idea,” Hawkins said. “But it’s probably a long shot.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Chris said.

  “Remember the files I found on the computer in Rosenfeld's panic room? The ones labeled Account 1 and Account 2? We clicked on the hidden link at the bottom of Verenich’ website, entered one of the Account 1 codes into the search box and got a full profile of the girl: name, description, how much she billed out, even her purchase price. Here’s my theory: What if Rosenfeld acquired the Pont Neuf and the Codex Leicester from the Bratva through Verenich?”

  “That would connect Verenich to the Russian mob,” Jordan said.

  “Exactly.”

  “It might also mean that Rosenfeld’s murder was a mob hit,” Chris added.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Hawkins said. “Maybe he tried to double-cross them. Like I said, it’s just a theory.”

  “Verenich did tell us his clientele was primarily Russian,” Jordan said.

  “We need to get Ridgeway’s permission to go back to Verenich’ office and press him for answers,” Chris said. “See if breaks.”

  “He’ll spout off about his rights, throw the Constitution at us, then toss us out on our asses,” Jordan said.

  “Wouldn’t be a first for me,” Chris said. “And I’m pretty sure my ass can take the fall.”

  “Mine too,” Jordan replied.

  CHAPTER 42

  MERRICK PULLED into the main entrance of California State University’s Long Beach campus behind the stolen motorcycle.

  Egan stepped off the bike. “It’s been a while,” he said, shaking his handler’s hand.

  “So it has,” Merrick replied. “Ready?”

  Egan nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  The two men
entered the grounds and walked past the Visitor Information Center. A university police officer stepped out of the booth. The cop called out. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  Merrick and Egan ignored the policeman.

  The officer spoke again. “Hold up a second, fellas.”

  The men turned around.

  “What’s your business here at Cal State?” The cop smiled. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you both look a little old to be students.”

  Merrick laughed. “To be sure. I’m afraid our days of taking notes in the classroom have been over for quite some time, and I don’t mind telling you it’s much more enjoyable being on the other side of the podium.”

  The cop leaned against the wall of the Visitor Booth. “So what brings you here today?” he asked.

  “My name is Professor Kincaid,” Merrick lied. “This is my colleague, Professor Dawson. We’re looking for a colleague, Dr. Ashley Granger. Would you happen to know where we might find her?”

  The cop pointed down the road. “Molecular and Life Sciences Center, just off East Campus Drive. Is Dr. Granger expecting you?”

  “No. In fact, we were hoping to surprise her,” Merrick replied.

  “Sorry professors,” the cop replied. “University rules are cut and dry when it comes to visitors. No guests are permitted on campus without a pass.” He picked up the phone. “I’ll call Dr. Granger and arrange that for you right now.”

  “I understand, Officer,” Merrick replied. “I assure you we won’t be long.” The men turned and walked away.

  The guard spoke into his radio. “You’ll have to wait here until I contact Dr. Granger.”

  Merrick and Egan ignored him, kept walking in the direction of East Campus Drive.

  The officer called out. “Professors?”

  No reply.

  The university cop issued a final warning. “Both of you… stop right there!”

  Merrick turned to Egan. “Connect with me when you locate Granger. Bring her to me. I’ll find the boy.”