Graveyard

by William C. Dietz

  “Because he’s a good citizen,” Yanty replied.

  Lee looked at him. There was more to it than that . . . She could tell. Yanty had some sort of leverage where Pody was concerned but wasn’t going to discuss it. Because cops weren’t supposed to lean on people? Probably. Yanty might look like a CPA, but there was a hard-core detective behind the easygoing façade. She let the matter drop.

  Five minutes elapsed before the courier came out, got in the minivan, and drove away. “Now comes the hard part,” she predicted. “Who knows when ABCOM’s messenger will arrive.”

  “True,” Yanty replied. “But let’s be optimistic. He or she might show up ten minutes from now.”

  But the courier didn’t show up. Not in ten minutes, not in twenty, and not in forty. Time slowed. Yanty talked about the Dodgers, and Lee thought about Kane. Four o’clock rolled around. A mall cop told Yanty to move the car and apologized after getting a look at the detective’s badge.

  Lee went to get coffee and returned fifteen minutes later. Yanty shook his head as she got in. “You didn’t miss anything.”

  “You’re sure Pody will call?”

  “I’m sure,” Yanty replied as he took an experimental sip of coffee. “What? No doughnuts? We’re cops. Haven’t you been on a stakeout before?”

  “I can’t afford the calories, and neither can you.”

  “I’m in better shape than Prospo.”

  “True,” Lee acknowledged. “But that isn’t saying much.”

  That was when Yanty’s phone burped. He thumbed it on. “Yanty.”

  Lee watched as Yanty listened. “Okay,” he said. “The messenger is a Hispanic female, and she’s leaving now. Well done . . . Thanks.”

  Lee raised her binoculars as Yanty started the car. “I have her . . . She’s getting into a blue especiale with a rag top.”

  Yanty was pulling out of the parking lot and watching to see which way the courier would go. The answer was west on Culver Boulevard. Ideally, there would be a second unit to switch off with—but the department was too shorthanded to provide one. That forced Yanty to hang back farther than Lee liked and run the risk of losing the ABCO car at a light.

  Fortunately, there was plenty of rush-hour traffic to hide in. Eventually, the suspect turned north onto Lincoln Boulevard. Then, after traveling a short distance, she turned west onto Mindanaoway. “What the hell?” Yanty exclaimed. “We’re going to run out of land pretty soon.”

  And Lee knew that was true. They were on a finger of land that pointed out into the collection of highly commercialized basins known as Marina Del Rey. And why would anyone in their right mind choose to put an illegal medical clinic there?

  Then, as the blue convertible turned into the Santa Monica Yacht Club’s parking lot, alarm bells began to go off in Lee’s head. A boat! The messenger was headed for a boat!

  The LAPD had boats of its own, of course . . . Like the one that took the team off the beach at Hawthorne. But could she get one in time? And if she did, how could they follow without being noticed?

  Yanty pulled into a slot about a hundred feet away from the blue especiale, and both of them bailed out. Rather than stick together, they split up to be less noticeable. The suspect was out of her car as well—and carrying a thin briefcase as she made her way out onto a dock. She looked over her shoulder once but didn’t look concerned, and the reason for that soon became apparent.

  Short of arresting the woman, and running the risk that she wouldn’t talk, all Lee could do was stand and watch the courier board a sleek-looking launch. A crewman was there to cast off, and based on how quickly the bow came up, Lee figured the boat was equipped with two inboard engines. Yanty arrived at her side as the launch arrowed away. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “That’s a good summary,” Lee said. “At least we have the car. We’ll have it impounded.”

  “Good idea,” Yanty replied, as he eyed his watch. “Then, if you have no objection, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “Are you going to talk about the Dodgers?”

  “No.”

  “I’m in.”

  • • •

  It was Saturday morning and the beginning of what promised to be another beautiful day. So that as Lee rolled out of bed and padded into the condo’s living room, the vast sweep of the Pacific Ocean was laid out before her. Under normal circumstances, Kane would be up and preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Then, with steaming plates in hand, they would take them out onto the deck to eat. It would still be in the shade and a bit chilly. But with a jacket on and a hot cup of coffee at hand, Lee would enjoy the view, the food, and the man sitting next to her.

  But none of that was going to take place. Kane was still in jail, and likely to remain there, until such time as Codicil could free him. And that was why Lee was scheduled to meet with the lawyer for brunch.

  But first there were bills to pay, a load of laundry to do, and some housecleaning if she could manage to cram it in. So Lee prepared a light breakfast and sat down to watch the news. Thanks to the combined efforts of Pacifica and the Republic of Texas, the ’tec army had been pushed out of San Diego and into what had previously been known as Mexico.

  That was good. What wasn’t so good, not in Lee’s opinion, anyway, was the hard line that some of the alliance’s politicians were taking. They wanted to punish the Aztecs. To, in the words of one hawk, “. . . push the misbegotten bastards all the way down to the far side of the Panama Canal.”

  Fortunately, there were others who opposed that agenda. But some of those folks were pushing for a strong alliance between Pacifica and the Republic of Texas. Even going so far as to advocate a merger of some sort. That sounded nice, but having spent time in the RZ, Lee knew it was a shit hole, and she couldn’t imagine full integration anytime soon.

  After breakfast, Lee managed to get in almost two hours’ worth of work before changing clothes and heading down to the parking garage. She had a police car at her disposal but wasn’t supposed to use it for anything other than official business. And Kane’s car was sitting in an impound lot. So Lee had every reason to ride her motorcycle—and was looking forward to it. She threw a leg over the monster and turned the key. The engine roared to life and produced the throaty rumble that she loved to hear.

  Lee pulled out of the garage, took a left, and rode north. The Cliff Side Restaurant was located on the far side of Palisades Park just off the Pacific Coast Highway. Traffic was flowing smoothly, and Lee gloried in the feel of it. Maybe she could convince Kane to buy a bike . . . Then they could take a road trip up north and lose themselves among the trees. You’ll have to get him out of the slammer first, the other her put in.

  Even though he lied to me?

  He didn’t lie to you . . . Not really. But put that aside for a moment. You lied to him. Remember?

  Yes, but that was different. I wanted to see my mother, and . . .

  And you lied to him about it. So come down off your high horse and find a way to help him. Like he helped you.

  You’re a pain in the ass.

  Look who’s talking.

  The internal bickering came to an end when Lee spotted a sign, made a right-hand turn, and rode up a steeply sloping driveway into a half-filled parking lot. Once the kickstand was down, Lee placed her helmet on the seat and followed an older couple into the restaurant. It was supposed to look like a home that had been converted into a restaurant, and it did. The interior had a vintage feel even though Lee suspected that the furnishings were fairly new. “A table for one?” the hostess inquired.

  “No,” Lee replied. “Has Mr. Codicil arrived?”

  The hostess eyed her computer screen. “Yes, he has . . . Cindy will take you to his table.”

  Cindy was a bright-looking teenager with braces and a ponytail. Lee followed her to one of the tables along the west side of the restaurant. It looked down onto the highway
and the ocean beyond. Codicil stood until she was seated. The attorney was bald on top, with white hair that was combed back along both sides of his head. His cheeks were hollow which made his face look gaunt. A pair of glasses, a pencil-thin mustache, and a neat goatee completed the look. He was dressed in a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. “Good morning,” Codicil said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too,” Lee said. “This seems like a nice restaurant. I’ve never been here before.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Codicil replied. “They have a good buffet if you’re interested.”

  Lee wasn’t much of a buffet fan, so she eyed the menu, and spotted a dish called Huevos a la Mexicana. Or Mexican scrambled eggs. And that’s what she ordered.

  “So,” Codicil said as he sipped his coffee. “Lawrence sends his regards. I think he wanted to say more, a lot more, but couldn’t imagine the words passing through my lips.”

  Both of them laughed. “How’s he doing?” Lee inquired.

  “He’s a good listener,” Codicil replied. “So other inmates are lining up to tell Lawrence their troubles.”

  “That’s good,” Lee commented. “He could use a protector or two. I feel badly about this . . . It’s my fault.”

  Codicil’s eyebrows rose. “Your fault? How so?”

  “I gave him the gun. That’s what got him arrested.”

  “Au contraire, ma cher,” Codicil countered. “Two men attacked a girl. That’s what led to his arrest. Lawrence saw what they were up to and tried to help. Do you really believe that he would have remained in his car if he’d been unarmed?”

  “No,” Lee admitted.

  “So,” Codicil said, as if addressing a jury, “had it not been for the weapon he was carrying that night, Lawrence might very well be dead.”

  Lee knew that was true and allowed herself to take some comfort from Codicil’s words. She smiled. “Okay, point taken. So how are we doing?”

  Codicil frowned. “Not very well I’m afraid. The fact that we don’t have any witnesses to support Lawrence’s version of what took place puts us in a tough spot. All I can do is stall, push the trial date out as far as I can, and hope that something breaks our way.”

  Both were silent for a moment. “The woman is out there somewhere,” Lee said. “And so is the other man.”

  “True,” Codicil agreed. “But trying to find them is like looking for a needle in a haystack. I hired a private investigator to canvass the neighborhood where the shooting took place, but he came up empty.”

  “I can’t work on it,” Lee said. “Not directly. But I’m going to talk to a friend of mine. He might be able to help. So if a guy named Keyes calls you, please put him on the payroll.”

  “That’s all? You won’t tell me how Mr. Keyes might be of assistance?”

  “Not yet,” Lee said, “because I’m not sure myself.”

  The food arrived at that point, and the conversation resumed once the waiter left. “I have some papers for you to sign,” Codicil said as he tackled an order of French toast. “Lawrence wants you to have a full power of attorney, so you can manage his affairs. I told him that wasn’t necessary, and that a limited POA would be adequate, but he insisted. ‘I trust Cassandra,’ he said. ‘She’ll do all the right things.’”

  Lee saw the expression on Codicil’s face and knew he was sending her a message. The unlimited POA was more than a legal document—it was Kane’s way of telling her how he felt. She wanted to cry but didn’t. “Okay, if that’s what he wants. Tell him I’ll use it to get his car out of hock.”

  “That will make him happy,” Codicil predicted. “I think he likes that car almost as much as he likes you.”

  There was more, but nothing of consequence, and Lee enjoyed the meal. Once the dishes were cleared, Codicil summoned two restaurant employees to serve as witnesses, had Lee sign three copies of the document, and affixed his own signature as well.

  After they said their good-byes, and parted company at the front door, Lee went to her bike. Her copy of the POA went into one of the motorcycle’s panniers. Then she made a call. Keyes answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”

  “This is Cassandra. Are you home? And, if you are, can I come by?”

  “Sure,” Keyes answered. “I’ll be here . . . How about bringing me a pizza? Make it a large, so I can get two meals out of it.”

  “How about a medium and a salad?” Lee countered. “And you can still get two meals out of it.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Keyes replied. “Thin crust please.” Then he hung up.

  It took Lee more than an hour to make the trip to Chinatown, purchase the food, and take it to Keyes’s walk-up. Lee suspected that the pizza was a bit lopsided after being transported on its side in one of the motorcycle’s panniers but didn’t think her friend would mind. And if the salad hadn’t been tossed prior to the ride, it was by the time she arrived at Keyes’s door.

  Lee pressed the intercom button, heard the camera whir as Keyes confirmed her identity, and waited for the ensuing click. Once the lock was released, she entered the vestibule and began the long climb up to the second-floor apartment. The door was open, and, once inside, Lee saw that everything looked the same. Which was to say, piled high with junk.

  Lee followed the winding path toward the front of the apartment, where Keyes was sitting in his wheelchair watching a soccer game. He made use of a remote to turn the sound down. “The pizza lady! Thank you.”

  “De nada,” Lee said, as she placed the food on a cluttered table. “How’s it going?”

  Keyes shrugged. “Business is a little slow right now . . . People are still trying to recover from the attack.”

  “I might have some work for you,” Lee said, “if you think the project is feasible.”

  The next fifteen minutes were spent filling Keyes in on Kane, the shooting, and the uphill battle to free him. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Keyes said, once she was finished. “But where do I fit in?”

  “I want you to use your computer savvy to find the missing girl,” Lee answered. “As well as the other man.”

  Keyes frowned. “Can you give me some direction here? Some idea of what you have in mind?”

  “Sure,” Lee replied. “Use social media . . . Search the Internet. Here’s the dead man’s name,” Lee added, as she gave him a slip of paper. “Did someone post something about his death? If so, who? And what did he or she say? And did someone ‘like’ the posting? And if they did, can you identify them?

  “And what about videos related to the attack?” Lee added. “We know that Codicil’s PI checked to see if local security cameras caught the shootout. And chances are that the detective in charge of the case did so as well. But just because they came up empty doesn’t mean the footage doesn’t exist. How about the people stuck in the traffic jam? Maybe one of them shot the incident with their cell phone. There are a lot of possibilities, and if you accept the assignment, I expect you to examine every one of them.”

  Keyes’s expression had brightened by then. “Yeah . . . I see where you’re headed. I’m in.”

  “Excellent. Mr. Codicil’s name and number are on the piece of paper I gave you. You’ll be working for him, not for me, and he’s expecting your call. So get in touch and provide him with regular reports.”

  “Right . . . Got it.”

  Lee looked into Keyes’s eyes. “This means a lot to me Ebert.”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry . . . I’m on it.”

  The crowd roared as Portland scored a goal on San Francisco. Lee got up to go as Keyes turned his attention to the game. Keyes was reaching for the pizza as she left. The salad was untouched.

  SIX

  IT WAS RAINING. That was good for lawns, for the farms east of LA, and for the area’s water-starved reservoirs. But driving was dangerous because the city’s drivers seemed to have forgotten how to navigate slick
streets—and Lee could hear a continual stream of accident reports coming in over the radio. With that in mind, she was careful to maintain a generous space cushion between her car and the one in front of her.

  After the meetings with Codicil and Keyes on Saturday, half of Sunday had been spent rescuing Kane’s sports car from the impound lot, a laborious process made even worse by the fact that the cretin on duty didn’t know what a POA was.

  But after an hour-long struggle, she’d been allowed to drive the especiale off the lot. Then, knowing how Kane felt about the vehicle, she had the interior cleaned and vacuumed before taking it home. Would Kane be allowed to drive it soon? Lee hoped so but knew it was too early to expect any news from Codicil.

  The sedan’s windshield wipers squeaked rhythmically as Lee turned onto the road that led to the Street Services Garage. Then she had to wait for the vehicle in front of her to clear security before showing her ID. After passing through the checkpoint, Lee went looking for a place to park. Predictably enough, the slots closest to the building’s entrance were full—so Lee had no choice but to get out and make a run for it. Her clothes were damp by the time she got inside and was asked to show her ID again.

  From there it was a straight shot down the central corridor to her desk. Yanty was waiting for her, as was a hot cup of coffee. “Thanks,” Lee said, as she put her bag down. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I’m a detective,” Yanty said mysteriously. “And I wanted to catch you before roll call.”

  “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “ABCO sent another request to TransLab, and they notified me. The test results will arrive at Joe Pody’s storefront later today.”

  “Sweet!” Lee said. “So we’re going to get another chance.”

  “Correct,” Yanty replied. “And we’re going to need a shitload of resources.”

  “Which is why you wanted to see me prior to roll call,” Lee said as she took a tentative sip of coffee.

  “Exactamundo.”

  “How about the ABCO car? The one the courier left at Marina Del Rey? Any luck with that?”