"Truly," Finn said.
Captain Smith's wide plain eyes blinked. Her expression never changed, but Finn saw an itch of amusement at the corner of her lips.
"Sometime before end of day, I will receive notarized statements attesting to that fact. Each of these sworn statements will include the individual's precise movements during the party."
Now it was Finn who tipped his lips, but the gesture did not even come close to a smile.
"'Tis kind of the mayor and his staff to do our work for us. I'll be able to take an early lunch and have my hair cut."
This time she chuckled, and in doing so transformed. Her eyes sparked, and she smiled. It was tight and fleeting, but Finn counted that a victory.
"You can do without the haircut, and you'll have to wait for lunch," she said. "To be clear. I don't care if God himself took videos of those folks and angels are vouching for them. You will not stand down in any quarter. We have our job; the mayor has his delusions. I'm simply telling you to watch your butt because it's a hard time for cops."
"Sure, that's an understatement, captain."
"And you're doing double hard time. I have no prejudice one way or the other on the matter. Nor am I unaware that my guys from last night are feeling a little raw." She held up a hand when she heard Finn's intake of breath, and saw him poised for a rebuttal. "I'm not saying you were wrong. They should have gone in. There might have been a chance to save the victim."
"There wasn't," Finn assured her. "But..."
"All I'm saying is that for every person who is happy to see us there are ten that would like to take us down. Don't blame those officers for their caution, and make sure you and your partner aren't the ones in line for friendly fire. Don't forget the mayor can play hardball too. Do you understand me?"
"I do, captain," Finn said.
"Good, because I would like there to come a day when I send you and Detective Anderson back to Captain Fowler in one piece as much for your sake as mine."
"Detective Anderson and I would like nothing more," Finn said. "Not that we haven't enjoyed our time here, Captain Smith."
The woman was not charmed, only satisfied by his assurances.
"Pass along our conversation to Detective Anderson," she said. "I want to know all there is to know, every step of the way. I'm not fond of being called on a politician's carpet or finding my division on the front page of the newspaper."
"I'll speak to Detective Anderson when she gets in. She's swinging by The Brewery again, wanting to check one more thing."
"Good work. Both of you."
Captain Smith picked up her pen again, simultaneously reaching for a thick folder. Finn stood up, but didn't leave the office. Captain Smith raised her eyes, but she kept the posture of someone already on to the next task.
"Something else, O'Brien?"
Finn looked at the woman a moment longer. There was something else. There was his ex-wife. He should tell Captain Smith about Beverly. He should, but he didn't.
"No. Thank you, Captain."
"You're welcome, O'Brien."
Finn walked away, convinced that he would tell her when and if there was a need to know. By the time he got back to the bullpen, he was convinced that the connection didn't matter any longer. He was wrong on one count. The connection did matter to everyone but him.
13
"Anderson, you are dumber than a brick."
Cori threw her head back, shook out her hair, and put her hands on her hips. She took a long deep breath both out of frustration and an attempt to inhale the clean air above her, not the stench beneath her. Actually, Cori wished she didn't need to breathe at all.
She stood knee deep in trash in a huge dumpster. Her brilliant idea to run through the garbage at The Brewery had been half-baked. Much as she hated a pun, this one seemed apropos. She had found any number of half-eaten, half-cooked, half-digested meals in this stinky metal box. She had also found paper, glue, a huge wad of gum, and a bag of sand. She had rifled through banana peels, apple cores, dog poop bags, and empty shampoo bottles.
She was reaching for a paint can, chuckling at the folly of thinking she would find a smoking gun in the trash, when she was attacked from above. Cori threw her arms over her head, yelped, and fell forward as she tried to duck out of the way of the stuff that was raining down on her head. Whatever it was, it felt as hard as rocks. She must have cursed pretty loud because the next thing she knew she had company. A young woman was hanging over the side of the dumpster. She smiled and asked:
"Are you throwing yourself away?"
Cori righted herself, swiping at her hair as she glowered at the pretty girl who was watching her. The girl's face was pierced with hoops and studs: ears, nose, lips, and temple. Whatever hit Cori wasn't just hard, it was sticky. It clung to her teased hair like burrs on a hunting dog.
"Am I what?" Cori said.
"Throwing yourself away?"
The girl's head rotated. She looked over her shoulder and then turned her face up. She swiveled her head side to side before looking at Cori again. Finally, she pulled herself further over the rim of the dumpster to look inside.
"Is there a camera in there? That would be such a cool piece. I mean, wow. Making a video about how it would feel to throw yourself away. I am totally down with the concept."
The girl, tired of holding herself up and slid down an inch or two. Cori swiped at her shirt though she doubted it would ever come clean.
"No, I'm not throwing myself away," Cori said. "But at this point I might as well. I stink like a pig."
Cori swung her purse to the front of her body, wiped away something on the clasp that looked like raw meat, and took out her ID. She showed it to the girl.
"LAPD," Cori said.
"Oh." The girl raised her chin as if she understood everything now. She did not.
"Well, if you're not taping, can I? It would be awesome. Cop in Garbage. What a title. Or Garbage Cop. Pig in a Bin. Would you say you stunk like a pig on camera? That would be even better."
"Not gonna happen, honey," Cori said.
"Okay."
The girl crossed her arms in such a way that Cori thought she might be swinging on the edge of the dumpster. She wasn't, of course. Cori had piled up some boxes to give herself a step up, and that's what the girl was standing on.
"I'm sorry I tossed my crap on you. I couldn't see you in here."
"No problem," Cori said. "I'm almost done."
"What are you looking for?" The girl shifted her weight, seemingly happy to hang there all day.
"There was a problem in that building last night, the big unit," Cori said.
"That doesn't surprise me," she said.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"I'm pretty sure Enver and Emi keep sex slaves. I've seen a woman up there." The girl pointed to the third floor. "She doesn't ever sleep. She's always moving around like she's trying to find a way out. Once she walked right up to the window. I thought she was going to punch it out and jump. I made a sign and held it up. I shined a flashlight on it. It said DO YOU NEED HELP? She stood at that window still as could be, but I guess she didn't see my sign. Then a guy came and took her away. You know, it could be she didn't speak English. Do you think she couldn't read the sign? Emi and Enver are foreign. They could be sex traffickers."
"I don't think so on the sex trafficking thing." Cori flipped her shoulder bag behind her again and leaned against the side of the container. She couldn't get any dirtier if she tried so she might as well be comfortable. "How did the man take her away? Did he drag her away? Did he hit her so she fell away?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. It looked like he touched her on the shoulder, and she turned and went with him. I guess she didn't need help." The girl seemed disappointed.
"Was it just one girl or were there others?"
"I think only one."
"What did she look like?" Cori asked.
"It was always kind of dark. I didn't see her super well. Well, not dark, but there ar
e a lot of shadows, and it's high up. She looked small. Not like a little girl, just small."
"What did this man look like?" Cori asked.
"I don't know. I mean, it was a while back. It couldn't have been Enver. He's tall. The girl was alone a lot," she said.
"And you don't know anything about the other person?" Cori asked.
She shook her head.
"No. I'd say he was a customer. They go in and out making sure everything is just perfect because Enver's companions cost so much. I've run into some of them. They are weirder than weird." She made a face and Cori wondered if she had taken a good look around The Brewery. Weird was in the eye of the beholder.
"So you know Enver and Emi pretty well?"
"I used to," she said. "Enver gave me a super good hint about technique on skin tone because I'm a painter. Once Emi made me some meat pies that were awesome, but I can't remember what she called them. Then they got busy, and I didn't see them anymore. I was kind of hoping they might take me on. You know, I could paint the dolls with Enver. I don't think he ever gave it a thought." She became wistful, only to perk up a second later. "So what are you really doing?"
"I'm looking for clues. Something might have been thrown out in the trash after that party last night. Something that would help me find out who killed that girl," Cori said
"Some chick got offed at a party? Was it a sex party? See, I was right, wasn't I? She was a slave."
"I don't know," Cori said. "Cross my heart, I'd tell you if I knew."
"Did you find anything worth keeping in there?" She lifted herself up and took another look.
"Nope. "
Cori went to the side of the dumpster and waved the girl away. As soon as she was off the boxes Cori hoisted herself up, swung her legs over, and climbed down. She swiped her hands together again. Cleaning them was hopeless until she found some soap and water or a blow torch.
"Did you look at Enver's dumpster?" the girl said.
"He has his own dumpster?" Cori said.
"Yeah. I mean, look at where he and Emi live. Perks come with that place." She pointed to the one Cori had been rutting around in. "This one is for my block." She pointed behind her to the low rent district, and then waved her hand the other way. "Enver's is over there."
"Show me," Cori said.
The girl bounded away, disappearing around the corner of the building. Cori picked up her jacket, slung it over her shoulder, and followed. A minute later, Cori stood beside the girl checking out the Cucas’ private trash bin.
"How come it's so small?" Cori asked.
"Because it's only for this unit. Sometimes when the other one is full I'll dump here, but mostly we respect each other's spaces," she said.
"Good neighbor policy, huh." Cori found a couple of slats of wood, piled them in a basket pattern, tested the platform, stepped up, and climbed in.
"I love your accent. Where are you from?" the girl said.
"Texas. Long time ago," Cori said.
"I guess it hangs on, huh?"
"You should hear my partner. We're a regular United Nations," Cori said.
That was it for their kafe klatch. Cori was now truly in hog heaven. Enver and Emi had found time to clean up after all that happened. The remnants of that fateful evening were all there. Bottles, fancy plastic plates, discarded food, napkins, and a few of the condoms Cori had seen in the bowl. Thankfully, they were still in the wrappers. She sidestepped those just in case. She moved the top refuse aside before dividing the interior into quadrants.
In the first quadrant she latched onto a hank of hair. Fearing it was another body, she pulled on it carefully only to find it was one of Enver's discarded dolls, torso and head only. Enver had been right to toss it. The eyes had molded so that one was higher than the other. The full lips were not bee-stung. Instead they bore a strange resemblance to a catfish Cori had hooked in the river near her house as a kid. She set it aside all the while wondering if there wasn't a market for discounted companions. Say a guy couldn't afford a perfect one. He got a discard, put a bag over its head, and he was good to go.
It was in the third quadrant that she found a plastic grocery bag, the handles tightly knotted. It was light when she picked it up, and soft to the touch. It didn't smell like garbage. It didn't feel like garbage. Cori started to work the knot.
All the while her young friend talked about painting, videos, pigs and cops, more painting, and the weather. Just as the pierced girl predicted a wet winter, Cori opened the bag. She reached inside, and with two fingers pulled out a piece of fabric. It was damp as if it had been washed. Cori held it up, noting the dark spots on the garment. If those dark spots were the victim's blood, that would be so fine. Tying the bag handles again, Cori was satisfied that there was nothing else to find. She climbed out of the dumpster, happy to be back on the ground.
"Found something, huh?" The girl seemed excited.
"You never know."
Cori looked up into the sky. The day was getting on. She was dirty, tired, and satisfied. She was also grateful to the girl who had led her here.
"What's your name?" Cori asked.
"Pedal," the girl said.
"Like a flower?" Cori asked.
No." She laughed. "Like to the metal. My mom says I popped out ready to run. Want a drink?"
"Thanks a bunch, but I need to get back to the office."
"Okay. I'm in 601 if you change your mind." She started away only to turn around and walk backwards. "Not just today. I mean whenever. We're always in and out of each other's places. We love each other. That's the way around here."
Cori watched Pedal skip away, and then started for her car. She could do without the friends around here since it seemed there might be one who could just love you to death.
Giving her hair a shake, hoping she didn't smell too bad but knowing she did, Cori had a revelation. Dumpster diving was an art in this place. Video was a way of life. Sharing was a matter of course. Put all that together and there might be something more to find. Whatever the 'something' was, it could have migrated from the crime scene. Someone might have picked it out of the dumpster. They could have passed it on to someone else who turned 'it' into an art project. In this place anything was possible. Cori paused. She started to walk, pondering, wondering what she might have missed and what someone else might have seen.
A couple of yards away from where she stood was a cluster of small units. She wouldn't have noticed them had Pedal not shown her the private dumpster. Outside one of those units, lined up like bowling pins, were small statues. Cori ambled over, put her hands on her knees, and took a closer look. They were modern and not particularly well formed. Some had been glazed and others just fired. One caught her notice. It was a sweep of clay that looked like a lady wearing a mantel. Kind of like a madonna if you used your imagination. Cori thought it was beautiful. She also decided she would come back with Amber and Tucker when this was all over. She might even invite Lapinski. They'd make a day of it. Just as she was about to leave, the door of the unit opened.
"You can take one. They're free."
Cori squinted. The person who was talking to her was standing in the shadows and she was in the bright sun. When she focused, the first thing she saw was a young man. He was both beautiful and handsome. His hair was black and curly, his skin pale as parchment. His dark eyes were friendly behind wire-rim glasses. His clothes had seen better days, but he wore them well. He could have been middle eastern or Spanish; Indian or all American. He was also young enough to be her kid.
"Thanks for the offer. I might come back and check out your stuff when I'm not working."
"No problem," he said and gave her the once over. "You look like you've had a hard day."
Cori couldn't argue with that. She was a mess. She raised her hands.
"Would you mind if I washed up. I'm going to stick to the steering wheel if I drive with all this gunk on my hands."
"Sure, come on in."
The young man held the door wid
e. Cori took a step up only to hesitate. Before she went through the door, she took notice of the second thing.
"Does that work?" She pointed at the Ring doorbell.
"Sometimes. Mostly it plays this little song whenever anyone passes by. It drives me nuts."
"Do tell," Cori said as she swept into his living room. Before he closed the door, she said. "LAPD, and I'd like to take a look at your phone."
Finn was twelve minutes early to his appointment with Ali Keyes so he grabbed a cup of coffee and waited it out. When ten minutes had come and gone, he walked the block and a half to a very fancy high rise on the Wilshire Corridor. He announced himself to the doorman, who announced his arrival to someone in the penthouse.
The elevator that took Finn up to the fifteenth floor was mirrored. He found it difficult to look at so many of himself, so he looked at his boots instead. When the door opened, he had taken the first step to exit the elevator only to stop and press the button that would keep the door from closing until he understood the situation.
Standing in front of him were two children. A boy and a girl. Both dark haired and of Indian extraction. They looked at him with huge eyes, and said not a word. The little girl, no more than six, appeared especially peeved at his arrival. The boy had a truck. The girl a crayon. Finn was just about to speak, to ask if he had come to the wrong floor when an extraordinarily beautiful woman swept down the hall and gathered the children to her, pulling them back.
"I'm so sorry. Please, please. Come. Come," she said to Finn.
When she tipped her head toward the children, her black hair cascaded over her shoulder. When she spoke to them, her voice was warm, her words lilting despite her crisp British accent.
"I have told you, wait until a visitor comes to the door before you greet them."
The woman stood up. One hand remained on the little girl's shoulder, the other she extended to Finn.
"Vida Keyes," she said. "And these are my children. Our welcoming committee."
"Detective O'Brien," Finn said.
Ali Keyes' wife was movie star beautiful with her deep dark eyes, her full lips and perfect skin. Her clothes were casual and expensive. Her figure was voluptuous and, while other men might admire her, the woman would have no eyes for them. It was clear from her open smile, the way she spoke to her children, the welcome she gave Finn, that she could find no greener pastures.
Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller Page 11
