Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller

by Rebecca Forster

  The bright lights of the workroom shined on the table. Behind them the finished companions hung on their metal rods. The boxes of limbs were back where they had been before the police searched the workroom. She could hear the 3D printer laboring to build a breastbone. The police had found nothing to interest them, as Emi knew they wouldn't. They made Enver open the locked closet on the second landing. They closed it when all they saw was a companion sitting in the corner on a chair. Emi heard one officer say he was going to have nightmares after seeing her in the shadows. The other one said he wouldn't mind getting locked in the closet with her. The first one said the other man was sick. The second laughed as if there was something funny about all this.

  Emi was happy that Enver had not heard this exchange. Even she, for whom the companions had long ceased to hold any allure, was angered by the men's attitudes. There was no recognition of the art only of the prurient thing the art represented. The officers closed and locked the door. They returned the key. They had no idea what they were looking for much less what they were looking at.

  All these things were in Emi's brain, but she would not speak of them. Instead, she opened her mouth to chatter as she normally would, but Enver spoke first.

  "You should go to bed now. Finish in the morning."

  "I'm fine," Emi said. "I'll wait for you."

  Emi tightened a screw, and lay a skin over it. She ran her finger down the appendage to see if the new screw could be felt through the skin. It was as smooth as silk. Her hands were steady. That was a good thing.

  "Go downstairs," Enver said.

  His wife straightened, no longer hunched over her work, and looked at him. He had not raised his voice, but she had heard something different. His rage had shaken him more than the meeting with the police. His anger frightened him more than the blood on his shirt, more than the dead woman. All of it had come as no surprise to Emi. His emotion was a long time coming, and now she wasn't sure what ground she stood upon. She started to object, but thought better of it.

  "Alright."

  She put aside her tools, and left the leg on the table, careful not to change the angle of the ankle. She could pick up the work in the morning without having to readjust it. Emi slid off her stool and unbuttoned her smock. She put it on the hook where it had hung since the moment they had moved into this space.

  "Shall I leave you coffee downstairs?"

  He shook his head. She hesitated, casting about for something she could comment on to engage her husband. Before she could find it, he stood to his full height, and put his paint brush down. To Emi's surprise, he took her in his arms. His embrace was not warm. He was not in need of her comfort or her counsel. This was a gesture of partnership, of understanding, of resignation, and solidarity. It implied a promise not a conspiracy.

  "We'll see the lawyer and find out what we must expect. We have rights," he said.

  Emi nodded. Her cheek moved against a chest that felt hollow. Emi knew she should accept what he had to give; she knew better than to push her husband. And yet she couldn't help herself. The words came out .

  "We need to talk about her."

  "No, no need. It's done. I am sorry, but it's done."

  "No," Emi said. "But...she..."

  Enver let her go, and returned to his work. His big hands picked up the small brush, the bristles of which were no thicker than an eyelash.

  "Enver." Emi put her hands on his back.

  He shook his head. Emi patted his back. He shook his head again, but harder than the first time. She made fists and pounded on his back.

  "What about when he comes back," Emi said.

  "He won't." Enver shook her off.

  "He will." Emi heard her voice rise and felt her fists pound harder. She could never hurt Enver, and yet she was striking him. "You would. He will. They will find out what she did, what you did."

  Enver turned on her, and grabbed her wrists. He said nothing. Her words hung between them. It was too soon for him to think clearly, but at least he had made a plan. They would talk to a lawyer. It didn't matter what they felt, only what they could do.

  "Enver?" Emi said, the question a plea for his attention.

  Enver let her go, turned away, and continued his work. Emi stood behind him, watching for a moment as he added a touch of pale blue to the brown eye just near the iris. Enver knew when his wife left the room, but he gave no notice. Instead, he considered the face he was creating. It was, indeed, beautiful, but the companion would never be all it could. Not this one, not any other one from this time on, and that was sad.

  Enver put down the paintbrush, picked up a rag, and wiped his hands until they were very clean. Then he washed his hands and dried them. He was tired, but he couldn't bring himself to go to Emi. Before he went to sleep, though, before he turned out the light, he would check on her. He would reassure her that everything would be all right. He walked through the workroom and down the first flight of stairs. The last thing he wanted was her to be afraid, because he was afraid enough for them both.

  16

  The last time Cori drove to Newport Beach was when she and Amber had a girls day out. The plan was to treat themselves to a fancy lunch and buy the cheapest thing at an expensive store. After that, they would head home to giggle about how the other half lived. Things didn't turn out quite as planned. The clothes and food were way overpriced, and the women overly thin, blonde, rich, and arrogant. Cori got tired of their side-eyes that marked Cori and her daughter as interlopers, but for Amber's sake Cori ignored the slights. Eager to make a commission, the sales ladies didn't care if Cori's wallet was overly stretched. She bought Amber a T-shirt. It cost a half days wages; the fancy burger lunch cost her the other half.

  Still, the experience was not lost on Cori's daughter. Amber came away with a new appreciation for the hard earned dollar. That lesson was underscored after her boyfriend took a powder when she got pregnant. Amber even apologized for pressing her mother into buying her the shirt. The good news was that Amber was still wearing that T-shirt all these years later.

  Now Cori was heading to Newport for another girl's day out. Today her time would be spent with Beverly O'Brien. She slung one arm over the steering wheel, yawning as she inched along in traffic. Last night between the burrito/taco/enchilada combo, Cori told Lapinski about her task. While they waited for the flan, Thomas looked up the address Bev had provided, and his whistle said it all. He turned his phone her way, and Cori was impressed. When he dropped her back at Finn's, her partner was nowhere to be found. She wouldn't be sharing the news that Bev had made a very soft landing. When it was clear he wasn't coming home, Cori stayed awake a little while longer. At first she wondered if he'd gotten himself into some kind of trouble. Then she concluded the trouble he had found was probably not nefarious, but it was definitely needed. Cori spent another few minutes trying to figure out how she felt about that. Before she could find the honest answer, she fell asleep. For the next five hours she slept like the dead. When she got up, she left a note giving Finn her itinerary ending with an ETA at the office. Now here she was, cooling her jets as a security guard examined her credentials.

  "LAPD?" he said.

  "That is correct," Cori answered. "I have an appointment with Beverly O'Brien. This is the address she gave me."

  The guard, clean-cut and young, held up one finger, and stepped back into whatever shelter he had emerged from. The gate remained closed. Cori ran her fingers across the steering wheel to the beat of Jailhouse Rock. She hadn't made it past the jail birds singing before the gate opened. Cori drove onto a half-moon driveway that could park thirty cars on a good night. Since she seemed to be the only visitor, Cori parked smack-dab in front of the huge white house. It looked just as good as it had in Lapinski's picture.

  The main structure was two stories. Long, low appendages winged off either side. The building on the right she pegged as a four car garage despite the expert way the doors were camouflaged so as to not break the aesthetic of the architectur
e. She would love to see what was behind those doors, but the only way that would ever happen would be if she had a warrant. Even then, entry wouldn't be a slam dunk. Whoever owned this place might honor a warrant, but only after an army of lawyers tried to stop its execution.

  Cori took her jacket out of the back of the car and put it on, noting the almost surreal quiet. She looked behind her. The gate guard had disappeared again, but Cori had no doubt that she was being watched. Not that it was necessary. First, she was a cop and trustworthy by default. Second, there were cameras everywhere. Third, she was too tired to do anything untoward nor did she have reason to—yet. Cori reached into the car for her purse and headed for the front door, admiring the landscaping as she went.

  Giant palms softened the corners of the modern structure. Their leaves were as big as elephant ears. Ferns trailed delicate tendrils along rock walls. Their tips touched a patch of grass here and artfully mounded moss there. Cori appreciated the artistry. It would have been easy to go all fake rocks, a few plants, and a requisite waterfall. Or the designer could have taken a cue from the house and kept everything clean, giving the place no more personality than an operating room. All in all, it looked perfect from the outside. Then again a lot of rotten things kept their shiny skin far past the discard date, so Cori reserved her final opinion.

  All the foliage worked to a higher purpose, making it seem that Cori was standing on a whole lot of land. Houses that fronted the water in Newport commanded stratospheric dollars, but those dollars didn't necessarily buy much terra firma. She couldn't wait to see how much sand sixty-three million bucks bought.

  Cori walked out of the sun and into the shade of the entrance. It was as big as Amber's bedroom. The front door was a stunning one-of-a-kind piece of art, breathtaking if you were into that sort of thing. Cori was a tchotchke kind of girl herself. She preferred things that made her smile at a memory or fancy frames to hold pictures of the people she loved. She liked a little glitter, but she sure didn't want to spend every last cent on it. Although, given what she'd seen of this place, a six figure front door probably didn't mean much to the person who owned it.

  Cori rang the bell and heard nothing. That was not unexpected given the size of the house. She passed the time checking out the door. Cast of copper, it had aged to a stunning blue/green patina. The relief sculpture was of vines and outcroppings that reminded Cori of a fancy climbing wall. It stood ten feet tall, but up close she saw there was a break at the seven foot mark. Those seven feet made up the working door, and the break above was a keystone. Cori leaned closer. Under the vines, sitting on the outcroppings, were tiny people. Children...

  Before she could determine if those children were fully clothed, the door swung open, and the sight of the brilliantly blue Pacific Ocean smacked her in the face. Hollywood couldn't have done it better. The sky was robin's egg blue and cloudless. It melted into a deep, deep navy at the horizon point. In the middle of the sea, the water turned cobalt blue before it frothed white and ran onto the sand. The sight of it was dazzling, mesmerizing...

  "Miss?"

  Cori smiled, when she came to her senses.

  "Makes you believe in God, doesn't it?"

  The maid didn't smile back. The woman was good, but she wasn't that good. She knew what Cori was talking about, but it wasn't her job to be impressed by, covetous of, or in any way seduced by her surroundings. It was also a hanging offense to engage with anyone who came through the door.

  "Detective Anderson." Cori did the wallet flip for her and showed her badge. "I'm here to see Ms. O'Brien."

  "She's expecting you."

  The woman fell back. Cori stepped inside and moved to her right as the maid shut the door. That thing was even more impressive from the back side. The vines seemed to have grown through the copper. The outcroppings on the front were matched by indentations on the back. From this angle, the castings of the children were all spindly legs and little butts. It was as if they were crawling through the door, playing instead of trying to escape.

  The maid walked on with Cori trailing behind. While the front of the house was stucco, the back of the house was glass. The interior was a minimalist's dream. Cool and inviting, the great room was furnished with couches and chairs upholstered in ice blue and pale yellow. The floor was marble, warmed by white throw carpets. Those rugs were so big it would have taken ten men to 'throw' them. There were no family pictures on the walls or tables, nothing to give Cori a clue about the inhabitants. There were no paintings which didn't surprise her. Why bother with a Picasso or Renoir when Mother Nature put on such a spectacular display?

  "This way, miss."

  The maid was standing on a patio. Cori chuckled as she joined her. Don't let the rabble linger. But the detective couldn't resist pausing to look at the structure. The huge glass doors retracted into the walls so that outside was in and inside out. Cori walked inside and out again.

  "Nice," she said.

  "Yes, miss."

  They crossed the terrace and walked down a wide, curving staircase. The mansions on either side of the property were evident, but not intrusive. Cori was being led to the lower patio. There an infinity pool and a Jacuzzi. An outdoor kitchen shared space with couches, a cabana, chairs, lounges, tables and umbrellas. Everything was tasteful, peaceful, and pricey. Below that was the beach where there were more lounges, umbrellas, and kayaks.

  Cori heard the maid say 'miss' once more, and knew it was a command to get a move on. No one lingered here without permission. That was one way to keep a house clean. Don't let anyone use it. Cori went on her way, rotating her shoulders under her polyester blazer. It was getting hot. She would give anything to have a beer and a dip in that pool.

  She caught up with the maid who had stopped and was raising her hand at waist level. The woman was a master of understatement. Cori hoped that she let loose once she got off because working in this place had to be soul crushing. As if on cue, an offshore breeze lifted one of the white linen panels that surrounded the cabana. There was Beverly O'Brien, naked as a jaybird, resting on a round day bed.

  "Ms. O'Brien," the maid said.

  "I'd recognize her anywhere," Cori answered. "Thanks."

  The maid smiled—genuinely this time. Thank you wasn't something she often heard. Cori waited until the woman was well out of earshot before crossing the pool deck. She stopped in front of the cabana.

  "Knock, knock," she said.

  Bev rolled over and pulled back the curtain. The good news was that she wasn't stark naked. She wore the bottom of a swimsuit so small that Cori wouldn't insult a postage stamp by comparison. The bad news was pretty much the same as the good news.

  "Well, well." Bev raised one arm above her head, showing off her beautiful breasts.

  "Nice," Cori said.

  "Thanks. All natural."

  "I know. I've got two of my own, they just take up a little more space than the ones you've got," Cori said. "Not that anyone seems to mind. Do you want to scoot over so we can girl talk here, or shall we find someplace less comfortable."

  "You are so quick with that tongue, Cori. I can see why Finn appreciates you."

  Cori, bit her lip. If they were on even ground, she would have knocked Bev's pretty teeth clear down her throat for the innuendo. But they weren't on the same footing. Cori had the upper hand. Bev just didn't know it yet.

  Bev swung her legs over the edge of the day bed, pushed through the curtains, walked past Cori, and dove into the pool. She came up for air half way down, and went under again. When she finished showing off, Bev got out of the pool and grabbed a fluffy white towel. She draped it over her shoulders and then sat at a table under an umbrella. There was a tall glass filled with something cold waiting for her. It was fresh. The ice hadn't even begun to melt, unlike the maid who had evaporated.

  Cori would have laughed if Bev's little show wasn't so pathetic. Keeping a pleasant look on her face, she walked the length of the pool.

  "I'd have Katrina bring you somet
hing to drink, but you probably want to get right down to business. Sit."

  "Don't mind if I do." Cori pulled out a chair, looking around as she took a load off. She could get used to living like this if selling her soul was an option.

  "Nice Digs. How'd you get the loan?"

  "The owner is a very good friend," Bev said.

  "With benefits?"

  "Is that an official question?" Bev picked up her drink and took a sip. Then she waved away her own question. "Oh, forget it. Of course with benefits, as if it matters. Or did Finn send you here to find that out."

  "No," Cori said. "And he didn't send me."

  "I'm surprised he didn't have the guts to come himself."

  "Bev." Cori put one arm on the table and leaned in just enough to get the other woman's full attention. "I'm going to say something to you off the record. Finn has more guts in his pinky than you or I will ever possess. Not only that, he's a nice guy. When you are old and grey, when you've had your third face lift, and your all-natural boobs are hanging to your knees, and whoever owns this shanty has kicked you to the curb, you'll be sorry you didn't hang on to him."

  Cori sat back, took the purse from her shoulder, and put it on the table. Bev hadn't moved, but Cori saw a flicker of fear in her eyes as her future came into focus. She covered up fast with a pair of fancy sunglasses. Cori took off her jacket. Now they were just two women ready for battle.

  "I am curious about something," Cori said. "If this is what you wanted, why marry a cop in the first place? I mean, what did you expect?"

  "I didn't expect him to be Don Quixote and tilt at windmills," Bev sniffed. "He could have walked away after he was cleared and had a cush job with a private security firm. He had offers after all that, and he blew it."

  "Well," Cori said. "That clears things up. I guess you both landed on your feet then."