Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller

by Rebecca Forster

  "'Tis a gilded cage," Finn said.

  "Why?" Cori wondered. "Why would she want to stay in a place like that?"

  "She sold her soul to some devil," Finn said. "The contract says she is to cut off from her world. Someone bought her, Cori, and this is where they would put her once she signed the contract."

  "Pedal could be right. Maybe Roxana was a slave." Cori pointed to the pictures. "That was going to be her doll house once they hooked everything up. Lord above, could Cuca be as sick as all that?"

  Cori turned toward her partner. In her eyes was a flash of horror. Finn saw that look when a case hit too close to home, when a woman was mistreated and powerless to control her own destiny. Being doomed to exist in a world of a sick man's making frightened Cori most of all.

  "Remember, Cori, she entered into this agreement of her own free will," Finn said. "That doesn't make it right, but I promise we'll find whoever is responsible. It won't happen to anyone else."

  Finn held up a piece of paper he had brought with him.

  "They found DNA on the piece of clothing from the dumpster. Sweat stains under the arms where the water hadn't reached. It wasn't washed in a machine. They've identified the DNA as a woman's."

  "The victim's?" Cori asked.

  "No," Finn said. "We'll want swabs from all the women at the party."

  "I'll call them," Cori said. "Bev may refuse."

  "They all may," Finn said. "And won't that be telling?"

  Cori's eyes flickered to his other hand. Between his thumb and forefinger was a flash drive.

  "And that?"

  "Roxana's life."

  24

  "And I thought cyber techs were lazy. Shame on me," Cori said.

  "The tech told me it was a matter of course to back up the drive. Like making a copy of a report," Finn said. "She said it wasn't hard to get in to the computer. Roxana was not as sophisticated as we believed."

  "We should tell the captain," Cori said.

  "I stopped in to do just that, but she's left for the day." "I'll tell her in the morning. I think she'll agree that a case can be made for splitting hairs. If they are calling a little garden house separate from the main property, we can make a distinction between the hardware and the content it held."

  "Bring on the popcorn."

  Cori settled into a conference room chair while Finn did the honors. Roxana's desktop appeared on the big screen at the front of the room.

  "Lord have mercy," Cori breathed as the tiny files popped up on the screen for a full ten seconds. "That girl was busy."

  Finn grinned and clicked on the top left file folder. Three hours later pizza boxes, soda cans, water bottles, paper, Post-Its, and pens littered the table. Cori and Finn had scrolled through correspondence, financial information, pictures, and videos. Within the first hour they decided to focus on one thing at a time. Sponsorships were the current topic.

  "What's our count on companies keeping our girl in clover? " Finn asked.

  "Twelve so far. L'Oreal, Revlon, Wet 'N Wild, Stila, Sephora, Bite, to name a few," Cori said.

  "I had no idea there were so many things women could put on themselves," Finn said.

  "That's because you lived with a woman who didn't need all that stuff. Next time you're at my place I'll show you my stash," she said.

  "I'm thinking I'll pass, Cori."

  Finn put his back to the screen and one hand to his neck, rotating and stretching to get the kinks out. He and Cori had run through fifty of Roxana's tutorials. She was mesmerizing to watch. Her face, skin, and hair were flawless; her movements naturally sensual. They were more convinced than ever that the attack was one of passion and regret as the ME had suggested. Who could not regret destroying something so lovely? The evening was getting on and there was still much to do.

  "Okay, let's start adding it up," Finn said.

  "Roxana pulled in five hundred and fifty-five thousand a year from L'Oreal. That includes advertising and new product roll out. Then it drops to three seventy five for Sephora, and a hundred and fifty thousand for Stila. According to the contracts, Stila is in for another fifty K each time they do a new product roll out." Cori did a quick accounting. "Right now we're looking at a total of fifty to a hundred thousand a year just from Stila. Advertising spots and product placement look to be at a different rate."

  "What's the difference between the two?" Finn said.

  "The jars and bottles on her bathtub or on her sink? That's a placement. She doesn't have to say a word about it, just position the label so it can be seen."

  "'Tis a sweet deal," Finn said.

  "Someone sees the magic. Not me." Cori said as her partner came to look at the figures she was adding up. "So what is she looking at for a year?"

  "Almost a million-one a year."

  "She's got a personal appearance agent, too." Cori scrolled through and found the email she wanted. "He's pitching her at twenty-five thousand. For that she walks into a party, waves, has a drink, and walks out with five figures. I think twenty-five is on the lower end for something like this."

  "I'm not seeing the AIing Inc. deal as enough to shut down her work."

  Finn sat across from Cori. Her hands were on the table, her fingers entwined. She had grown quiet and thoughtful. She opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and then decided to say what was on her mind.

  "Do you think it could be love, O'Brien?"

  "Cori," Finn said, and shook his head. "Seriously?"

  "Think about it. We've got a draw on the money. She's doing great on her own. Her family's rich. She's been a bad girl all her life. What if she fell hard ass in love, and is giving it all up for some guy." Cori smiled, opened her hands, and shrugged her shoulders. "It happens. It might be a thrill this girl never had before. Maybe she was all in for love and money."

  "I won't discount it," Finn said. "It might be as you say. Bev left for love of money. She sold her soul to Jeremiah Stotler, did his bidding, protected him. Perhaps love is not a bridge too far."

  "But which man?" Cori said. "I doubt Enver has that kind of money. And if he does, how does he keep this arrangement from his wife if he's going to house her upstairs?"

  "Maybe Emi is the one paying for it," Finn said.

  Cori's hands unlaced. She picked up a piece of cold pizza and put it down again.

  "I don't see it," she said. "This is an obsessed guy thing. Emi would have to be deranged to put up with that."

  "Why not just kill the wife and install the mistress? Better yet, divorce Emi. Easier still," Finn said.

  "Unless the money was coming from Emi's invention. If he divorced her before the patent was approved she might argue he deserved no profit." Cori knew the brainstorming would lead somewhere, so she kept thinking. Suddenly she sat up, excited by her ephiphany. "Roxana was backing out. That's it. A chick who blackmails rich guys would be a major tease. Enver builds her this home away from home, promises the world, she comes to her senses, and she screws him. That would be enough to send any guy over the edge. She has a Russian passport. What does she care about contracts? Walking out on Enver would be fun."

  "True. And he could have gotten her upstairs because everyone was busy in the big room. But how did he get her in? And why that night with all those potential witnesses?" Finn waved all this away. "Not that it matters. Until we can tie him to AIing Inc. we've got nothing."

  "Now that we have a contact name over at AIing Inc., the connection may come sooner than we think. George Nye signed the contract as a proxy." Finn referred to his notes. "And we need to talk to Roxana's lawyer."

  Cori considered the list of directives. They would divide up the chores in the days to come. They would try to run down the pixels that made up the picture of Roxana's life. Cori had no doubt it would be interesting once it came into focus.

  "Okay, let's move on" Cori said.

  Finn clicked on the folder labeled Asylum. Inside were four subfolders. Photos were in the first. The other three were labeled with the names
of the men she blackmailed. They opened photos.

  Roxana was fond of selfies. She looked stunning and seductive in each one. She favored a mask of black lace with silver ribbons tied in bows at the side of her head. The ends of the ribbons trailed down her cheeks. She piled her long hair atop her head in a way that made her look as if she had come from bed. There were other photos that were reflections in her bathroom mirror. In one she was naked under a sheer gown that fell from her shoulders to her silver-sandaled feet. Another showed her in a thong and bra, this time with a mask shaped like golden wings.

  Bev was in one photo. The background did not suggest Roxana's home, for which Finn was grateful. To have caught his ex lying about a friendship with the girl would move her up the list of suspects. It was one thing to cavort with Roxana at the same Asylum party, quite another to be preening in the girl's house. Still, it didn't seem that Beverly was disliking their moment. They would ask her where this picture was taken. If, as she said, cameras were forbidden at Asylum events then Bev was no better than Roxana.

  "She looks good," Cori said, knowing her partner needed a prompt to bring him back to the here and now.

  "That she does, Cori."

  He didn't say what was on his mind. Beverly's beauty could not compete with Roxana's. There is nothing like a young girl's blush, the sparkle in her eyes, and the luster of her hair to make a man's heart race. By comparison—while lovely—Bev looked old.

  "I don't see any men in these pictures," Cori said.

  "As it should be, according to the rules," Finn answered.

  They clicked through sixty or seventy pictures until they hit the mother lode. There were ten pictures of one of Roxana's marks: the preacher. Naked and in a position of subservience to a dominatrix, he proved to be even less than attractive than he already was. Given some of the things Finn and Cori had seen in Hollywood this was mild. However, in the context of a man of God it was damning.

  "I'd rather cuddle," Cori said, and Finn chuckled.

  "We've got Mr. Normand, the banker. Father of ten," Finn said.

  This time it was a ménage a trois that had ruined the man. They knew he had paid Roxana a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to keep these pictures from his wife. Finn wasn't certain if the man loved his wife so much that he was willing to pay a fortune to protect her feelings, or feared she would take more than that in the divorce.

  Finally, they came upon photos of Jeremiah Stotler in bed with a woman and a young girl. The woman's face was turned away as she straddled him, but there was no mistaking Bev O'Brien. The girl looked to be no more than fifteen. Cori reached over and clicked through.

  "We get the idea," she said. "I'll find out who the girl is. If she was at an Asylum party, Ali Keyes is going to have to prove her age. We can shut them down if she's as young as she looks."

  "I'm thinking Mr. Keyes is too smart for that and too ethical," Finn said. "This could be a private matter that Stotler set up on his own."

  "Then how did Roxana get the photo?" Cori asked. "Bev said she didn't hang with her."

  "And Bev has been known to stretch the truth," Finn reminded her. "But there are other ways. Roxana was resourceful. She could have paid someone else to take the picture."

  Finn moved on, clicking through more images. Jeremiah Stotler appeared in more than one surreptitiously taken photograph. These weren't centered, the subjects seemed completely unaware, and many were unfocused.

  "The man does seem to have a preference," Finn muttered. "Blonde, tall and—"

  "Young," Cori said, needing no other word to state the obvious. Bev was the odd duck.

  "True. But he is cohabitating with my ex-wife. That is some sort of commitment," Finn said. "Man does not live by sex alone."

  "Coulda fooled me." Cori snorted. "So what is it about Bev? Maybe she's his intellectual equal and the sex stuff is the side job."

  "She's his beard more than likely," Finn said. "His public woman."

  "That's a lousy position to be in. Do you think she knows?"

  "I wouldn't think so. Beverly has a certain romantic self-image," Finn said. "What is it these people are looking for, Cori? I truly want to know."

  "The men are still those insecure little boys on the playground. The women are still the girls who didn't get asked to the dance," Cori said. "Now it's the big boy's playground, the ladies have proof they're desirable. We're all children, O'Brien. It's as simple as that."

  Finn shook head as he closed out of that folder.

  "On my childhood playground we only hurt feelings with our mean words. These people ruin lives with their shenanigans."

  "I've got to call Lapinski." Cori stood up and stretched.

  "Go on, then," Finn said as he clicked the next file. "I want to take a quick look at this one."

  Cori had her phone in hand. As she dialed she did a speed read of the correspondence file Finn was scrolling through.

  "Curt little thing on paper," Cori said, as she listened to the phone ring.

  "She knows what she wants. No hard copies. Email threads only," Finn said.

  "She loves to ask for free stuff. Look at this one. She wants a car."

  "Did you see a Porsche in the garage?" Finn asked.

  "I did," Cori said.

  "Then it looks as if it doesn't hurt to ask," Finn said.

  "He's on a conference call." Cori pocketed her phone. "He says meet him at Mick's because he has something important for us."

  "And I've found something important too."

  Finn got up and pointed to the big screen and the long text displayed on it. Cori read, and then re-read the letter.

  "'Twasn't love that was taking her out of the world, Cori. It was survival." Finn went back to the computer and ejected the thumb drive.

  "Looks like Jeremiah Stotler called her bluff and then some," Cori said.

  "Chalk one up for the biggest boy on the playground," Finn said.

  25

  Mick's was quiet. Geoffrey was busy trying to fix the espresso machine, so that meant he was quiet too. More to the point he was verbal about the machine, but had no time to chat with Cori, Finn, and Thomas .

  The lawyer had beat them to the pub, and was half way through a Long Island Ice Tea by the time the detectives arrived. They had settled at the big round table near the window, as far away from the bar as they could get. Geoffrey delivered their drinks, and left them alone. Before Thomas could share his news, Cori filled him in on theirs.

  "Stotler was calling in favors. He convinced every single one of Roxana's sponsors to drop her, and managed to get her buried on Google too. She didn't show up 'till page four. That's the kiss of death for her business. Twitter had flagged some of her stuff as prurient. It was the smoothest take down I've ever seen," Cori said. "That chick had it easy with the banker and the preacher, but Stotler was on a whole different level. He was squeezing her hard. God, what a game."

  "Much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, Cori, it gives the important man no reason to want Roxana dead. He had taken care of the problem," Finn said.

  "True, unless he wanted to make sure she stayed down. I doubt it though. Still it brings up another question. Did Bev know about his 'solution'?" Cori said. "What if she still thought Roxanna was a threat? She could have taken matters into her own hands to save her relationship with Stotler. You saw her that night—"

  "Stop. Stop." Thomas pushed aside his glass. " I think there's something going on that's way deeper than some movie producer and his problems."

  Thomas reached into his briefcase and came up with a sheaf of papers.

  "So, Cori sent me that video from the Ring doorbell camera, the one that your tech people said was too grainy to get a good read? Well, it wasn't easy, but I got something." He put an eight by ten picture on the table. It was of the Asian man who had fluttered around Roxana when Bev pushed her. "That, my friends, is Ding Xiang."

  Thomas sat back, crossed his arms, and beamed. Finn scooted his chair up and poked at the picture.
/>   "Sure, Thomas, that's the name I've been meaning to tell you," he said. "That boy at The Brewery— Peter?—he told me that he had seen him. He said he is an important man in computers."

  "Oh Finn, Finn." Thomas waggled his finger and his tone became weighty. "He is so much more. Ding Xiang is a ghost. He is a legend. He is almost as legendary and ghostly as Satoshi Nakamoto."

  "And that is the other name," Finn said.

  "You lost me, boys." Cori picked up her bourbon on the rocks and took a swig. "Want to fill me in?"

  "With pleasure," Lapinski said, as he blocked off a piece of air with his parallel palms. "Over here, is Satoshi Nakamoto the father of Bitcoin. It is the mother of all cryptocurrency. It can be purchased with any currency, no middlemen, no banks. International payments are easy and cheap because bitcoins are not tied to any country or subject to regulation. It all bypasses normal channels of finance and it is giving Wall Street and governments fits. Right now the market is trading one Bitcoin at five figures, U.S."

  Cori whistled. He had her attention. Finn was not far behind.

  "But I don't think that has anything to do with that girl's murder. I'm just saying that we can rule out that these two guys are one and the same," Thomas said.

  "And why would that be, Thomas?" Finn asked.

  "Because Satoshi Nakamoto has never ever shown his face. There is no record of him. He could be an urban myth for all anyone knows." Thomas moved his hands to frame another imaginary box. "Over here is Ding Xiang's box. It is filled with evidence of his existence."

  "Thomas, might we just open Ding Xiang's box and see what's got you so excited," Finn asked.

  "Sorry." He took Cori's hand and gave it a squeeze, as if to say she was going to be very proud of him. "You aren't going to believe this."

  She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her upturned hand.

  "Amaze me," she drawled before putting a major dent in her bourbon.

  "Ding Xiang was—is— a wunderkind. Twenty years ago he was responsible for a huge leap in Chinese tech. He was maybe twenty-five at the time. The People's Republic of China said he was fifteen when he first advised the government, but that's suspect. Anyway, his claim to fame is that he figured out how to wire Beijing. He gave the government a way to gather reporting data on every citizen, every minute of the day. It was a thing of beauty. Actually, it's terrifying from a social standpoint, but from a tech point of view it was way ahead of its time.”