Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller

by Rebecca Forster

  "A few years go by and we're doing our thing over here. We've got Gates and Zuckerberg and all the rest of them weighing in. We've got all sorts of discussions going on about privacy. Congress is being all hysterical that we don't want to be China. At some point someone realizes Ding Xiang is out of the picture. No one knows what happened."

  Thomas looked at Cori. He looked at Finn. He looked over his shoulder at Geoffrey, twirled his finger for another round, and got a 'oh yes, mon' in response. Thomas didn't miss more than one beat.

  "Only computer geeks would have noticed—"

  "Or computer geek lawyers," Cori said.

  "Thomas, can we get to the pot of gold at the end of your rainbow. A computer expert helping our victim up off the ground is not seeming to be earth shattering news."

  "Okay, okay."

  Thomas took a deep breath. He rifled through the papers and laid out some articles for Cori and Finn to peruse.

  "Bottom line, our guy disappeared from the world stage. No one knew where he went or if he's really gone. If the Chinese government took him out, they aren't saying; if he defected, whatever country he's in is not claiming him.”

  "Then we get the dark web. After all the sweetness and light of the Internet, it turns out there's a parallel universe operating that isn't so nice. Ding Xiang resurfaces on the dark web in a big way. No one knows where he is physically, but he speaks about his work. He has segued into cyber security and spyware that is not sanctioned by any government."

  "Where can we hear him?"

  "I'll send you the file. It's not the clearest but it's interesting. The guy is definitely some kind of social mutant. It's painful to watch him talk. Worse to hear him."

  "And..."

  "And here be your drinks."

  Geoffrey interrupted with another Guinness, bourbon, and Long Island Ice Tea. Thanks were given. The man read the room and left them to their work. Thomas leaned over the table. He lowered his voice.

  "Ding Xiang has his mark on everything in the tech world. Word has it he's made billions selling his spyware to countries on blockchain platforms. Nobody can prove exactly who has it, but there's circumstantial evidence. More than one country has been caught flatfooted after some deep secret reveal that has no other explanation than Ding Xiang software."

  "Think Julian Assange on steroids?" Cori asked.

  "Double steroids," Thomas agreed. "But he's branched out. He's got his finger in medical R &D, communications, farming, just everything. His empire is so interwoven it's hard to tell who owns what and who does what. But if you take the time you can trace a lot of it directly back to him."

  "So he moved off the dark web and back into the mainstream?"

  This time it was Finn who huddled, hunching his shoulders, taking up some of the press Thomas had brought, reading as the lawyer talked.

  "Yes, but I doubt he's left the dark web behind. That's where the fun stuff is. Some of his interests are too controversial for the open market. He's got a hand in cyber warriors, bots that can be put into water supplies. The bots are particularly scary. I mean, you could use one of those things to inoculate a population, but on the other hand you could kill everyone with a turn of the tap. Then again, Ding Xiang has done amazing things with hydroponics, surgical robots, prosthetics..."

  "Whoa, there," Cori said. She turned to Finn. "Emi's patent?"

  "Could be," Finn said, not wanting to jump ahead. "Go on, Thomas."

  "Here's the bottom line. Ding Xiang believes technology can run the world better than human beings. He's the original matrix guy, and right now he's the Bigfoot of technology. Except that with this photo we have proof that he was in Los Angeles, at The Brewery, on the night your victim died."

  Thomas finished. All three of them took a drink. They considered the papers spread over the table. Ding Xiang was a mysterious and worrisome addition to an already sticky problem.

  "But this isn't the Matrix, guys." Cori was the first to speak. She disliked the darkness, and the tech, and the sci-fi story Thomas was peddling. The explanation was simpler. "If he was at an Asylum party he's just another dick head."

  "But one interested in our dead girl," Finn added.

  "Or not," Thomas said. "He went to her aid. Nobody saw him with Roxana. All you know is that he was in the same place as the Asylum people. The video was taken outside. I could destroy you in the courtroom if you tried to pin a murder on him and that's all you brought."

  "But we know he was inside. Enver Cuca admitted they were arguing by the stairs," Finn said. "And the Cucas' stories matched. They agreed that he went upstairs where the body was found, but we searched that unit top to bottom. There was no way for him to leave that room."

  "You yourselves said that the layout of that place made no sense. Did you look outside the unit? You know, work your way inside instead of trying to get out," Thomas suggested. He took up his drink again. When he put it down he said, "We are also talking about a ghost. If Ding Xiang doesn't want to be seen, he won't be seen. Given what he does, given his money, given his ability to disappear from the world stage, he could take out a baby influencer and you'd never lay a hand on him."

  "If you can do all that, why care about being outed? And if you did care, why not have someone else do the job. If your work is on an unregulated platform and governments can't touch you, then the law can't," Finn said.

  "There's always something a human being cares about," Cori said. "Maybe Roxana had more than a sex thing on him. Maybe she got some government secret from him. Governments have disappeared a person without anyone knowing, and they've done it just on the suspicion that someone was going to scam them. The woman is Russian. Don't forget that."

  "Holy mother, you've got us in a conspiracy now?" Finn laughed. "I'm not James Bond nor are you—"

  "Don't go there, O'Brien," Cori warned.

  "It's not like that. No, no. It's about humanity," Thomas said. "Tech can't substitute for the basic human responses: jealousy, anger, revenge. Ding Xiang might be socially backward, but he is human."

  "And this is speculation," Finn said. "We know he was near Enver Cuca's unit the night of the Asylum party, and we also know he was inside at least twice before that night. We know he was at Roxana's house. We know that Enver Cuca painted a portrait of Roxana. She was in his home at least once because that is where she died. It all circles back to Enver Cuca. All of it."

  Cori's eyes flitted to Thomas. He raised a shoulder as if to say 'why not'. Cori looked back to Finn.

  "I have a funny feeling we're going to be pulling some overtime," Cori said.

  "Aren't you wanting to close this circle, Cori?"

  In answer she finished her drink, took a few bills out, and put them on the table.

  Finn got up, put on his jacket. He gathered up the papers. He took one last look at Ding Xiang's picture and put some money on the table too.

  "Yours is on me, Thomas, for all your hard work."

  "My pleasure," the lawyer said. "All I ask is that if you find Ding Xiang, you call me so I can have him sign my autograph book."

  "We'll do our best," Finn said.

  "Thanks, Lapinski." Cori gave his shoulder a squeeze. Lapinski's hand covered hers briefly.

  "Stay safe," he said.

  "Always," Cori answered.

  A few minutes later they were on the road to The Brewery.

  26

  The cowboy still rode his white steed, his hat was still held skyward. He grinned and grinned, but in the coming dark he looked sad and lonely. He could wave his hat in welcome all he liked, but Finn and Cori could not get through the gate. The guardhouse was not manned, no one came or went to allow them to drive in on their pass. If they had been on foot it would be no easier; the pedestrian gate had a coded lock.

  Finn dialed his phone. He listened to it ring. Cori watched the street. A block or two down she saw the twinkle of Christmas lights on a hamburger/taco stand where she had pulled in for fries and a drink after her dunk in the garbage. She coul
d see the glow of lights from the artists' lofts and the common area fixtures, but the place was buttoned up.

  "Yes," Finn said. "If you would. Thank you, Mitzie."

  "The fabric artist?"

  "She'll come and let us in," Finn said.

  "How did Hunter and Douglas get in the other night?" she asked, making small talk while they waited.

  "The man who called it in opened it," Finn said, and then: "There she is."

  Finn put his eyes on the gate, and released the emergency brake when it pulled open. Mitzie stood back waiting. Finn stopped the car alongside her.

  "There's a visitor spot over there."

  Finn followed her directions. She met them half way when the detectives got out of the car.

  "You must be psychic," she said. "I was thinking about calling you."

  "Are you okay?" Finn said.

  "Me? I'm always fine." She waved away his concern. Her blue hair had turned to green. Finn preferred the blue. They walked slowly toward the compound. "It's probably nothing, but there's a delivery still on Enver and Emi's steps. It's not like them to leave anything out. You know how it is here. If it's on the steps it's fair game."

  "Perhaps that was their intent," Finn said.

  "All wrapped up in a shipping box? I don't think so," Mitzie smiled at Cori. "When it's just stuff on the stoop we don't wrap it up. We leave it outside our units or put it in the park. I met Detective O'Brien in the park."

  "So he said," Cori answered. "Have you seen the Cucas recently?"

  "Once when a policeman brought them home. I was going to check in on them, but I'm a chicken. I don't want to get involved. No one does now. It's like there's a black cloud over them."

  They walked as far as the Cucas’ unit without interruption. This night there were no spectators, because there was nothing interesting to see. Porch lights were on. Most units had no windows, and of those that did only a few were covered. They could see one man painting and another soldering.

  "I always thought a place like this would be hopping at night," Cori said.

  "The murder was as much excitement as anyone wants for a while." She looked from one detective to the other. "Do you want me to come with you?"

  Finn shook his head. "No, thank you, missus."

  "God I love the way you talk." Mitzie put a hand on Cori's arm. "Don't you love the way he talks?"

  "It's pretty awesome," Cori said. "But you kind of get used to it."

  With that, they sent Mitzie on her way promising to stop for a nightcap before they left. They forgot the promise the minute she was out of sight. Finn cut away from Cori and went to the side of the building. Cori checked out the front steps. When he came back Cori said:

  "The delivery is from Art World. Looks legit."

  "There's a light on up in Roxana's room," Finn said.

  "Anyone up there?" Cori's eyes went up even though she couldn't see the windows.

  "No idea."

  Finn picked up the package and put it under his arm. Cori walked ahead of him, up the stairs toward the front door. The bronze ladies still held their crackle glass globes high, but those fixtures were dark. Still, there was a sliver of light to show them the way and it came from inside.

  Cori knocked.

  The door opened a little. Finn took hold of the knob and pushed it further still.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Cuca? Detectives O'Brien and Anderson," he called.

  All was silent.

  He knocked again. He called once more. And once more after that.

  "I'm not liking this," Cori said. "It's too quiet."

  "Agreed."

  Finn took the package from under his arm, and put it down inside the door. He and Cori were thinking the same thing. Those under a black cloud of suspicion followed many paths. Some stood strong and let the process take its course. Others turned their anger against the system. Still others raged against those they loved, and sometimes destroyed themselves in the process. Enver and Emi Cuca might have fallen into the last category.

  Fearing for their safety, Finn and Cori drew their weapons and went through the great room. The couches, chairs, and tables were in place. The crack running down the huge glass table had given way and part of the edge was broken off. The floor gleamed. Cori listed this way, Finn took a few steps that way. Their eyes moved, the hands that held their weapons swept in front of them. Cori made her way to the back of the room. The kitchen was spotless. She used her foot to nudge the bathroom door open. She looked into the bedroom. Both rooms were empty and the bed was made. Finn looked for any sign of disturbance as he went toward the alcove and the stairs. He found none.

  Cori was back with him, shaking her head, confirming that she had found nothing untoward. There was an eerie silence in the room, a staleness that had not been there before. The place felt abandoned. They moved on, going up the familiar staircase. As before, Finn went onto the landing and Cori hung back. This time the closet door was open. It was dark inside and empty except for a chair in one corner.

  They went up the next flight of stairs, and stood at the mouth of the short hall that led to the workroom. Though they had seen it before, the sight of the body parts and finished companions was jarring.

  Finn moved forward with purpose, emboldened by the emptiness of the first two floors. In his heart, he hoped there was a fourth option: the Cucas had simply left. He would much rather hunt them down as fugitives than find one or both of them dead. That proved to be wishful thinking. He motioned to Cori. Pointing to the 'house' room. When she joined him, she heard Emi and Enver Cuca arguing. They spoke in their native language. Enver's voice raised an octave. Emi shut him down. Her words were like bullets spitting from a machine gun.

  Finn went through the workroom, silently pushing through the companions. Cori caught one and set it aside carefully as she followed her partner. The 'house' room was exactly as they had first seen it. The white curtains around the bed had been replaced. They were more opaque than the originals. They hung high and the fabric pooled elegantly on the floor, but these replacements were panels and not cut from one length of fabric. They parted enough so that the detectives could see a new mattress was on the box springs, but housekeeping was not their concern. They only had eyes for Enver and Emi Cuca.

  Enver's back was to the curtains. He looked drawn and grey as if he had neither food nor sleep in the days since the murder. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unwashed. Emi Cuca faced him, a piece of metal in one hand and a gun in the other. She pointed the gun at her husband's head. If she pulled the trigger, the bullet would enter above the bridge of his nose. Neither of them knew Finn and Cori were watching. Enver because he was transfixed by the sight of the gun; Emi because she only had eyes for her husband.

  "Largohu. Largohu tani. Get away. Leave now."

  Emi's voice was harsh. Finn could see her profile. Her face was puffy, there was a catch in her throat as she tried to control her words.

  "Jo. Jo, Emi," Enver said, and Finn knew he was pleading with her.

  She took a step forward, he took one back. That's when Enver saw the detectives.

  "Ju lutem, Emi, Policia është këtu. The police are here, Emi."

  He held one hand toward Finn and Cori, begging his wife to see the truth of what he said. A shudder ran up Emi's spine. Her arm shook, but she doubled down and gripped the gun tighter. Her head swiveled toward them and back again, so that she could keep her eye on her husband. They had seen enough to know that Emi Cuca was now made of grief and hatred and that was a dangerous combination.

  "You go. You go until this is done." She growled at Cori and Finn without looking their way again.

  "Missus. Missus."

  Finn repeated the word over and over as he moved into the room. He held his arms wide, and let his weapon dangle from one finger. There was no risk to him. Cori had her gun trained on Emi Cuca's back. The woman would go down before she could pivot, and squeeze the trigger on her gun.

  "Missus, I am putting up my weapon. Look. Se
e. I wish you no harm. Whatever it is, we are here to help."

  Finn's voice was lilting and soothing, but Emi Cuca held her ground.

  "Look. Look here at me." Finn made a great show of holstering his gun. "Mine is away. Now, yours. Please. You don't want to hurt your husband."

  A great sob welled up from Emi's gut, and nearly doubled her over. Finn was close enough to see the tears begin to fall from her eyes. The polished floor became wet with them. He thought it sad that they had tried to make this place more than it was. The floor was only cement, common and cheap. The room was no better than a storage unit.

  "I don't want to hurt, Enver. I do not," she cried.

  "Then give me the gun so there's no mistake."

  Finn moved in on her, but she shook her head violently. He paused before moving another step. Three more and he would put himself between husband and wife. Finn saw Enver's eyes tracking Cori's movement. Emi Cuca was so distraught she didn't notice what her husband was doing; she didn't sense Cori closing in.

  "No. No. No," Emi sobbed. "I do this for Enver. I do this so we can live. It's the other one. The other one—"

  In the next minute Cori went for Emi Cuca, taking her down fast. Finn was on Enver, pulling him out of the way. Enver collapsed to the floor, done in. Finn lost his balance and went down with him.

  "Emi. Emi," the big man whimpered. "I'm sorry."

  Enver's face was on the ground. He cried as he watched his wife. Emi Cuca lay on the floor, curled into herself, sobbing and mumbling words only she and Enver understood. Whatever was between them was soul searing, and Finn had the awful feeling that he was watching two people die. But it was more than the brutal death of Roxana Masha Novika that caused this. Finn imagined this was the pain of a betrayed woman trying to be faithful to a murderer.