"At least the missus wasn't there to hear," Finn said, unable to hide his smile "From what I gathered, he was being beaten up by women on all sides."
"Only one lady in his life now," Cori said. "He isn't an Asylum guy anymore."
"But we do know he's a man of great faith," Finn said.
"How's that?" Cori asked.
"He had faith that Roxana had no duplicate files of the incriminating photos," Finn said.
"It was an act. That guy was going to go to his own grave sweating that. Now he can kick back and enjoy his millions 'cause she beat him to that fancy box," Cori said. "But you know what? I've got me a ton of faith that you'll find something in those phone records that will lead us right back to the Cucas. My money is still on good old Enver."
"I'm of the same opinion." Finn sat up. Cori slid off the desk. "But we'd have to tie ourselves in knots to convince a D.A. to bring charges with what we have now. So much and so little all at the same time."
"This thing has more layers than a wedding cake," Cori said. "We just got to cut through the paste and get to the yummy stuff."
"It's early yet," Finn said. "And I've a long list of questions for Mr. Cuca. The picture he painted of Roxana, the NDA we've heard of, his mention in the contract. I want to know who arranged the party, and how the girl was in his home, and yet no one saw her come in. That bothers me more than a howling wind. How could he never have met her?"
"You want to bring him and the little woman down here tomorrow?" Cori asked.
"No. We'll go to them. I want another look at that upstairs room." He inclined his head to a roll of blueprints he'd put aside. "I've got those from the city. They've records of the building going back to when it was built in 1918. There was a redo in '47, and then some minor changes when it became a work/live space. There are tunnels and doors indicated on the plans that are confusing. We should find out if they still exist."
"And you're counting on the building department to have kept accurate records? Now who has the faith?" Cori laughed and headed for the door.
"I try to keep the flame burning bright," Finn said.
Cori waited because she knew there would be more. Indeed, Finn's brow was furrowed, his fingers were tapping on the desk, and his mouth was still moving.
"You would think these fancy people would be wanting to talk to us instead of hunkering down in a foxhole. I've never seen such scurrying for cover, and no care for justice."
Cori sighed as she sauntered back toward Finn and put the heel of one hand on the desk. The mugs she was holding in the crook of her finger clunked against her thigh.
"You really gotta get rid of those rose colored glasses, O'Brien. Roxana was a huge pain in their pampered little rears. Dropping her body in a pauper's grave, and forgetting her will make them happy. Until that happens, they are going to circle the wagons."
Finn chuckled. "Sure it's you who should have been a preacher, Cori."
"Not quite fire and brimstone, but you get my drift." She stood up. "We're the only two who give a rat's ass about finding the truth. When we're shooting some tequila at Mick's we can ask Geoffrey why we even bother. Just remember, we have the advantage. The only skin we have in this game is that we're good cops."
"'Tis uplifted I am by that thought," he said, before taking on a cop's other role. Devil's advocate. "But explain this to me. If the money she makes as an influencer is so good, if her shakedown has brought her even more money, why sell out for this?"
Finn picked up a copy of the contract they had found in her home. Yellow marker highlighted passages, and asterisks dotted the page.
"A million dollars up front, and a yearly royalty of a quarter of a million dollars. In return, Roxana agrees not to appear in any public forum. That includes print, TV, or social media until such time it is determined by the other party that the exclusivity clause is terminated. At that time she will receive another payday of five million."
"I'd take it," Cori said.
"But she's a young woman, wealthy in her own right. Why trade the business she built for a flat sum? Not to mention, she can be terminated at any time. This is asking her to trade her body and soul, and to disappear. 'Tis like being a stock girl after you've owned the department store," Finn said.
"The only way to know is if we analyze what she was making versus this payout. We can't do that until the computer folk can finish their hack. We have her digital banking codes so we should be able to access her financials. Our Roxana seems to have a ton of money, a bunch of enemies, a zillion followers, and no friends. We've got our work cut out for us." Cori rapped the desk. "Coffee, coming up."
Before she could take a step, two phones rang: Cori's cell, and Finn's desk phone. Finn picked his up; Cori answered hers. She mouthed the word Lapinski. Finn waved his hand to keep her attention.
"Yes, Captain. Detective Anderson also?" He listened for a moment. "We'll be right there."
Cori dismissed Lapinski with 'call you back', stashed the mugs on the desk, and pocketed her phone.
"Trouble?" she asked.
"I've no idea. Captain Smith unhappy is the same as the Captain Smith happy."
"Good point," Cori said as Finn stepped back and let the lady through the door first.
23
Captain Smith's happiness was not in question. What she had to say was business as usual; just not business that would please Cori and Finn. The meeting was about a glitch, an oversight, a wrinkle. It was about the search of Roxana's house. Cori and Finn had done a good job, but it wasn't good enough. Roxana Masha Novika's lawyers filed a Return of Property request. The request covered her computer and all electronic devices registered to the young woman not covered under the search warrant.
"The warrant was good," Finn objected. To which the captain responded:
"Do you know Karyn Drago?"
"She's the housekeeper," Cori said. "She arrived before Detective O'Brien came with the warrant. I remained outside the residence with her during that time. If she says different then she's telling a tall one, captain."
"No, nothing like that," Captain Smith said. "It's the warrant itself. Once you ID'd the victim, next of kin was advised. Her father is in Russia, but the man is represented by Oxfam & Damelir in Los Angeles. Hence the expedited Return of Property order."
"Even with that firm, someone has got to be sleeping with the judge to get an order that fast," Cori muttered.
"Anderson."
Finn had the fleeting thought that this captain would have made an excellent nun. She had silenced Cori with one word and a disapproving look. But that was only a detour. She was still on track.
"They sent one of their attorneys to the house along with administrative staff. Their intent was to do inventory, and seal the home until the victim's father made arrangements. They found the copy of the warrant you left."
"Then all above board, captain," Finn said.
"Except not," Captain Smith said. "You did not find the computer according to Ms. Drago. She did."
"Agreed," Finn said. "She knew where it was, retrieved it, and handed it to us. We had apprehended a man who had been sent to take it from the house. We had to assume it was a crucial piece of evidence. "
"It appears that you did not ask Ms. Drago where she found it," Captain Smith said.
"There was no reason. The cars, the garage and the house were all covered by the warrant," Finn said. "If you're trying to tell us there is some sort of error, we'll need to revisit with the court."
"The warrant for the house and the attached buildings was in order, but it seems there was a small gardening house in her orchard. Your victim worked there on occasion. That structure was detached and, as such, is not covered under the parameters of the warrant."
Captain Smith's lips pulled tight to show she was not unsympathetic to the situation. Cori glanced at Finn. His color was high, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath, and asked:
"When must we hand it over? We're so very close to. . ."
"It'
s already gone, O'Brien." Captain Smith's chest rose and fell under her uniform. The only sign of her disappointment. "Next time let's be more specific on the warrant. Cover all structures and open property, and for God sake don't send anyone else to do the chore. Go with them, take it into evidence with your own hands."
Cori and Finn offered apologies; the captain had one more piece of business.
"I've read over your initial report, detectives. A Beverly O'Brien was interviewed and released. Any relation?"
"Captain, I was the one who—" Cori began, but Captain Smith cut her off without so much as a glance.
"This question is directed to Detective O'Brien."
"My ex-wife, captain."
Finn spoke clearly knowing the consequences could be dire. He regretted not having told her before. Especially now when he had been remiss in securing evidence. A small mistake here, an omission there, and Finn O'Brien would bear watching. This was a prospect he didn't relish, but he would accept that if it were to be his reprimand.
"Are you good with that?" she asked.
"Yes, captain" Finn said. "We've been divorced for some-time. I carry no grudge."
"No unfinished business of any kind?" The captain pressed him.
"No," he answered.
Captain Smith held his gaze, and he didn't flinch. Finally, she looked at Cori.
"Detective Anderson, should there be a need to discuss anything with Ms. O'Brien, you will handle it." Those eyes went back to Finn. "Detective O'Brien. I do not think you are a troublemaker, but it is now clear that you can rub people the wrong way. I am one of those people who have been so rubbed. I do not appreciate being kept in the dark. Even the smallest thing that could compromise you, me, your partner, or my department is better communicated sooner than later. I overlooked your comments to our officers, I will let you slide on this. One more problem, and I will send you packing. I promise it won't be back to Wilshire Division."
Captain Smith raised an eyebrow. Cori and Finn stood at attention. There was nothing to say given the clarity of her message. When she was satisfied they understood, she said,
"Dismissed."
Finn turned on his heel and left the office; Cori was right beside him.
"You don't put yourself between me and a slap on the wrist, Cori," Finn said.
"You're welcome," she answered, more than a little miffed by his attitude.
Cori moved on ahead. Behind her she heard Finn palm the swinging door that led to the mens room. Fine, let him put his head in the toilette and flush if that was going to make him feel better. Cori hit the bullpen at top speed. Detective Walters looked up from his late afternoon snack of a bagel and cola.
"What are you looking at?" Cori snapped as she passed him.
"Lover's quarrel?" he snickered.
Cori rolled her eyes and plopped herself at her desk. She was glad her back was to Walters because the other way around and she might have to bare her teeth and go for the jugular. Cori sniffed once. Twice. She thought to return Lapinski's call, but decided to calm down first. With that criteria, it might be a week before she talked to him. Cori yanked her keyboard closer, and began to scroll through Roxana's list of Instagram followers. She was looking for a connection that seemed more personal than most, sponsors, anything to piece together some idea of the girl's business and personal life. Her eyes kept cutting to Finn's empty chair. He was wrong to be angry with her; she was wrong to be angry with him. They should be angry with Bev and all the people who were making it so hard for them to do their job.
Her gaze went to the white board where they were laying out their case. On the left was Roxana's 'family tree'. A picture of her in life was at the top of the grid. Three branches radiated from her photo. Those branches represented the men she had blackmailed. Jeremiah Stotler was the only one who hadn't been vetted to Finn's satisfaction. The other two men had alibis for the night of her murder, and neither had the will to do anything but keep their heads down when it came to Roxana. Jeremiah's alibi was a phone call to Gray, the Right Hand. Hardly an alibi that sat well with Finn and Cori. On another branch, there were Roxana's business contacts. Ali Keyes was a nice guy who, according to Finn, was able to separate his squeaky clean personal life from his unusual professional one. Cori wondered about him. He may not have a violent bone in his body, but did he have a vindictive one? Cori thought not. In fact, for all the indecent aspects of his business, he seemed the least interesting person on the board.
From Ali there were lines connecting him to Jeremiah Stotler. From Jeremiah there trailed another line to Bev O'Brien. They had also added a line for the Right Hand. Stotler's associate was a curiosity. The detectives did not put it past her to have tried to permanently solve her boss's problem, but that was a long shot. And there was a line for the Asian man. There they had put a grainy picture of him and three question marks. Business? Pleasure? Wrong place/wrong time?
Finn had drawn two more lines. One was for assumed personal male friends and the other was for Roxana's family. If she had lovers, they had seen no sign of them yet. Her family seemed casual about their involvement with her. This was underscored by the fact that lawyers secured her computer but did not claim her body. The faceless corpse still rested in Paul's cold storage along with four hundred other stiffs. The thought of that –of a young woman left naked and alone—softened Cori's mood. She made a note to see if that had changed in the last few days.
On the right side of the board there was another circle. This one was marked E/EC, Enver and Emily Cuca. Their 'family tree' included Roxana (question mark), Asian man (question mark). The business lines were blank except for Ali Keyes. But Ali wasn't really a connection. One of his associates had booked the Cuca space at the behest of a corporation. Instructions were specific as to food, time, number of guests, and the fee paid for use of the Cucas’ living area. The artist and his wife had no relatives in the United States. The relatives in Albania were few, and the Cucas had not spoken to them since they had immigrated.
The Cucas’ clients were not listed. They had created more than 1500 companions. They dealt in cash, the names and addresses of their clients were sketchy. These folks preferred keeping their predilection for silicone over flesh private. Cori requested the Cucas’ income tax returns. The Cucas’ accountant was on it.
There was a third bubble. This one bore no picture, only the title AIing Inc. Roxana had a contract with this corporation, agreeing to stop her career as an influencer in return for a large sum of money. The same one that barred Enver Cuca from reproducing Cami's image. This was the same corporation that contracted with Sam to retrieve Roxana's computer. The legal name of the corporation was Action Intelligencing Inc. It was a multinational concern. Its subsidiaries and ownership interests stretched from small towns in the Midwest to villages in Sri Lanka, and chic addresses in Hong Kong, London, and Paris. The subsidiaries each had their own map of influence.
Cori and Finn only wanted to know who the human being was who set the wheels in motion that led to Roxana's death, not the history of the corporation. They would do a deep dive into AIing Inc. if it became necessary, but they believed the web that needed unraveling was closer to home. It was spun by someone who had caught up Asylum, the Cucas, and Roxana. Somewhere in the mess was one person who knew exactly what happened that night and why that girl had to die.
Cori put her elbow up on the desk. She rested her head in her upturned palm, curling a stray hair around one finger as she looked at the board. Her eyes were pulled back time and again to the pictures of the Cucas’ unit. The first room. The tables. Sofas. Chairs. The knife and the mutilated companion.
The second landing. Nothing but a locked closet and bare walls.
The third. Cori shivered as her gaze lingered on the workroom. Even in a photograph that place looked like a portal to hell. Then there was the 'house' room as they had come to call it. But it wasn't a house at all; it was the stage for a brutal crime. So clean. So useless. Cori dropped her hand. She bit her
bottom lip. The pictures told a story that Cori didn't understand.
She let her gaze linger on the yellow plastic markers where blood traces had been found. Some had been so microscopic that she and Finn missed them. The forensic team identified them at the entrance to the 'house' room, and then again near the worktable. The person who beat Roxana walked through the workroom, paused at the table, and —what? The microscopic blood drops had ended there. Where had that person gone? Where had they put the murder weapon? Where...
Cori looked back at the photographs of the 'house' room. The closer the camera moved to the curtains surrounding the bed, the more prevalent the markers were. Near the platform on which the mattress sat there was only yellow tape. No need to mark a spot, there was blood everywhere. The pictures that had been taken after the mattress, curtains, and pillows were removed and sent to the lab caught her interest. The tape was still there. The platform was still there but without the curtains it was more interesting. Cori looked at the bathroom area and the freestanding tub. She cut over to the mock up of the living room. Her gaze traveled to the meticulous arrangement of the outdoor furniture.
She sat up, and leaned forward. Cori closed her eyes, and then opened them again. She was concentrating so hard it took her a moment to realize that Finn was beside her. She didn't bother to acknowledge their tiff; she didn't want to talk about warrants or what they had lost.
"What do you see?" she asked.
"A well put together but incomplete evidence display." Finn said. "What do you see?"
Cori got up. She walked to the board. She pointed to each of the 'house' room pictures: living room, bathroom, dining room, patio.
"I. See. Roxana's. House."
Cori turned her head. Her big blue eyes were wide; the shadow above them sparkled prettily in the ugly bullpen light. Finn's lips tipped. He moved to her side, nodding. His fingers traced a path over the photographs. He saw it too. The 'house' room was built for Roxana. It was a home away from home.
Intimate Relations Page 20
