by Blake Pierce
“There’s your guy,” Covey said, nodding in the direction of the one guy walking alone. Coy Brenner bore only a passing resemblance to the man in the mug shot from his arrest in Arizona four years earlier. That man had a lean and hungry look, with longish, shaggy brown hair and a hint of stubble.
The guy lumbering across the parking lot now had put on about twenty pounds in the intervening years. His hair was cropped short and his stubble was now a full-on beard. He wore blue jeans and a lumberjack-style shirt and walked with his head down and a grimace on his face. Coy Brenner didn’t strike her as a man happy with his lot in life.
“Can you hang back, Sergeant Covey? I want to see how he reacts when confronted solo by a female cop.”
“Sure. I’ll head over to the warehouse for now. I’ll tell the boys to stay back as well. Give a wave when you want us to join you.”
“Will do.”
Keri got out of her car, threw on a blazer to hide her gun, and followed Brenner from a distance, not wanting to make her presence known just yet. He seemed oblivious to her, lost in his own thoughts. By the time he reached his old pickup truck, she was almost on him. She felt her phone buzz with a text and tensed up. But he obviously didn’t hear it.
“How ya doin’, Coy?” she asked coquettishly.
He spun around, clearly taken by surprise. Keri removed her sunglasses, gave him a broad smile, and placed her hand on her hip playfully.
“Hi?” he asked more than said.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me? It’s only been about fifteen years. You are Coy Brenner from Phoenix, right?”
“Yeah. Did we go to school together or something?”
“No. Our time together was educational, but not in a school kind of way, if you know what I mean. I’m starting to get offended a little bit here.”
I’m really laying it on thick here. Maybe I’ve lost my touch.
But Coy’s face softened and Keri could tell she’d hit pay dirt.
“Sorry—long day and lots of years,” he said. “I’d be happy to get reacquainted. What was your name again?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Keri. Keri Locke.”
“I’m really surprised that I can’t place you, Keri. You seem like the kind of girl I’d remember. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“I can’t stand the heat back in Arizona. I work for the city now. Case work—kind of boring. What about you?”
“You’re looking at what I do.”
“A boy from the desert ends up working by the water. What made that happen? Looking to break into the movies? Wanted to learn to surf? Following a girl?”
She kept the tone light but watched closely for his reaction to that last question. His bemused but intrigued expression immediately disappeared, replaced by one of wariness.
“I’m really having trouble placing you, Keri. Remind me again when we hung out?” There was a sharpness to his tone that hadn’t been there a moment before.
Keri could sense her ruse was wearing thin and decided to poke a little more aggressively.
“Maybe you don’t remember me because I don’t look like Kendra. Is that it, Coy? You only have eyes for her?”
Those eyes turned quickly from wary to angry and he took a step forward. Keri watched his fists clench involuntarily. She didn’t flinch.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “What is this?”
“I’m just making conversation, Coy. Why so rude all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know you,” he said, now outright hostile. “Who sent you, her husband? Are you some kind private investigator?”
“What if I was? Would I have something to investigate? Is there something you want to get off your chest, Coy?”
He took another step toward her. Their faces were less than a foot apart now. Rather than shrink, Keri squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly.
“I think you’ve made a terrible mistake coming here, lady,” Coy growled. His back was to the squad car, which had slowly rolled up behind him and was now idling twenty feet away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Keri could see Sergeant Covey cautiously making his way over from the warehouse, careful to stay behind Coy as well. She felt a sudden urge to wave in their direction but forced the feeling down.
It’s now or never.
“What did you do to Kendra, Coy?” she demanded, any trace of playfulness gone from her voice. She stared hard at him, hand once again brushing the butt of her gun, ready for anything.
At her question, his eyes went from angry to surprised and she could tell he had no idea what she was talking about. He took a step back.
“What?”
She immediately sensed that he wasn’t the guy, but pressed on just in case.
“Kendra Burlingame has gone missing and I hear you’re her personal stalker. So if you’ve done something to her, now would be the time to come clean. If you cooperate, I can help you. If you don’t, it could get very bad for you.”
Coy was staring at her but he didn’t seem to be fully processing what she said. He was oblivious to Sergeant Covey moving to within a few steps behind him. The veteran officer’s hand rested on his gun hip. He didn’t look trigger-happy, just prepared.
“Kendra’s missing?” Coy asked, sounding like a kid who’d just learned his dog had been put down.
“When’s the last time you saw her, Coy?”
“The reunion—I told her I would look her up here in LA. But I could tell she didn’t want any part of me. She looked embarrassed for me. I didn’t want to see that look on her face again so I just dropped it.”
“You didn’t want to punish the woman who made you feel that way?”
“She didn’t make me feel that way. I’m ashamed of what I’ve become without any help from her. It was just seeing how far I’d fallen in her view—it was a real eye-opener, you know? I’ve been lying to myself about being this cool, tough guy for a long time. It took Kendra for me to see myself as the loser I really am.”
He looked at her desperately, hoping to make some kind of connection. But Keri didn’t feel like exploring this guy’s inner demons. She had enough shame of her own that she didn’t want to deal with someone else’s.
“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday, Coy?” she asked, changing the subject. Realizing he wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her, he nodded.
“I was here all day. I’m sure my boss can verify it.”
“We can check on that,” Sergeant Covey said. Coy jumped slightly at the unexpected voice behind him. He turned around, surprised to see Covey within feet of him and the squad car with Kuntsler and Rodriguez not much farther away.
“So I guess you’re a cop, then?” Coy said, looking downtrodden.
“I am—LAPD Missing Persons.”
“I hope you find her. Kendra’s a great gal. The world’s a better place because of her and she deserves to be happy. I always held a torch for her. But I knew she was out of my league so I never got my hopes up. If there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”
“Detective Locke,” Sergeant Covey interjected, “unless you have additional questions, I’m happy to follow up on his alibi. I know you have other avenues of investigation you want to explore. Besides, we need to do some paperwork to process Mr. Brenner for separation. He lied on his application about his parole status and that’s cause for termination.”
Keri saw Brenner’s face sag even more. He was truly pathetic. And now he was unemployed on top of it. She tried to shake away the feeling that she was partly responsible for that.
“I’d appreciate that, Sergeant. I do need to get back and this looks like a dead end. Thanks for all your help.”
As Covey and the officers led Coy Brenner back to the warehouse for interrogation, Keri got in her car and checked the text she received earlier.
It was from Brody. It read:
GALA STILL ON. GREAT CHANCE FOR INTERVIEWS. MEET YOU THERE. DRESS SEXY.
Brody continued to amaze her with his lack of insight and professionalism. In addition to being an unrepentant sexist, he didn’t seem to get that a fundraiser whose hostess was missing wasn’t the ideal venue to get her friends and colleagues to bare their souls.
Besides that, I don’t even have anything to wear.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason. If she was being honest with herself, Keri had to admit that part of her dread was because this was exactly the sort of event she went to all the time back when she was a respected professor, the wife of a successful talent agent, and the mother of an adorable little girl. Going to this thing would be a bright, shiny, painful reminder of her life before she lost Evie.
Sometimes she hated this job.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Keri’s stomach was a churning pit of anxiety as she sat in the waiting room of Jackson Cave’s law firm. He’d made her wait twenty minutes already, long enough for her to repeatedly rethink whether this was a good decision.
She’d been on the way back from San Pedro, calculating how long it would take her to get to the houseboat to change into an evening gown and then to Beverly Hills for the All Smiles fundraiser. But as she headed north, she saw the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles in the distance and a powerful urge took over. She found herself driving to Cave’s office, without any kind of plan to fall back on.
On the way there, she’d called Brody so they could debrief each other. After she filled him in on the Coy Brenner dead end, he told her about San Diego.
“Jeremy Burlingame’s alibi checks out. He was in surgery all day yesterday. Apparently he was supervising some doctors down there, teaching them a new facial reconstruction procedure.”
“All right, listen, traffic’s a real bitch here,” Keri said. It was partly true but also an excuse for her to stop at Cave’s. “So if you get to the gala before me, please just scope the place out. Don’t start interrogating people.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job, Locke?”
“No, Brody. But I am suggesting that going into this place like a bull in a china shop might be counterproductive. Some of these socialite women would probably open up more to another chick in a dress than to a guy whose longest relationship has been with his car.”
“Screw you, Locke. I’ll talk to whoever I want,” Brody said indignantly. But she could hear in his voice that he had doubts about how good an idea that was.
“Suit yourself,” Keri replied. “See you there.”
Now, a full half hour later, she still hadn’t gotten in to see Cave. It was almost 5:30. She decided to take advantage of the lull to look around. She walked up to the reception desk.
“Do you know how much longer Mr. Cave is going to be?” she asked the secretary, who shook her head apologetically. “Then can you tell me where the restroom is, please?”
“Down the hall to the left.”
Keri headed that way, her eyes alert for any detail that could work to her advantage. Directly across from the women’s restroom was a door marked Exit. She opened it and saw that it opened into the same hallway she’d come down to get to the main entrance of the firm.
Glancing around and seeing no one in the hall, she pulled a tissue out of her purse and shoved it into the tube latch hole so that it couldn’t lock automatically. Then she stepped into the restroom briefly for the sake of appearance.
When she returned to the lobby, an attractive woman in a crisp business suit was waiting to lead her to Jackson Cave’s office. As she followed the woman, she tried to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. She was about to meet with the man who might hold the key to getting crucial information about Evie’s whereabouts and she had no game plan.
The only other time she’d met with Jackson Cave had been at a police station in a small mountain town. He’d come to try to bail out his client, Payton Penn, the brother of California Senator Stafford Penn. Ultimately, she discovered that Penn had hired Alan Pachanga to abduct his niece, Ashley. Things had gone her way back in that mountain town, but now she was in enemy territory and she could sense it.
Jackson Cave was known throughout most of the city for his reputation representing major corporate clients. But to law enforcement, his pro-bono work defending rapists, pedophiles, and child abductors was his claim to infamy.
Keri was immediately suspicious of a man like that. It was one thing to defend a murder suspect in a death row case or some desperate guy who robbed a bank to support his family. But to exclusively and enthusiastically represent the worst perpetrators of sexual violence that the city had to offer, free of charge, struck her as an odd choice.
Nonetheless, Keri hoped to put his work to her advantage. She knew that somewhere in Cave’s possession must be a cipher that could crack the code to Alan Pachanga’s computer. If she could find it, that could lead her to information on a whole network of abductors for hire. It might even include something about the man who’d taken Evie, a man she believed went by the name “The Collector.”
Everything about the place was designed to intimidate. The firm itself consumed the entire seventieth floor of the seventy-three-story US Bank Tower. There were floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere, looking out on the vastness of Los Angeles. Expensive art covered the walls. All the furniture was leather and mahogany.
They finally reached an unmarked office at the end of the hall and the woman led her in. It was empty. Keri was directed to a plush chair across from Cave’s desk, which was immaculate.
Left alone, she glanced around, trying to glean something about the man from his surroundings. There were no personal photos on his desk or credenza. On the wall were some photos of Cave with movers and shakers such as the mayor, several city councilmen, and a few celebrities. His college (USC) and law school (Harvard) diplomas were displayed as well. But nothing gave a sense of the man or his passions.
Before Keri could study the room further, Jackson Cave walked in. She stood up quickly. He was just as she remembered him from their last meeting. His coal black hair was slicked back like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. His blindingly white teeth filled out a mouth twisted into a fake, plastic smile. His tan skin gleamed underneath his navy Michael Kors suit. And his penetrating blue eyes glinted with a fierceness that reminded her of an eagle hunting prey.
And then, in a flash, she knew her course of action. Jackson Cave, with his personal photos with power players and his immaculate grooming and attire, was a man who cared about how he was perceived. He made his living off winning people over—politicians, juries, the media. And Keri knew he wanted to win her over too. It was his nature.
I have to undermine that goal. I have to come at him hard and fast, upend his expectations, keep him off balance. The only way I’m going to poke through his armor and get him to slip up is if I jab him in enough places. Maybe then he’ll say something inadvertently that could lead me to crack the cipher.
If she could get him upset, or even just annoyed, maybe he’d make a mistake and inadvertently reveal something important. Considering she already despised the man, it wasn’t a big lift. She just had to amp it up and look for cracks in his perfect façade. She didn’t know exactly what those cracks might be, but if she stayed alert, she was sure she’d find something.
“Detective Keri Locke,” he said as he swept past her to his side of the desk, “what an unexpected surprise. It was only a few weeks ago that we chatting in the fresh mountain air. And now you’ve consented to visit me here in the concrete jungle. To what do I owe the honor?”
Before speaking, Keri took a step toward one of the photos of Cave with a local dignitary so that her back was to him. She did it partly to show that she was in charge of the meeting, partly to get under his skin by refusing to look at him directly, and partly because her ribs were starting to ache again and she didn’t want him to see her gritting her teeth in discomfort.
“Sorry to bother you, counselor. I know you must be busy, preparing to defend an accomplice to child abduction.”
<
br /> “Alleged, Detective. Alleged accomplice.”
She ignored his comment and continued.
“I came down here to ask you a question. Why is it, with so many powerful corporate clients at your disposal, you insist on representing the dregs of society?”
She glanced casually over her shoulder as if she didn’t have a care in the world but focused intently on Cave’s eyes, looking for any sign of distress. He offered none. Clearly, he was used to these kinds of put-downs.
“Everybody deserves quality representation, Detective. It’s in the constitution—sixth amendment. Look it up.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cave,” she said, returning her attention to the wall of photos. “But you could represent any kind of defendant and yet you seem drawn to those who engage in violent behavior toward women and children. Why is that?”
“Something for me to work out with my therapist, I suppose.” He sounded relaxed, completely unruffled.
This isn’t working. He’s too practiced at batting away attacks about his clients. I have to poke somewhere else.
“That’s a cute quip, Mr. Cave. I’ll bet it’s one you use when defending your work to folks like him,” she said, pointing at the city councilman in the photo she’d been looking at. She turned quickly to see his reaction and saw that he still seemed unfazed.
“Is this what you came here for, Detective—to try to guilt-trip me? How boring…and disappointing. I expected more of you.”
“Sorry to disappoint. But I can’t help wonder why these people aren’t more reluctant to be seen with you. After all, isn’t that the CEO of a major rape crisis center in that picture with you?” she asked, pointing to an older woman almost melting into Cave as he wrapped his arm around her.
“Lovely lady,” he said, unperturbed. “Nice gams too.”
“And this gentleman, the monsignor,” Keri continued. “I’m wondering if he had to go to confession after meeting with you. Or at least take a Silkwood shower.”
