by Matt Coyle
“Did you have a meeting with Sophia Domingo anytime between Friday and now?”
“What’s this about, Rick?” She squinted at me.
“I’ll explain in a minute. Please just answer the question.”
She looked down at her hands. I wasn’t going to like what she said next.
“Yes. We met here Friday night.”
The wind left me like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. I’d been ready for her answer. Knew there had to be a simple explanation to clear her of guilt. But the time line and ramifications of the body in the trunk shone like a spotlight in my eyes that I couldn’t blink away.
“What time?”
“About seven thirty.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to meet her?” Anger crept up my neck.
“Because it wasn’t any of your business, Rick.”
“Bullshit!” I slammed my hand down onto the desk. Kim blinked and straightened up in her chair. “You’d had me follow this woman. You know you should have told me about the meeting.”
“You’re right. I was afraid you’d be mad and try to talk me out of it.” She looked afraid. Afraid of me? Or afraid that I’d found Sophia Domingo?
“What did you talk about?”
“Her involvement with Jeffrey and the partnership deal with Parker Real Estate.”
“What did she tell you?” I asked.
“That she and Jeffrey weren’t in a sexual relationship.”
I didn’t care anymore whether that was a lie or the truth. It was a distraction from the main issue. Sophia, Stone, and Parker’s business relationship.
“What about the ten percent partnership?”
“Rick, I appreciate all you’ve done and your concern for me. But the partnership and Parker Real Estate are private matters that I shouldn’t discuss. I didn’t hire you to spy on the business.”
“You hired me to spy on your husband and then on Sophia Domingo. They relate to the business. You think I give a shit about Parker Real Estate? I only care about protecting you.” My throat tightened. “What did Sophia do to get the partnership?”
Kim let out a deep breath and looked down at the desk. “She put Jeffrey in touch with Stone. She has connections to the California Coastal Commission. They control any development along the coast. She helped get the Scripps sale through the Commission. It will earn fifty million for the real estate firm that gets the listings. PRE is going to be that firm. This is life changing.”
She was right about that. It had already changed one person’s life. Permanently. But she wasn’t talking about Sophia. She meant her and Jeffrey and their soon-to-be family.
“So, you’re staying with Jeffrey?”
“Yes. I asked him about Sophia and he swore to me that they just had a business relationship.”
She held my eyes daring me to question her decision. I did, but it was her decision to make. Not mine. I’d made mine by not making one years before. Still, I wondered if it was the fifty million or her husband’s denial of a sexual relationship that was the reason she was sticking with him. I wouldn’t have wondered a week ago. Before there was a dead body in a car on the roof and Kim was the last person who’d seen the body breathing.
“What time was the meeting over?” With Jeffrey or not, I still cared about Kim. More than anyone else in my life. She had Jeffrey and a growing family, but she needed me right now. Whether she knew it or not.
“Probably around eight. Why? When are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Soon. Where was Sophia’s car parked?”
“What? Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and gave me the squint again. “I walked her to the front door and locked it behind her.”
“You didn’t leave the building together?”
“No. I went back to my office and worked for about a half hour. Why?”
“Was there anyone else in the office when you and Sophia met?” I asked.
“No.”
“Was her car still on the roof when you left that night?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know she had parked on the roof. I’d parked out front that morning. I was at the office all day. You have to tell me what’s going on. Now.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself. “You’re making me nervous.”
Wait until she talked to the police.
“Sophia Domingo’s car is parked on the roof of this building. There’s something dead in the trunk and I’m pretty sure it’s her.”
“What?” She shot back in the chair and her eyes went wide. “How do you know? What?”
“Did you see anyone on the street when you let Sophia out of the office? Think back. Friday night is a busy night on this street.”
“I don’t know. No. Why? Do you think the police will think I had something to do with … her, with this?” She hugged herself tighter.
“If you were the last person to see her that night, they’ll ask a lot of questions to eliminate you as a suspect. I just want you to be ready.”
“Are they coming now?” Her tongue ran along her lower lip. “Did you call them?”
“No.”
“Are you going to? What should we do?”
“One of us needs to call the police.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of us’?” she asked.
I told her about Stone hiring me.
“Why would you work for Peter Stone? You hate him.”
“It’s complicated.”
“What do you mean? Now you’re the one holding back information. Tell me, Rick.”
“He said that Sophia told him she was meeting you Friday night and then she went missing. He said he could help you if you ended up needing it.”
“What kind of help?” Her mouth dropped open. “You think I had something to do with Sophia’s death?”
“Of course not.” I didn’t now, after seeing her body language during my Q and A. But the possibility had itched at the back of my brain. I loved Kim. She was the best person I knew. But people surprise you. Even the ones you love. My father had proven that a long time ago.
“Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know, but we need to get out in front of this. I found the body. I’ll call the police.”
The Brick House was just a couple blocks down the street. I wanted to have our story straight before the police got there. “You and I agreed to meet here to have breakfast together at the Morning Cup. I got here early and checked the parking lot on the roof to see if you were here. I saw the car, got out to look inside, and saw dried blood below the trunk. Then I smelled … death.”
That left Stone. Did I call him or the police first? Common sense said to call the police.
Survival said something else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IF SOPHIA WAS dead in the trunk of the Corvette and I called in the suspicious smell, the cops would check my cell phone records during the investigation. I didn’t want a record of me calling Peter Stone two minutes before I reported the Corvette to the police. There was still a pay phone in front of the Post Office right across the street from Parker Real Estate. I crossed my fingers that the phone still worked. It did.
Stone picked up on the third ring.
“I found Sophia’s car. Ninety percent certain that she’s dead inside it.”
“What do you mean?” No cool façade now. “Why do you think she’s dead?”
“The stench of decomp is coming from the trunk. Someone’s dead in there. We both know it’s her.”
“Pop the trunk and find out. I’m sure you have the tools to break into a car.”
I did. But not for him.
“I’m not disturbing the crime scene. I thought it was only fair to tell you before I called the police. I won’t tell them you hired me to find her. That will stay just between us. I’ll give you back half of the money since I didn’t find her alive.”
“I don’t care abou
t the money, you simpleton.” Anger vibrated the phone. “Open up that damn car and search it for a black Lexar USB flash drive and then bring it to me.”
“No. I found her. I fulfilled our agreement. The rest is on you.” I hung up the phone.
A computer flash drive. What was on it that was so important to Stone and why did he think Sophia had it? She must have stolen it from him when she went to his house after the California Coastal Commission vote. Why? Whatever was on that drive, I had no doubts that Stone would kill for it. But if he’d killed Sophia, why didn’t he already have the flash drive back in his possession?
I’d done my duty for Stone. He was no longer my concern.
Kim was.
I walked across the street and up the ramp to the parking lot on the top of Parker Real Estate. I didn’t drive my car back up there because I didn’t want it to be stuck in a roped-off crime scene and have to wait for God knows how long to get it back. The white Corvette was still there. No miracles today. I walked over to the Corvette and stood behind the trunk. The decomp smell was still there, too.
It seemed a bit stronger, but maybe because I already knew it was there. Once you’ve smelled death, you never forget its scent. I pulled out my cell phone and called the La Jolla Police Department. I knew the number by heart. They probably still had mine memorized, too.
I told the dispatcher what I’d found and gave her my name, address, and phone number. She kept me on the phone and told me to wait until the police arrived. I stayed on the line, even though the urgency of the situation left with the last breath that Sophia Domingo took. Four minutes later, an LJPD cruiser rolled up the ramp with light bar on fire, but no siren. A plain-wrap detective car followed right behind it. Both cars stopped twenty feet behind the Corvette.
A Dick and Jane patrol team got out of the cruiser and stood next to it, letting the lone detective who got out of the plain wrap to take the lead. I didn’t recognize the uniforms or the detective. The best news of the day. No cops I’d insulted or tangled with in the past. Rare. A fresh start. The detective ambled over and stopped three feet in front of me. I didn’t know whether he could smell the stench of death seeping through the seal of the trunk. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to pop the lid.
I hadn’t expected a detective to show up right away. As far as I knew, LJPD still only had three teams of two homicide detectives. I figured Sunday’s team would be on call at home with their families at nine a.m.
“Mr. Cahill?” The detective was tall, thin, younger than me. He wore black horn-rimmed glasses favored by hipsters nowadays, but they made him look like a professor or grad student working on his thesis. He had a pleasant smile that didn’t say anything but nice to meet you. I hadn’t seen a smile like that on anyone at LJPD since my dad had been a cop in good standing there.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sheets.” He opened his sport jacket to reveal a gold shield clipped onto his belt. “Can you run me through the events of this morning that caused you to call the La Jolla Police Department?”
“Sure.” I played the upstanding citizen, I guess because, for a change, I was one. Sort of. “I was meeting a friend for breakfast at the Morning Cup. She works at Parker Real Estate. I didn’t see her car out front, so I checked up here in case she’d parked here and decided to do some work. That’s when I saw the Corvette.” I grimaced and nodded my head. “This is where things get a little strange. I’m familiar with the car and the woman who drives it. Her name is Sophia Domingo.”
“How do you know her?” Calm. We were still all friends.
“I’m a private investigator and Ms. Domingo met with the subject of an investigation as well as the person who hired me.”
“Who were the client and the subject?” The smile remained on Detective Sheets’ face, but his big brain was working behind his bespectacled eyes.
“I’m sure you can understand, Detective Sheets, that I take the confidentiality of my clients very seriously. That’s why they hire me.”
Still being the upstanding citizen.
Sheets rubbed his chin. “Why do you think Ms. Domingo is dead?”
I stepped away from the trunk of the Corvette and nodded at it. “You don’t smell that?”
Sheets took a step forward toward the trunk. He leaned down a bit. I didn’t hear an inhale, but at that distance he’d smell the death inside without even trying. He looked to be studying the dark specks of dried liquid that had to be blood. Finally, Sheets straightened up and looked at me.
“Will you excuse me for a second, Mr. Cahill?”
“Sure.” Hidden in his good manners was the message to me not to go anywhere. I understood. The quicker he checked the necessary boxes, the quicker I could get on with my life.
Sheets walked over to the two uniforms and spoke to the woman with sergeant stripes on the arm.
Tall. Sturdy. Forties. Brunette. Her partner was a young African-American kid. Tall. Athletic. Snap-creased uni. Chest out. Chin up. Jacked on the power of the badge. He eyed me like he hoped I’d rabbit so he could take me down. I remembered the feeling. I’d still been riding the wave two and a half years into the job before everything changed. It will change for him, too. It does for everyone. Just not as drastically as it did for me.
The kid’s sergeant said something to him, and he got back into the cruiser and sat behind the laptop computer locked in a stand attached to the dashboard. Either running a warrant check on me or running the plate of the Corvette to see who the car was registered to. Or both. Sheets stuck his head into the open door of the cruiser and spoke to the patrolman. He straightened up and pulled a cell phone out of the front pocket of his slacks, then made a call. Probably calling a deputy district attorney to try and get a telephonic search warrant from a judge. Sheets put his phone back in his pocket and walked over to me.
“I’m waiting for a judge to okay a search warrant, then the officers and I will open the trunk and see what’s inside. I’d like you to stick around while we do that, Mr. Cahill. If there is indeed a body in the trunk, I may need you to help with a preliminary ID. Then we’ll have to go into more detail about your relationship with the woman.”
“I’ll stick around and ID the body if it’s her and tell you all I know. But I didn’t have any kind of relationship with her. She just popped up in the middle of a case I was working.”
“We’ll get to all that. But first, we have to find out if there is really a body in there.”
Sheets walked around the car and peeked in the windows. He stepped back after he finished, folded his arms, and stared at the car. I don’t know what he was looking at and seeing or not seeing, but it had all his attention. His phone rang a minute into his meditation. He answered it.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Your Honor.” He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. “Sergeant Meyers, Judge Whitney has given me a telephonic search warrant to search the car and any personal items I may find inside. Please protect the scene while I proceed.”
Sheets took out a pair of black nitrile gloves from his coat pocket.
“Sir?” The sergeant looked at me with her hands on her hips. “You’re going to have to exit the parking lot. Officer Gains will—”
“Mr. Cahill can stay for now.” Sheets looked back over his shoulder at Sergeant Meyers. “He may help in identification.”
Sheets walked over to the driver’s door and tried the handle. Unlocked. He opened the door and scanned the inside of the Corvette, then stuck his hand under the steering wheel and found the trunk release.
The trunk popped open, but just a couple inches. The smell of death flowed out to find fresh air. Not enough to make me gag, but enough to know what we’d find inside.
I stepped back from the trunk. Sheets came to the back of the car.
“Mr. Cahill, okay for me to ask for your assistance, if needed?”
“Yes.”
Sheets slipped his nitrile-gloved hands under the lid of the trunk and lifted it up. Death rushed ou
t in an invisible cloud. My hand whipped up and pinched my nose shut on its own. Sheets grabbed his nose and shifted backwards. Just a few inches.
I forced myself to move to the right and peek around Detective Sheets’ body.
All I could see was the shape of a crumpled naked body. Pale with green splotches and black blood crusted slits in its skin.
“Sergeant Meyers, call in a 187 and make sure forensics gets up here right away,” Sheets said.
Meyers called it in on her cruiser’s car radio.
“Mr. Cahill?” Sheets turned and looked at me. He didn’t look like a college student anymore.
“Could you step over here and verify that the decedent is, ah, was the woman you call Sophia Domingo?”
I walked over to the car.
Sheets stopped me with an arm across my chest. “Please be careful not to touch anything.”
“Sure.” He didn’t have to worry. I didn’t want to touch anything. I didn’t even want to see anything. But I needed to confirm for Stone and for myself that the dead body in the trunk was Sophia.
I’d seen death as a cop and I’d seen it as a civilian. Too much of it. My own wife. People I’d considered friends. People I’d killed myself. I hadn’t gotten used to it. I prayed I never would.
I felt Detective Sheets’ eyes on me. Probably getting a read on my reaction. The real reason he had me look at the body. I held my breath and peered into the trunk of the Corvette. The body had been a woman in life. It was naked. Thirty or forty stab wounds pockmarked it. The body’s neck had been slit wide, exposing the larynx. Its eyes open, once human, now two marbles in a death mask. Its mouth agape, a miniature twin of its neck. In life, she had been Sophia Domingo.
Bile rushed up my throat. Then I spotted something else in the trunk that hit me like smelling salts.
Behind the body, sitting upright, a briefcase. I’d seen it before. In the hands of Peter Stone, then in the once living hands of Sophia Domingo.
