Blood Truth

by Matt Coyle

  “What about his car?” I asked. We were in the kitchen after having gone through every drawer and cabinet.

  “The police impounded it.”

  “Of course.” My brain was fuzzy from pain and lack of sleep. “And they searched his office at PRE, right?”

  “Yes. They took his computer. I don’t know what else. He doesn’t have the flash drive, Rick. What are we going to do?” Kim slumped against the kitchen counter. “What are they going to do?”

  The “they” didn’t need to be named.

  They would kill us all. Tatiana’s threat had been a promise. The hole in my leg told me violence came easily to her and her surrogates. A reflex. A tool.

  A certainty.

  “We’ll work it out,” I lied.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  I SLEPT IN one of Kim’s spare bedrooms that night. That morning, really. Just for a few hours. She needed someone else in the house with her while she slept. It didn’t hurt that I had a gun. And had used it before. I was a shoulder to cry on. Armed security. A friend. She slept just a few feet down the hall, but a lifetime away. She’d pulled me back into her life because she’d needed a friend. Someone she could trust. Just as I had done to her so many times before. I saw a life that was separate from mine and now always would be.

  I woke up at six thirty and left a note on the pillow telling her to search Jeffrey’s office at PRE. I left without saying good-bye, wearing the sweatpants Kim had lent me out of Jeffrey’s closet the night before and my bomber jacket.

  The sweatpants were a little long, but had elastic cuffs so they fit fine. The Stanford University logo on the thigh didn’t fit, though. Jeffrey Parker and I grew up in the same town. He’d spent his youth in a La Jolla estate, I spent mine in a tract home. Nice, but miles apart in more than geography. All we had in common was Kim and following in our fathers’ legacies. His, the most successful realtor in La Jolla. Mine, a disgraced cop who’d been kicked off the force. But Parker was in my world now. The police as enemies, dangerous people wanting something from him or wanting him dead. And his actions pulled his wife and me into the fire with him.

  Alan Fineman might save him from prison, but I was the only one who could save his wife’s life.

  * * *

  Peter Stone answered the door on the first knock in full business attire. Like he was about to leave for work, or had been standing by the door. Waiting for me.

  “Rick.” He looked at my bomber jacket and then down at my borrowed sweatpants. “Morning workout or a flight over Dresden?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “As much as I enjoy such occasions, it will have to wait. I have an appointment to attend.”

  “Your appointment will have to wait.” I flipped open my jacket giving him a glimpse at the holstered Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum I’d transferred from the trunk of my car to the torso of my body.

  “Threats don’t end well for people stupid enough to direct them at me.” The amused smirk morphed into a wolf’s snarl. “You of all people should know that.”

  “This isn’t a threat. We’re going to talk.” I put my hand on the door. “Your choice, either vertically or horizontally.”

  He eyeballed me for a three-count, then opened the door to let me in. I limped inside.

  “That normal altruistic forward lean in your giddyup has been replaced with a hitch. I hope it’s only a short-term injury.”

  I’d left the stolen walking cane in the car and supplanted it with 1600 milligrams of ibuprofen. The cane was weakness. Stone saw weaknesses as a predator would. Something to be exploited. Or killed. A limp hardly showed strength, but I rode it solo without having to lean on something. The ibuprofen had taken the sharp point off the pain, but left the edge. I ate the pain and limped into the living room.

  Stone sat down in a massive leather chair, a black monolith above the stark white carpet. The mythic king on his throne. I stood ten feet away in the middle of the room.

  “Sit, Rick.” Stone swung his hand at a smaller version of the chair he sat in diagonal to him. “Rest your crippled limb.”

  “I’m fine.” I wanted to sit down. I wanted to lie down and take a double dose of the Percocet I’d yet to pick up from the pharmacy. But Percocet would slow my thoughts and sitting would slow my movements if I needed to react quickly. I had a gun, the last resort. Stone had his wits and uncompromising malevolence.

  “It’s your burden.” Stone crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap. A reasonable businessman. “Now, what is so urgent that you breached my home and are holding me at gunpoint to talk about?”

  “Call off the Russians.”

  “What Russians are you referring to? I’m afraid Vladimir Putin is above even my expertise.”

  “Stop being clever. Tatiana, the one who stuck a knife in my leg.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You didn’t tell me searching for Sophia would get me in the shit with the Russian Mafia, Stone.” The pain in my leg and my situation stretched my mouth into a raw gash. “You need to tell Tatiana that Jeffrey Parker doesn’t have her flash drive and neither do I.”

  “I don’t know who this Tatiana is.” Still relaxed. No tell. But lying came as easily to Stone as a knife did to the Russian woman’s hand.

  “Then maybe I should introduce you to her.” I pulled out my phone, took a couple staggered steps toward Stone, and showed him Tatiana’s contact information. “Five foot three, goth in matching leather, quick with a knife.”

  I pulled the phone back and hovered my finger over the phone number. The smirk stayed on Stone’s mouth, but something flickered in his eyes before they returned to their normal shark death mask. Fear? He wanted me to call Tatiana even less than I did.

  “Let me know if this sounds familiar to you.” I put my phone back in my pocket to free my hand and took a step back out of Stone’s range. “You and Sophia hooked up when she came here after the Coastal Commission’s yes vote on the Scripps sale. A celebration that your bribe through her had made happen. After you two were done, Sophia left, presumably to shower you off of her, and you realized that she took the flash drive that shows you and the Russian Mafia are partners in the Scripps development and maybe other things. Things that neither you nor the Russians want to go public. Or have law enforcement get a look at. Am I getting warm?”

  “Not warm.” Calm voice, but he slowly rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in his lap, probably unaware of it. “But you seem a bit overheated. Maybe your injury has become infected.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I gave him one of his own smirks. “I don’t know why Sophia would be stupid enough to steal from you and the Russians. Whatever the reason, you had to get the flash drive back before the Russians knew about it. So, you hired me and probably a couple other PIs to find Sophia. But she ended up dead, so you told me to grab the flash drive from her car. I don’t play and turn the scene over to the police, and you have to make a decision. Tell the Russians about the stolen flash drive or hope they don’t find out about it. Whether you told them or not, they found out. Maybe one of the other PIs you hired is on the Russians’ payroll and told them what you were up to. Doesn’t matter. You turned them on me, even though you knew I didn’t have the drive.”

  “Interesting story, Rick. You have quite an imagination.” The fingers still rubbed together. “For the sake of brevity, let’s say you’re right. How would I know that you didn’t have the flash drive?”

  “Because you know I’m not stupid enough to cross you.”

  “And how would I know such a thing?”

  “Because we had an agreement, Stone. We made one years ago that neither of us has broken. You know you can trust me.”

  “I suppose I do,” he said.

  “Then why did you point the Russians at me?”

  “What makes you think that I did?”

  “Because they knew my weakness.” I pulled the gun from my holster and held it at my side. “They knew about Kim. They never would have
known about my feelings for her on their own. You did, and you knew you could use those feelings to make me do anything to keep her safe. If you hadn’t told the Russians I cared about Kim, they wouldn’t have threatened her life. Now you have to convince them to leave her alone.”

  “I can’t convince that little psychopath or her father of anything, Rick. If you don’t get them back that flash drive, you and Kim will die. If the information on the drive goes public, I’ll be next.” Matter of fact like he was talking about the weather. But his fingers still twitched in his lap.

  “You don’t have to worry about the Russians, Stone. If the clock runs out, I’ll kill you first before they get to me.”

  “We’ve already discussed the peril of making threats against me, Rick.” Stone stood up.

  “These are dangerous times.” The gun felt comfortable in my hand. A tool, ready if needed. “Ask the Russians.”

  “Put the gun away and let’s figure out a way to extricate ourselves from our unpleasant circumstances.”

  My threat to Stone had been as certain as the Russians’. A promise. If time expired and the Russians came for Kim, I’d kill them. Then Stone. Or die trying. I’d killed men before. In self-defense. And because someone needed to be killed. From a distance. Up close. I’d seen life leave the eyes and the soul leave the body. Even from a man who didn’t have one.

  Stone was evil. So were the Russians. I could kill Stone and end his threat, but the Russians would never stop.

  I put the gun back in its holster.

  “I’m all ears.”

  Stone looked at his watch. Held up his finger and slowly put his hand inside his coat. I did the same and circled my hand back around the handle of my gun. Stone took a cell phone out of his coat and punched a number. I let go of the gun.

  “Tell them I’m going to be late.” He put the phone back in his jacket then looked at me. “You say that Jeffrey Parker doesn’t have the flash drive?”

  “His wife and I searched all over their house last night. The police had already been there with a search warrant. They searched his office at PRE, too. The Russians are convinced that LJPD doesn’t have the flash drive in its possession. How can they be so sure?”

  “They’re sure because I’m sure. The police don’t have it.” Stone walked over to the glass back wall of the living room and looked out at the ocean a mile away. The marine layer had just started to lift, and the horizon where sea and air separated was visible in a straight line. “Could he have hidden it somewhere else? Somewhere his wife doesn’t know about?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “When’s his bail hearing?”

  “Today. If Kim can make the bail that’s set.”

  “I’ll call Alan Fineman and have a cashier’s check ready when the bail is set. All he’ll have to do is fill in the amount.” Stone turned from the view of the kingdom he rented from the Russians and looked at me. “Tell Mrs. Parker to write me a check for whatever she’s accumulated so far, and if it’s less than the bail, she can pay me back after the trial.”

  “If the Russians get hold of Parker, he won’t be alive for the trial,” I said.

  “The Russians are vicious and lethal, but not stupid. They won’t kill a man about to be put on trial for a high-profile crime. They’re not like the Italians used to be in New York. They do things under the radar, unless they want to make a point. But that’s not to say his wife couldn’t have an accident.”

  “What are you going to do when Parker gets out on bail?”

  “Nothing. You’re going to tell him the situation he’s put his wife in and find out where he hid the flash drive.”

  “What if he doesn’t have it?” I asked.

  “He has to. It wasn’t in Sophia’s house or her hotel room. The police—”

  “How do you know it wasn’t in her hotel room?”

  “As soon as I realized she’d stolen it, I had her hotel room searched. The person who killed her must have taken it.”

  “Why would Parker take it? How would he even know about it? And if he did, what good would it do him? What was he going to do? Blackmail you or the Russians? He’s not that kind of guy.”

  “Sophia conned him out of a percentage of his company with the promise of becoming the realtor for the Green Builders Alliance of San Diego in the Scripps development. That never was in play. He even tried to contact me to verify it, but I never returned his calls.” Stone shrugged his shoulders. “Dear Jeffrey was in dire straits. PRE is highly leveraged and payments are coming due. He needed that contract with GBASD to show his creditors that there would soon be a massive influx of cash. When he found out Sophia had played him and he’d soon be in chapter seven or eleven, at the least, he killed Sophia and planned to use the information on the flash drive to blackmail me.”

  “This is supposition, Stone. Did he contact you after Sophia was dead?”

  “No. But I’m sure it would have only been a matter of time. He was arrested before he had the opportunity.”

  “I don’t buy it. I think Jeffrey could have cracked and killed Sophia in a fit of rage. Action without thought. Blackmail takes thought. An understanding of the consequences. I don’t think Parker would do it. Especially considering who he’d have to blackmail.”

  “I take that as a compliment, Rick. However, only a few people in San Diego or La Jolla know of my, ah, decisive actions in protecting my interests. Jeffrey isn’t in that select group.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to Parker.” My leg reminded me I’d been standing for ten minutes and that ibuprofen wasn’t Percocet. I sat down in the leather chair opposite Stone’s throne. “But what if I’m right and he doesn’t have it? What if Sophia put the flash drive in a safe deposit box or gave it to a friend for safekeeping?”

  “She didn’t have a safe deposit box. I checked. And friends?” Stone used his fingers to air-quote the word. “She didn’t have any. Her interactions with other human beings consisted of rubbing up against them until they gave her what she wanted. Or until she stole it.”

  I thought I caught a hint of admiration in Stone’s voice. I let it go. We were on the same team now. Partners. Until we didn’t have to be anymore or were both dead.

  “What about Dina Dergan?” Sophia’s kissy-face lady who lunches.

  “Of course, dear Dina. She may have been the closest thing to a friend Sophia had. More of a mentor, really.”

  “How do you know Dergan?”

  “I used to hire her firm from time to time when I had to deal with the Coastal Commission. That’s how I met Sophia. Dina was, ah, mentoring her.” Stone winked like Dergan and Sophia’s relationship was a secret.

  “But you switched to Sophia for the Scripps deal.”

  “Unofficially.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sophia worked strictly on a cash basis.” Another smirk.

  That would explain why she hadn’t filed a tax return in three years.

  “How did Dergan feel about Sophia stealing your business from her?”

  “She feigned relief. GBASD’s business was never quite green enough for Dina, even though our money was.”

  “If Sophia stole your business from Dergan, why do you think they had lunch together last week?”

  “Poor Dina was in love.” Stone pursed his lips and tilted his head. “I’m sure she couldn’t turn down an opportunity to see Sophia even if she was just there to pump Dina for information on the Coastal Commission. But you’re diluting your focus. Jeffrey Parker is your target and you’d better zero in on him like he did on Sophia’s nether regions.” Stone walked into the foyer and held an open hand back at me. “Now time to go. You have your instructions. I have a meeting to attend.”

  Stone ever in control even while under the thumb, or leather boot heel, of the Russian Mafia. Or so he thought.

  I limped through the living room to the front door. The sixteen hundred milligrams of ibuprofen had already worn off. My leg vibrated pain like a hammered thumb in
a Road Runner cartoon. I needed the Percocet, but I needed to stay alive first. That meant paying a visit to Dina Dergan if scaring the hell out of Jeffrey Parker didn’t produce the stolen flash drive.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  I LEFT THE La Jolla Courthouse at nine forty-five a.m. Parker’s bail was set at $2.5 million, and Kim paid a bail bondsman two hundred fifty thousand dollars of Peter Stone’s money to cover the bail. Parker should be home in a couple hours. Kim wouldn’t be the only one there to share his homecoming.

  My phone rang as I walked back to my car. Blocked.

  “Mr. Cahill?” A woman’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “My mother said you wanted to talk to me about my father’s murder.”

  “Callie?” Trent Phelps’ daughter.

  “Tonya.”

  “Sorry. Tonya. Could we meet?” Silence. “It would only take about a half hour of your time. I could meet you at UCSD, if that would make it easier.”

  “I don’t really like talking about my father. I called you because my mother asked me to.”

  “I can understand that. It’s a horrible thing to go through.” I’d lost my wife to murder, but I wouldn’t use that as a way in. It would cheapen Colleen’s life. A sad anecdote to pull out when I needed something. I couldn’t tarnish her memory that way. “But the person who killed your father may still be walking the streets a free man. Maybe you and I can help bring him to justice.”

  Unless the killer was my father, who’d spent the end of his life in his own prison. If he was, I needed to know.

  “What’s justice, Mr. Cahill? Is it going to bring my father back? Or yours?”

  My father?

  “What do you know about my father?”

  “Just what I read in the newspaper when he died.”

  “He died eighteen years ago. Why would you even be aware of his death? It wasn’t front-page news. It was buried in the obituaries.”

  “I met him a long time ago. I really have to go. I’m sorry I can’t help you with your quest.”

  “Wait. When did you meet my father?”

  “When the manager of the Pearl laundromat called the police when he thought someone tried to rob us. Your father and another police officer answered the call.”