"How long is awhile?"
"A month? Maybe longer. I don't know. It's not like I'm watching the place or anything."
"Did you ever talk to the younger woman?"
"Not really. She kind of looked at me then put her head down and would hurry up. She was shy, I guess."
The woman inside the house started in again. This time it wasn't a scream but a protracted wail that began on a low note and rose to a high keen. Both men took a minute and waited for it to fade. When it did, the fence hanger said:
"Gotta give her credit, man," he giggled. "She's got a great playlist."
Before Finn could say anything more, just as the wail rolled away, Cori joined them.
"Well, hi Miss American Pie." The guy with the doobie perked up. Cori chucked her chin at him but she spoke to Finn.
"So what do you think we've got? A loon?"
"Not at all sure but Mr.…?"
"Toby." Toby switched the roach so he could free up his right hand for a shake. He offered it to both detectives. "Toby, man. Toby."
"Toby here says she's been making a fuss since yesterday," Finn said. "What about friends, Toby? Did you see anyone else going in or out?"
Cori half listened as she cocked an ear toward the sobbing that ebbed and flowed as if the woman was walking around the house. Then she attended to Toby who was now holding up a finger to count on one hand the people he had seen coming and going in the little house.
"Nobody's come since she started all that wailing. Before then, I seen a white woman with blonde hair. I seen a black girl, light skinned. I seen another black guy too. Big. I saw a white kid but I think he was lost. He was like in his car. Parked over there. He got out twice and got back in, that's why I remember him. He was lost, I'm pretty sure. Ain't many of us in the neighborhood if you get my drift, so we're noticeable."
"You mean dopers?" Cori shot over her shoulder.
"White dudes. Sheeze." Toby rolled his eyes. "Oh, and a blonde dude, too. Unless it was that blonde woman. Hard to tell looking through the fence sometimes."
"And you didn't hear the woman crying when there were visitors?"
"Once I heard women arguing. It was a real catfight."
"Which women?"
"Got me. Women's voices. The blonde came charging out. She was pretty-darned-ticked." Toby put the joint to his lips, took a drag, held it and was happy.
"Would you recognize her if you saw her?" Finn asked.
"Probably," Toby answered. "She walked funny."
"Well, that's all good. Thanks," Cori said. "You've been a big help."
"'Course it could have been the guy…"Cori and Finn turned toward each other but Toby was enjoying the chat and kept at them. "So, are you two friends of them? I mean, you don't exactly look like you'd be—"
Cori dug in her purse and flashed her badge. Toby giggled, he sputtered and spit and giggled some more. Then he fell off the fence. The detectives heard a clatter and then more commotion like he was putting trash cans upright. He pulled himself back up.
"Cops," Toby chuckled. "Good one."
For a second he gripped the fence a little tighter as if he wasn't sure it was going to stay put and then Toby slid slowly out of sight, talking all the while.
"Okay, man. You guys take care. That old broad is kind of…"
Toby was on the ground, taking himself off to nap or nosh or both but not before running into the metal trashcans again just as the grandmother's wail escalated.
"Holy shit! Shut up!" Toby shouted just before he slammed a door.
Finn took a deep and cleansing breath. Cori chuckled, pitched her credential up and caught it on the down low. She put it into her purse.
"Where did you leave Thomas?" Finn asked.
"I told him to stay put on pain of death," Cori said. "I'll grab him when we're done.
"Let's be getting on with business then."
Finn started to follow Cori but before he had taken a step, he paused, bent down and picked up the joint Toby had dropped. He flipped it back over the fence and smiled.
"'Tis the least I can do for the man's help."
CHAPTER 14
There were seven people around the conference room table at the Los Angeles Port Authority headquarters in San Pedro, California. All of them were very important; some were important by virtue of their expertise, some by virtue of their education and others were politicians who were important because they believed themselves to be. These were the seven people around the table:
Martha Runion, congresswoman representing California's 47th district, home to the Port of Los Angeles; Karen Terra, city councilwoman and chair of the Los Angeles Ports Committee; Sheldon Doro, president of the Harbor Commission; Barry Shin CEO of RDN Construction; Foley Good, newly appointed to the Port of Los Angeles Executive Director of the Advisory Committee on Supply Chain Competitiveness (ACSCC); Sheila Wright, consultant specializing in African affairs for the state of California. Last and least in the pecking order was George Carlton, the actual port director.
These people had spent the last hour and a half sharing information on the gentleman who had been scheduled to arrive at three. It was now three forty-five and opinions regarding his tardiness were varied: traffic, unfamiliarity with the area, a malfunction of his internal clock or just plain rudeness. What they did not say was that the longer they waited the more anxious they became and the most anxious of all was Congresswoman Martha Runion.
This man, this foreign dignitary, came with a dubious calling card and a ton of cash. It was the cash that had prompted this esteemed group to convene at the behest of Barry Shin. Barry had been the first point of contact regarding a contract worth billions for his company and millions for the city of Los Angeles, the state of California and the U.S. of A. – as long as politics and special interest groups didn't get in the way. Given the amount of money in this project, Barry Shin never imagined a politician would have second thoughts when it came to this windfall but Martha was beyond second thoughts, she was having a damned nervous breakdown. She looked at the clock on the wall and then looked back at her phone. She licked her lips. She touched the pearls at her neck. She stood up and said:
"Barry."
The people around the table glanced at her and Barry and then went back to their cell phones and tablets as the congresswoman and the developer walked to the back of the room.
"He'll be here. You know as well as I do that business is done at a different pace where he comes from." Barry made a preemptive strike; Martha responded by holding up her phone.
"Staff just sent this." She pushed play, let the video run for thirty seconds and then turned it off. "It's the third one to hit in three months about Eritrea. Two hundred thousand Eritrean refugees in a camp in Sudan for twenty-five years? Are you kidding me? Children conscripted into the army for life? This is who we want to do business with?"
"I don't know anything about that." Barry lied. He knew all about it, but what was a businessman to do? "It has no bearing on what we're doing. How many people are going to see that thing anyway?"
"Eight hundred thousand hits on that last one. The audience is increasing exponentially. We don't know who is behind this, but whoever it is has a bee in their bonnet about Eritrea." Martha pulled herself to her full height, which wasn't as impressive in person as it was on television. "We don't hear anything about this country when there's a friggin' revolution, and now it's all over the Internet. With more to come, I might add."
"We don't know that," Barry answered.
"Then drill down like we have. The chatter is that something huge is coming down the pike and whatever it is will put Eritrea on every civilized country's radar. I sit on the African Relations Committee, and I don't want to be caught in the middle of some social justice meltdown. I should just walk right now and let you take care of this."
"Now isn't the time," Barry said, unhappy with the way this woman was unraveling at the witching hour. He had worked too long and too hard to put this deal togeth
er to have her ruin it now. He didn't just need her support; he needed her to grease the regulatory wheels. "Look, here's the bottom line. Right now this deal is only about rebuilding the port at Assab. We need you to cut the red tape. In return, we are going to continue to be your very good friend – even better than RDN has proven to be over the last many years. Our contributions to your campaigns and PACs have been very, very generous. If you need a reminder about the numbers, I'd be happy to have those sent over to you."
"Don't you dare try to play hardball with me," Martha snapped. "I've been around more blocks than you can count. I know what you've done for me, and I know what I've done for you. This one is tough because someone's moving the spotlight over from the overall region to Eritrea. Of all places. Why couldn't they be looking at Libya or Nigeria? They just hanged an environmentalist in Libya, for goodness sake. Pick any nation on that continent and there's something to get upset about, but whoever is behind the Eritrean push is smart. This isn't random news but targeted social media to make this top of mind for every activist out there. It is sick stuff."
Martha breathed deep, noticed Foley Good looking their way and turned into Barry just in case Foley could read lips.
"These videos don't pull any punches. The prisoners who don't even know why they've been arrested? Pathetic. And the one showing people being tortured? That was a charming little piece. Poorly shot but well edited. I almost threw up." Martha lowered her voice, aware that more of the people around the table were all too curious about her huddle with Barry. "Now they've moved into the environment. There's one all about the rape of the Eritrean interior showing all sorts of mining and using slave labor to do it. Talk about a hot button. My constituents are going crazy. I mean, what could be next?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. Social justice crusaders are a subset. It's not like every voter has a vested interested."
"California voters think Delta Smelt should have more rights than human beings. Don't you tell me about subset voters."
"And those same voters need the work this project will bring. Millions of dollars will come back to California. You can take credit for putting thousands of people back to work building that port over there and a couple of airports and anything else they need. If we do this right you'll be a star, Martha."
"Don't be ridiculous. The Eritrean's will just use their so-called army and put them to work. Californians won't see squat when it comes to the real jobs."
Barry looked back at the group around the table. If they started leaving, the argument was moot and the months of working the contacts, not to mention the money that had already been spent laying the groundwork, would be wasted.
"Look, Martha, here's the bottom line. Neither of us wants to nation build, but you have ambitions and so do we. Australia already has three exploration licenses. They're looking at zinc, nickel chromate and gold. There is oil to be had if you can believe the reports – incredible supplies under the Red Sea – and the port of Assab is critical to getting it out. I would think the US would want a part of that. Get Commerce on board with you. Lead the way so that when Eritrea comes out of the dark ages, you're there to help them engage internationally. You're just the hostess today because you represent the district with the state-of-the-art-port. RDN is taking all the financial risks. If we lose our shorts, it's on our balance sheet. If the deal heads south for you, you do a mea culpa for being dragged into this. What else is new in politics?"
"And if these videos don't stop and Eritrea becomes a rallying cry for every special interest, I'm the one who laid out the red carpet for this guy."
"And there are years before anyone will notice what we're doing over there. By that time you can put your finger to the wind. Come on Martha, plausible deniability. We both know how to use it."
Martha bit her lip. Barry knew when to shut up. He gave her a minute but he didn't take his eyes off her. His first thought was that whoever did her campaign ads should get an Oscar because the woman didn't come close to looking as pulled together in person as she did in her photographs. Martha was, in fact, a bit dumpy in her ill-fitting suit and sensible shoes. Her hairstyle hadn't changed in years. Still, behind the smoke screen of the every-woman image, Martha Runion was smart and knew how to work the system. Barry couldn't deny that her concerns were valid. But nothing was going to keep him from sealing this deal one way or the other.
"RDN is ready to move into Africa, Martha, and you're ready for a senate run. Europe is a mess so just forget it and focus on Africa. You'll be a star. You and I both know it's going to explode over there in the next ten years. Hell, Bezos and Zuckerberg are already laying the groundwork with their 'scholarship' programs. They're handpicking the next generation of African leaders as we speak. This guy we're talking to will be out of the way by the time you're in your second senatorial term if not sooner."
"It is a part of the world that's going to need our attention," Martha agreed.
"Darn right," Barry said, heartened by her musing. "Look, here's the choice. The U.S. stays out of it and that allows the Saudis and the UAE to own that part of the world, or we show them what we can do and how we do it above board. Opening up their port, making the country more profitable with the backing of a practical and powerful person like you is just what that country needs. We can inspire those people over there."
Barry finished with a flourish. Martha Runion, three-term congresswoman, started to speak but was interrupted when the door of the conference room opened. All eyes went to the port director's executive assistant as she ushered in their guests. Martha looked sidelong at Barry. The houselights were up. Before the actors took their place on the stage, Martha said:
"You are so full of it, Barry."
For a minute he thought all was lost. Then as everyone around the table rose, Martha smiled the smile that got her elected, put out her hand and crossed the room to greet the man wearing a suit the color of spring grass, a shirt of turquoise and a white tie.
"Mr. Dega Abu, welcome. We are so happy you could join us."
CHAPTER 15
The front door of the little blue house opened an inch and then two, just far enough for the detectives to see a slice of the tiny woman with the wizened face.
"Eh?" she said.
"Good afternoon, missus. I am Detective O'Brien and this is Detective Anderson. We are from the police." Finn turned slightly toward Cori. She held out her badge.
"We're here to see if you are all right? Your neighbor was worried about you," Cori said.
The old woman held the door steady. There was a chain across the top that wouldn't keep a mouse out of the house. When she didn't move, Cori went on.
"Do you speak English?" The woman's eyes went to her and then quickly back to Finn, only to return to Cori when she added, "We're here about Takrit."
The woman's face crumpled at the mention of her granddaughter's name. She shut the door, released the chain and then opened it wide a moment later before stepping back until she stood deep into the living room. She was a sad little figure clad in a long black cotton dress and veil embroidered with shanks of gold twining down the center and around the hems. Beneath her veil, her head had been shaved.
The detectives waited for an invitation to enter the home. Instead the old woman raised her arms and pounded one small fist on her chest. She moaned. She swayed and folded her little hands over her heart. Cori and Finn exchanged a look. Finn gave Cori the nod. If there was ever women's work it was this, though he would never have said it in such a way to his partner. Cori knew well enough what needed to be done so she opened the screen door and went in first. She did a quick scan of the house and kept her voice soothing even though it appeared the woman couldn't fully understand her. Still, there might be someone inside the house who could.
"We're coming in now. Is there anyone here with you? Are you hurt?"
In answer, the woman moaned louder. Her eyes closed as she swayed and clasped her hands. Finn followed on Cori's heels, watching her back. The h
ouse felt empty and yet not. It was as if this place was holding its breath and that, Finn thought, was not a good thing.
"There. There, you go. You okay?"
Cori put a hand out and that was all it took. The grandmother fell into her arms and the wailing began in earnest. Cori caught her and held her close as she grimaced at Finn. Knowing there would be no help from the Irishman, she patted the woman's shoulders and cooed:
"It's okay. Whatever it is, it's all going to be okay."
Cori led the woman to the couch. As she sat her down, she directed Finn.
"Want to get me a glass of water, O'Brien?" Then she spoke to the woman. "It's okay if Detective O'Brien gets you a glass of water, isn't it? Maybe he can just look around to make sure everything is good in your house. That will be fine, won't it?" The woman nodded and cried as her small fist still tapped gently on Cori's arm.
Finn smiled small. Cori had asked permission for him to move about the house. Should he find anything interesting in plain sight, their rears were covered. Of course, if some smart attorney pointed out that the woman could not understand the request and therefore could not consent, their bums would be hanging out for all to see. In the end, it didn't matter because Finn saw very little except that he had been correct; this house was the same as the one he had lived in with his family when he was a teen and Alexander was still alive. There were three doors off a narrow hallway in the old woman's house. The door of the bathroom at the end of the hall was open and the two bedroom doors were closed. He went down the hall, opened the door on the right and saw that the bedroom was neat and nearly bare. He took a step across the hall and opened the next door. This one was lived in; this one was Takrit's. Finn walked in for a good look around.
On a bulletin board was a picture of her with a group of women at an event but there was nothing to identify the venue. Beside the bed was another picture. This one was of Takrit and a handsome young man, tall and broad shouldered. They were both very young, perhaps in their teens. They stood side-by-side, hands clasped in front of them like school children. It was clear there was much between them. The man smiled proudly while Takrit's eyes were downcast and she looked at her companion through her lowered lashes, a smile on her lips. This was love as it should be: gentle and kind and respectful. Now she was dead far away from this man she loved. That picture tugged at Finn's Irish heart more than the one of Takrit lying in the morgue.
Foreign Relations: A Finn O'Brien Thriller (Finn O'Brien Thriller Series Book 2) Page 12
