Glass Houses
Page 24
Birdie looked past Thom’s head at his work on the dry erase board. It seemed squished. Not like her method of arrows, equal signs, and question marks. But, hey, everyone worked differently.
WESTCHESTER
CULVER CITY
Det: Diego, Pacific Div.
TOD: Sun, Apr 1; 4–6 am
Vic: Maxwell Williams
Occ: urban architect
POE: front door?
PR: ex-boyfriend Joey
Landlord: Vermillion Mgt.
Eviction? Yes
FU: Locksmith
Det: John Blabbershaw, CCPD
TOD: Sun, Apr 8; ?
Vic: Nitta & Nadeer Malik
Occ: unemployed, student
POE: broken window
PR: “tea lady” Jill Moran
Landlord: Ladder Capital
Eviction? No
FU: ?
SANTA MONICA
HOLLYWOOD
Det: Anita Dhillon, SMPD
TOD: Sun, Apr 15–18?
Vic: Jerry Deats
Occ: ?
POE: front door?
PR: neighbor
Landlord: Mobeck Finance
Holdings
Eviction? Yes
FU: Locksmith
Det: Thom and George, RHD
TOD: Sun, May 13; 4–6 am
Vic: Dominic Lawrence,
Rachel, Amber, Amy
Occ: attorney, homemaker, students
POE: front door?
PR: Jelena Shkatova
Landlord: Great Western
Group
Eviction: Yes
FU: Locksmith
CONNECTION
Mobeck Finance Holdings, Great Western Group = L.A. National Housing Trust
L.A. National Housing Trust = Todd Moysychyn
WHY FOUR WEEKS REST?
Why Sunday?
“P-O-E is point of entry, and F-U is follow-up?” said Birdie.
“Correct,” said Thom, leaning over his computer.
“Did the same medical examiner do the Westchester and Hollywood autopsies? They both have the same time of death, but the others don’t.”
“Because of Deats’ state of decomposition it was too difficult to pinpoint the exact day—that’s why the three-day window—let alone the hour. We’re all convinced that he was killed on the fifteenth, making a case for the Sunday pattern. I can’t speak for Culver City, will have to get the autopsy report.”
“Culver City is the oddball,” said Birdie. “It’s the only one with forced entry. All the others have a proposed front door entry.”
“Maybe the killer forgot his key. Had to break in.”
“What did you say?”
“It was a joke,” said Thom.
“What if it’s not?”
Thom looked up. Gave Birdie his full attention.
“Last night when Todd locked the downstairs door he used a key attached to his belt. When we were up on five and he unlocked the beautiful carved door, I think he used the same key. A master key. He had key-making equipment in his workshop.”
Birdie rolled her chair to a bookshelf and removed a reference book: Locksmithing Basics, and tossed it to Thom.
He caught it and said, “Why do you have this?”
“Garage sale. Two bucks. I’ve had it since I was a kid. When Dad put me on house arrest, I’d pretend I was a prisoner in a jail cell. I played with that book to plan my great escape. I knew it’d come in handy someday. See what it says about master keys.”
Thom fingered through the index. “Here’s a chapter titled masterkeying. There are several systems depending on the level of security required. For example,there are master keys, change keys, grand master keys, great-grand master keys.” He read silently, moving his lips ever so slightly. “Any of these could work in our circumstance. Let’s say there are a number of houses. Each one with a different key. Yet there could be a master, a grand master, and a great-grand master.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Birdie. “The renter could have a key, the management company a different key, and the property owner another different key, and all three would work the same lock?”
“That’s what I’m seeing in this book regarding pin tumbler locks. It’s all about the locations of pins within the chamber slash chambers and something complicated about shear lines.”
“Let’s simplify. Vermillion Management has a locksmith on call. He provided changeout records to Detective Diego for the Westchester house.”
“This is so logical,” said Thom. “The renter has peace of mind regarding the security of the home, management has legal access for inspections and work orders and the owner has access to his property. All legal. The locksmith isn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Except back to Culver City—”
“—you’re getting ahead of yourself. We still haven’t established a connection—”
“—we have the bloody message and manner of death. They’re connected. We haven’t established ownership like we have with Santa Monica and Hollywood. We need to find where the buck stops, who has access.”
“Can you do that for me? You’ve already done it and know the steps. I’m really curious if Moysychyn can be tied to Vermillion Management and Ladder Capital. Also, there must be some database of licensed locksmiths, like for contractors. See if he’s on it.”
Birdie threaded her fingers and pushed forward, palms out, cracking her knuckles.
“Ready,” she said.
“You’re going to get arthritis doing that,” said Thom.
“I did it for effect. Lighten up.”
“I can’t. We’re gonna catch a killer before Seymour and Silva.”
_____
Two hours later Birdie did the honors of writing a new notation on the board:
Vermillion Management, Ladder Capital, Mobeck Finance Holdings, Great Western Group = L.A. National Housing Trust = Todd Moysychyn = locksmith (32 years)
“What’s wrong,” said Thom. “Why aren’t you happy?”
“Just because he owned all four properties and had access doesn’t mean he killed those people.” She rolled her shoulders, shook out her arms. “Something else is bothering me. Remember the message from the killer? Here, let’s hear it again.” She went back to the computer.
“Greetings, Elizabeth. Let me introduce myself. My name is Mayo. It took three minutes to kill four people with five shots. Good numbers, don’t you think?”
“Now look at your board. There are three murder scenes, four weeks of no activity.”
“I don’t know,” said Thom. “I think you’re stretching. Where’s the five?”
“There were five shots at the fourth scene.”
“I think it’s the killer giving us a specific about the scene. To prove he is who he is.”
“Why do you think there were four weeks between murders?”
“I’ve no idea. Usually, a break occurs when the perpetrator is busy or out of commission. But we need a viable suspect before we can determine the timeline.”
“And why Sunday?”
“Early morning Sunday,” corrected Thom. “Wee hours of the morning.”
Birdie rolled her neck. “Come on, we need to loosen up. We’re going downstairs for some exercise.”
_____
Thom walked a steady pace of three-point-five miles per hour on the treadmill. Birdie turned the spin bike facing the treadmill so they could talk.
“You know what bugs me?�
� said Birdie. “Why these people?”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with the people. I think it’s the houses the killer wants empty. He killed them out just like Deats predicted.”
“That assumes that Moysychyn is the killer. Let’s explore that scenario.”
“You told me he had a lot to say about the Hollywood Hills house. The Nobel house he called it. About how it was worth a boatload of money as is. I’ve seen it. It’s a decrepit piece of shit. The only thing worthwhile is the view. Whoever buys it will tear it down and build another. Guaranteed. And also, Moysychyn told you it was rent stabilized and Dominic also had a special wavier. So, if he could get the deadbeats out, he could rent or sell at market value. Did he say he was losing money on the house?”
“No. Just that he couldn’t capitalize on the market. What’s special about the Santa Monica house?” huffed Birdie, as she pedaled faster.
“Well, the apartment Deats lived in was an illegal conversion.”
“Why would Moysychyn want him out?”
“Deats was a hoarder. He lived in a fire hazard. That’d be legal grounds for eviction.”
“Maybe he didn’t have any other place to go.”
“That’s a good one,” said Thom. “Anita couldn’t find employment history on the guy. He lived off social security. If he were also in a rent stabilized situation he’d want to stay at the beach in a cheap apartment he could afford. Who wouldn’t?”
“The downstairs, or A residence, was empty, right? Did they get evicted?”
“Don’t know. Remind me to check with Anita.”
Birdie jumped off the bike. She fished through a wicker basket and found a dry erase marker. She wrote on the closest gilt mirror:
Anita → “A” people evicted? Confirm Deats financial
situation.
Then she got back on the bike.
“What’s special about Westchester?”
“Don’t know,” said Thom. “Culver City either. Road trip?”
Again, Birdie got off the bike and wrote: Westchester/CC houses. When she got back on she said, “There’s this great program that Google has. We can see the house, the street, even the overhead. We don’t have to leave the comfort of Hancock Park, spend money on gas. Also, there are lots of real estate web sites that provide specifics like square footage and floor plans.”
“Smartaleck. I thought you were old school.”
“I’m both. I utilize whatever tool is best for whatever I’m doing.”
“Speaking of tool,” said Thom. “The killer was certainly efficient and displayed deadly accuracy. One shot each without the benefit of sight.”
“What do you mean sight?”
“A pillow was used as a muffle in every murder. It was between the gun and the head.”
“Why do you think that’s hard?” said Birdie.
_____
Birdie and Thom huddled in the middle of the garden in some shrubs. A light drizzle fell on their heads. Though the marine layer provided cover, and Birdie had an acre of property he was still concerned that a neighbor might hear the noise.
Birdie had another of Matt’s guns: A beautiful Smith & Wesson J frame with an exposed hammer and wood grip. Eight rounds of .22 LR—cheap and reliable ammo. A perfect gun for personal protection.
Or turning brain matter into soup.
They had an argument about the type of pillow to be used. Down or foam? Thom was unsure what type was used at the other homicides. They eventually settled on foam because that’s the kind the killer used at the Lawrence house. It was the cheap kind of pillow available at discount stores. Birdie had only one so they had to make it count. She slipped a floral cotton cover over it to simulate, as near as possible, the actual pillow used.
Birdie marked a cantaloupe with a black circle. “Temple,” she said. “We get one shot each just like the killer. You first.”
Thom took the gun in his right hand and held the pillow in his left. At only 11 ounces the gun still shook in his hands.
“Don’t shoot your left hand off,” said Birdie.
“Shut up.”
Thom had a problem holding the pillow steady. It flopped. So he pressed it against the fruit. It was a standard-size bed pillow so it completely concealed the head-shaped fruit. He pressed his palm against the pillow to feel the fruit underneath. His legs began to quiver from the squat.
“You can’t wake up your victim,” said Birdie.
He bit his lip in concentration, made his best guess as to where that black mark was. He squeezed the trigger. POP. It was louder than either of them expected.
They ducked in reflex.
Birdie giggled. “That was fun. Let’s see what you hit.”
Thom lifted the pillow. The bullet scraped the right side of the cantaloupe clean off. He missed the mark by two inches.
“Okay, smarty-pants, your turn,” said Thom.
Birdie took the gun in her right hand, the pillow in her left, just as Thom had done. She backed ten paces away, turned, and came back fast. She dropped the pillow over the cantaloupe, pressed the barrel against it and squeezed the trigger. POP. Even though they expected the sound, they still ducked.
Thom removed the pillow. She hadn’t even hit the cantaloupe.
“How in the hell did I miss it completely?” she said.
“See? Not so easy.”
They collected the trash and walked toward the house.
“We’re both familiar with a variety of weapons,” said Birdie. “We’re both great shots.”
“On the range. But in a real-life scenario? How many times have you had to squat or bend over your target? In a life or death gun battle, I doubt either of us would do well.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Well, our little exercise just brought to light a new option.”
“What?”
“A professional killer.”
“A professional isn’t going to leave a message to draw attention to himself.”
“Unless he was setting someone up.”
“Like a landlord who uses an aggressive eviction lawyer. ‘If they can’t kick me out, they’ll kill me out.’”
“Like an oddball cigarette butt left at a crime scene to be discovered two weeks later.”
“The killer, or someone, came back to open Deats’ curtains. Why not deposit a fresh butt then? Make sure the forensic material is intact.”
“Here’s a big but. Who’d have motive to hire the professional? The one who’d benefit is Moysychyn. Why hire a killer and set yourself up?”
“Someone else hired the killer.”
“Iris?” they said together.
“A money-hungry, mail-order bride.”
forty-five
“Anita,” said Thom. “I’ve got you on speaker while I type.”
Birdie tapped her fingers across the keyboard, looking up the Westchester address on the Internet.
“Just a quick question about the A residence in Santa Monica.”
“I heard you were off the case,” she said.
“Who said that?”
“Seymour.”
“He’s a kidder. Has a bad sense of humor. Naw, I’m following the money. It doesn’t take two. About that A residence … your team determined it was owned by Mobeck Finance Holdings. Did you ever find out who had rented it?”
“Yeah, under threat of subpoena Mobeck granted us access to the house file and we contacted the last occupants. A middle-aged couple. Been in the house nearly twenty years. Raised a son there.”
“They were the ones who altered the bedroom into an apartment?”
“They said no. They said it was there when they moved in. As was Deats. They didn’t benefit from what little income it generated.”
“Was the house rent controlled?”
“The couple paid just under nine-hundred a month. Deats paid two-fifty.”
“No wonder he didn’t want to move. Where else could he live for that rent? Were the people in the A residence evicted?”
“Yes. They received a letter from an attorney that gave a long list of reasons why. They got so scared they packed up and left within a month. Deats obviously decided to stay on and fight.”
“Until the end.”
“Right.”
“Hey, thanks for your support in the meeting yesterday morning.”
“I give credit where credit is due. I don’t like what you did to my jacket, but considering my stinkin’ attitude I can’t blame you.”
“Thanks. Oh! One last thing. About that oddball cigarette butt … was it soggy when you collected it?”
“Strangely, no. Nor was it fresh. It was somewhere in between.”
“Thanks, Anita. See you around.”
Thom punched off. “Next up?”
“The Westchester house on Boeing Avenue,” said Birdie. “Built in ’48. Still in original condition. Look at the floor plan. It’s tiny, just nine-hundred-eighty square feet, single-car garage, has a picture window with a city view and unobstructed downtown from the backyard. Look here at the neighborhood.” Birdie maneuvered the mouse to zoom out. “The only one on the street not remodeled. Most current sale of a comparable model puts it over six-hundred-thousand.”
Thom coughed. “For less than a thousand square feet? Wasn’t there something going on with Westchester? Something in the news?”
“Yeah,” said Birdie. “They’ve teamed with Playa Del Rey to fight the LAX master plan. They think moving the northern runway two-hundred-sixty feet and upgrading the terminals would generate more air traffic, thus, more noise and air pollution.”
“Let’s play landlord. What’s the value here?”
“If it were my property, I’d add a second story, remodel, upgrade. There’s plenty of lot to do so. Then I’d sell it before the airport agency gets a re-do.”
“You did say he was selling some stock, diversifying. So far, we’re three for four in motivation to get people out. Culver City?”
“Located on La Cienega,” said Birdie. “This one is an oddity. It’s a townhouse set back from the street. It’s actually above the boulevard. Across the street is a field of pump jacks. Not sure what the story is here. It’s going to involve more research.”