The First Rule jp-2

by Robert Crais

  Jon said, “That guy who was here, with the dark glasses? He’s the nice one.”

  Stone stripped the scissors from Grebner’s hand, kicked his legs out from under him, and dropped him to the terrazzo.

  Stone said, “Watch.”

  The two men outside saw him coming and tried to roll away, over and over like a couple of glowworms. One of them was barking in Serbian, but the other just kept rolling. Jon had to hand it to the guy.

  Jon grabbed the barker by the feet, dragged him to the pool, and pushed him in. The other one managed to wedge himself against the bar by the time Jon caught him. Jon dragged him back to the pool, and tossed him in, too. They were splashing around like a couple of beached fish, and breathing about as well.

  Grebner managed to gain his feet again, and ran to the front door, but lost a lot of time fumbling with the lock. Jon had locked it when he entered. Jon caught him at the door, dropped him to the ground again, then dragged him back to the living room. Dude slid easily across the terrazzo.

  Jon said, “This is a lovely home, by the way. Wonderful view. Nice clean design. I have an interest in residential architecture.”

  Jon bellied him out, then lifted his head by the hair so he could see the splashing.

  “See that? They’re drowning. If those boys had the proper training, if they were true elite killers, they’d know what to do. That boy who was just in here? Sunglasses? He’d know what to do. Me, you could drop me in there like that, wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Jon watched the splashing for a moment, and decided there wasn’t as much now as a few moments ago.

  “Only you couldn’t drop me.”

  Grebner said, “I told the other one everything I know.”

  “I know. I just didn’t want him to have all the fun. You wanna go for a swim?”

  “No!”

  Jon smiled. Jon wasn’t going to throw him in.

  But then Jon stopped smiling.

  “You got a message to deliver. I just wanted to make sure you’ll deliver it in a timely fashion. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

  “Yes!”

  “I thought you might. Now let me ask you a question-does Jakovich have a buyer?”

  “I don’t know. Michael say no, but I don’t know.”

  “How about Michael? Why’s he hot for so much heavy metal?”

  Grebner glanced away, which meant he was thinking. Thinking was bad. Stone snapped a hard right fist into his nose. He punched him again, then a third time.

  Grebner snorted out streamers of blood, now spitting the words.

  “He has a deal with the Armenians. Way over market price. He can make much. Way over much.”

  “How much over much?”

  “Three million dollars. He think maybe more.”

  Stone dropped Grebner’s head. He admired the distant view for a moment, and thought, briefly, that he should probably drag those two assholes out of the pool, but then decided against it. He patted Grebner’s head.

  “You boys truly fucked up this time.”

  Jon left the lovely house, broke down and stored his weapon, then resumed his position at the end of the street.

  He took out his cell phone, and called a friend of his who often dealt in illegal arms.

  “Hey, bruddah-man! What’s the word on those AKs?”

  Sitting there, he reminisced about the good times he had with Frank Meyer in foreign lands, and waited for something to happen.

  33

  Cole went through the call log on Grebner’s phone, examining both the incoming and outgoing calls, and made notes in a spiral notebook. When he finished, Cole brought up the most recent incoming call number on Grebner’s phone, and held it out. Pike saw a number in the 818 area code.

  Cole said, “This is the call you answered when the caller hung up. The incoming number.”

  “Darko.”

  “I think so. This is the last outgoing call, which is the pager number programmed to Darko’s name.”

  Cole showed him a number with a 323 area code, then scrolled back through the outgoing call log.

  “The second to last outgoing call went to the same number, which is the call we saw Grebner make before he threw the phone.”

  “That’s why I think it was Darko. Grebner paged him, so he was probably answering the page.”

  “Uh-huh, so check it out. This particular phone only retains the most recent twenty incoming calls and outgoing calls-”

  Cole turned the tablet so Pike could see. Cole had listed the call numbers in two columns, along with the times and dates the calls were made or received. Cole had drawn an X next to almost half of the incoming numbers, indicating the calls were received from blocked numbers. Cole had drawn lines connecting three of the outgoing calls with three incoming calls. He pointed out the outgoing calls.

  “Here’s Grebner paging Darko. See the times?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cole pointed out the corresponding incoming calls.

  “Okay, over here he receives an incoming call within twenty minutes of making the page. One of the callbacks was from a restricted number, but two come from the same number as the call you answered up at the house.”

  “Different locations?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. But why use a listed number? Twice?”

  “No cell service. Nothing else available.”

  Cole stared at the call lists for a moment, then picked up his phone.

  “Let’s see what we get.”

  Cole dialed the number, then listened. He listened for a very long time before he ended the call.

  “No answer. I counted twenty rings, but nada. That usually means a phone is unplugged.”

  Pike said, “Can you get an address?”

  Two calls and twelve minutes later, Cole had an address. The phone number was listed to something called Diamond Reclamations in Lake View Terrace, up in the San Fernando Valley. When Cole lowered his phone, he nodded at Pike.

  “It fits. Lake View is in the foothills up by Angeles Crest. Mountains mean bad cell service, so landlines are the way to go.”

  Pike said, “Good start. How about I check out Lake View, and you see what you can get from the rest of this?”

  Cole pushed the papers back into the grocery bag.

  “How about I try to find Rina and Yanni? There are way too many conflicting stories here-”

  Cole was still talking when they heard the outside gate, and Pike went to the door. Rina stopped when she saw him, shielding the sun from her eyes with a hand. She was wearing a black T-shirt over the same jeans, the big purse slung over one shoulder, her bag slung over the opposite shoulder.

  She said, “What you find?”

  “Where’s Yanni?”

  She scowled at him for not answering her question, then pushed past him into the guesthouse. She glanced at Cole as she put her bag on the table.

  “He work for a living. They don’t give him time off to help find stolen children.”

  Cole said, “Where were you?”

  She upended her bag, dumping out freshly washed clothes.

  “I went to wash. My clothes, they smelled like feet.”

  Pike said, “You know Emile Grebner?”

  “Of course, I know. He has fucked me many times.”

  She said it as matter-of-factly as if she had told them her eyes were blue or her hair black, and refolded her laundry without pausing, as if this statement had no meaning. Pike thought maybe, for her, it had none.

  Cole said, “How do you know him?”

  “He have the big house in the hills, and would have girls for the parties. This was before Michael, when I was first here, fifteen, sixteen years old, I think. He like only Serbian girls, not American or Russian. He trust the Serb girls, and we speak like back home. That is where Michael first see me, up there. Why you want to know?”

  “So you know he’s one of Darko’s authority men-a close associate?”

  “I just tell you I know him. Are you not
listening?”

  Pike said, “Grebner told us the baby’s father is Milos Jakovich, not Darko.”

  Pike watched her carefully to read her reaction. A deep frown cut lines between her eyebrows as if she was struggling with the language problem. She glanced at Cole, who was watching her just as carefully, then turned back to Pike.

  “You are making this up?”

  Cole said, “We’re not making it up. Are you?”

  “Fuck you. You and the dog you walked in on.”

  She turned back to Pike.

  “This is bullshit. I know who the father is and Michael know, too. Grebner, he lies. Why he say this? Where you see him?”

  Pike said, “Grebner believes it. Darko and Jakovich are at war over some illegal arms. Rifles. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Michael hate the old man, this I know, but I don’t know nothing about this other thing. Why he say Michael not father?”

  “Probably because this is what Michael told him. Is Jakovich the f ather?”

  “No.”

  “Could he think he’s the father?”

  She drew herself up and gazed at Cole as if he was the scum of the earth.

  “His dick has never been in me.”

  Cole turned red, but Rina looked back at Pike, and Pike thought her eyes were growing wet.

  “This is what Michael is telling his men, that he is not the father?”

  “Yes.”

  “This makes no sense. Michael tells me he will take Petar back to Serbia, and will not take me. Michael is father, not this old man I have never seen. I am mother. Petar is mine.”

  Cole frowned at Pike.

  “This is making my head hurt.”

  Rina ignored him.

  “He say Michael say this terrible thing?”

  “Yes.”

  Her face folded as she thought about it, and she looked forlorn.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he tell them this to hide his shame.”

  Cole crossed his arms, and leaned back, his eyes growing distant and cool.

  “That the boy’s mother is a whore?”

  “Why else? All men are weak. You would do the same.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Big talk. So maybe you make me pregnant, then we’ll see how big you talk, here is the mother, she is a whore.”

  Cole simply stared at her, and Rina turned back to Pike.

  “Does Grebner say where is my boy?”

  “No.”

  “Men are so weak. Take me to him. I make him say.”

  “He doesn’t know, but we might have a lead on Darko. Have you heard of Diamond Reclamations?”

  Her face scrunched as she thought, but then she shook her head.

  “No. This is a jewelry store?”

  Pike said, “We’re going to find out.”

  Rina shoved her clothes aside, and started for the door.

  “Good. Let’s find out.”

  Pike stopped her.

  “Not you. Me.”

  Rina launched into a stream of Serbian, and kept it up as they left.

  Outside, Cole said, “What do you think she’s saying?”

  “No idea.”

  “We probably wouldn’t like it.”

  “No. Probably not.”

  Pike left Cole at his car, and headed for the Valley.

  34

  Elvis Cole

  Cole thought about Yanni as he left the guesthouse.

  Janic “Yanni” Pevich had come back clean. When Cole checked the plate Pike gave him from Yanni’s F-150 pickup truck, he had learned the vehicle was registered to a Janic Pevich. The leasing office at Yanni’s building confirmed the apartment was being leased to a Janic Pevich, and reported that Mr. Pevich had been an excellent tenant. Cole had then checked with a friend at LAPD’s Hollywood Station, who reported that Pevich had no criminal record. Cole had related all this to Joe Pike, and let it go, but after leaving Grebner, he had begun to have second thoughts.

  They now had two divergent and different stories, which meant one of the principals was lying.

  Cole worked his way up Coldwater Canyon to Studio City, and returned to Yanni’s apartment. Rina had said he was at work, but Cole didn’t know if he was working, or care. The F-150 was missing. Cole parked in the visitors’ parking lot and made his way back to Yanni’s apartment.

  He knocked first, then rang the bell. When no one answered, he slipped the dead bolt and let himself inside.

  He said, “Hey, Yanni, Rina’s out in the car.”

  Just in case.

  No one answered and no one was home.

  Cole locked the door behind himself, then made a quick search of Yanni’s bedroom. The apartment was small, with only one bedroom, but it looked lived-in, and real. Cole searched through the bathroom, the dresser drawers, the bedroom closet, and under the bed. He found nothing unusual or incriminating, and nothing to suggest Yanni had lied. He also found nothing of a particularly personal nature, which he found odd-no pictures of family or friends, no souvenirs, and nothing to anchor a personal history. Ana Markovic had a yearbook and snapshots of her friends, but Yanni had nothing.

  Cole returned to the living room, then went into the kitchen. The counter and sink were cluttered with unwashed dishes. Cole found a box of plastic baggies under the sink, then selected a glass tumbler, placed it in the bag, and let himself out. Yanni Pevich had no record, but maybe Yanni Pevich was someone else.

  Cole phoned John Chen from his car, and explained the situation.

  Chen said, “How am I going to sneak it in with everyone here?”

  “You’ll think of something. I’m already on my way.”

  “ You’re coming here?! Don’t come here!”

  “Meet me outside.”

  The trip down to SID took only fifteen minutes, and John Chen had probably been waiting out front for the entire time. When Cole pulled up, Chen was hopping from foot to foot like a kid who had to pee. He relaxed when he saw the glass.

  “Hey, that’s a pretty good sample.”

  The fingerprints were clearly defined on the glass.

  “Yeah. You won’t have to glue it or do anything fancy. Just tape off the prints and see what you get.”

  “You want an Interpol check, too?”

  “Yeah, Interpol. I’ll be in my car.”

  “You’re going to wait?”

  “I’m going to wait. How long could it take, John? Just see what you get.”

  Chen scurried away. All he would have to do is dust the glass with latent powder, lift the prints with tape, then scan them into the Live Scan system. He would have a hit, or not, in minutes.

  When Cole reached his car, he phoned Sarah Manning. He had not heard from the girl with the purple hair, and wished now he’d gotten her phone number. He was disappointed when Sarah’s voice mail picked up.

  “Hey, Sarah, it’s Elvis Cole. I never heard from Lisa Topping. Would you please reconsider giving me her number? Thanks.”

  Cole left his cell number, and hung up. He checked the time. He had been waiting for only eight minutes, and Chen might get hung up forever.

  Cole couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he thought about Grebner. Grebner had really blindsided them with that business about Jakovich, which seemed all the more believable because Rina had so readily admitted she knew him. They both seemed believable, but Cole knew from experience the best liars are always believable, and the very best lies were mostly the truth. Here was Grebner with his party house in the hills, and here was Rina, who claimed to have attended his parties along with other Serbian prostitutes so Grebner and his gang-set buddies could boogie with girls they trusted.

  Cole wondered if there was a way he could find out if this was true, and thought he might be able to get the information from one of the other prostitutes.

  Cole didn’t have the files, but he had his notebook. He had copied the dates of Rina’s arrests, and now he phoned the district attorney’s general administration office. He
worked his way through three clerks and spent almost twenty minutes on the phone before he found someone to look up the case number and identify the deputy district attorney who handled the case.

  “That would be Elizabeth Sanchez.”

  “Could I have her current posting and number, please?”

  Deputy District Attorney Elizabeth Sanchez was currently posted to the Airport Courthouse in Playa del Rey, south of the Los Angeles International Airport.

  Cole thought he would likely get a voice mail, but a woman picked up the call.

  “Lauren Craig.”

  “Sorry. I’m calling for Elizabeth Sanchez.”

  “Hang on, I think I can-”

  Cole heard her call out, then the muffled clunks of the phone being handled, and a different voice came on the line.

  “Liz Sanchez.”

  Cole identified himself, gave her the date and the case number, and told her he needed the names of the other prostitutes scooped up in the sting.

  Sanchez laughed.

  “That was almost six years ago. Wow, I was still a Grade Two. You can’t really expect me to remember their names.”

  “I thought it might stand out because of the nature of the arrest.”

  “A vice sting?”

  “A Serbian sex ring. They worked for a Serb gang set.”

  “Ah. Okay, that sounds familiar. NoHo Vice took down thirteen or fourteen girls over by CBS Studio Center. A joint task force deal with OCTF.”

  Organized Crime Task Force.

  “That’s it.”

  “Serbians. Okay, sure. They had cribs all through those complexes. They had so many hookers around the pool over there it looked like the Playboy Mansion. Not that I’ve ever seen the mansion.”

  “That’s the one. I want to talk to them about events occurring on or about that time.”

  Sanchez said, “You mind if I ask what this is about?”

  “A gang pakhan named Michael Darko. Darko heads up the set that owned these particular girls.”

  Sanchez said, “Darko.”

  “Yeah. One of his lieutenants probably ran the operation, but Darko was the man. The pakhan. I have some questions about Darko these girls might be able to answer.”

  The silence from Sanchez was thoughtful.

  “I don’t think that was it. I don’t think that was the name.”