A fair amount of chaos overtook the courtroom and it was then that Jordyn and I made our escape, unnoticed amid the shouting match that was taking place between the legal representatives of both sides.
Once outside, Jordyn looked at me and said, “Gin?”
“In large quantities,” I replied.
FIFTY-EIGHT
“It didn’t matter,” I said to Jordyn.
We were sitting at the bar in the Kwanda Hotel, a short walk from the Stanley Mosk Courthouse on Hill Street. Jordyn was sipping her second martini. I was still on my first.
“What didn’t matter?”
“Mr. Judge James Judith couldn’t have cared less about anything I had to say.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because his mind was already made up.”
“Well, isn’t that an indictment of our legal system.”
“No. It’s a confirmation of the cronyism that exists in our legal system.”
“The Governor?”
“Calling the shots.”
“Why, do you think?”
“Oh, come on, Jordy. You know better than any of us why.”
“But I’d like to think otherwise.”
“I’m sure you would, but not in this case.”
“Cynic.”
“And proud of it.”
We finished the dish of peanuts served with our drinks and signaled for another.
“Is it possible this marks the end of my legal services?”
“Unless for some reason Mr. Petrov decides to press charges against me.”
“For?”
“God knows. He might argue I was in the wrong when I busted his fake walls and sue me for damages. He might want me to pay for his new implants.”
“How likely is that?”
“Not very, given that I’m certain he’s going to make bail and then vanish.”
“You think he’s gonna skip?”
“I know it.”
“How do you know it?”
“I’m the Sheriff. I know everything.”
“Very funny.”
“Of course he’s going to skip. You think he’s likely to hang around waiting for a trial he’s destined to lose?”
“He may not think he’s going to lose.”
“He’s already lost. The proof is irrefutable.”
“Says you.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s connected. He’s got powerful lawyers. There’s every chance he’ll win.”
“So maybe I’ll wind up having to pay for the implants after all.”
We were quiet for a while. The dark of the nearly deserted barroom had insinuated itself into our conversation. The low level background music softened our mood. I looked up to find her staring at me. “I’m at odds with myself, Buddy.”
“Which means?”
“You know what it means. It’s written all over your face.”
I shrugged.
“Oh, come on, Buddy. Here we are. Alone together. In a hotel, no less. Slightly loaded. If for nothing else, we should do it for old times’ sake.”
“Not going to happen, Jordy. I’d love nothing more than to jump on your bones and I have every confidence it would be as great as it always was. But it didn’t work out then and it’s not going to work out now.”
“Because?”
“We’re friends now. And colleagues. I wouldn’t want to damage that.”
She gazed at me, searching my eyes for any sign of weakness.
“And neither would you, for that matter,” I added.
“You know me too well.”
“And want to keep it that way.”
She finished her martini and I paid the tab. We wandered outside and away from the main entrance of the hotel, where we stood silently for several moments.
She put her arms around my neck.
“I love you, Buddy,” she said and kissed me.
“Likewise,” I said, intensifying the kiss.
Suddenly we stopped, gazed at each other for several moments, then walked away in opposite directions.
FIFTY-NINE
I was on Highway 101 headed for Freedom when the cell phone interrupted my reverie.
“Buddy Steel.”
“He’s gone,” Marsha Russo said.
“So soon? The judge granted him bail?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Boris Petrov. He’s gone?”
“No. Not Boris Petrov. Buzz Farmer.”
“Buzz Farmer is gone?”
Yep.”
“How do you know?”
His wife.”
“You heard from his wife?”
“She said he phoned and somehow she slipped up and mentioned my visit.”
“She told him you had been in Rockford?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react to that?”
“She said he took it in stride, whatever that means.”
“And now you think he’s flown the coop?”
“Not only do I think it, I know it.”
“How do you know it?”
“I visited his house. It’s empty.”
“What empty?”
“Clothes. Personal belongings. Gone.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“Put out an all-points. Flood the market. Photo. Bio. Everything we know about him. Armed and dangerous, etc.”
“I’m on it,” she said and ended the call.
“Shit,” I said again.
This time to myself.
I had just crossed into Santa Barbara County when the phone rang again. When I picked up the call, Johnny Kennerly said, “He’s gone.”
“I heard.”
“He was on the first plane out of town.”
“He was on a plane?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know?”
“His gardener saw him come home and then in short order, watched him emerge from the house carrying a suitcase that he loaded along with himself into a limo.”
“And he went to the airport?”
“Santa Barbara Municipal.”
“And you know that how?”
“The driver told the gardener.”
“And he got on a plane?”
“According to the driver.”
“Headed where?”
“Initially Nome.”
“He was headed for Nome, Alaska?”
“Stop repeating everything I say. Yes.”
“Did he arrive in Nome?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“According to Air Traffic Control, the plane that was originally bound for Nome vanished.”
“The plane vanished?”
“According to the flight tower, it did.”
“You mean the plane actually vanished from radar detection?”
“Who said that?”
“You said it vanished.”
“Of course it didn’t actually vanish, Buddy. It veered off of its projected course and headed elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere where?”
“The officer at Air Traffic Control said their best guess, since the plane was on a northern trajectory above the Alaska territory, was Siberia. Possibly even Russia.”
“You’re suggesting Buzz Farmer hijacked an airliner and redirected it to Siberia?”
“Who said anything about Buzz Farmer?”
“You mean this isn’t about Buzz Farmer?”
“Of course it’s not. We’re talking Boris Petrov.”
“Boris Petrov left the country?”
“He made bail and fled.”
“He made bail?”
/>
“What’s the matter with you, Buddy?”
“I hadn’t heard anything about the judge even setting bail.”
“Two million.”
“And Petrov forfeited the two million and bolted?”
“In his private jet.”
“Holy crap.”
“Leaving behind a shitload of embarrassment.”
“Judge Judith set bail at two million dollars?”
“Banged the gavel and left the courtroom.”
“And you know this how?”
“It’s all over the news.”
“Holy crap.”
“You already said that.”
“Has the Governor chimed in?”
“He expressed his great surprise and regret as to Judge Judith’s decision and Boris Petrov’s defection.”
“And he got away with that statement?”
“So far.”
“Is this a great country or what?”
I ended the call and sat stunned in my Wrangler. “Holy crap,” I exclaimed yet again.
SIXTY
“Holy crap,” my father said when I told him the story.
We were in his office where I had headed as soon as I arrived at the courthouse.
“So now they’re both gone,” the old man added. “What are the odds of that happening?”
“In hindsight, I’d say pretty good.”
Late afternoon sunbeams streaked through the Venetian blinds that were meant to block them out. Dust mites hung heavy in the air, dancing in and out of the light that eked through the slats.
“Meaning?”
“Once the judge decided to grant bail, it was pretty much a certainty that Petrov would bolt.”
“And forfeit the two million?”
“Chump change. Once back in Soviet territory, he’s safe. At least for as long as Putin’s willing to shield him.”
“Why Siberia?”
“Easier for him to avoid the spotlight there than in Moscow.”
“You think Putin will come after him?”
“Eventually, yes.”
“Why?”
“Once it’s proven that Petrov was involved in drug trafficking, he’s toast.”
“But isn’t he Putin’s guy?”
“He is today.”
“And tomorrow?”
“He’s safe until Putin is implicated. In time, one way or the other, he will be. It’s possible, even likely, he was sharing in Petrov’s profits, which were significant. He’s known for having his hand in a great many pockets. But he’s the President and he’ll deny having had anything to do with any kind of narcotics trafficking. His denial will be pronounced and forceful.”
“So Petrov will be extradited back to America?”
“He’ll be found dead. Allegedly a suicide.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s Putin’s only play.”
“Jesus. And the other guy? Buzz Farmer?” the Sheriff asked.
I stood and began to pace. The dust in the stuffy office had become an irritant and I needed a breath of fresh air. I stepped over to one of the windows, raised the blinds and opened it.
What are you doing?” my father asked.
“Hard to breathe in here.”
“You know, I thought that, but didn’t do anything about it.”
“Well, take a few deep breaths. You’ll feel better.”
“You haven’t answered my question about Farmer.”
“He could be anywhere. He prides himself on his perfection. He will have planned for the possibility of escape as meticulously as he did for each of his killings. He won’t be easy to find.”
I sat back down and wrestled with my thoughts for a while. “As I said before, Buzz Farmer believes himself better than any of us. Smarter. Cleverer. Inviolate. Killing is what he was trained to do, and his psychosis is what guides him.”
“This is some farfetched saga.”
“It is, isn’t it? But whatever the motivation, his preparation and execution were flawless. He struck randomly and without warning. He left zero clues. He learned his trade in Rockport and honed his skills in Chicago. He became more emboldened with each successive killing.”
“And then he moved here.”
“And, according to his wife, turned totally weird. Distant. Distracted. So much so that she left him. Took their children and slipped out of town while he was on duty.”
“Why, do you think?”
“Why was he so weird?”
“Yes.”
“He was hiding a huge secret. And fearful of his bubble bursting. He was living an emotional nightmare.”
“Fearful of being caught?”
“Frightened he couldn’t stop himself.”
“But he still managed to fool everyone.”
“Maybe. But not his wife. And not Marsha. She put two and two together. She uncovered the fact there were serial killings in each of the cities in which he worked. She sought out his wife.”
“And upset his apple cart.”
“It was the wife who did that.”
“How?”
“By inadvertently mentioning Marsha’s visit.”
“So that’s why he fled.”
“And fast, too.”
“And you still believe you’ll catch him?”
“I do.”
“Because?”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
“Despite his belief that he is?”
“Because of it.”
SIXTY-ONE
The call list was prodigious, ranging from legal luminaries to media superstars.
“It’s amazing how much in demand you are,” Wilma Hansen commented. “A regular Anthony Scaramucci.”
“Funny.”
“Do you want me to return any of them for you?”
“I’m not going to return any of them.”
“Really? Why not? This is your shining moment. You could even make The View.
“Not interested.”
“Whatever,” she said. “See if I care.”
I did return the Jordyn Yates call.
“Do you want to hear the list?” she asked.
“What list?”
“The media requests. They appear to have sunk their teeth into the fact you had advised the judge that Petrov was a flight risk, and now they’re clambering to get their mitts on you.”
“No comment.”
“That’s your response?”
“It is.”
“That’s how you want to be quoted?”
“Yes.”
“This could be a big moment for you, Buddy. You could go toe-to-toe with the Governor. Create a few ripples in his pond.”
“He did what he believed to be the right thing.”
“You think the Governor did the right thing?”
“I don’t, no.”
“Why?”
“Because Petrov is a murderer. Responsible for a great many deaths. But the Governor’s a cagey politician. He knew full well Petrov would flee. And, truth be known, I believe he wanted him to flee. Wanted him back on his native soil. The result being no public uproar in California. No overblown trial. No media circus.
“He insisted on Judge Judith because he knew Judith would adhere to his wishes. And he also knew that the minute Judith set bail, Petrov would be gone. He may take some media heat for a while, but in no time the story will be forgotten and the Governor won’t have to deal with Petrov singing and dancing his way into America’s consciousness. And without having to live through a high-profile trial, he’ll still have a clear path to the Presidency. Or at least to the nomination. This was his only option. It’s a total win-win for him.”
“In what ways?” Jordyn inquired.
“Putin might not be happy about it, but he won’t stand in the way. The opioid issue makes it too dicey for him to intervene. So, the government gets the mansion and the Coastal Commission gets to guarantee public access to its beach which, as you may recall, was what drew us all into this mishigas to begin with. On top of which, the Governor emerges smelling like a rose.”
“And the media?”
“You mean me and the media?”
“Yes.”
“Silence is golden.”
“You won’t stand up to the Governor?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You’d present a powerful challenge to him.”
“Which is exactly what I don’t want to do.”
“Why not?”
“The usual reason. Commitment issues.”
“Oh, come on, Buddy. This could put you in the national spotlight.”
“That’s all I need. I have no idea what I want to do tomorrow, let alone for the next four years.”
She thought for a while before responding. “Okay. I’ll ward them all off, if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.”
“This is very sexy, what you did.”
“Sexy?”
“Smart to me is sexy, and for what it’s worth, how you’ve dealt with all of this is very smart. Sexy smart.”
“How sexy smart?”
“George Clooney sexy smart.”
“Really? George Clooney?”
“Well…let me get back to you on that.”
SIXTY-TWO
The media feeding frenzy died down quickly. The story of Petrov’s perfidy hit the headlines and occupied the cable news pundits for a few days, then cooled and dropped out of sight. Things in Freedom soon returned to what passed for normal.
In due course, I found the District Attorney’s name on my call sheet. ADA Skip Wilder picked up my call. “I bet you were happy to see Petrov’s ass flying out of here.”
“His and those of the rest of his crowd.”
“We’re looking into that situation you asked us to.”
“Vlad Smirnik?”
“You were right.”
Wild Card Page 16
