Silicon Beach

by Davis MacDonald

  "I'm so sorry about your loss, Mrs. Greene.”

  Yana smiled a radiant smile.

  "It is Miss. I filed for divorce from Carl. But please, call me Yana."

  “Alright, Yana. I’m looking into Carl’s murder. I’d like to ask you a few questions about you and Carl. Is that ok?”

  “Do I have to answer?”

  “I’d think you’d want to help catch Carl’s murder, Yana. I’m sure the police have talked to you already. But we could call them back if you prefer. Make it more official.”

  “It is okay. Go ahead. Ask.”

  “I understand you were in the middle of a divorce?”

  “Not middle. We are almost done. And then Carl gets himself killed. Screws everything up. Just my luck.”

  "Was it a friendly divorce?" asked the Judge.

  Yana snorted.

  "Don't be naive Mr. Judge. There is nothing friendly about divorce. It is about money. There is nothing friendly when it comes to money. Who gives what? Who keeps what? Who pays what? Who gets screwed? That is divorce. My ex-husband, Carl, was very angry. And he wanted to be cheap. But I have good lawyer.

  That is joke, Judge. There are no 'good' lawyers. Only ‘mean’ lawyers. My lawyer is very expensive. Very mean. And Carl has to pay for him.” Yana smirked with satisfaction.

  "So it wasn’t friendly?"

  "It was fight. I get this place, Mercedes. I let Carl keep stupid dog. We still fight over whether I get interest in Carl’s new technology.”

  "How did you and Carl get together?"

  "I came over on student visa. To find a man. In Moscow we call it hunting visa. You hunt down American husband. Then you get green card. Then you are set. You don't marry Russian men. They drink too much. Cheat too much. Never home. Expect you to work, make money for them. And you still have to keep their house. You are allowed no opinions. No rights. Your job is to fuck in bed, have boy children, and keep your mouth shut. Some even beat you for sport. American men are soft, simple creatures. Much easier to get along with, to steer. Are you married, Judge?"

  The green eyes narrowed, suddenly focused on the Judge. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Like being watched from the jungle by a large cat. Assessing.

  "Yes," said the Judge, perhaps a shade too quickly.

  “A shame. You have nice eyes.”

  "How long were you married, Yana?"

  "Eight years. It would have been better for me if it were over ten. But I could not take it anymore."

  “How’d you meet?”

  “I was having coffee, studying. Starbucks near Santa Monica City College. Carl comes in one afternoon, picks me up.”

  “Carl was older?”

  “Yes, fifteen years. And has money. At least back then. There is nothing not to like.”

  “So you started dating.”

  “We date two years before I get him to propose. He is hard to corner. He is… was, slippery. But I maneuver. We get married two years later. I was twenty-five. Carl, forty.”

  “Were you two happy for a while?”

  “We were. It was my dream. Then trouble began.”

  “Trouble?”

  “We had been married two years almost. One night I come home from classes, he is not home. A day. Then another. A week. No Carl.

  I call all his friends, talk to business associates. No one has seen him. His mother and father died years before. He was only child. No family. There was an uncle back East somewhere but not close. I track down phone number and call the uncle. No Carl.

  In middle of the second week I go to police. They could not find him either. Useless, just like in my country. So I am in foreign country. Married but no husband. I cannot even find someone else. The money stops of course. Carl had saved little. It was total crap place to be.

  Four months later I literally stumble over Carl. In Palisades Park. Down there.”

  She nodded out the window at the park below. “I was running. Every morning. In park. Maybe that is why he’s there. Maybe he wants to be found.”

  “What happened?” asked the Judge.

  “It was early morning. No classes so I run. I was jogging along path. Tourists are out walking, other runners. It was sunny day. We’re all having good time. But homeless are there too. Here. There. You step around. Don’t make eye contact. They are mostly harmless. Sleep on grass with their stuff. Smell of urine and body odor. Thank God there is full time maintenance crew. Keeping things tolerable, yes?”

  “It’s not much different today, Yana. Except there’s more of them.”

  “You’re right. Anyway, homeless person has lined up two garbage bags filled with soiled blankets and clothes on patch of sidewalk. Their bed for the night. Blocks my path. I start to jog around. The man pops head up, looks at me. Recognition in his face. I stop. Bend down for closer look, he seems familiar. I almost fall over. Beneath wool cap, dirt and bruising, whiskers, it is Carl.

  “In the park?”

  “Yes, part of homeless. He was much disoriented, undernourished, and sick. Says he is conducting ‘long term socioeconomic study’, some bullshit, yes? Claims FBI stole his identity.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I took him to restaurant for soup. We turn heads walking in. Me and homeless man. But I have cash. They have to serve us. I persuade him to come home with me. That afternoon I get him cleaned up. Out to see a shrink doctor.”

  “What happened?”

  “Carl was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and severe depression, yes? They put him on medication. Put him into counseling. The program works. Brings Carl back. We live together again. All fixed."

  “So you were back together, Yana. That was good. So why the divorce? What happened?”

  “Four more years. I am only twenty-three when we first meet. People grow up Mr. Judge, change. Get old. Grow apart. It is huge age difference, fifteen years. We are different generations. It was unreasonable to expect to last, yes?”

  The Judge shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Things slowly died. Like long dance where music gradually slows down, slower and slower. You find yourself barely dragging across floor. Slowed steps you take more out of habit than desire.

  It is not all Carl’s fault. It is not all mine. It just is. He comes home later and later. All the time he is moody and depressed. Bitching about his work. Like it is my fault.

  I stop looking forward to him coming home. I widen my circle of friends. Younger, my age. Many single. Or married and bored. Like me, yes? I am going out at night sometimes with friends. I am making my own social life since there is none at home. Carl barely talks to me anymore.

  In the end, he is not interested in coming home at all. And I am no longer caring.

  Then I hear Carl is chasing other women. One fantastic Russian woman is not enough for him. It is awful. When he is does come home at night, he is smelling of cheap perfume, sweat, sex. This is final straw. I kick Carl out of my bed. Out of here. He seems happy to go.”

  “Where’d Carl go?”

  “His condo. He sets up shop in Playa Del Rey with stupid dog. Good riddance.”

  “And that’s how it ended, Yana?”

  “No. Then! Then! Carl almost wrecks my citizenship. I was still on green card. I have decided earlier when things are starting to fall apart I should better become citizen. Protect myself, yes? To get citizenship you must go in with husband and talk to government twits in separate rooms. Talk about tooth paste. What side of bed you sleep. What you are liking to cook. Sex life. What kind condoms you use. Hah! All this domestic crap.

  But Carl is not living with me. He has moved out. So he knows nothing. I am having to drag him back. Make reconciliation. Work on him to cooperate. Pound information in so he will remember. Dragging him downtown. Make him go through interview. For a clever engineer he is incredibly dense.”

  “But the reconciliation didn’t last?”

  “No. We have developed separate lives by then. I am very young when we marri
ed. Maybe I just grew up. Maybe Carl just grew old.”

  “What made you finally file for a divorce?”

  “After we split again, was only thing that made sense. I got citizenship. Then I file. It was obvious what needs to happen. I thought we could be friends. Have friendly divorce. I was being naïve.”

  “Carl was angry about the divorce?” asked the Judge.

  “He is livid. Male pride. Then when it became clear there will be property settlement, that he is to give me half his property, he squeals like stuck pig.”

  “And the divorce drug on?”

  “Almost two years. I have to wait and wait and wait. Carl won’t agree to nothing. In Moscow we don’t wait like this. It’s very clear. Your ex signs the papers, period, or someone comes along and breaks leg. You Americans are very inefficient."

  “And did you see Carl occasionally?”

  “Not at first. This last spring Carl wants to try reconciliation again even though we’re living separate. Carl found out how much the divorce was going to cost him. So we started talking. Meeting for coffee. No booze. But there was nothing there anymore. He let slip about his new technology at one of our coffees. That’s how I found out about it.”

  “Do you know who Carl’s current friends are?”

  “I am thinking they are mostly from that awful sex club he joins. The Cave, or The Cavern, something."

  "The Grotto?"

  "That is it. Awful place. I also heard Carl’s taken himself guy lover. A gay….Men!”

  "Did he have any close female friends?"

  "Just that woman."

  "What woman?"

  "Some older woman he picks up at Grotto."

  "Older than Carl?"

  "No one is older than Carl. Carl is born old. This was some local female. A retread. Married before. Looking for new guy to latch on to. Barbs or something."

  "Barbara?"

  "That is her. Nice enough I guess if you like American woman. I meet her once. Fake boobs. Body starting to sag little. Trolling desperately for new nest."

  "You don’t think much of American women?"

  "They are okay if you like that sort of thing. Soft. Spoilt. Entitled. Opinionated. Boring in bed. Don't really understand how to hold a male once they have one. That is why I like it here. Russian women have advantage."

  "Did Carl have any enemies? Someone who might have threatened him, or had a reason to dislike him?"

  “Besides me? I want to kill bastard myself. Holding me hostage in divorce crap two years. You will probably be hearing about this. Last time we met outside courtroom, after another dumb hearing, he tells me he will keep this crap going ten years, just to watch me squirm. I get mad. Tell him he is dead man. I would have some Russian friends pay him visit.”

  “How’d he respond?’

  “He just laughs. That’s when I claw his face. My attorney has to pull me off him. I would have strangled him right there.”

  “Besides you, was anyone else angry with him?”

  "No idea.”

  “I heard you were angry that Carl wouldn’t give you a half interest in his new technology. As part of the divorce settlement.”

  “My lawyer still fights on that. He is saying we have difficult case, but will try. That is big jackpot. Carl’s new tech stuff. Carl’s pretty much broke except for that. Poured all his money into it last two years.”

  “Do you know what the new technology does?”

  "No. He is careful not to let me know anything about it. Did not want to share information or admit I had stake in it. But I heard he had offer to sell it. That’s what needs to happen. He needs to sell and give me my half. Carl is stubborn and unrealistic. Thinks he can commercialize it himself. No way in hell. He has no smarts, no experience, no capital. My lawyer will try to force sale through divorce court if we can prove it is part of our assets. Our community stuff.”

  “Ever run into an Allan Clark?”

  “Don’t know the name.”

  “That’s strange, he says he knows you. In fact, he implied he knew you intimately.”

  “Hah!” Color now appeared in Yana’s cheeks. “I am Russian girl. We don’t keep track of men we screw. It is natural thing, like scratching your back. Nothing more. We don’t have your silly Puritan attitudes.”

  “So you remember Allan now?”

  “I am not married anymore. I do as I please.”

  “But Allan was an old friend and confidant of Carl’s.”

  “So?”

  “So did you use Allan to find out what was going on with Carl’s new technology? Maybe encourage Allan to persuade Carl he should sell out and split the cash fifty-fifty in your property settlement?”

  “Carl was being pig as usual. There was legitimate offer to pay quarter of billion dollars for rights to his new stuff.” Yana’s eyes got big and round. “Carl needed to take offer and split cash with me. He knew it. I knew it. We all knew it. It is fair. So maybe Allan and I did work together to encourage what is fair.”

  “And you paid Allan with intimacy, Yana?” The Judge couldn’t help himself from asking the question. He was being petty and he knew it. She was a Russian woman, if not a girl. He couldn’t fault her for ignoring the perspective her adopted country placed on such transactions.

  “Of course. I give him wonderful romance. Secret dinners, rendezvous at boutique hotels, hidden emails. All very dramatic. American men love their drama. Allan enjoyed every inch of it.” She smirked. “I guess it is over now Carl is dead. Shame. Perhaps I will continue, but just for fun this time. Have to see.”

  “Who was the buyer for the technology, Yana?”

  Yana’s head snapped up. Fear flickered in her eyes.

  “I have nothing to say about that. Nothing. Powerful people with money.”

  “So you wanted the technology sold. Carl wouldn’t sell. You enlisted Allan Clark to persuade Carl to sell. That didn’t work. It was the only source of significant cash for you out of the divorce. Did I get that all right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So might you have considered getting rid of Carl as a solution to the problem? You said in Russia you break legs. Do you also lose people when they become troublesome?”

  “You think I killed Carl? I go into alley with carving knife and stab him in the gut?” Yana’s chin came up. She was angry now.

  “Perhaps you used Allan Clark. Or some homeless gang of ruffians you knew. Or perhaps your powerful buyers for the technology arranged it?”

  “You son of bitch. How dare you accuse me? Get out of my kitchen now. You know nothing about me, or Carl, or relationship. I’m not talking anymore.”

  Tears welled up in Yana’s eyes.

  “You still have feelings for Carl,” said the Judge.

  “I loved the gavnoyed you idiot. In spite everything.”

  Yana turned her head away, one hand over her mouth, holding back a sob, pointing back with the other toward the door. Motioning for the Judge to leave.

  “I’m sorry I upset you Yana. But certain questions needed to be asked. I’m going to find out who did this to Carl. And I’m going to put them away. Here's my card in case you think of anything else.”

  He got up then, laying his card on the table. Leaving the condo. Leaving Yana there, head turned, staring out at the blue Pacific, her narrow shoulders shaking with grief.

  CHAPTER 20

  11:00 AM Monday

  The Judge checked his watch. He pulled one of his arbitration files from the back seat, the one with the name and addresses of the parties and their lawyers, and flipped through to Carl’s contact information. Only his home was listed.

  He thought a minute and then reached for his cell, dialing Barbara. She answered at once.

  “Hello, Judge. What’s you up to?”

  “Hi Barbara. I may need your help again. You said you and Carl were engaged. Were you part time living with him?”

  “Absolutely, Judge. I spent more time in Playa Del Rey than I did in my own apartment.�
��

  “Do you still have a key? Perhaps personal things still there?”

  “Yes and yes, Judge. Some clothes and some of my jewelry. And my favorite necklace. The one with the little jade stones you bought me in Nassau. Remember our get-away? You were so strong, Judge. God that was a trip. When we came back to L.A. I walked bow-legged for a week.”

  The Judge could hear a titter at the other end. Jesus, Barbara had a memory like an elephant.

  “That was a long time ago, Barbara. But I’m glad you have good memories.” It sounded lame but it was all he could think of. “Why don’t I pick you up right now and we’ll drive down to Playa Del Rey Beach and get your stuff. I’d like to see inside Carl’s apartment.”

  “You mean like another date? Oh Judge, I’d love to. What a great idea. Pick me up in fifteen. You can count on me. I’ll be special ready for you.”

  The line clicked dead before the Judge could protest. It was useless discussing things with Barbara anyway. You just had to keep a strong wall.

  The Judge called Barbara again on the cell as he pulled up in front of her bluff home. She came tearing out of the front door in a blue polka-dotted dress barely legal in length and cut, clearly unencumbered by bra. When she turned to lock her door, he admired her back, bare skin exposed in a deep V cut. Jesus, she still looked good.

  She piled herself into the car, hiking her skirt up further. Leaving it at the high water mark, perhaps anticipating a flood. The Judge endured Barbara’s endless chatter, mostly about the old days and how perfect they’d been together, while he plowed through traffic, winding his way down the bluff to the beach, and then to the North end of Playa Del Rey where it cozied up to the Marina Del Rey breakwater.

  He cut across Culver Boulevard and into the warren of narrow streets and small overbuilt lots that was Play Del Rey at the beach.

  Carl’s condo was part of a small development on Vista del Mar, facing the sand. There was no security gate. The six units were each one story. Each with its own small porch entrance. Barbara jumped out of the car and marched up to the one on the right with an attitude of possession. There would be no questions from neighbors the Judge was sure.

  She opened the door a crack with her key and called softly, “Wheezy, Wheezy, here Wheezy.”