Glass Houses (15 page)

twenty-eight

“Shit. What now?” said
Thom.

“Am I on speaker?” said George.

“It's okay,” said Thom. “Bird knows about the integrity audit. I expected to hear from you before now. What happened?”

“Jennet Fontaine is Special Master. Know that name?”

“Familiar …” said Thom.

“I know who she is,” said Birdie. “She's from a public-service dynasty. Daughter of Councilman Rick Fontaine, granddaughter of an ex-mayor, and niece of a state senator. She teethed on the ankles of the power elite. She's an attorney who's considering a run for her father's seat when he terms out next year. A darling of the mayor whose political aspirations don't stop at city council.”

“Her father and Dominic were extremely close,” said George, “yet she froze everything until she's had an opportunity to go through it. According to the aide, Gordon … well, I'm getting ahead of myself. Fontaine let me look though Dominic's briefcase only after she inspected it first. Jelena's file wasn't there. She conducted a cursory search for it, but it didn't turn up anywhere in his office. We can't access the laptop until she's had an opportunity to take a peek. Bottom line, we'll get around to his stuff on Wednesday if we're lucky.”

“As if,” said Thom.

“Back to Gordon. Jennet's unhelpfulness rubbed him the wrong way and he had a change of heart about talking about Dominic's work. But he didn't want to talk at the office so he suggested Hank's.”

“I don't like coincidence,” said Thom. “That's where I met Jelena.”

“Had he been there with her?” said Birdie.

“No, they didn't socialize,” said George. “He's been going there for years, long before Jelena. So, good ol' Gordy orders a drink and gets all speed-mouth. He tells me that Dominic and Councilman Fontaine go way back to law school. We know Dominic was a staff attorney that gave legal advice to the council. Here's where it gets interesting … Fontaine is chair of the housing committee. He and Dominic have been working on housing reform for several years. A complete rewrite that doesn't overly favor tenants or property owners. Fontaine hopes to push through the new housing policy as his
legacy because his is the deciding vote when it comes to housing is
sues.

“It's been a years-long backroom fight that has mostly stayed there. Other than raising relocation fees that landlords must pay to displaced tenants when apartments go condo, the policies haven't changed much because they're so complicated …”

Birdie's brow knit together in rapt concentration. The moment George mentioned housing her eyes shot to the photo on the white board and she paid close attention. Thom caught her eye and gave
her a quick wiggle of the head indicating he was confused. She waved her fingers in a silent
I'll explain later
.

“… Since the housing crisis flooded the market with depressed prices and low interest rates, cash-flush developers and property owners started buying in bulk—condos, lofts, apartments, houses. People who can no longer afford their houses or can't get into the short sale market are in need of rentals. Because of high demand, rents are going up.

“According to Gordon, there's been some media interest lately that pits tenant's rights groups against property owners. It's gearing up to be a major issue in the election next year. So people are picking sides. Like I said, Fontaine wants a rewrite to be his legacy and, really, he has nothing to lose because he's leaving anyway. He's all-in and Dominic was at his side.

“Here's where it goes sideways—”

“Hold on, George,” said Thom. “Let me catch my breath. You're telling me a lot and not telling me anything.”

“Trust me, I was confused at first, too. But it makes sense after a while. Bear with me. You know that I locked down the office and posted a uniform at the door until the SM had a look. Well, Gordon wanted to make sure that Dominic's work for Fontaine was also secure, so he waited until the uniform took a piss break and went into the office. All the housing work had been deleted from Dominic's computer. Also, a Miss Kitty flash drive that Jelena had given Dominic was missing. It's where he kept all of the Fontaine backup files. Gordon expressly remembers seeing Dominic put it into his middle desk drawer on Friday afternoon before leaving for the weekend. So, sometime between then and Monday morning it was stolen and all the hard drive files deleted.”

“Christ,” said Thom, “did our case just get political?”

“Oh, there's more,” said George. “Jennet is on the other side of the issue from her father. She has close ties to some major developers and capital investors. Remember the city's adaptive reuse ordinance that made it easier to turn old buildings to new uses? She was a student during those proceedings and saw the light, as it were. Saw that downtown and the surrounding area was going to explode with growth and that she could make big money. She borrowed from her father and bought her first piece of property. She turned and burned and made a small fortune, been a player ever since. You see, she's not going to be motivated to help us find the missing flash drive or figure out who wiped Dominic's computer. Also, if she wins her father's seat, she'll try to undo what he did.”

“You got all that from Dominic's aide?” said Birdie.

“Like I said, he got chatty,” said George.

“Is he credible?” said Thom.

“Everything he said is easy to confirm,” said Birdie.

“The bottom line is that an insider with access to Dominic's office destroyed several years' worth of work. How does this tie into the other dead fish murders? We have to make a connection,” said Thom.

“I'm aware,” said George. “But we'll have a better idea after we get the case details on the other three homicides.”

“What's next?”

“Gordon is scheduled to come in tomorrow to make an official statement. I'm bringing in Jelena, too. See if she gets flustered with the inconsistent statements.”

“And the bartender?” said Thom.

“His name is Jason Kidd. That's K-I-double D. Folks call him Kidd. His father was the manager so Kidd grew up at the bar. Mopped floors, bused tables, washed dishes, took inventory, like that. When he turned twenty-one, he started working behind the bar. Very popular with the ladies. I got his address from the employee contact list and paid him a visit after Gordon and I were done. So, guess who's coming out of his place just as I'm parking? Our friend, Jelena. She and Kidd shared a kiss on the front porch. I let her pass because I didn't want to tip our hand.”

“We don't have a hand yet,” said Thom.

“I see different,” said Birdie. She'd been listening quietly while playing with silver balls of wrapped up chewing gum. “You cannot ignore Jelena as the insider clerk slash foster child who knows the ins-and-outs of Dominic's life. She might not be your serial killer, but she has knowledge of something that may make the water effervescent.”

“What?” said Thom and George together.

“Sorry, bad metaphor … she knows more than she's letting on. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Once you find the edges, it's easier to fill in the middle.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” said Thom.

“Okay. How's this?” said Birdie. “The city attorney's office will have redundant systems to prevent hacking. Dominic's work may be lost on the front end, but the IT department will have data control on the back end. They probably have cloned computers that backup locally as well as online. The young IT guy that gets the printer up and running is the one to talk to. He can probably retrieve the data.”

“Great idea,” said Thom.

“I've got something too,” said George. “Kidd lied to me. He said he's just a pourer, that he didn't know Jelena or the old dude—his words—previous to Saturday. However, he remembered both from that night. He held the party line and said that you and Jelena left the bar together at around one-thirty. He also remembered that you paid cash and tipped him well. His impression of you was that of a rich bastard. Of course, I didn't let on that I'd just seen him and Jelena suck face.”

“Bring his ass in and make his statement official,” said Thom. “See if it changes. We'll utilize the manpower of the maybe-taskforce to be our taxi service and conduct statement interviews on our timeline. The clock is ticking and we're fast approaching the forty-eight-hour mark. Also, arrange the visits so that Jelena and Kidd get a passing glimpse of each other. I want to see them squirm.”

“What about Jennet Fontaine?” said George. “Gordon had valuable intell, but his action put us into a tight spot with her.”

“Agreed. Use Gordon to get to the IT guy. Let's see what he can retrieve for us before she finds out. Hopefully, we keep our hands clean and outside of Fontaine's eyesight.”

“We get caught and we're screwed.”

“Didn't you know? We're already screwed.”

_____

The office was silently busy. Birdie sat at her computer, headphones covering her ears, fingers flying across the keyboard, documents spitting from the printer.

Meanwhile, Thom made investigative notations on the dry erase board. He heard her utter an expletive and turned to see a stricken look on her face.

“What?” he said.

“How many shots were fired at the Lawrence crime scene?”

“Five. Why?”

“
This
message was
definitely
left by your killer.”

“Let's hear it.” Thom sat in the chair and leaned forward on the desk.

Birdie unplugged the headphones and pressed play.

“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?”

“Holy shit,” said Thom. “Why?”

“Like you said before, he wants attention.”

Thom got up and paced. “Something is very wrong. There's more than attention-getting going on here.”

Thom said something else, but Birdie zoned out. She unwrapped a piece of red Fruit Stripe gum and licked off the sugary dust from the foil wrapper. She folded the gum into thirds and stuck it into her mouth. Chewing gum was the multi-pack habit she acquired after she quit drinking. Lately, however, she noticed that she was down to a pack a day. Due to the improved diet and exercise? Time? A bit of all probably. But she chewed now because her heart raced.

“What's the origin of Mayo? Asian?”

Thom yawned. “It's short for mayonnaise. There was a big jar of the shit in Jerry Deats' refrigerator.”

“You think the killer got a moniker from a jar of mayo?”

“How would I know? It just makes me remember that I spooned through it.”

“Why on earth …?”

“I was desperate to find something. A clue. A lead.”

“Seriously? You went through his food?”

“I even opened up his frozen dinners.”

“Talk about driven.”

“It paid off. I found an envelope that had eviction papers in it. The notice had been taped to the front door.”

“Why is that significant?”

“Because Lawrence had the same type of residue on his door.”

“So the Lawrence's were also being evicted?”

“Not sure on that. Let's get back to the message … same voice?”

“I think so. I created a new file so you can hear them side by side. Ready?”

They listened to the “pretty dead fish” message and then the “five shots” message.

“My ear isn't as refined as my nose,” said Birdie, “but they sound the same to me.”

“Yeah …”

Birdie saw Thom's fatigue in the way he stood, the heavy eyelids.

“What can I do? I want to be useful.”

“Transcribe the call. The one about the fish, too. I'll take it to Craig in the morning before the meeting and see if there's any way to get the source of those calls.”

Birdie didn't want to have the same conversation over again, but there was no way the
Times
would agree to give the LAPD access to their phones. She wondered if there was another way.

“I can run a parallel investigation.”

“No way,” said Thom, emphatically. “This case will be squeaky clean. Getting help from a journalist—especially the daughter of Gerard Keane—is not gonna fly with the powers that be. Justice won't be served if we break the rules on this one. It's already high risk and I'm not gonna lose my career.”

“It's not like you'd become an outlaw cop. Just a resourceful one. I think Gordon's concern over missing files is legitimate and reason enough to dig deeper. Consider me a hunter-gatherer. I can get information without the department's procedural red tape. Look, Thom, the city is run by twelve departments. There's an entrenched bureaucracy that's especially hard for a cop to break through. My assistance will help, not hinder. We can wash whatever I get and it becomes yours. Like original discovery. You own it.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Alright,” she said. “But if you agree, I don't think we should tell George. I totally trust him, but right now I think us Keanes need to stick a little closer than usual.”

“Let's talk about it tomorrow. I need to catch some zees.”

Birdie didn't tell him that it was already tomorrow. Nearing the forty-eight-hour mark where most of the valuable homicide work is done.

twenty-nine

Tuesday, May 15

Birdie heard a ping.
She jerked awake not realizing where she was. Then she remembered that after Thom went upstairs to catch some sleep, she did a bit of casework on his investigation. Last thing she remembered she had laid down on the couch to close her eyes for a minute. Now she paid for those few minutes … hours …with a stiff neck.

The ping was a text.

She picked up her cell on top of the altar. 4:04 a.m.
Are you kidding me?
He's just now getting home? Good thing she didn't doubt Ron's character. She visualized how it went: he and Noa talked and drank for hours, played a few games of pool, drinking past last call, all the way up to closing, and then talking some more at the car, not wanting to leave the best friend that you don't see often enough.

Ron's text read:
HOME

Birdie texted back:
FINALLY. U OK?

I HATE MYSELF

TOO MUCH LIQUOR. WHAT WAS IT?

TEQUILA

OUCH! ASPIRIN, LOTS OF H2O.

ROGER THAT

LOVE YOU.

LOVE YOU MORE. TALK LATER …

Birdie got up and stretched. She was tempted to wake Thom. He had the all-important meeting at eight. She'd let him get a bit more rest. With what she already discovered, he'd be amply prepared for the meeting. Make an impression.

_____

Birdie knocked on the guest room door and opened it. Thom walked in from the bathroom toward the closet, his bottom half wrapped in a towel.

“Hey, I was coming in to wake you,” she said.

“Beat you to it. Got coffee?”

“Nice and strong.”

“Breakfast?”

“You eat breakfast?”

“I need the fuel today. It's Tuesday. Got the paper yet?”

“On the kitchen counter.”

“Why are you grinning?”

“Because I found a connection between your two homicides.”