Glass Houses (24 page)

forty-four

“Thank goodness for Bennie
Hy,” said Thom, checking emails on his laptop. “He's the clerk. Sent me the CCPD case file. He either sent it as a courtesy, or he doesn't know I'm off the case. Shit! I have to go to the Bradbury Building at ten.”

“Internal affairs found you, huh?” said Birdie.

“It just says I have an appointment in office two-fifteen at ten. Well, that won't work. I have a life and need more notice. Besides, I haven't been officially notified of a complaint. I haven't seen any documentation and I want written notification, with my required action made clear in black and white.”

“Isn't that what they just did?”

“No. They didn't say why I needed to come. This one can be put off.” He furiously typed a response.

“Is there an attachment?”

“None.”

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.

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.