L.A. Boneyard (16 page)

“What have you got?” David asked, setting aside the dregs of his cold coffee. If he had the energy, he’d make a fresh pot. He didn’t. He ate the donut and brushed sticky crumbs off his fingers.

“Zuzanna Konjenko wrote much about her and the roommate, Halyna. She uses euphemisms and is clearly upset over what they are being forced to do.”

“Prostitution?”

“Yes. Their ‘man’ is someone called Mickey and he visits about once a week.”

“Did he bring Donald?” At Konstatinov’s look he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“They do not like his visits. He is not nice to them. He wants them to do things...”

“Does she say what things?”

“Not in any detail. Just... terrible things. Her words, not mine.” He fanned out some papers. Some were photocopies of the original diary entries, and David could make out the Cyrillic script. The others were apparently hand-written translations.

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David’s sense was that Konstatinov was a detail man. He would be as precise in his translation as in any other aspect of police work. An officer who could go far on merit. Like Jairo, his treacherous mind added. Jairo was smart, too, and personable to boot. Too damn personable, as far as David was concerned. He knew Lieutenant McKee expected his preliminary report on his newest detective and David flat out didn’t know what he was going to say. The kid was a good cop, but he didn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants? That would go over well. McKee was a fair man, a shrewd one, and a fine lieutenant, but he didn’t understand the new LAPD. He didn’t comprehend a world that accepted the likes of David into their ranks, and rewarded them through promotion, and medals of valor, no matter who they slept with. He would never understand someone like Jairo; would never get why such a fine young man would risk his family, or his reputation, for a little cock on the side. A lot of cops were pussy hounds, which was not surprising, since women threw themselves at the guns and the glamour, that had little to do with the reality, but the same latitude wasn’t allowed for deviants.

He thought of Chris. A man so good he didn’t know the kind of raw evil that existed in the world. A man so good, he imagined the man he loved had to be equally as good. Trying to live up to that was sometimes the only thing that kept David sane.

Could he really risk that for a tight ass and a hard cock?

He blinked and realized Konstatinov was asking him a question. He shook his head and met the other man’s worried gaze.

“Are you okay, Sergeant? It is late, we can take this up again tomorrow—”

“No, that’s okay. We need to sort this out now. Tomorrow we can get a subpoena for the doctor’s records. See if we can shake something out of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, what were you saying?”

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129

“Halyna and Zuzanna often went to parties, ‘special parties’

she called them. They were instructed to be nice to the men who chose them. Some of the men were okay, they even brought gifts for the girls, or their families back home. But Zuzanna thinks the gifts never made it home. She thinks Mickey lied to them, that he was pocketing all the money and gifts.”

“A dishonest pimp. Who’d have thought? Does she give any names to these friendly johns?”

“The odd nickname.
Zayachik
. Means, ah, rabbit. There’s another called
Kutsup
, means goat. And it looks like they call their manager
Medved
. The bear.”

David knew what that meant in the gay scene. Muscle men with lots of body hair. Did it mean the same in the straight world? “I’m guessing they didn’t use the names on the johns,”

he said dryly. “They knew better. Any idea how they ended up here, in L.A., I mean.”

Konstatinov scanned through his handwritten notes, flipping back to look at earlier ones. “Zuzanna talks about meeting a man in Kiev, and being promised a good job in the United States. She signed some papers and they took her passport. She never saw it again. At first they were taken someplace where everyone spoke ‘funny,’ not English which they sort of knew, but something else. And they said it was hot.

She was very unhappy about that. I guess it was a lot hotter than they were used to in her area of Ukraine.” He frowned, then added, “And the sun was very bright and the air...smelled funny. I guess the food was terrible. Their tomatoes were green.” He grinned wryly. “I am thinking
tomatillos
.”

It was David’s turn to frown. “Could be the San Diego area, or any of the border states. They’re all pretty hot.”

“Or Mexico,” Konstatinov said. “Hot and they talk funny.

At least to a Ukrainian. And the food takes some getting used to.” At David’s look he said, “Married a lady from Guadalajara.

She can cook a mean streak, but it is all nouvelle Mexican.” He patted his stomach, which David now saw had a soft mound to it. “She is in love with
habaneros
.”

130 P.A. Brown

“You should introduce her to my former partner. It’d be love at first sight.” David smiled at the memory of Martinez, wishing the federal overlords hadn’t decided Northeast needed some shaking up. As far as David was concerned, Martinez’s transfer, however temporary, had been an unmitigated disaster.

“Let’s take a look at those names, see if anything pops.”

David pulled up the criminal database, and entered the names Zuzanna had put in her journal. Only one got a hit.

Konstatinov came around to his side of the desk, and peered over his shoulder. “Mickey. Valerian Mikalenko, two counts of soliciting, one assault with a deadly.” David read the details of the charges. “Got a nickel in Corcoran. Wonder if he ran with Manson.” David flipped through the entry. “Given illegal alien status, but no order to deport. Connected? Or did he just fall through the cracks.”

“In what way?” Konstatinov pulled a chair around and sat down. He leaned over to study the screen. Mikalenko’s booking shot was on the page, along with his vitals. The guy was barely five-seven in stocking feet. And he was clearly hirsute. “How does our little Ukrainian bear get connected?”

“Knows the right people. It could help explain how they got the girls into the country.” David pulled out his notebook. He flipped it open to a blank page. “Let’s see if we can talk to someone at the Consulate.” But ten minutes later they found out that Ukraine had no consulate in Los Angeles. The nearest one was in San Francisco. After that they’d have to go to New York.

David sighed and called up a new document. “We’ll have to go through channels to get someone upstairs to request the information on that.”

“Yes, sir.”

David started the internal request; the first round of paperwork designed to get someone above them to shake the dust off their tail and make something happen. A lot of tails would have to be shaken before anything would respond to their request. If it happened at all. David didn’t hold out much hope. They’d have to find another way.

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When he was part way through the bureaucratic labyrinth of words, his cell rang. It was Chris.

“You coming home tonight?” Chris sounded tired, but plaintive. David closed his eyes at the pain in his lover’s voice.

“Sure, I’ll be home soon.” He glanced across at Konstatinov, who was trying not to look like he was listening.

“Just got caught up in something.”

“Wrap it up soon, hon. I miss you. Sergeant and I both miss you.”

“I’ll be home soon.” David hung up before Chris could say anything more. He took another ragged breath and abruptly stood up. “I need more coffee. What about you?”

“Sure. I could go for a cup.”

David got the pot brewing. He nodded to a couple of swing shift D’s who came by to grab a cup and carried two mugs back to his desk. He handed one to Konstatinov. “Wasn’t sure what you took.”

“Black is fine.”

It was another forty-five minutes before David called it a night. He rubbed his forehead, where a headache had taken root right after Chris’s call. “That’s it then,” he said to Konstatinov.

“We’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’m going to see if we can get a subpoena for those patient records Want to ride along?”

“Yes, please.”

“Meet back here around eight, we’ll draft it up and take it to the sitting judge.”

“I will be here.”

David let himself into the dark house. He paused in the foyer after he’d divested himself of his Smith & Wesson, shoes and badge. Then he made his silent way to the kitchen where he grabbed water out of the fridge and stood over the sink, drinking.

Finally he couldn’t put it off any longer. He trudged up the stairs and slipped into the bedroom. Sergeant looked up from the bed and wiggled in greeting. David signaled him down, got
132 P.A. Brown

undressed, and exchanged places with the dog. Chris snorted and rolled over, his arm draping over David’s bare chest.

David held his breath but Chris didn’t wake up. Feeling like thirty pieces of shit, David put his back to Chris and tried to sleep. Finally he slipped into a tangled web of erotic dreams. A dark-haired man stroked him, and mouthed his hardness until he cried out. He woke to find Chris between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock. He arched his back, and wound his fingers through Chris’s short, spiky hair. But the image that came as he orgasmed was of a dark, sloe-eyed Jairo.

Chris crawled up his damp body and pressed his mouth against David’s throat. “I couldn’t resist. You’re too yummy.

Sorry I woke you up.”

David laughed shakily. “You don’t really think I could sleep through that, do you?”

He tucked Chris under his arm and forced his frantic thoughts back into the dark corners of his mind. He’d think about what it meant tomorrow. Except it hadn’t meant anything. Jairo didn’t mean anything... Did he?

The next morning he made sure he was up first. By the time Chris stumbled downstairs, he was on his second cup of coffee and had the L.A. Times half read. The dog had been fed and had his short morning walk. Chris stooped to brush his lips over David’s mouth and patted the dog.

“You should have woken me up last night when you got home. We could have made it a little more interactive.”

David avoided meeting Chris’s gaze. “You were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” He buried his head in the sports section. “You going in to work today?”

“Have to. Jantz wants me to start the initial implementation of their server rollout. Plus I have to meet the rest of the L.A.

team. I could be gone a while,” he said apologetically. “I probably won’t be back for supper.”

“That’s okay. I’ll find something, I’m sure. You’re not taking on too much, are you? Remember you just got out of the hospital.”

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“I’m okay. Honest.” Chris picked up the salt shaker, and studied it like he’d never seen it before. “How’s your new partner? He working out for you?”

David suppressed the urge to get up from the table. He still didn’t raise his head from the paper. “He’s okay. No Martinez, but then not many are.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

David knew Chris was trying to lighten things up with his joke, but this morning it fell flat. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s just the way he is.”

“So,” Chris said. “You find out anything more about that poor woman?” Off David’s blank look he looked impatient.

“You know, the one I didn’t hit?”

“Come on, Chris... you know I don’t talk about my work.

That isn’t something you need to think about. It wasn’t your fault. That’s all you need to know.”

“Right, so don’t think about it. Easy for you to say.” Chris rubbed the back of his neck and opened his mouth to say more.

“Just let it go Chris.”

Chris shut his mouth and looked away. David hastily finished up the paper, bussed Chris on the lips, and left. Only the dog followed him to the door. He patted the black, knobby head. “Take care of him, huh, guy?”

Sergeant wriggled his butt. David shut the door on his too happy face.

Saturday, 7:20 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San
Fernando Road, Los Angeles

David strode into the homicide squad room shortly before seven-thirty and found Jairo already at his desk. He took his jacket off and turned on his computer. He’d barely called up the first report on the Halyna homicide/missing person when Konstatinov walked in. His uniform looked freshly pressed, even his equipment belt looked polished. David felt frumpy beside him. Jairo just looked like Jairo. Cocky and full of himself.

“So what is up for today?” Jairo broke the stilted silence that had fallen over their part of the squad room.

David busied himself writing up the justification for the subpoena he wanted to get on Zuzanna’s doctor. Finally he looked up. “We need to follow up on that cell phone recovered from the dig in Griffith Park. If it was the doer’s we might get lucky. Even if it belonged to one of the victim’s we could get some useful hits. I also want you to follow up on the tox screen results on the Stakchinko case. Find out what she was on when she was pushed. Where are we on IDing either of the victims in the park? Talk to Lopez about those fly eggs she collected. It might help narrow down a location.”

“They might have a lead on the dental records of Zuzanna Konjenko,” Jairo said. “They should be able to give us a yes or no later this week.”

“What about the other one?”

“Nothing yet. They’re pulling a list of missing persons. The gold teeth help. Not many women have them. I’ve already checked out her travel documents,” Jairo went on, mousing through something on his screen. “They entered the U.S.

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through the San Diego portal sixteen months ago. They were here on a student visa that was set to expire in eight months.”

“San Diego,” David mused, meeting Konstatinov’s gaze.

“Matches what we’ve learned so far. They crossed over from Mexico. What are the odds we don’t find anything on the Mexican end?”

“They would have had to show papers at the border. And the girls would have had to produce ID.”