L.A. Boneyard (36 page)

“Not going to happen,” he muttered, ignoring the look he got from the nearest D.

At lunch, he forced himself to leave the station, to grab a sandwich and buy a new shirt and tie to replace his bloody
306 P.A. Brown

clothes. Most of his lunch stayed on his plate. Only a half dozen cups of bad coffee went into him, leaving his nerves jangled, and his stomach nauseous.

He went back over both Mikalenko’s and Sevchuk’s notes.

Sevchuk hadn’t been asked about Degrasses. What were the odds he knew about the man?

Only one way to find out. David grabbed his jacket, making a mental note to take his bloody clothes to the dry cleaners to see if they could be salvaged, and headed out the door for Men’s Central. Keeping busy was the answer. It gave him a semblance of order to the chaos his world had fallen into.

The doctor looked terrible. He had clearly lost weight and his skin hung on him like sack cloth. He shuffled into the interview room after ten minutes of waiting. No lawyer in sight, which surprised David. David didn’t bother cuffing him to the table. Anyone could see Sevchuk was a broken man.

“We can wait for your attorney, if you like.”

“Do not bother. I am through with him. I will be pleading guilty and taking my time. My life is finished. I am in no need of outside help.”

“You’ve been cooperative. Your sentence won’t be high—”

“You do not understand. Even if I be let go now, today, I am ruined. A doctor with no reputation is no doctor.”

David felt a twinge of sympathy, which he quickly suppressed. The guy’s despair was contagious, but he’d made his own bed. He’d been reckless with the safety of his patients, and now three of them were dead. Four, if you added Jairo as collateral damage. He was sure Halyna, Zuzanna, and Katrina’s family wouldn’t feel much pity for the guy.

“I want you to tell me what you know about Degrasses.”

Sevchuk made no effort to deny knowing the American. He nodded. “Mikalenko brought me to him one day. They had met while Mikalenko was in Odessa, a resort on the shores of the Black Sea. I do not know how they first came to be partners. I do know Degrasses brought the first woman to Mikalenko. He had met Katrina’s husband in the Iraq, and knew she was L.A. BONEYARD
307

desperate, with her husband dead, he thought she would jump at chance to come to America. She did.”

“And thus an empire was born,” David muttered. “What do you know about Degrasses? He have a wife? Girlfriend?

Boyfriend? Mother,” he added.

“He never spoke of anyone. No, not entirely true. He mentioned his mother once, and how he was taking care of her, that she was very ill. I did not ask what he meant. Mikalenko never spoke of anyone, either. To him the girls were just commodities.”

And what were you, their big uncle Jozef?
He couched the next question carefully. He didn’t want some future defense attorney saying he had planted the thought in Sevchuk’s head.

“Degrasses ever do anything that seemed odd to you?”

“I am not sure I am understanding. What meaning ‘odd’?”

“Just... nothing. Tell me everything you can think of about Degrasses.”

“You know he will have me killed for this? He might even have you killed. I am sure he made certain Mikalenko would not testify against him.”

“That may well be, but we’re on to Mr. Degrasses and he’s not going to find the rest of us so easy to take down. It’s my job to see you’re safe too. And I’m very good at my job.”

“I do not wish to question your skills, but Degrasses is an evil man, with much power. He was decorated Marine. Even his own people do not touch him.”

“That’s going to change. Trust me, the Marines have too much of a reputation to uphold to let one bad apple ruin the image.” David pushed again. “Is there anything you noticed about him? Anything at all.”

“No, I tell you. I hardly knew him...” Sevchuk stopped and thought for a couple of minutes. David thought he was going to leave it there, then he brightened. “I do recall one thing I thought was very strange at the time. Perhaps this is ‘odd.’

Degrasses seemed to have no friends, but he sponsored some
308 P.A. Brown

children’s groups, a baseball team, as I recall, and maybe another such group. Soccer, I think. Football in Ukraine.”

“Why was that odd?” David asked carefully.

“He did not seem like a father type. Or sports type for that matter. I don’t think he was ever married. If he had other family besides his sick mother, he never said. It seemed...”

“Out of character?”

“Yes, exactly.” Sevchuk frowned as though trying to fathom Degrasses. If only he knew. “It was very strange.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“That is helpful?”

“You have no idea.”

Sevchuk shrugged, clearly puzzled by David’s actions but mostly beyond caring. David left, and once back at Northeast, made arrangements to have the taped conversation transcribed, along with Garza’s jailhouse confession.

The day wound down. He updated the murder books with the new interrogations, and made sure the latest autopsy findings were entered. All three volumes were now thick, and bulging with autopsy reports, crime scene photos, and forensics results, including the initial returns on the serology tests on the substance found at Leland Way. They confirmed it was indeed human blood, and belonged to Zuzanna and Katrina. None of Halyna’s blood was found in the house. She had been injured later, someplace else. In Mikalenko’s Caddy?

A warrant had been obtained for it, following Mikalenko’s arrest. David found it, and poured over the contents. Bingo.

Blood found inside the passenger’s seat matched that of Halyna Stakchinko. Not enough blood was recovered to have been the cause of her death, the fall had done that. But she had been cut in the vehicle. Which made it unlikely she had done it to herself.

David wondered what would drive a young woman to make a man so mad at her that he attacked, without considering the consequences. Halyna had been one very determined woman.

There was nothing else David could do tonight. Tomorrow would be busy, with no partner to delegate tasks to. He briefly L.A. BONEYARD
309

considered stopping in to talk with Chris, but knew it would only end in misery for both of them. Leave well enough alone.

That was the smart thing to do. David had never felt less smart in his whole life.

Monday, 7:30 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles

David was sitting at his desk the next morning, when Lieutenant McKee led a man David recognized as a D2 from Fraud over. Orren Bulkowski, who everyone naturally called Bull, was smirking even before he reached David. The name was not a misnomer. He was a thickset, fifty-five year old throwback from the good old days of the LAPD, the stomp and tromp breed who thought someone’s right to remain silent ended on the business end of a choke hold. Rumor had it the guy was holding on by his fingernails to claim his pension, though he had a jacket full of major and minor beefs.

David knew exactly what McKee was doing, but prayed right up until the last minute that he was wrong.

“Laine, Detective Bulkowski has been reassigned as your partner.”

Like everyone else, Bulkowski wore a black mourning armband. But nothing else about him spoke of sorrow for their loss. David nodded stiffly, seeing the sneer grow on Bull’s florid face. He didn’t need his helpful psychic to tell Bull wanted nothing to do with the faggot cop. This was going to be a fun eight weeks until Martinez came back to the homicide table.

“Detective.”

“Hey, Laine. One rule. No pansies on the desk okay?” Bull chortled at his wit, and looked around to see if any one else shared. He looked back. “Maybe we can clear this little Cossack cootch case.” McKee left and Bull leaned over, adding for David’s ear only. “Hey, no humans involved, right? Couple of commie cunts get wasted by their commie pimp. Why break a sweat?”

312 P.A. Brown

David counted to ten. Then he counted to ten again. It was going to be a really long, fun eight weeks. Hardly fifteen minutes had passed and Bull stood up. “It’s pig time,” he said with a snorting laugh. David raised one eyebrow. “Plain, iced and glazed.”

“You go on ahead. I have a warrant to write up.”

“That how you keep your slender, girly figure, Laine? No sugar makes you dull-witted. Studies prove it.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Maybe when your break’s over we can take this warrant over to justice to get someone to sign it.”

“Right.” Bull rolled his eyes at one of his Neanderthal buddies across the room. “I know a great little donut shop downtown, run by this cute Korean trim—oh, that’s right, trim don’t interest you, do it, Laine? You like the old brown hole, doncha?”

Non-humans don’t interest me, David wanted to say, but just like he’d done since the day he was outed, he kept his mouth shut, and his face devoid of expression. Like most juveniles, when the fun wore off, Bull moved on to torment someone else.

Bull caught sight of one of the younger female Ds in the department. She was a trim brunette, who wore her hair in the regulation French bun, and severely cut custom suits that did nothing to enhance her figure. Bull didn’t need any assistance in crudity. He gave a low wolf whistle, then when the D refused to rise to the bait, he grinned. The grin only slipped when McKee stepped out of his office and crossed to the Captain’s office.

Before he could start up again, David busied himself on his computer and the female D vanished into another room. With his audience gone, Bull took off for his sugar fix.

A really, really long, fun eight weeks.

The judge read through the evidence David had accumulated from his two co-conspirators and then skimmed over the warrant, signing it with no hesitation. “Take backup with you,” the judge said. “I heard what happened to your partner, Detective Laine. The loss of any officer is a tragedy, L.A. BONEYARD
313

more so when it occurs in the line of duty. See it doesn’t happen to you.” The judge briefly eyed Bull, but made no similar remarks regarding his safekeeping.

David folded the blue-backed warrant and tucked it in his jacket pocket, under his shoulder holster. “I’ll have backup.”

“What’s the beef on?” Bull asked when they left the judge’s chambers, and headed down to pick up their unmarked. David drove, since it gave him something to do with his hands, that didn’t involved wrapping them around his partner’s fat neck.

“Harmon Degrasses,” David said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Murder, conspiracy, human trafficking.”

“One of your Ukrainians?”

“No, this one’s one of ours.” David couldn’t resist the dig.

“An ex-Marine.”

“No way. Those guys are too righteous to get involved in selling pussy. They might like to taste some, but sell it? No way.”

“Well, I guess this Marine wasn’t too righteous.”

“Where are we picking him up?”

“Downtown Marriott. Penthouse suite.”

“Posh pillows. Guess pussy pays after all. I’m in the wrong line of work.”

Oh how true.
David steered around an idling limo surrounded by a bevy of anorexic women and men, all playing for a camera crew in another vehicle. David wondered what reality show they were auditioning for.

David cornered the head of hotel security, and the general manager. Away from Bull, who was out in the lobby eying up anything in a skirt, he showed them his warrants, and explained what would be going down in a short while. “Once the officers arrive, we’ll ascend to the Penthouse. One officer will be positioned at each of the exits, though we don’t anticipate any problems. I secured plain clothes officers for this, to avoid the embarrassment of having a horde of uniformed men storming your lobby.”

314 P.A. Brown

“I appreciate that Detective,” the manager, a slender, nervous man with a Charlie Chaplin mustache, and a mouthful of perfectly capped teeth said. “Our guests might like that kind of action in the movies, but not in real life.”

“I understand, sir.”

Eight plainclothes officers showed up, and were directed to the manager’s office. Three more teams of unis would be stationed in their cage cars on side streets, in case Degrasses tried to make a run for it. The hotel manager said Degrasses had rented a car, which was currently parked in the underground lot. David sent a pair of unis down to secure it.

He’d arrange to have it towed where forensics could go over it.

When everything was in place he gave the signal and everyone went up. One team would go to the roof, another team would split up on the stairs between the Penthouse and the twelfth floor. David knew from his jacket that Degrasses was a 14-year decorated Marine, trained in armed and unarmed combat, an expert marksman. David wasn’t taking any chances the man responsible for causing Jairo’s death would rabbit, or have weapons on the premises. The suite to the north of Degrasses’ was empty. Two sharpshooters with assault rifles were secured there, waiting for a signal from David that Degrasses was making a run.

David stood in front of the door, and took a deep breath.

He glanced at Bull to his left, wishing he could have left the uncouth goon behind, but the man was now his partner. He looked beyond Bull, and nodded at the two other officers who would assist in the take down. David pounded sharply on the solid door.

“Open up, this is the Los Angeles Police. Open up and come out with your hands in plain view.”

Nobody responded. David listened, but couldn’t hear anything inside. He knocked again. When this knock also went unanswered, he nodded at the manager, who had come with them, armed with a master key card. David waited for the door to pop open, and pushed the manager aside to make room for the entering police.

L.A. BONEYARD
315

He went in sideways, the others followed, fanning out and covering every window and door. The suite seemed empty. Soft music played in another room, and a vase of day-old flowers sat on a side table. On a second table, an open bottle of Krug Clos de Mesnil rested in a bath of mostly melted ice. A single crystal flute sat on the table beside the ice bucket. The floor to ceiling windows looked over downtown, with the Los Angeles World Trade Center to the far right, and the giant metal sheathed Walt Disney Hall, where he and Chris had bought season tickets to the L.A. Philharmonic. The air in the room felt like someone holding their breath. Waiting.