Strip (37 page)

“Nobody but you.”

“What did you do with the body?”

“I had rented a boat in Marina del Rey when I started looking for him. After I got him and the girl last night, I took the bodies about ten miles into the channel, almost midway to Catalina. I weighted them with chains and scrap iron I had collected and kept around for this kind of thing, and let them go. There’s a chance they’ll surface some time, but it won’t be soon.”

“All right. That’s good, I guess. We don’t want to get caught. But is there any way to let the word out that Carver has been found and killed?”

“There’s his shirt and his wallet, with credit cards and license. We can leave all of it where it will get found, if you like.”

“That ought to work,” Kapak said. “We’ll have to put some thought into where we want it found and who finds it.”

There was a sudden, loud pounding on the front door. It startled Kapak so much that he gave a little jump, then felt embarrassed because Spence hadn’t. He felt different about Spence today, and he’d only had a few minutes to sort it out.

Spence got up and looked at the monitor in the maid’s room. “It’s cops.”

“What cops?”

“Take a look.” He pressed the remote control and five of the small squares that shared the screen disappeared, so the view of the front steps took up the whole screen.

Kapak could see two men in sport coats and a woman in a pantsuit. “It’s that Lieutenant Slosser who’s been on my ass since the construction site thing. I just went for a ride with him this morning. You hide the shirt and stuff, and I’ll go talk to him.”

“Right.” Spence snatched up the plastic bag, opened a cupboard, stuffed it into a covered pot, then closed the door.

Kapak hurried down the hall toward the living room. He took a deep breath, then opened the door. He smiled. “Hello again, Lieutenant. Did you find the people who robbed my club last night?”

“Not yet. I’m sorry to bother you again, but I’m afraid we have to go talk downtown.”

“What about?”

“The deaths of Manuel Rogoso, Alvin Tatum, and Chuy Sanchez. We still have to clear some things up.”

Kapak couldn’t believe it. Here he was in his own house with the bloody shirt and the wallet of a murdered man, and here were three homicide detectives. But all they wanted from him was exactly what he wanted—to ride downtown a few miles from here to talk about something else. His luck must be returning already.

He smiled, almost laughed. “Of course. Just let me get my sport coat.”

K
APAK SAT
in the back seat of the car beside Lieutenant Slosser. The two detectives, Timmons and Serra, sat in the front. The male, Timmons, drove the car, and the female was beside him in the passenger seat. It seemed the same to him as riding in a car with his parents when he was very young. His father had bought an old East German Trabant when Claudiu was young. His father would spend every Friday night and Saturday trying in vain to tune it properly or making the repairs to keep it moving, Sunday morning washing the fiberglass exterior, and the afternoon driving it with the family all dressed up, sitting stiffly and listening to the engine, waiting for it to cough, stop spewing black smoke, and glide silently to the side of the road.

He could feel tension in the car now, emanating from the front seat. Maybe it was because these two were partners and they were driving their boss in their unmarked car. He sensed that they were uncomfortable sitting this way, with the man driving and the woman beside him, because they knew it suggested to the eye that they were a couple. That had to be forbidden. They never spoke, only listened for some comment from the back seat that would distract everyone from the way they looked.

He felt sorry for them for a few minutes, then reminded himself that he was the one being transported for interrogation. He turned to look at Slosser and found Slosser already staring at him. “Do I look different?”

“It’s only been a couple of hours. But to me you look like a guy who’s got himself in trouble.”

“Getting older
is
trouble. Once you’re over sixty, every day is a gift, but carrying your gift around wears you down. I don’t know if young men would be such heroes if they knew that every bruise can turn into a pain that comes back later, and every twinge just might be the start of a heart attack.”

“I’ve got old age figured out. When I can, I’m going to lie on a beach every day and have drinks with little umbrellas in them every night.” He paused. “That’s what you should have done.”

“You may be right.”

“I know I am,” Slosser said. “But nobody quits while he’s still okay and hasn’t made a big mistake yet.”

“People make mistakes because they’re greedy,” Kapak said. “They never have enough. That’s not me. I just want to get through the rest of my life like I am.”

Slosser said, “Will one of you please read Mr. Kapak his rights?” He turned to Kapak. “Since we’re talking, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Fine.”

Detective Serra, the one Slosser clearly had meant, recited the Miranda warning, speaking slowly and clearly.

When she reached “Do you understand these rights?” Kapak said, “I understand,” then turned to Slosser. “So now what did you want to ask me?”

“I think we can wait the last few minutes until we’re in the station.” He had sensed that Kapak was feeling too confident and comfortable, but now he had reminded him that their conversation would be recorded to be used at some future trial.

The car pulled into the driveway to the underground lot and stopped at the building entrance. Lieutenant Slosser and Detective Serra got out and escorted Kapak into the building.

The smell of floor wax and disinfectant filled Kapak’s nostrils. It was the smell of governments, the smell of the physical power that dragged people in who were dirty or bleeding or vomiting and made them invisible in some cell or interrogation room, and then cleaned up the mess. It was a reminder that the government was big, its surfaces hard and enduring and polished, and that human beings were small, soft, dirty, and weak. Thousands of them could be herded through here and there would be no sign of it, not even a human smell.

They took an elevator upstairs to the corridor that Kapak remembered from his questioning after the fight at the construction site. They conducted Kapak up the hall toward the interrogation room. There were cops coming up and down the hallway, doors that were closed, others that were open. Kapak’s mind tried to make sense of the place, his eyes scanning, passing over each sight. He could tell from Slosser’s manner that he thought he knew something Kapak didn’t. He knew that was not out of the question. The last time he was here, Slosser had known much more than Kapak about the fight at the construction site. He was determined not to underestimate Slosser.

His eyes turned to his right to glance into the next open doorway—the girls. Then he was past the doorway, with no way to turn and walk back to look again and be sure. He kept walking at the same pace as the others. In a moment he was inside the interrogation room, and he was sure. Both of them had been looking in his direction, and his eyes had met theirs for a second, he had seen them recognize him, and then he was looking at the plain dirty wall going by.

He sat at the table in one of the plain, hard chairs and considered the implications. There could be no weapon. He had taken it apart and spread the pieces where they would never be found. There could be no fingerprints, blood, fiber after a fire. He had seen the house and there was nothing left. His footprints and tire tracks were obliterated when the fire trucks arrived. There was nothing that could connect him with the actual killing except the two girls. What were their names?

Ariana. That was the tall one, with the sweet disposition. The other one’s name was like it. Irena. There was something that he had seen and needed to think about. They had been surprised. If they had told what they had seen him do, why would they be surprised to see Kapak here?

Slosser watched Kapak sitting at the table, glaring at the wall. He caught Serra’s eye and nodded slightly. She was behind Kapak, so she could risk a quick half-smile to acknowledge that, yes, Kapak had seen the two girls through the open office door, and the sight of them had eroded his confidence.

Slosser said, “Mr. Kapak. The reason I asked you down here was that I wanted to double-check some things from our earlier conversations and pursue a few others in case there’s something you didn’t mention the first time. All right?”

“Sure.”

“A few minutes ago, Detective Serra read you your rights, including the right to refuse to answer questions and the right to have an attorney present. Would you like us to repeat anything or explain anything?”

“No. Are you arresting me?”

“No, we’re not. We’re just after information at the moment.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s begin with Manuel Rogoso. Last time we spoke, you couldn’t remember ever having heard of him. I wondered if you had placed the name since then.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Any reason. Sometimes if a name makes the news and a witness sees a picture, he comes back to me and says, ‘Oh, yeah. I remember him now.’ Or ‘I didn’t know his full name. People just called him Manny,’ or something. Anything like that happen to you?”

“No.” He was becoming alarmed. The girls must have told Slosser he laundered money for their boss, Rogoso. That was a major crime, a federal crime. All he could do was hope there was no evidence left to prove what they’d said, and that maybe they hadn’t told Slosser that Kapak had done the shooting.

“I’ve talked to a lot of people who used to see Rogoso. They say you knew him well. They say you took his drug money and mixed it with your take from the clubs. Then you would send a check to a fake company Rogoso controlled for some imaginary service—linen or advertising or something.”

“They have the wrong man.”

“They all say they have the right man, and that you had a business relationship with Rogoso for years.”

“What people?” Of course it was the girls. There was nobody else who would know and tell. But maybe they’d had to give Slosser something but resisted giving him everything. Saying they’d been there and seen it would get them in trouble, maybe get them killed.

“Lots of people. Some worked for him, some didn’t.”

Kapak felt better. That’s all it was. The two teenaged girls were all they had. Kapak could go into court and look pretty honest and substantial beside two teenaged drug mules in short skirts and tattoos. “Well, they’re wrong. I never knew him.”

“I think I know what must have happened. He was a mean, violent guy. Everybody agrees on that. He got upset because you got robbed a couple of times, and it made him feel unsafe. He called you in to see him, you argued, and he told his men to kill you. Isn’t that right? And then you killed him in self-defense.”

Kapak smiled and shook his head. “I did all of this last night? I’m sixty-four years old. I don’t go quick-drawing guns and shooting everyone in sight so I’ll be a big hero. I don’t own a gun, and I’m sure you must have checked my record to see if I ever did.”

“I think you were at Rogoso’s house, and that you shot the three men and burned the house to cover it.”

“I didn’t do any of those things. I wasn’t there.”

“Where were you last night between midnight and three o’clock?”

“We already talked about that this morning. I was at Wash, then at Temptress until two. I talked to my guys at Siren a few times.”

“Anybody see you in any of those places?”

“A lot of people. Dozens of them,” Kapak said. “I talked to them, and they talked to me. I stood around a long time watching bartenders to see how they were keeping up with the demand. I spent time talking to my manager at Wash, Ruben Salinas, and his assistant. I talked to waiters, busboys, even a few dancers, the security guys.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of people. It seems almost as though you were trying to construct an alibi.”

“It might seem that way, if I didn’t do it every night. But I do—seven nights a week. You’ll find out when you start talking to the people who work for me.”

“I have no doubt your lawyers can bring in lots of people to swear you were in sight all evening, but it doesn’t mean you were. I’ll level with you. I’ve got really strong reasons to think you did this. I also know you did it in self-defense. If you’ll just tell me exactly what happened, it will save us both a lot of time and effort, and you a lot of money. The law will also go a lot easier if you’ll be honest about it. You and I both know what Rogoso was like. He was arrogant and vicious. He was trying to kill you right then. All you have to do now is agree with me.”

They sat and stared at each other across the table for a long time. Finally Kapak said, “I’d like to call my attorney now.”

J
ERRY GAFFNEY
and Jimmy Gaffney and Vassily Voinovich were in the garage of Voinovich’s house. Since he had come to Hollywood, Jimmy Gaffney had seen these little old houses with high-peaked roofs that made them look like witches or goblins lived there and wondered what sort of person really did. It turned out that the sort of person was Voinovich. Whatever it reminded him of in his Russian life, it seemed to make him calmer.

The garage was far too small for his SUV, and so it served as a workshop and storage space. Jimmy Gaffney pulled his body armor over his head, then blew out a breath of air. “Man, this is hot. I feel like I’m in some kind of press.”

“It’s not there to be comfy” Jerry said. “If you take a round in the chest, you’ll be damned glad you’re wearing that thing.”

“Not always,” Voinovich said. “I saw two bulletproof vests pierced in one fight when I was back home. It was a war between the security forces of a bank and a department store.”

Jerry stared at him thoughtfully. “Well, probably nobody is going to be firing military ammo around here. If they do, at least now we’ll know why we’re dead.”

Jerry put on his shirt over the armor and buttoned it. He had the same squared-off barrel torso that Voinovich had with his vest on. He put on a shoulder holster to hold his Glock pistol, then knelt to put a small ankle holster under his right pant leg to hold his .380 pistol. He put on a thin windbreaker over his gear and shrugged a few times to shift everything into the right places. He went to the workbench to pick up his ski mask and one of the three radio receivers.