Chasing Darkness

  I searched the box and desk, then went to the closet and studied the clothes. She hadn’t been wearing any of these things when she was murdered. Everything in the closet had been safely back at her apartment, so it made no sense to search for fibers unless Bastilla and Munson believed someone else was involved.

  I said, “Lots of clothes. It must have taken the criminalist a long time.”

  “He was back here for a long time.”

  “You were talking with the detectives all that time?”

  “That’s right. It was very emotional for us.”

  “I’m sure. I’m curious, Mr. Repko—did Bastilla and Munson ask about anything, other than informing you about Byrd?”

  “You mean about Debra?”

  “Yes, sir. About Debra. All that time you were talking, I’m sure they had questions.”

  He thought some more.

  “Men. Boyfriends. That kind of thing. They asked about her job.”

  “At Leverage?”

  “Who she liked, who her friends were, if she mentioned anyone. That kind of thing. I don’t think we were very much help. I didn’t see what it had to do with this man, Byrd.”

  “So they were interested in Leverage?”

  “I guess you could say that, but like I said, I think they were making conversation—”

  Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him.

  “Well, there was the one thing, but I don’t know if this is what you mean—”

  “What’s that?”

  “Detective Bastilla wanted the guest registry from the burial service. They wanted to make a copy of it.”

  “Was she suggesting Byrd might have come to Debra’s burial?”

  “It seems unlikely, don’t you think, considering?”

  I didn’t tell him I thought the idea of Lionel Byrd attending her funeral was absurd.

  “That’s an interesting notion, Mr. Repko. Could I see it?”

  “They haven’t returned it yet. When she returns it, would you still like to see it?”

  “Yes, sir. That would be good.”

  He walked me back to the living room. The brothers looked up as if they thought I was going to announce the big breakthrough, but all I could do was tell them I would call with any developments. Mrs. Repko was not with them, but Michael handed me a short list of names and numbers. When Mr. Repko showed me to the door, Michael started to follow, but Mr. Repko stopped him.

  “I’ll walk Mr. Cole to the door. I’d like a word with him alone.”

  Michael met my eyes, and I followed his father out. When we reached the entry, Mr. Repko hesitated before he opened the door.

  He said, “I really don’t know what to say to you.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  He stared at the floor, then straightened as if it took an enormous effort. He studied my face. His boys had marked me up pretty good.

  “Michael told me what happened. I guess you could have had them arrested. I imagine you can still sue us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He looked away again, as if the weight of maintaining the contact added to his burden and he had to drop it before continuing.

  “Those first few weeks, all I thought about was what I would do when the police found him. All those terrible fantasies you have, shooting him at his trial, hiring a mobster to kill him if they sent him to prison.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then, when they didn’t, I was so scared he would get away with it, and then they did, but now—”

  He trailed off, and I could see the weight of his pain crushing him—his face sagged, his shoulders slumped, his back bent. It was awful to see, but I had seen worse and would see worse again.

  “I’m sorry for what the boys did, Mr. Cole. I would not have allowed it. Please let me pay for any damages.”

  “I’d better get going, Mr. Repko.”

  I left him without looking at him or saying anything more. I walked down his lovely drive and into the lovely street, and stood by my car, wondering why Connie Bastilla would want the funeral registry. Murderers often attended their victim’s funerals, and sometimes left flowers or cards. It was possible Bastilla checked the registry for Byrd’s name as a pro forma part of her investigation, like dotting an i or crossing a t, but it was also possible she was checking for a different signature—someone whose DNA was currently an unidentified blind sample in anonymous tests.

  I was still thinking about it when a grey Crown Victoria eased up the street and took forever to reach me. It idled to a stop, and two men in sunglasses stared at me. The passenger and the driver were both in their early thirties with short dark hair and ties but no jackets. They wore short-sleeved shirts and the flat, empty faces that came with having to wear bad clothes while riding around in a bad car. The passenger’s window rolled down.

  I said, “You’re either cops or the Men in Black. Which is it?”

  The passenger held up his badge, then tipped it toward the backseat.

  “I’m Darcy. He’s Maddux. Let’s talk about Debra Repko.”

  I didn’t want to get in their car.

  “So talk. I can hear you.”

  Darcy glanced in his side-view like someone might be behind him. Maddux leaned across his partner to see me.

  “You’re Cole, right? The dude who got off Lionel Byrd?”

  “Tell you what, Maddux—how about you kiss my ass?”

  “We don’t think Byrd killed her. Now get in, and let’s talk about it.”

  I got in, and we talked.

  19

  MADDUX PULLED into the shade of an enormous elm, but left the engine running with the AC on high. Darcy was the larger of the two, with fleshy hands and the slow moves of a man who thought things through. Maddux was different. He flicked and fluttered like a man wound tight by a grudge. Once we were parked, they hooked their elbows over the top of the front seat, propping themselves sideways. Darcy faced me, but Maddux glanced everywhere as if he was worried someone might see us.

  Darcy said, “Nice set of lumps there, bro. Those brothers are something, aren’t they?”

  “It’s an acne flare-up.”

  “Sure. Mrs. Repko called us this morning. She wanted us to do something about you.”

  “So this is you, doing something?”

  Maddux stopped squirming long enough to glare at me.

  “This is us sticking our necks out. One day we’re ordered to give up our work, a week later, Marx and his asshats clear seven cases.”

  “Maybe the asshats are better than you.”

  “And maybe they pulled Byrd out their ass.”

  Darcy and Maddux were watching me. We were under an elm tree in Pasadena, and they shouldn’t have been here and they shouldn’t have been talking to me. They were probably detective-twos, but they probably hadn’t been on the bureau for more than six or eight years. They might be guys on their way up or they might be guys who had already topped out, or maybe they were working for Marx. If they weren’t, they were hanging out over the edge just by talking with me.

  I said, “You have a problem with what the task force is saying, you should take it up with them.”

  “We tried. They told us to eat it.”

  Darcy smiled at his partner.

  “Actually, they told us the case was no longer our concern. We didn’t like that. Then they refused to return our case files. We liked that even less.”

  “So this is what we call an off-the-record conversation?”

  “Something like that. Either way, we don’t think they should have closed the case.”

  Their curious cop gaze rested on me, content to wait beneath the elm for the world to turn and the seasons to change and the sun to cool.

  I said, “What if I told you the case isn’t closed? What if I said the task force was here pulling fibers off the girl’s clothes at the same time Marx went public about Byrd?”

  Darcy’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

  ?
??I’d tell you to keep talking. I’d say if we like what you’re doing, we might be willing to help.”

  I walked them through Bennett first, then sketched out Byrd and what I knew of the other murders and how Debra Repko was different. I told them about Ivy Casik and the reporter who might or might not be a reporter. Darcy and Maddux knew almost nothing about Byrd or the previous five murders, but they had worked on Debra Repko’s case for almost five weeks before it was taken, and were willing to tell me about it.

  Debra Repko had spent the day performing her duties at Leverage Associates, then accompanied five other Leverage employees to an evening political event where she assisted with media interviews. Once the interviews ended, Debra and her supervisor, a woman named Casey Stokes, walked to their cars together. Casey Stokes was the last person known to have seen Debra Repko alive.

  Darcy and Maddux caught the case the following morning, and thought they lucked into a game-winning break right away.

  Darcy said, “One of the shop owners where her body was found called, saying he had a security video of the murder. We thought we had the killing on disk.”

  “Waitaminute—you have something on tape?”

  “DVD. It was digital.”

  Maddux waved his hand like he was chasing away a fly.

  “It was nothing. The guy rigged up a do-it-yourself surveillance kit because kids were tagging the building, only the cheap fuck set it up wrong. All he got were shadows.”

  “Could you see any part of the incident?”

  “Not even. SID dicked around with it for a couple of weeks, but said the digital information just didn’t exist, so Darcy here gave it to his brother-in-law.”

  “My brother-in-law works for a CGI house in Hollywood. You know what that is?”

  “Sure.”

  Computer-generated images were a mainstay of Hollywood special effects.

  “He offered to take a look, but it was a long shot. By that time, we had other lines—”

  Maddux interrupted.

  “The manager at her apartment house looked pretty good, a dude named Agazzi. I’m all over this guy. I still think he’s good for it, and he could have gone into her apartment any time he wanted. If Bastilla and Munson were out here looking for fibers, they might have been looking for him.”

  Darcy shook his head.

  “Maddux and I don’t agree. He likes Agazzi, but one of Repko’s neighbors at the apartment, a woman named Sheila Evers, told us Repko was seeing a married man.”

  Maddux shook his head.

  “If there’s a boyfriend. Personally, I think the broad made up that stuff. We couldn’t find anyone who confirmed a boyfriend.”

  I showed them the names Mrs. Repko had given me.

  “You check with her friends?”

  Darcy glanced at the names, then passed it to Maddux.

  “Yeah. They didn’t know anything. Said Debra never mentioned a boyfriend or lover or seeing a married guy, but here’s this good-looking young woman, it’s easy to think we’re talking about someone she met at work.”

  It was reasonable, especially considering the amount of time Mrs. Repko complained her daughter had worked. If Debra was always working, then her only opportunity to meet men was through work.

  I said, “Mr. Repko told me Bastilla and Munson were asking about Leverage. They made out they were just making conversation, but they were asking about the people Debra worked with.”

  Darcy and Maddux traded another glance.

  Darcy said, “When we talked to Leverage about Debra’s evening, they were cooperative. Then the boyfriend angle presented itself. When we told them we wanted to interview the male clients she worked with, they hit the brakes.”

  “They wouldn’t tell you who she worked with?”

  “They didn’t have a problem letting us talk to the male employees at Leverage, but they dug in hard when it came to naming their clients. We pushed, and we were told to lay off.”

  “Their clients are politicians, Cole. We got a call saying the brass would review the matter and get back to us.”

  “The brass. Parker Center?”

  “It came through Parker, but who knows where it started? Couple of weeks later, Leverage got back to us, but they basically chose who we could talk to.”

  “You think Leverage is hiding something?”

  Maddux smirked automatically, but Darcy was more considered.

  “I don’t know, Cole. Maybe they just didn’t want their clients linked to a murder investigation. I get that. But most people are murdered by people they know. A wife gets murdered, the first person you look at is the husband. Doesn’t matter if he’s the greatest guy in the world, you look at him because that’s how it works. You clear the people who were the closest to the vic first, then work your way out. We weren’t allowed to clear Leverage.”

  Maddux said, “Agazzi was close. He lived right down the hall.”

  Darcy sighed, tired of hearing about Agazzi. He had probably been sighing like that for as long as they were partners.

  “We know she left the dinner event alone, but we don’t know if she stopped on her way home. It’s possible she picked up someone, but I’m thinking this guy was waiting for her.”

  “Because they went for a walk.”

  “That’s right. If she asked some dude back to her place, they’re going inside. So I’m thinking she got home and found someone waiting. Then one or the other of them says let’s take a walk. Probably the male because he already has it in his head to kill her and wants to lead her in the right direction. There was no reason for them to walk south that time of night. Maddux and I made the walk, man. All the action is north on Melrose. I think she knew the guy, she was comfortable with him, and he led her into the kill zone.”

  The corner of Maddux’s mouth curled.

  “You see this woman going for a stroll with a creep like Lionel Byrd?”

  I smiled.

  “No, Maddux. I don’t.”

  “Which means if Byrd did the deed, he stalked her or the whole thing was a chance encounter. If you buy either one, you have to buy she went for a walk that night by herself, in the bad direction with no open shops and nothing but darkness, in heels. In heels, for Chrissake. That’s bullshit.”

  Darcy stared at his partner as if he was thinking it through for the thousandth time, then finally shrugged.

  “That’s where we were when they pulled the plug, Cole. We believe she knew the killer. I believe she was seeing someone on the sly. If we were still on it, we’d be all over Leverage. Especially now with what you’ve told us.”

  The three of us sat in their car under the elm in silence. I thought through everything and tried to put their information in some kind of usable order.

  “What happened with the video?”

  “Don’t know. Some task force douche picked it up before my brother-in-law could get to it.”

  “Why’d they pick it up?”

  Darcy shrugged.

  “Don’t know.”

  “What did they do with it?”

  “Don’t know. We asked, but they wouldn’t tell us.”

  Maddux said, “They wouldn’t tell us anything, Cole.”

  Darcy checked the time, then nudged his partner’s arm.

  “That’s it. Let’s take him back.”

  Maddux dropped the car into gear and pulled a slow U-turn. We headed back toward the Repkos’.

  Darcy still had his elbow hooked over the seat, staring at nothing. I could see the passing houses and trees crawl across his sunglasses like a film strip. It was a nice film. It looked like the American dream.

  I said, “Why’d you guys bring me in?”

  Maddux glanced in the rearview. Darcy came out of his film.

  “The Repkos deserve to know what happened to their daughter.”

  “Meaning you’ve taken the case as far as you can.”

  “Man says we’re off, we’re off. You, on the other hand, can do whatever you want.”

  Ma
ddux glanced again.

  “I just wanna fuck that prick Marx.”

  Darcy unhooked his arm.

  “That, too.”

  They dropped me outside the Repkos’ home, then melted through a tunnel of dappled shade.

  20

  DARCY AND Maddux had been cut out of the loop. Poitras, Bobby McQue, and Starkey had been cut, and Chen and the criminalists had been forced to work in the dark. People who should have been collaborators with Marx and his task force had been treated as if they couldn’t be trusted. I wondered what Marx didn’t trust them with.

  I sat in my car outside the Repko house, thinking about the video and why Marx pulled it before Darcy’s brother-in-law finished trying to recover whatever was recorded. LAPD had a long history of using local special-effects houses to examine and enhance film and video. If you had state-of-the-art specialists available, it made sense to use them. Marx pulling the DVD bothered me because SID was good, and if they said the DVD was junk, then it was probably junk, which was why Marx’s play didn’t make sense. If the DVD was useless, there was nothing to lose by letting a cutting-edge CGI house see what it could do and everything to gain.

  I paged through my notes until I found Lindo’s number, then gave him a call. He didn’t seem as nervous as when we spoke before. Maybe because he was back to investigating bomb-kook conspiracies.

  He said, “What’s up, Cole?”

  “Do you know what happened to the security video of Debra Repko’s murder?”

  The surprise in his voice was clear.

  “There was a video?”

  “One of the shopkeepers where Repko was murdered turned in a recording. How could you not know about this?”

  Lindo was silent for a moment.

  “Waitaminute—maybe I heard something. It was blank or something was wrong with it?”

  “That’s the one. A CGI house was working on it when you guys took over.”