“Didn’t SID say it was no good?”
“The case dicks took a shot with a CGI house. Marx pulled it before the CGI people finished. I’m trying to find out what he did with it.”
“No idea, man. Like I told you, my team worked on the book. Wasn’t in the book, I don’t know about it.”
“Who worked on Repko?”
“That was Bastilla and Munson. Yeah, I’m pretty sure Munson was on it.”
Munson again.
“Who’s Munson?”
“One of the Homicide Special guys, up there with Bastilla. He and Marx go back. I think they used to work together.”
“Can you ask them what happened with the disk?”
“Uh-uh, man, no way. I’m not going there. They were the inner circle.”
“Just tell them you were wondering about it. No big deal.”
“Cole, you don’t get this at all. Those people were the people who gave us our orders, and one of our orders was to mind our own business. I ask about this DVD, they’ll wonder why. We weren’t even allowed to ask about each other’s work when we were working together.”
“I thought Marx gave the orders.”
“Our work went up to the senior supervising detectives, and they brought it to Marx. That’s why we called them the inner circle. You had to go through them to get to Marx.”
“So each team only saw its own part of the case, but the guys up top put it together.”
“It was the only way to keep so much parallel work coordinated. Look at how much we accomplished in just a week.”
“Was Crimmens part of that crew?”
“Nah. He was an add-on like me. We had a ton of people in here, man. I heard it was thirty-two people, though I couldn’t say. I never met most of them.”
I kept thinking about the DVD. It was a piece of physical evidence. Like every other piece of evidence, it would have been numbered, documented, and preserved in a chain of custody. Even if it was only a useless piece of plastic, its location and uselessness would be a matter of written record.
“Okay. Forget asking. How about you take a peek in their evidence file and tell me what it says?”
“No way. I can’t.”
“Thirty seconds and you’re gone. Just tell me what Marx did with it.”
“I physically cannot. They keep the files in an evidence room. It’s locked. We could only sign out material specific to our assignment. Since I didn’t work on Repko, I don’t have access to that material. One of the commanders would have to sign off.”
“Don’t you find that extreme, Lindo?”
“I find it anal and corporate, but nobody asked me. Use your head. If this disk mattered a damn, we would have seen the video on the six o’clock news.”
“It doesn’t make sense they would pull it before the CGI house finished their work.”
“Maybe that’s why they pulled it, Cole. How long did that place have it and still hadn’t finished? Marx or whoever probably had the FBI do an overnighter. That’s what I would have done.”
I didn’t like it, but Lindo was making sense. The LAPD couldn’t make demands on a civilian firm unless they were paying for a service, and Darcy hadn’t been paying—he had leaned on his brother-in-law for a favor.
I put down the phone, then tried to decide on a game plan. The next obvious step was to pick up where Darcy and Maddux left off at Leverage, only the people at Leverage had no reason to be cooperative. If they sandbagged two LAPD detectives, they probably wouldn’t even bother to return my calls.
I was still thinking about it when I noticed Michael Repko. He was standing in the front window of his house, watching me. He stood as if he had been there a while.
I called him, and watched him fish his cell from his pocket to answer. I could have walked the fifty feet up his drive, but I didn’t want to face his mother again.
He said, “Was that Darcy and Maddux?”
“Yeah. Your mother called them.”
“Shit, man. I didn’t know.”
“They told me some things I want to check out, but I’m going to need your help.”
“Okay.”
“I need to talk to Casey Stokes about your sister, but she’s not going to talk to me if I just show up.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, I understand.”
“I want your father to tell her I’m working for your family. He should keep it vague. All he has to say is he and your mother have some unresolved questions. Will he do that, Michael?”
Michael raised a hand to his head. It was a gesture indicating his anxiety, and he glanced at something or someone deeper inside the house before turning back.
“I could call her. She was really nice at the funeral.”
“Not you, Michael. It has to be your father. When she gets this request, she has to feel the weight of Debra’s family behind it. Debra’s family will be asking the questions, not me. That’s the only way she will talk to me.”
“I don’t know. I could ask.”
“He needs to do this, Michael. If I’m working for Debra’s family, then I’m representing Debra. If not, they won’t talk to me.”
Michael stared at me with his hand on his head.
“I guess you are kinda working for us.”
“Yes. I’m working for Debra.”
“You aren’t what I expected.”
“Have him call.”
“I’m sorry my mom called those guys. I didn’t set you up, man.”
“Tell your mother something. She was right about Darcy and Maddux. They’re good guys. They did a good job for your sister.”
“Do they think Byrd killed Debbie?”
It was the first time I had heard her called Debbie.
“Have your father call Casey Stokes. I’m driving there now, so let me know after he speaks with her.”
“I’ll try.”
“One more thing. Were you and your sister close?”
“Well, sure, I guess. What do you mean by ‘close’?”
“If she was seeing someone, would she have told you?”
Michael stared at me for another moment, and finally lowered his hand.
“My sister didn’t share.”
He was still in the window as I drove away.
21
LEVERAGE ASSOCIATES occupied two floors of an older glass building in the downtown business district, not far from City Hall. They were less than fifteen minutes from the Repkos’ home in Pasadena. Michael Repko called back twenty minutes later as I circled the building.
“My dad talked to her. You’re all set up.”
“Okay. That’s great.”
“He kept it vague like you said. He told her you were working for us. He wasn’t so thrilled about that, but he told her.”
“This will make things easier, Michael. I’ll keep you advised.”
I pulled up in front of the building as I closed the phone, parked at a meter, then took the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. It was a nice floor in a nice building with tasteful, conservative decor. Steel letters fixed to the wall read LEVERAGE ASSOCIATES. I identified myself to the receptionist, told her Casey Stokes was expecting me, and took a seat to wait.
I didn’t sit long. An attractive African-American woman in a grey business suit came down the hall. She offered her hand with a quick, professional smile and an expression of condolence.
“Mr. Cole, Casey Stokes. I was Debra’s supervisor.”
“Thank you for seeing me. The Repkos appreciate it.”
“I was surprised when Mr. Repko said there were questions. I thought the case was closed.”
I tried to look noncommittal.
“Something like this happens, families always have concerns. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, of course. Here, we can speak in my office.”
She ushered me along a hall decorated with black-and-white photographs of people and places from the city’s past—the Angels Flight funicular climbing Bunker Hill, Chavez Ravine when it was goat farms and barrio housing, and W
illiam Mulholland opening the aqueduct to bring water down from the Owens Valley. Along with the historic scenes were photographs of past state and local politicians of both political parties. I didn’t recognize most of them, but a few had gained national prominence and two had been elected to national office. A Who’s Who of California’s power elite.
Ms. Stokes was saying, “Do you know what we do here, Mr. Cole?”
“You run political campaigns.”
She gave a benevolent smile, as if she was the teacher and I was slow.
“A campaign is a point-in-time event. A political career is an ongoing effort. We manage political careers.”
“Ah. The wizards behind the curtain.”
“Only if we’re successful. We develop election strategies, but we also advise on public relations and help our clients refine or perfect their political identity.”
“If I decide to be governor, you’ll be my first call.”
She laughed. She had a lovely laugh, and a charming, genuine manner.
A faint buzz cut through her laugh, and she took a PDA from her pocket. She glanced at the screen without breaking stride.
“Sorry—a meeting was changed. This business, everything rolls from one crisis to the next.”
“I understand.”
She thumbed out a reply, then slipped the PDA back into her pocket as we passed a glass-walled conference room before entering her office. Several people were in the conference room shaking hands and smiling. Beyond her office were cubicles with men and women talking on phones or texting. Most appeared to be Debra’s age. One might have been Debra’s replacement.
Casey Stokes offered me a seat, then went behind her desk. She laced her fingers and maintained the professional smile.
“Now, how can I help?”
“We have a few questions about some things that were brought up during the investigation.”
We. The family and the ghost of Debra Repko were now in Casey Stokes’s office. She seemed genuinely pained.
“When I remember that evening and what happened only a few hours later—it was awful.”
“Yes, ma’am. It was. I understand you were the last person to see her.”
“That’s right. We attended a dinner honoring Councilman Wilts at the Bonaventure. The councilman is one of our clients.”
“So you spent the entire time together?”
“More or less. Debra’s job was to make sure each reporter had their five minutes with the councilman before the dinner began. Debra and I. Actually, five of us from Leverage attended, but we all had different responsibilities. Debra and I had our own segment of the evening to handle, so we were together.”
“She was your assistant?”
“Debra was what we call a first-year. All our first-years work as floaters to experience the different aspects of what we do. I had Debra join me that night so she could gain experience with the media. Once the interviews were over, our job was finished. We walked out to our cars together.”
“Did Debra tell you her plans for the evening?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Maybe mention she was going to meet friends or wanted to stop for a drink?”
Ms. Stokes studied me, then cocked her head.
“What does this have to do with a chance encounter with a maniac?”
“It has to do with her personal life.”
Something that might have been sadness flickered in her eyes.
“Now I understand. That rumor about her seeing a married man.”
“It’s eating at her parents. Especially her mother.”
Casey Stokes sighed, and something in her sigh made me feel bad for having said it.
“Mr. Cole, I don’t know what to tell you. If Debra was seeing someone, married or otherwise, she never mentioned it to me or anyone else here at Leverage. My understanding is that this rumor started with someone at Debra’s apartment building.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s where it started.”
“Then perhaps you should be asking that person. Debra and I only spoke about politics. She was excited by politics. She wanted to work on a national level. She might have. She was serious about her career.”
Her phone rang as she finished. She glanced at her watch, then excused herself to take the call. While she was on the phone, I looked at the people in the conference room. Two men in conservative business suits were making a PowerPoint presentation to the five people who were now seated at the table. The man at the head of the table was a balding guy with a large stomach and white shirt rolled to his elbows. Everyone else was twenty years younger.
While the suits made their presentation, a young man seated beside the older man was texting on his PDA. Nobody seemed to mind. He nudged the older man, then showed him the PDA. The older man took out a PDA of his own and fired off a message. The two guys with the PowerPoint looked as if they didn’t know whether to keep going or not.
Stokes put down her phone and checked her watch again.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, but perhaps you’ll have better luck with Debra’s neighbors. Please tell her parents that, personally, I think this rumor was—and is—absurd.”
She stood to show me out, but I didn’t stand with her. When I didn’t get up, she sat.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what more I can say.”
“I’m speaking with you and not Debra’s neighbors because of something we learned from the police. I feel awkward about bringing it up, but her family is in a great deal of pain. We need to clear the air.”
She waited without saying anything, so I went on.
“The Repkos recently learned that when the rumor first surfaced about Debra being involved with a married man, you folks here at Leverage refused to cooperate. In fact, the detectives felt you were sandbagging them.”
Her mouth drew into a knot as she tapped a perfectly manicured nail on her desk.
“That’s not precisely true.”
“Seems like it should be either true or not true, Ms. Stokes. Without the ‘precisely.’”
She tapped the nail again.
“You have to understand. As a first-year, Debra attended meetings with most of our clients. The police wanted to talk to these people. I understood that. We all understood. But our clients are people who live their lives in the public eye, and here were these officers wanting to question them about a young woman most of them probably didn’t remember. Just being questioned could be used against them by their enemies.”
“It was a murder investigation. Questions have to be asked.”
Ms. Stokes shifted uncomfortably.
“And those questions were asked. You can assure the Repkos we cooperated.”
“Stonewalling the investigation for two weeks doesn’t sound like cooperation.”
“No one here stonewalled. We simply went over the heads of the original detectives and consulted with the command structure. They understood our concerns.”
I stared at her.
“The command structure where?”
“The police. We reviewed our concerns with Deputy Chief Marx. He made what could have been—and was—an uncomfortable situation much more tolerable.”
“You mean the task force?”
“No, no. This was during the original investigation. Chief Marx personally ensured that a thorough investigation was conducted, and had our full cooperation. He even interviewed some of the clients himself.”
I stared at her so hard she frowned.
“Mr. Cole?”
“Chief Marx oversaw the investigation?”
“That’s right. The chief is one of our clients.”
I tried to smile. I tried to look as if this was the best news the family could hear.
“Well. That changes things.”
Casey Stokes looked relieved.
“I’m so sorry for this confusion.”
“Of course. The family will be glad to hear it.”
“Please. Tell the Repkos to call
me. If they have any questions at all, they can call me.”
I nodded. I smiled.
“So. The chief is going into politics?”
“He’s considering it. We believe he can be positioned to fill Councilman Wilts’s seat when the councilman retires next year. The councilman is quite a fan of Chief Marx.”
I smiled even wider.
“How could he be anything else?”
“So please assure Mr. and Mrs. Repko the police had our full cooperation. We simply worked at a level where discretion could be guaranteed.”
Her PDA buzzed again. She glanced at the message, then stood.
“I really do have to go now, Mr. Cole. It’s been awful for all of us, but I know it’s been worse for the Repkos. Please tell them we would never have done anything to hamper the investigation, and we didn’t.”
“I’ll tell them, Ms. Stokes. Thank you.”
Her PDA buzzed once more, and now she touched a button to make it stop. Everyone at Leverage seemed to have them.
“Does everyone here carry one of those things?”
“It’s how we stay in touch. One of the perks, but also one of the pains. We carry them twenty-four/seven.”
“Did Debra have one?”
Across the hall, the meeting in the conference room was breaking up. The young guy who had shown his PDA to the older guy was still texting.
Ms. Stokes said, “She did. All of our associates and principals have them. Leverage provides them.”
“You saw her with it that night?”
She gave a halfhearted shrug.
“Of course. We used them to coordinate the interviews.”
Her PDA buzzed again, but this time she didn’t look at it. She touched my arm to herd me toward the door.
“One more thing about this rumor, and I hope her family will find some solace in this. I can’t definitively say Debra wasn’t involved with someone, but she never hinted at such a thing, or acted the way young women act when they’re infatuated. She never mentioned anything like that to me or the other first-years. I know because I asked them, and so did Chief Marx.”
Casey Stokes walked me out, but did not say good-bye. I didn’t say good-bye, either. I was too busy thinking about Marx.
22