A Trace of Murder

CHAPTER FIVE

Keri walked down the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center hallway as quickly as her aching body would allow. Becky Sampson’s house was only blocks away from the hospital so Keri didn’t feel too guilty about making a quick pit stop to check on Ray.

But as she approached his room, she could feel the recent, familiar nervousness start to churn in her gut. How were they going to make things normal between them again, when there was this silent secret they shared but couldn’t acknowledge? As she reached his room, Keri resolved on what she hoped would be a temporary solution. She’d fake it.

The door was open and she could see that Ray was asleep. There was no one else in the room. The latest labor contract with the city stipulated that hospitalized officers got private rooms whenever available, so he had it pretty sweet. The room had a view of the Hollywood Hills and a big-screen TV, which was on but muted. Some old movie with Sylvester Stallone competing in an arm-wrestling competition filled the screen.

No wonder he fell asleep.

Keri walked over and studied her sleeping partner. Lying in bed, with a floral hospital gown loose about his body, Ray Sands looked much more frail than usual. Normally his six-foot-four, 230-pound African-American frame was intimidating, as was his completely bald head. He’d more than earned his sometime nickname of “Big.”

With his eyes closed, his right glass eye, the one he’d lost in a boxing match years ago, wasn’t noticeable. No one would guess that the forty-year-old man now lying in a hospital bed with an untouched bowl of red Jell-O next to him had once been Ray “The Sandman” Sands, an Olympic bronze medalist and professional heavyweight contender once considered a frontrunner to win the title. Of course, that was before an underrated southpaw with a brutal left hook had destroyed his eye and ended his career at age twenty-eight with one punch.

After flailing about for a while, Ray found policing and worked his way up to become one of the most highly regarded Missing Persons investigators in the department. And with Brody’s imminent retirement, he was in line to take over his position in Robbery-Homicide.

Keri glanced out at the distant hills, wondering what their status would be in six months, when they were no longer partners or even in the same unit. She pushed the thought away, unwilling to imagine life without the one steadying influence in her life since Evie was taken.

Suddenly she sensed she was being watched. She glanced down and saw that Ray was awake, quietly staring at her.

“How’s it going, Smurfette?” he asked playfully. They loved teasing each other about their dramatic size difference.

“Okay, how are you feeling today, Shrek?”

“A little tired, to be honest. I had a big workout a while ago. I walked all the way down the hallway and back. Look out, LeBron James, I’m on your heels.”

“Did they give you a timetable for when they’re letting you out?” she asked.

“They said maybe end of the week, if things keep progressing. Then it will be two weeks of bed rest at home. If that goes well, I’ll be allowed to assume desk duty on a limited basis. Assuming I haven’t shot myself from boredom before then.”

Keri sat quietly for a moment, mulling over how to continue. Part of her wanted to tell Ray to take it slow, not to push too hard to get back to work. Of course, saying that would be hypocritical, as that was exactly what she’d done. And she knew he’d call her on it.

But he had been shot while helping save her life. She felt responsible. She felt protective of him. And she felt other things she wasn’t quite prepared to think about at the moment.

Ultimately, she decided that giving him a distraction to focus on might be a better way to go than lecturing him.

“Along those lines, I could use your help with a case I just landed. You willing to mix in a little analysis with your Jell-O?” she asked.

“First of all, congrats on getting back on field duty. Second, how about we skip the Jell-O and go straight to the case?”

“Okay. Here are the basics. Kendra Burlingame, Beverly Hills socialite wife of a successful plastic surgeon, hasn’t been heard from since yesterday morning—”

“What was yesterday again?” Ray interrupted. “The pain meds have me a little loopy when it comes to, you know, days of the week.”

“Yesterday was Monday, Sherlock,” Keri said snarkily. “Her husband says he last saw her at six forty-five a.m. before he went to San Diego to supervise a surgery. It’s currently two forty on Tuesday afternoon, so that’s about thirty-two hours missing.”

“Assuming the husband’s telling the truth. You know the first rule when it comes to missing wives—the husband did it.”

Keri was annoyed that everyone, including her seemingly enlightened partner, seemed to constantly remind her of that. When she responded, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Really, Ray, is that the first rule? Let me write that one down because this is the first time I’ve heard it. Any other pearls of wisdom you care to offer, oh wise one? Maybe that the sun is hot? Or that kale tastes like aluminum foil?”

“I’m just saying—”

“Believe me, Ray, I know. And the guy is currently suspect number one. But she could have just run off too. I think that as a law enforcement professional, it might be worthwhile pursuing other leads, don’t you?”

“I do. That way, you have a leg to stand on when you arrest him.”

“Nice to see you using your keen investigative skills rather than just jumping to unfounded conclusions,” Keri said mockingly, trying not to smile.

“That’s how I roll. So what’s next on the agenda?”

“I’m going to see Kendra’s best friend when I leave here. Her place is just around the corner. The husband said Kendra was acting funny after the two of them returned from a high school reunion.”

“Is anyone checking on the doctor’s trip to San Diego?”

“Brody’s headed down there now.”

“You got partnered with Frank Brody on this?” Ray said, trying not to laugh. “No wonder you’d rather spend time with an invalid. How’s that going?”

“Why do you think I didn’t object when he offered to go to San Diego? The local guys down there could have just as easily followed up but he insisted and I figured it would keep him and his maroon atrocity of a car out of my way for a while. Besides, I’d rather spend time in the company of a worn-out, weak-muscled, bed-ridden sad sack like yourself than Brody any day.”

All the banter had lulled Keri into a sense of comfort and she realized, too late, that her last comment had sent them right back to the awkward place. Ray was silent for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak but Keri got there first.

“Anyway, I should be heading out. I was supposed to be meeting Kendra’s friend right about now. I’ll check in with you later. Take it slow, okay?”

She left without waiting for a response. As she rushed down the hall to catch the elevator, she kept repeating one word over and over again.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

CHAPTER SIX

Still feeling flushed with embarrassment, Keri drove the short distance to Becky Sampson’s house. She caught sight of her blushing face in the rearview mirror and looked away quickly, trying to think of anything other than how she’d left things with Ray. It occurred to her that she’d rushed out so quickly, she forgot to tell him about the anonymous call regarding Evie and her trip to the abandoned warehouse.

This case, Keri. Keep your mind on this case.

She considered calling Detective Kevin Edgerton, the tech expert who was tracing Kendra’s last known GPS location, to see if he’d had any luck.

Part of her was annoyed that having Edgerton work on this was taking him away from trying to break the code on Alan Pachanga’s laptop. Again, frustration coursed through her as she remembered how they had initially thought they’d accessed an entire network of abductors, only to hit wall after wall.

Keri was certain that the cipher she needed was somewhere in the files of Pachanga’s lawyer, Jackson Cave. She resolved that she was going to pay Cave a visit today, case or not.

As she made that pledge, she pulled up to Becky Sampson’s place.

Time to set Cave aside for now. Kendra Burlingame needs my help. Stay focused.

She got out of her car and took in the neighborhood as she walked up to the main door of the apartment complex. Becky Sampson lived in a three-story Tudor-style building. The entire street, North Stanley Drive, was lined with similarly faux-ornate complexes.

This part of Beverly Hills, just south of Cedars-Sinai and Burton Way and west of Robertson Boulevard, was technically within the city limits. But as it was surrounded by commercial districts and abutting the city of Los Angeles, rent was significantly lower than in other sections of town. Still, the mailing address said Beverly Hills and that had its perks.

Keri buzzed Becky’s unit and was let in right away. Once she was inside, it became apparent that the zip code was the major selling point of the place. It certainly wasn’t the actual building. As she walked down the hall to the elevator, Keri took in the peeling light pink paint on the walls and the thick, mottled carpeting. Everything smelled moldy.

The elevator smelled even worse, like it had suffered through multiple vomit-related incidents over the years and could no longer hide the scent. It jerked unsteadily up until it reached the third floor and the doors rattled open. Keri stepped out, deciding to take the stairs on the way down, even if her ribs and shoulder would hate her for it.

She knocked on the door to unit 323, undid the clasp on her weapon, rested her hand over it unobtrusively, and waited. The sound of dishes being dumped unceremoniously in a sink was easy to identify, as was the thud as whatever had been lying on the floor was tossed in a closet.

Now she’s checking herself in a mirror near the front door. There’s the shadow across the peephole as she checks me out and the door should open in three, two…

Keri heard a lock turn and the door opened to reveal a thin, harried-looking woman. She must have been about the same age as Kendra if they’d gone to a reunion together but she looked much older, closer to fifty than forty. Her hair was a mousy brown, clearly dyed, and her brown eyes were as bloodshot as Keri’s usually were. The word that immediately came to mind to describe her was jumpy.

“Becky Sampson?” she asked by way of protocol, although the driver’s license photo she’d been sent en route clearly matched. Her right hand continued to rest on the butt of her gun.

“Yes. Detective Locke? Come on in.”

Keri stepped inside, keeping some distance between her and Becky. Even rail-thin Beverly Hills wannabes could do damage if you let your guard down. She tried not to scrunch her nose up at the musty scent that dominated the place.

“Can I offer you anything?” Becky asked.

“I’d love a glass of water,” Keri answered, less because she wanted one than because it allowed her to more fully take in the apartment while her hostess was in the kitchen.

With windows closed and the blinds drawn, the unit felt suffocating. Everything seemed to have a layer of dust on it, from the end tables to the bookshelves to the couch. Keri stepped into the living room and noticed that she was mistaken.

One part of the coffee table was shiny, as if it was in constant use. On the floor in front of that spot, Keri noticed several specks of what looked like white powder. She knelt down, ignoring the screaming pain in her ribs, and glanced under the table. She could see a partially rolled up one-dollar bill, covered in whitish residue. She heard the water faucet turn off and stood up before Becky reentered the room with two glasses of water.

Clearly surprised to see her guest so far away from the front door, Becky gave her a suspicious look before involuntarily glancing down at the clear spot on the table.

“You mind if I sit down?” Keri asked casually. “I’ve got a broken rib and it hurts to stand for too long.”

“Sure,” Becky said, seemingly placated. “How did that happen?”

“A child kidnapper beat me up.”

Becky’s eyes widened in shock.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Keri reassured her. “I shot him to death after that.”

Sufficiently confident that she had Becky off guard, she dove in.

“So I told you over the phone that I needed to talk to you about Kendra Burlingame. She’s gone missing. Any idea where she might be?”

If possible, Becky’s eyes widened even more than before.

“What?”

“She hasn’t been heard from since yesterday morning. When is the last time you spoke to her?”

Becky tried to answer but suddenly began coughing and wheezing. After a few moments, she recovered enough to speak.

“We went shopping on Saturday afternoon. She was looking for a new dress for the fundraising gala tonight. Are you really sure she’s missing?”

“We’re sure. What was her demeanor like on Saturday? Did she seem anxious about anything?”

“Not really,” Becky answered as she sniffed and reached for a tissue. “I mean, there were some minor hiccups with the fundraiser that she was dealing with, calls with caterers and so on. But it wasn’t anything she hadn’t dealt with a million times. She didn’t seem that bothered.”

“How was it for you, Becky, listening to her make those calls about a fancy gala while she bought an expensive dress?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re her best friend, right?”

Becky nodded. “For almost twenty-five years,” she said.

“And she lives in a mansion up in the hills and you’re in this one-bedroom apartment. You don’t ever get jealous?”

She watched Becky closely as she answered. The other woman took a sip of her water, but coughed as if some of it had gone down the wrong pipe. After a few seconds, she answered.

“I do get jealous sometimes. I’ll admit that. But it’s not Kendra’s fault that things haven’t gone as well for me. Truthfully, it’s hard to ever get upset with her. She’s the nicest person I know. I’ve dealt with some…issues and she’s always been there for me when things got rough.”

Keri suspected what those “issues” might be but said nothing. Becky continued.

“Besides, she’s very generous without lording it over me. That’s a tough line to walk. She actually bought me the dress I’m wearing for the gala tonight, assuming it’s even still happening. Do you know if it is?”

“I don’t,” Keri replied brusquely. “Tell me about her relationship with Jeremy. What was their marriage like?”

“It was good. They’re great partners, a really effective team.”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic. Is it a marriage or a corporation?”

“I don’t think they were ever a super-passionate couple. Jeremy’s a very buttoned-down, matter-of-fact kind of guy. And Kendra went through her sexy, wild-guy phase in her twenties. I think she was happy to have a stable, sweet guy she could count on. I know she loves him. But it’s not Romeo and Juliet or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay, so did she ever long for that passion? Could she have maybe gone looking for it, say on a high school reunion trip?” Keri asked.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Jeremy said that she seemed a little rattled after she returned from yours.”

“Oh, that,” Becky said, sniffing again before breaking out in another brief coughing fit.

As she tried to regain control, Keri noticed a cockroach scurry across the floor and tried to ignore it. When Becky recovered, she continued.

“Trust me, she wasn’t messing around on the trip. In fact, it was the opposite. An ex-boyfriend of hers, a guy named Coy Brenner, kept coming on to her. She was polite but he was pretty relentless.”

“How relentless?”

“Like, to the point of being uncomfortable. He was one of those wild guys I told you about. Anyway, he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. At the end of the reunion, he said something about looking her up in town. I think it really got to her.”

“Does he live here?”

“He lived in Phoenix for a long time. That’s where the reunion was. We all grew up there. But he mentioned something about moving to San Pedro recently—said he was working down at the port.”

“How long ago was this reunion?”

“Two weeks,” Becky said. “Do you really think he had something to do with this?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll run it down. Where can I find you if I need to get in touch again?”

“I work at a casting agency over on Robertson, across from The Ivy. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. But I always have my cell. Please don’t hesitate to call. Anything I can do to help, just ask. She’s like a sister to me.”

Keri looked hard at Becky Sampson, trying to decide whether to call her on the elephant in the room. The constant sniffing and coughing, the total disregard for maintaining a livable home, the white residue and rolled up bill on the floor all suggested that the woman was deep into cocaine addiction.

“Thanks for your time,” she finally said, deciding to hold off for now.

Becky’s situation might prove useful later. But there was no need to use it yet, when it served no tactical advantage. Keri left the apartment and took the stairs down, despite the jarring twinges in her shoulder and ribs.

She felt slightly guilty for keeping Becky’s coke problem as a potential card to play down the road. But the guilt faded quickly as she left the building and breathed in the fresh air. She was a police detective, not a drug counselor. Anything that could help her solve the case was fair game.

As she pulled out into traffic and headed for the freeway, she called into the office. She needed everything they had on Kendra’s aggressively interested ex-boyfriend, Coy Brenner. She was about to pay him an unannounced visit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Keri tried to keep her cool even as she felt her blood pressure rising. Rush hour traffic was starting to back up as she made her way south on the 110 to the Port of Los Angeles in San Pedro. It was after four in the afternoon and even using the carpool lane and her siren, progress was slow.

She finally got off the freeway and wended her way through the complicated basin roads to the administration building on Palos Verdes Street. There she was supposed to meet her port police liaison, who would assign her two officers as backup when she interviewed Brenner. Port police participation was required since she was in their jurisdiction.

Normally Keri chafed at that kind of bureaucratic requirement but for once she didn’t mind having backup. She usually felt pretty confident going up against any possible suspect, as she was trained in Krav Maga and had even taken some boxing lessons from Ray. But with her gimpy shoulder and battered ribs, she wasn’t as sure of herself as usual. And Brenner didn’t sound like a pushover.

According to Detective Manny Suarez back at the precinct, who ran a background check for Keri while she was on the road, Coy Brenner was a piece of work. He’d been arrested a half dozen times over the years, twice for drunk driving, once for theft, twice for assault, and most impressively for fraud, which had earned him his longest stint behind bars, six months. That was four years ago and since he wasn’t allowed to leave the state for five, he was technically in violation of his parole.

Now he was a dockworker at pier 400. Even though he’d hinted to Becky and Kendra that he’d just moved to San Pedro in the last few weeks, records showed that he’d been living in a Long Beach apartment for over three months.

The port police liaison, Sergeant Mike Covey, and his two officers were waiting for her when she arrived. Covey was a tall, thin balding man in his late forties with a no-guff demeanor to him. She’d briefed him over the phone and he’d obviously done the same with his men.

“Brenner’s shift ends at four thirty,” Covey told her after they’d exchanged introductions. “Since it’s already four fifteen, I called the pier manager and told him not to let the crew out early. He’s been known to do that.”

“I appreciate it. I guess we should head right over. I want to get a look at the guy before I interview him.”

“Understood. If you want, we can take your car over first to arouse less suspicion. Officers Kuntsler and Rodriguez can follow separately in the squad car. We patrol the piers constantly so having them in the area won’t seem odd to your suspect. But if he sees an unfamiliar face get out of one of our vehicles, it might raise eyebrows.”

“That sounds good,” Keri agreed, appreciative that she wasn’t facing a turf war. She knew it was likely because the port police hated bad publicity. They would happily dispose of this thing quietly, even if meant ceding authority to another agency.

Keri followed Sergeant Covey’s directions across the Vincent Thomas Bridge and to the visitor parking area for pier 400. It took longer than Keri expected and they arrived at 4:28. Covey spoke into the radio, telling the pier manager he could release the crew.

“Brenner should walk right across our line of sight to the employee parking area any minute,” he said. As he spoke, the squad car passed by them and started a long, slow casual loop along the road circling the pier. It seemed completely unremarkable.

Keri watched the dockworkers file out of the pier warehouse. One guy realized he’d left his hardhat on and jogged back to return it. Two others ran across the broad expanse, clearly racing each other to their cars. The rest walked in a large group, apparently in no hurry.

“There’s your guy,” Covey said, nodding in the direction of the one guy walking alone. Coy Brenner bore only a passing resemblance to the man in the mug shot from his arrest in Arizona four years earlier. That man had a lean and hungry look, with longish, shaggy brown hair and a hint of stubble.

The guy lumbering across the parking lot now had put on about twenty pounds in the intervening years. His hair was cropped short and his stubble was now a full-on beard. He wore blue jeans and a lumberjack-style shirt and walked with his head down and a grimace on his face. Coy Brenner didn’t strike her as a man happy with his lot in life.

“Can you hang back, Sergeant Covey? I want to see how he reacts when confronted solo by a female cop.”

“Sure. I’ll head over to the warehouse for now. I’ll tell the boys to stay back as well. Give a wave when you want us to join you.”

“Will do.”

Keri got out of her car, threw on a blazer to hide her gun, and followed Brenner from a distance, not wanting to make her presence known just yet. He seemed oblivious to her, lost in his own thoughts. By the time he reached his old pickup truck, she was almost on him. She felt her phone buzz with a text and tensed up. But he obviously didn’t hear it.

“How ya doin’, Coy?” she asked coquettishly.

He spun around, clearly taken by surprise. Keri removed her sunglasses, gave him a broad smile, and placed her hand on her hip playfully.

“Hi?” he asked more than said.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me? It’s only been about fifteen years. You are Coy Brenner from Phoenix, right?”

“Yeah. Did we go to school together or something?”

“No. Our time together was educational, but not in a school kind of way, if you know what I mean. I’m starting to get offended a little bit here.”

I’m really laying it on thick here. Maybe I’ve lost my touch.