Robert Crais - The First Rule

“His dick has never been in me.”

Cole turned red, but Rina looked back at Pike, and Pike thought her eyes were growing wet.

“This is what Michael is telling his men, that he is not the father?”

“Yes.”

“This makes no sense. Michael tells me he will take Petar back to Serbia, and will not take me. Michael is father, not this old man I have never seen. I am mother. Petar is mine.”

Cole frowned at Pike.

“This is making my head hurt.”

Rina ignored him.

“He say Michael say this terrible thing?”

“Yes.”

Her face folded as she thought about it, and she looked forlorn.

“I don’t know. Maybe he tell them this to hide his shame.”

Cole crossed his arms, and leaned back, his eyes growing distant and cool.

“That the boy’s mother is a whore?”

“Why else? All men are weak. You would do the same.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Big talk. So maybe you make me pregnant, then we’ll see how big you talk, here is the mother, she is a whore.”

Cole simply stared at her, and Rina turned back to Pike.

“Does Grebner say where is my boy?”

“No.”

“Men are so weak. Take me to him. I make him say.”

“He doesn’t know, but we might have a lead on Darko. Have you heard of Diamond Reclamations?”

Her face scrunched as she thought, but then she shook her head.

“No. This is a jewelry store?”

Pike said, “We’re going to find out.”

Rina shoved her clothes aside, and started for the door.

“Good. Let’s find out.”

Pike stopped her.

“Not you. Me.”

Rina launched into a stream of Serbian, and kept it up as they left.

Outside, Cole said, “What do you think she’s saying?”

“No idea.”

“We probably wouldn’t like it.”

“No. Probably not.”

Pike left Cole at his car, and headed for the Valley.

Elvis Cole

Cole thought about Yanni as he left the guesthouse.

Janic “Yanni” Pevich had come back clean. When Cole checked the plate Pike gave him from Yanni’s F-150 pickup truck, he had learned the vehicle was registered to a Janic Pevich. The leasing office at Yanni’s building confirmed the apartment was being leased to a Janic Pevich, and reported that Mr. Pevich had been an excellent tenant. Cole had then checked with a friend at LAPD’s Hollywood Station, who reported that Pevich had no criminal record. Cole had related all this to Joe Pike, and let it go, but after leaving Grebner, he had begun to have second thoughts.

They now had two divergent and different stories, which meant one of the principals was lying.

Cole worked his way up Coldwater Canyon to Studio City, and returned to Yanni’s apartment. Rina had said he was at work, but Cole didn’t know if he was working, or care. The F-150 was missing. Cole parked in the visitors’ parking lot and made his way back to Yanni’s apartment.

He knocked first, then rang the bell. When no one answered, he slipped the dead bolt and let himself inside.

He said, “Hey, Yanni, Rina’s out in the car.”

Just in case.

No one answered and no one was home.

Cole locked the door behind himself, then made a quick search of Yanni’s bedroom. The apartment was small, with only one bedroom, but it looked lived-in, and real. Cole searched through the bathroom, the dresser drawers, the bedroom closet, and under the bed. He found nothing unusual or incriminating, and nothing to suggest Yanni had lied. He also found nothing of a particularly personal nature, which he found odd-no pictures of family or friends, no souvenirs, and nothing to anchor a personal history. Ana Markovic had a yearbook and snapshots of her friends, but Yanni had nothing.

Cole returned to the living room, then went into the kitchen. The counter and sink were cluttered with unwashed dishes. Cole found a box of plastic baggies under the sink, then selected a glass tumbler, placed it in the bag, and let himself out. Yanni Pevich had no record, but maybe Yanni Pevich was someone else.

Cole phoned John Chen from his car, and explained the situation.

Chen said, “How am I going to sneak it in with everyone here?”

“You’ll think of something. I’m already on my way.”

“ You’re coming here?! Don’t come here!”

“Meet me outside.”

The trip down to SID took only fifteen minutes, and John Chen had probably been waiting out front for the entire time. When Cole pulled up, Chen was hopping from foot to foot like a kid who had to pee. He relaxed when he saw the glass.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good sample.”

The fingerprints were clearly defined on the glass.

“Yeah. You won’t have to glue it or do anything fancy. Just tape off the prints and see what you get.”

“You want an Interpol check, too?”

“Yeah, Interpol. I’ll be in my car.”

“You’re going to wait?”

“I’m going to wait. How long could it take, John? Just see what you get.”

Chen scurried away. All he would have to do is dust the glass with latent powder, lift the prints with tape, then scan them into the Live Scan system. He would have a hit, or not, in minutes.

When Cole reached his car, he phoned Sarah Manning. He had not heard from the girl with the purple hair, and wished now he’d gotten her phone number. He was disappointed when Sarah’s voice mail picked up.

“Hey, Sarah, it’s Elvis Cole. I never heard from Lisa Topping. Would you please reconsider giving me her number? Thanks.”

Cole left his cell number, and hung up. He checked the time. He had been waiting for only eight minutes, and Chen might get hung up forever.

Cole couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he thought about Grebner. Grebner had really blindsided them with that business about Jakovich, which seemed all the more believable because Rina had so readily admitted she knew him. They both seemed believable, but Cole knew from experience the best liars are always believable, and the very best lies were mostly the truth. Here was Grebner with his party house in the hills, and here was Rina, who claimed to have attended his parties along with other Serbian prostitutes so Grebner and his gang-set buddies could boogie with girls they trusted.

Cole wondered if there was a way he could find out if this was true, and thought he might be able to get the information from one of the other prostitutes.

Cole didn’t have the files, but he had his notebook. He had copied the dates of Rina’s arrests, and now he phoned the district attorney’s general administration office. He worked his way through three clerks and spent almost twenty minutes on the phone before he found someone to look up the case number and identify the deputy district attorney who handled the case.

“That would be Elizabeth Sanchez.”

“Could I have her current posting and number, please?”

Deputy District Attorney Elizabeth Sanchez was currently posted to the Airport Courthouse in Playa del Rey, south of the Los Angeles International Airport.

Cole thought he would likely get a voice mail, but a woman picked up the call.

“Lauren Craig.”

“Sorry. I’m calling for Elizabeth Sanchez.”

“Hang on, I think I can-”

Cole heard her call out, then the muffled clunks of the phone being handled, and a different voice came on the line.

“Liz Sanchez.”

Cole identified himself, gave her the date and the case number, and told her he needed the names of the other prostitutes scooped up in the sting.

Sanchez laughed.

“That was almost six years ago. Wow, I was still a Grade Two. You can’t really expect me to remember their names.”

“I thought it might stand out because of the nature of the arrest.”