Chapter Twenty-Six

The meeting at the prosecutors’ office had just broken up. Detectives MacNab and Lukowski from Homicide were out in the hall talking to Debbie Myers from Crimes Against Persons and Dave Chin from Auto Theft.

“So did I get this right? Everybody flipped?” said MacNab. “Chip and Vic ratted each other out? The Zelenkos ratted out this California dude—Yalta Yuri?”

“And so did the car carrier drivers,” said Dave Chin.

“What about the Russian guy on the trawler?” said Debbie Myers.

“He ratted out Vic. But he said he was coerced by some Russian mafia guys back in the old country. And then he skipped back to Russia,” said Chin. “We’re not sure if somehow the trawler got out of port with him aboard, or if he just flew commercial. Alaska Airlines can get you to Vladivostok. And the guy who killed your tattoo guy and shot at Scott is dead.”

“That’s right,” said Lukowski. “Sergei Lagunov. The Zelenkos said he killed Old Pasha and he was shooting at Chip, not Scott Duckworth, for trying to muscle in on Yalta Yuri’s car smuggling deal. Hard to dispute, since we found the weapon used in both shootings at Sergei Lagunov’s apartment.”

“So who killed Sergei Lagunov?” said Debbie.

“For a while it looked like Dmytro Zelenko was ready to rat out his cousin Volodya on that one,” answered Lukowski. “But he couldn’t come up with any reason why Volodya would have killed Sergei. And the most we could get out of Volodya was that he didn’t do it, but if he did, it would have been self-defense. Then they both stopped talking.”

He shrugged. “So we ended up not charging anyone for either the murder of the old guy or the drive-by shooting because the killer is dead. And we don’t really have a lead on why anyone would kill him, other than that he was a general scumbag.”

The detectives were silent for a moment.

MacNab said, “Too bad we couldn’t get that annoying ­Tyler Benson on anything. Maybe reckless endangerment. He could have killed someone with those driving stunts of his.”

Chin looked thoughtful. “Yeah, but without him, we wouldn’t have been able to nail Vic and Chip and those goons from California. Anyway, the prosecutor wasn’t interested in him. Looks like Auto Theft was the big winner here.”

Debbie Myers added, “I hear the extortion unit is checking into the Zelenkos’ leaning on that Italian restaurant.”

Lukowski shrugged again. “Well, we got a lot of paperwork to do. But when it’s done, we will have cleared up a couple of cases. And Duckworth’s pals at City Hall won’t be all over us. Let’s go get a beer.” Then he paused. “Wait a minute. What’s happening to Red Ott?”

“Oh,” said Debbie. “They’re getting him on an unlicensed firearm thing. He could have wiggled out, but he was such a jerk about everything they decided to nail him. His uncle died years ago. I guess he finally ran out of any goodwill from the department.”

She frowned. “Maybe we cleared a few cases, but I think we might be missing something.”

———

Helene Applegate and Scott Duckworth sat next to each other on the sofa in her office. “I went ahead and cut that reward check to Roger’s son, Tyler,” said Helene.

“Okay,” said Scott, pecking away at an iPhone.

“And as far as Roger’s desire to have you bankroll that Rigatoniria thing, I hope you agree it’s not a winner. I mean, the customer does all the work and then the food would probably all spill in the car on the way home and get cold. I feel sorry for him and all, but you can’t cave in to everybody that wants a piece of you. It’s not like Alba. That’s a good investment. They have a proven track record. And the food is so wonderful! Flavia and her brother are nice young people and they deserve a break.”

“Fine with me,” said Scott. He gestured toward the window. “What’s going on out there?” A team of landscapers was at work, removing large amounts of gravel in wheelbarrows.

“Oh, I thought I told you about that,” said Helene. “That Japanese garden was so depressing. We’re doing a kind of Mediterranean patio. Pots of geraniums. It will really cheer me up.”

“That’s good,” said Scott. “I really want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I am,” said Helene.

———

“Okay,” said Tyler, sitting in the passenger seat next to Flavia. “You’re doing great. You can change lanes now. So signal.” She’d had her learner’s permit for a month.

From the backseat Gus Iversen said, “Tyler, I’m really looking forward to this. It’s pretty exciting to have an in with the owner of a fancy restaurant like this. And we’ve got so much to celebrate. You graduated. You paid off your student loan. The cops aren’t after you, and Veronica got that felony off your record.”

Tyler said, “And Flavia’s doing great, too. Okay, see the red light? Prepare to stop. Think you can make it all the way? Are you ready for downtown? We don’t have to take the freeway.”

“I never take the freeway,” said Grandpa. “What’s the point? Surface streets are good enough for me. Why’s everyone in such a rush?”

Fifteen minutes later, when they arrived at the valet area in front of Alba, Tyler said, “Okay. Now all you have to do is pull up, but leave the keys in the car.”

Behind the valet podium, Brian put down his pen and the notebook with his zombie screenplay in it and opened both Tyler and Grandpa’s doors, and Carlos, another valet who had been promoted to Alba from Donna’s, opened Flavia’s door.

“Hey, I think I did everything right,” said Flavia, unfastening her seat belt and looking at Tyler with a dazzling smile of triumph. While Gus poked his cane out of the car and got out of the backseat, Tyler leaned over, removed Flavia’s glasses, tossed them into the beverage holder, and kissed her.

“Yes, you did everything right. Just don’t forget to tip the valet on the way out.”