“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 William 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.