I said, “That’s a helluva risk to take, thinking you’ll call it quits just because Byrd has the book.”
Marx’s lips pressed into a hard line.
“Well, Cole, I guess he thought it was worth the risk, didn’t he? Repko wasn’t some streetwalker-he screwed up by killing someone close to him, which was a mistake he hadn’t made since Frostokovich.”
A knot of anger grew in my shoulders.
“Have you bastards known he’s been killing people for seven years?”
Munson made a grunting laugh that caused Bastilla to glance up, but Marx glowered.
“Of course not. Only since the book.”
“You must have known since Frostokovich.”
“Goddamnit. I took care of some things for him, but nothing like this. He was a nasty bastard, all right, but I was investigating one of my friends. You never think someone you know could do something like this.”
“So you let it go? You fixed it for him?”
“Fuck off, Cole. The girl’s friends told us about running into him that night at dinner, so we questioned him. He told us he went to an apartment he kept over by Chinatown after seeing them at dinner. Alone. So we had the coincidence of the meetings, and we knew he was a prick, but that was it. We couldn’t clear him, but we couldn’t find anything solid. You can’t make a case on coincidence, so we all went on with our lives. After a while I told myself it was silly to suspect the guy. Hell, he was my friend, and all we had was the coincidental meeting.”
Pike said, “Until Repko.”
“Repko got us started, but it was really the book. When we saw Frostokovich everything came back. Wilts knew some of these girls. Wilts was the common demoninator.”
Munson picked up where Marx left off by explaining they had discovered a connection between Wilts and the fourth victim pictured in the book, twenty-five-year-old prostitute Marsha Trinh. In reviewing her arrest record, it was learned she was one of five prostitutes Wilts had hired for a private party to influence prominent supporters one month before her murder. This contact put Wilts with three of the seven victims. Three out of seven was convincing.
Munson said, “We still have a long way to go, Cole. We can’t have you drawing attention to this. The man has to believe he’s safe.”
“How close are you?”
“We would arrest him if we had something. We don’t.”
“You think he’s a flight risk?”
“You never know, but no, I don’t think so. People like this, they think they can beat you and some of them do. They get off by thinking they’re smarter than us. He wanted us to think Byrd is the guy, and right now he believes we bought it. That’s why we played it the way we did. As long as he believes he’s safe, we have a shot at making a case. You cannot kill seven people without making a mistake. It cannot be done.”
Munson nodded like he believed it, then stared at me.
“We’re busting our asses to make this case, but right now our biggest problem is you, asking around at Leverage, scaring the shit out of the Casik girl, getting Alan Levy worked up-”
I raised my palms, stopping him.
“Waitaminute. How did I scare Ivy Casik?”
Marx scowled at me.
“That’s why I hate goddamned private operators like you-you don’t know how to handle yourself.”
I looked at Bastilla.
“What’s this about, Bastilla? Did you find her?”
“I didn’t have to find her. She called. She wanted to file a complaint against you.”
“For what?”
“She said you accused her of being a drug dealer.”
“I asked if she picked up the oxys for Byrd.”
“She heard it as a threat.”
“What did she say about the reporter?”
“There wasn’t a reporter, you dipshit. She made it up to get rid of you. Then she got worried she might get into trouble, so she called us to straighten it out.”
I flashed on Ivy Casik. I wondered if Levy had found her and if she had told him the same thing. Then Bastilla put the last of the files in the box and stacked the murder books on top.
“That’s everything, Chief.”
Marx nodded, then studied me again. His brow was so deeply furrowed it looked like rows of midwestern corn.
“So what are you going to do? Can we get some cooperation here?”
I glanced at Pike, and Pike nodded.
“I don’t like it, but I understand what you’re trying to do. I’m not going to sit out the game, Marx, but I won’t spoil the play. I’m better than that.”
“We’ll see.”
Marx put out his hand. The gesture surprised me, and maybe I hesitated too long, but I took it. He left without saying anything else, then Munson followed with the files. Bastilla was trailing after Munson when I stopped her at the door.
“When you bust Wilts, everything about the chief’s prior relationship with him is going to come out. It isn’t lost on me that he knows that.”
She arched her eyebrows, and it was as cool a move as anything I had ever seen.
“How nice for you, Cole.”
We listened to them drive away, then I went to the phone and called Alan Levy. Jacob answered again.
“Sorry, Mr. Cole, he isn’t in. Would you like to leave another message?”
“This would be easier if you gave me his cell.”
Jacob wouldn’t give me the cell, but he promised to page Alan and then hung up.
I put down the phone and turned to Pike.
“Let’s go see Ivy. If I scared her, wait ’til she sees you.”
“You don’t think she lied?”
“I think she’s lying to someone. The question is who.”
We were moving for the door when Alan Levy returned my call. Jacob had come through with the page.
36
SPEAKING WITH Levy left me conflicted. Alan was trying to help, but I had given Marx my word and understood his need for secrecy, so I did not tell Levy that Wilts was a suspect. I told him about Ivy Casik instead.
“I spoke with Bastilla again. She told me Ivy made up the story about the reporter.”
“Where did Bastilla find her?”
“She didn’t. Ivy called her to complain about me.”
I related what Bastilla told me.
Alan made grunting noises as he listened, then sounded doubtful.
“She claimed you threatened her?”
“She was surprised when I approached her, but I didn’t threaten her or do anything to scare her. She told Bastilla she made it up to get rid of me.”
“Does Bastilla believe her?”
“It sounded that way. Ivy called Bastilla, not the other way around. She wanted to file a complaint.”
“Did she tell them anything new about Byrd?”
“I don’t think so. Bastilla didn’t say that she did.”
Alan fell silent for a moment.
“We should speak with this woman. I went over there again today and she still wasn’t home.”
“Pike and I were leaving for her apartment when you called.”
“Good. If you find her, let me know. I think this girl knows more than she’s telling.”
“I do, too, Alan.”
“Let me give you my cell number. You won’t have to go through Jacob.”
He gave me the number, then Pike and I locked up the house. We took both cars in case we had to split up, driving in a loose caravan down through the canyon and east to Ivy Casik’s apartment.
The modest apartment house held the same watchful silence it had on my earlier visits, as if the building and people within it were sleeping. The afternoon stillness trapped the scent of the gardenias in the courtyard, reminding me of the cloying smell of a funeral parlor.
Pike and I knocked on Ivy’s door, but, like before, she did not answer.
Pike said, “Creepy place.”