Nervous humor.
Pike and Munson were waiting in the interview room, but Bastilla had moved Jonna so they could continue the interview. Frank Kilane had wired my personal cell phone into a recording monitor through a hands-free jack. We were using my phone so Levy would recognize my incoming number.
Kilane gave me the phone.
“All you have to do is use the hands-free like you normally would. Don’t worry about losing the signal. We have a pretty good signal here anyway, but I hooked you in with a booster.”
Marx waved toward the two-way glass.
“Okay, then. Everybody out. Let’s clear the room.”
They left me alone to minimize background noise.
I took Jonna’s seat. A yellow legal pad with Levy’s number and the address of the location was on the table. I was glad they thought of it.
Marx’s voice came over a hidden loudspeaker.
“Go when you’re ready.”
I dialed, and listened to the soft burring ring tone. The silence between each ring felt longer than usual, but Levy answered on the seventh ring. He sounded normal in every way.
“Hey, Alan, you still want to talk to Ivy Casik?”
“Fantastic. You found her?”
“Am I not the World’s Greatest Detective?”
Mr. Just-Kidding-Around-Because-Nothing-Is-Out-of-the-Ordinary. Levy chuckled, showing me nothing was out of the ordinary with him, either.
“Ah, well, did you speak with her?”
“Uh-uh. I figured I would wait for you. I didn’t want to spook her.”
I gave him the address without waiting to be asked. It was an abandoned meth lab in a residential area. The SWAT guys selected it because the location offered cover for the surveillance teams and other advantages. The light traffic would make Levy easy to identify as he approached the location, and if he lost his resolve and departed without stopping, he would be easy to follow. If he left, we would let him. We didn’t want him to know we were on to him until he had incriminated himself. I finished setting the stage.
“It’s a little house at the bottom of Runyon Canyon. A dump, man. She appears to be alone.”
He sounded hesitant for the first time.
“Okay, well, this is great work, Elvis, like always. You don’t have to wait. I can’t get over there until later.”
I did my best to sound disappointed.
“Alan, your call, but I really busted my ass to find her. She didn’t unpack her car. I don’t know how long she will be here.”
“Uh-huh, well, I have an appointment with some people at Leverage. They probably have more to offer about what Marx is up to than this girl.”
“I can’t watch her all day, Alan. I have things to do.”
“It’s all right, Elvis. Really. I have the address, but I have to see these people at Leverage first. Don’t stay. If I get by to see her, I’ll call you about it later.”
“Whatever you want.”
As soon as I turned off the phone, Marx pushed open the door.
“That bastard’s going straight for the girl. Let’s roll.”
45
JONNA HILL stated during her taped interview that she did not shoot Lionel Byrd and was not present at the time of his death. This might or might not have been a lie. According to Jonna, Alan Levy provided the seven Polaroid pictures, the necessary information about Byrd, and cash to rent both the apartment near the Hollywood Bowl and the room across from Byrd on Anson Lane. He contacted her not long after the murder of Debra Repko, claiming to be racked by guilt for his role in freeing a man he subsequently learned was responsible for multiple homicides. Jonna found him easy to believe. He was so smart, she said. So convincing. She was a willing and enthusiastic participant. Levy taught her to mask her fingerprints with plastic-model glue and bind back her hair, and also provided the camera, film, and the My Happy Memories album. Her part was simple. Over the course of a three-week period, she befriended Lionel Byrd while posing as a writer, which had also been Levy’s suggestion. She had Byrd handle the components of the death album to leave his fingerprints, then, on the night of his death, drugged his whiskey with the oxycodone, which Levy also provided. She stated for the record she was not witness to whatever happened after she left that night. This, too, might have been a lie, but it also might have been the truth.
We double-timed it out to the parking lot. Marx coordinated the roll through a SWAT plus-one as we trotted toward a surveillance van the size of a taco truck. The plus-one was a hard-looking guy with a blond crew cut. He glanced at Pike between orders.
“Aren’t you Joe Pike?”
Pike nodded.
“You coming with us?”
Pike nodded again.
“Cool. I admire your work.”
But when we reached the van, Munson stopped Pike.
“This is as far as you go.”
I said, “He’s part of this, too.”
Marx considered Pike, then shook his head.
“We don’t need more civilians. Sorry, Pike, but this is it.”
The plus-one seemed disappointed.
“Bummer.”
I shrugged at Joe.
“Don’t sweat it, man. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Pike stared at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I’ll see you.”
Pike trotted away toward his Jeep as Marx waved me into the van.
“We gotta get you wired up. Get in there.”
The van was walled with racks of surveillance equipment, recording devices, tools, and an ice chest so old the plastic was mildewed. Jonna and Bastilla were already inside. The space grew crowded as everyone piled aboard, and Kilane didn’t like it.
“Jesus Christ, just sell tickets, why don’t you?”
Jonna blinked at me.
“Are we going to ride together?”
“Looks like.”
“Good. I’d like that.”
Marx wedged his way up front with the driver, and we pulled out as soon as the door was closed.
Kilane fitted a wire microphone under Jonna’s shirt as Bastilla asked her questions, like did Levy ever check her for mikes or feel up her boobs or search her. Jonna told her no, he never had, and seemed uninterested in what Kilane was doing.
I said, “You scared?”
Bastilla glanced over, irritated.
“Say something encouraging.”
Jonna ignored her, and made a little shrug.
“I’m always scared.”
“You hide it well.”
“I know. I just look this way.”
“Lift your arm, Jonna.”
Jonna lifted her arm, but her attention was on me.
“I was thinking about what you said, how you never saw it coming. How does that make you feel?”
I realized why she had stared at me in the interview room and now wanted me in the van with her. She knew how I felt because she probably felt the same way.
“It made me feel like he owned me.”
“Yvonne was a prostitute.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Do you have sibs?”
“No. I’m an only.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
Jonna fell silent after that as Kilane finished his work and lowered the shirt. He turned to a bank of equipment and pulled on a headset.
“How’s that feel?”
“Okay.”
The tech raised a thumb. The mike was transmitting well. He pulled off the headset, then went to work strapping a similar mike to my chest.
Jonna looked around at the cramped quarters.
“Can I see how it feels when I move?”
“Sure.”
Jonna twisted from side to side, then crabbed to the back of the van. Kilane, the plus-one, and I scrunched out of her way. She twisted some more, then stood as best she could with the low ceiling.
“Feels okay.”
She waddled forward, but lost her balance and stumbled into the equipment rack. She made an oofing sound, tangled herself in a box of tools and wire, but managed to stay upright.
“I’m okay. Can you see it poking my shirt?”
Kilane laughed.
“Kid, your own mama couldn’t see that mike.”