Flame Out (22 page)

“June, I'm fine.”

“You've had a few. More than a few.” I punched him the in the shoulder. “Make an old lady happy.”

“Aunt Natalya?”

“No, me.”

He snorted and put his keys away.

We passed Jake's bar. After today, I was 100 percent sure my membership at Jake's was canceled. I half wanted to go in there and take Brian into custody, but we didn't have enough evidence for a warrant to search his house, let alone arrest him.

The judge was stopped at the corner as we made the turn onto Natalya's street.

“Maybe Lucas is home safe,” Dave said. “Maybe you can take me home.” The sun was almost behind the hills, the last gasp before dusk, pink and orange rays streaking through the black sky.

“Pretty,” Dave said. I put the car in park and looked over at him. He was watching me closely. “Thank you for being here for me, Lyons.”

“I feel like I haven't been much of a friend to you.”

“You are trying to find who killed Mom, and you are the best when it comes to police work.” He smiled. “Whereas you're a terrible cook.”

“Yeah, well, Annie's got that covered. I gotta say, I didn't realize you two were such good friends.”

“No one did. Not even me.” He unhooked his seat belt. “I'll take a certain amount of yelling if it means I have good evidence. And good lasagna. And a good friend.”

He kissed me on the cheek but wouldn't make eye contact.

“You're planning something stupid, aren't you?” I said.

The creak from the car door almost drowned out his response. “Never.”

“Stay here tonight,” I said, trying to get in a last word before he slammed the door. “Keep an eye on Lucas. Play bridge with your aunt.”

“She's more of a chess player.”

“Even better. The games are much longer.”

“Goodnight, Lyons.” He shut the car door and jogged up the walk, went into the house, and waved through the window. I fully expected him to leave the moment he saw me drive away. Little did he realize I would be staking out his house.

I was disappointed to see a white car sitting in the spot on the next corner where I planned to park and do my surveillance. As I drove past the car, preparing to make a U-turn, I peered inside. The Toyota Corolla had someone sitting in the driver's seat. My father.

I
HEARD THE “CLICK” OF THE CAR LOCKS WHILE THREE FEET
away. Dad kept his eyes trained on the house even as I climbed in and slammed the door. I expected him to acknowledge me, apologize,
something
. Instead, silence.

“So,” I said, trying to lead him into conversation. “Keeping an eye on Dave?”

He didn't respond. I fished for a response. “Lucas done something?”

Still nothing. I responded the same way I usually responded to fear: humor.

“Is it Natalya? Running her drug empire with an iron fist between making dumplings?”

The front door of Natalya's house opened, and Dave exited, bouncing down the steps and cutting across the lawn of the house across the street. Off to get into trouble, no doubt. Dad grabbed the door handle, but I stopped him.

“Dad, answer the question. What are you doing?”

He kept his eyes on the house. “I need to talk to Natalya alone.”

“Is Dave in trouble? Lucas?”

My father clenched his fists and relaxed, his hands trembling in his lap. “I read your notebook while you were asleep.”

“You what! Jesus, Dad, how—”

“Natalya was a part of it.”

“Part of what? Vera's disappearance?”

“I don't have a lot of time,” he said, scanning the street. “The judge had just left when you and Dave arrived. I need to go now.”

“You're going nowhere,” I said. “Tell me.”

Out here there were no streetlights, and I could just barely make out the outline of his profile. Dad opened and closed his mouth twice, until finally he spoke. “Luisa. Natalya helped her disappear.”

I pulled out my notebook and flipped back to my conversation with Natalya, trying to find something giving away her involvement. Where had he pulled this idea?

“The Pinto,” he said. “That piece of shit car gave away the whole deal.”

I flipped forward, to my interview with Theo and Darius, where they described the Pinto, how Luisa had lived in it, how she could never let herself get another car.

Dad's bulk kept him from facing me. “That car would blow up on people, and she wouldn't let it go? Who does that? Especially with those two kids. I'm betting she knew if anyone ran the numbers, it would pop up as Natalya's car.”

I stopped. I didn't have to read my notes. “Natalya's Pinto went missing.”

“Almost four months before Luisa disappeared.”

“Right around the time Vera was murdered.” I paused. “So, was Natalya involved in Vera's disappearance? Was Luisa?”

“I have no idea,” Dad said. “That's what I wanted to find out.”

“So you were going to do what? Confront Natalya? Hog-tie her and take her down to the station?” I snapped my notebook shut. “Or were you even going to involve the police? Was this going to be a situation where you were going to work outside of the law?”

“June, you don't understand . . .”

“I understand fine. You crossed a huge ethical line—”

“I'm not bound by the code of ethics. In case you forgot, I'm retired—”

“You're my father!” I shouted. Right at this moment I was glad Natalya lived at the ass end of nowhere with no near neighbors, because this on top of Dave's stealing the photos of his mother left me apoplectic. “You were the person I wanted to be like more than anything else in the world. I modeled my life and my career after you, and now I have you sneaking around, reading my notebook—”

“I sent a man to prison for thirty years, June.” He slumped back in his seat. “Can you fathom what that means? Independent of the fact that Deirdre Lawler is probably gearing up to sue me into kingdom come . . . June, all that time I was worried I wasn't doing right by Luisa, when what I should have been worrying about was destroying Bernie Lawler's life. I failed him, in every way a cop can fail. And I failed Vera. And you. And everyone.”

He sat panting. Condensation pooled on the window, fogging out the moon. I tried to think of how I might comfort him, but my solutions were inadequate.

“Dad, you may have sent Bernie to prison for a murder he didn't commit, but he's looking like a suspect in Vera's murder.”

“That's not . . . don't you make the same mistakes I'm making, June. Don't assume he's guilty.”

“Wouldn't it be better if he was?”

“It doesn't make things right,” he said. “Vera is dead, but we have no proof as to why or how. Natalya has the answers—”

“You've done enough, Dad.”

“But—”

“
Enough
. You will not be there when I question Natalya.” I laughed bitterly. “The way things are going, it's questionable whether I'm the cop for this job, but I don't want to restart the investigation. So I need you to leave.”

“The papers,” he said frantically. “She used to do the papers of people on the Island. I bet she got papers for Luisa and Theo.”

I wrote it down in my notebook—it matched up with what Vera's “friends” had said. “If you think of anything else, call me, and I can move on it. Right now you need to go home. Got it?”

HALE LEANED AGAINST THE CAR, LOOSE AND CASUAL. HIS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY
relaxed attitude and the peepers croaking away around us were calming, much needed after the run-in with my father.

“I'm pretty sure you can take an old lady,” he said.

“Not this one. Plus you'll need to run interference if Lucas or Dave show.”

“I'm pretty sure you can take them, too.”

“Not funny, Hale.” My voice echoed in the empty street. “This could destroy Dave.”

“Hey now. Let's listen to what she has to say first.” Hale brushed nonexistent dust off the arm of his jacket. Keeping his eyes fixed on Natalya's house, he said, “Something else going on here?” He slid his leg forward, touching his foot to mine. “C'mon, June. You don't lose your cool. Not ever.”

I tried to regain the supposed cool I possessed, taking deep breaths before launching into the background of the Pinto and how my dad was able to find the information by reading my notebook.

“Your dad got a little overeager—”

“Obsessed, you mean.”

“OK, maybe. But obsession is a strength sometimes.”

“Deliberate police work is a strength. Obsession leads to mistakes.”

“And it would be terrible if your dad made a mistake, huh?”

His comment felt like a punch in the gut. I had few illusions about my father, but one thing I always believed was that he was a good cop. The best cop.

“This case. His behavior.” I struggled to find the right words. “And all along, my mother squawking in my ear about how screwed up my father is.”

“Were those her exact words?”

“No. But when she talks about how cut off he was from the world, how the job was such a big deal to him, how he didn't have a life—”

“You thought she was talking about you?”

“No!” I spun around, taking a deep breath before facing him again. “Maybe. But I'm having a hard time redoing his work.”

“June, your father and I have only met briefly, but I can say without hesitation that he would never choose being right over the truth.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because he raised you. And that's what you would want.”

I pointed at Natalya's house. “We should go talk to her before Dave and Lucas gets home.”

“Your father also raised you to avoid emotionally charged conversations,” Hale said, not unkindly, and walked toward the house. “C'mon killer, let's go talk to Natalya. I'll put on my kid gloves and try not to rough her up too much.”

“No, we're about to get rough,” I said. “Natalya has avoided capture her whole life, from the Nazis to the police. We're taking her head-on. She can't run.”

H
ALE AND I WERE HALFWAY UP THE STEPS WHEN NATALYA
opened the door. She couldn't hide her disappointment.

“I thought you were one of the boys.” She peered down the street. “Dave is out searching for Lucas.”

“Can we come in?” I asked. “We have some questions.”

She frowned briefly but opened the door wide, offering us tea before the door was even closed.

“No tea,” I said.

“I insist. A host always—”

“This isn't social, Natalya.”

Natalya hesitated, watching Hale. He had moved to the middle of the room and stood, dropping into the wide-legged “at rest” he learned in military school. She placed her hand on her chest and asked, “Is there news about Vera?”

“No. Luisa.”

I could see her running rapidly through her options. She went for concerned friend. “She woke? A
good
sign.” She paused. “She told you what happened?”

“No, Natalya. But I bet you can.”

She staggered a step toward Hale, letting him catch her. “Luisa's burn injuries? I do not understand what you think I might know.”

“Not the fire, Natalya. Her escape to New Mexico.” Her eyes went wide, mock confusion.

“The Pinto, Natalya,” I said. Her eyes darted between Hale and me. “You gave her your Pinto. You faked the theft right after Vera was killed and handed the vehicle over to Luisa.” Natalya's expression became blank, a wall in the face of authority. “Vera didn't steal your car, Natalya. Your original story was a lie.”

“It was not!” She edged along the wall, but Hale blocked her way.

“The VIN number,” he said. “Luisa got rear-ended in 1985, and we have a copy of the ticket.”

Hale was lying. Today there might be a chance the information was in a computer system somewhere, but back then a ticket like that would have been disposed of within a year.

“And the fake IDs,” I said. “We're betting you're the source of Luisa Lawler's—or should I say Louann Bazelon's—Social Security cards.”

“We have a group of agents going through her home, top to bottom,” Hale said. Natalya's face went blank as he continued talking. “Her tax records could be a
wealth
of information.”

The stillness in her face spread to the rest of her body. I remembered my dad telling me that many of the Ukrainians had a distrust of any official authority, and Natalya's wall was going up, brick by brick. I circled her, staying close until we were again face to face, Hale fading back toward the dining room. This time I wasn't going to try to batter her with reason or facts.

“Natalya, I think you had a very good reason for doing what you did. You were trying to protect Luisa in some way. Forget leaving town, it would have been tough for her to get a divorce. You need to tell me what happened.”

She raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say “Make me.”

“If you don't, there will be repercussions,” I said. “I'm betting
whoever went and kidnapped Luisa, it was payback for what happened to Bernie. And if this person was willing to drive across the country to grab her, they will have no problem driving across town to grab you once they figure out you are involved.” I paused, wanting my last words to hit home. “You are playing God, but you are not infallible.”

“I am not!” She pulled back, not flinching but furious. “
Vin tse zasluzhyv
.”

“What?”

“He deserved it,” she said.

“Who?”

“Bernard.”

“Why?”

“The remains.”

Hale came and stood next to us, overshadowing both me and Natalya. “You saw the body?”

“Not Vera dead, but after. Her absence.” She took a halting half step away from Hale. “At my home, my real home,
Ukrayina
. I learned to spot signs of”—she flicked her hand in the air—“vanishings. Stalin and Hitler, master teachers they were in making those you loved disappear. Bullet holes in wall. Drag marks leading to field. My brother's . . . favorite pen in hands of another.” She balled her hands into fists. “When I saw blood everywhere, Vera's purse discarded, I knew.
I know
.”

“You found Vera's purse?” I couldn't hide my frustration. “Natalya, why didn't you go to the police. My father—”

“Your father was not in charge during that time. Even if he were . . . Bernard was rich. powerful. He hired his childhood friends at factory and made them crawl, begging for jobs. Luisa's family . . . they sold Luisa to him. His brothers counseled him, and he ignored them. Even Maxim! Maxim the judge!” She advanced on me. “No law would keep a man like Bernard locked up.”

Her read on the situation was wrong in every way. My father
would have ensured that Vera got justice. I decided to stick to the facts. “How did you find the purse?”

“I did not find it, not really. Luisa did.”

“Where did she find it?” Natalya didn't answer. “C'mon, Natalya. We have all the puzzle pieces. Show us how to put them together.”

She didn't speak.

“I don't know about you, June,” Hale said, “but I could go for some of that tea right around now.” He waved to the kitchen. “How about you tell us the story in the kitchen, Natalya?”

Standing in front of the stove, Natalya relaxed. She pointed to chairs at the table, two large, for Lucas and his brother, and two small, Natalya and Tara size. We took the large ones.

“Luisa and Teddy had returned from a seashore trip. Bernard had joined them for one week and two days, leaving morning after Vera was last seen alive, and they gave me week off from housecleaning, which meant extra work when they returned. Dirty house, dirty clothes—Luisa and I had much to do after her time away.” Natalya measured spoonfuls of tea into a pot. “That first morning back, I heard Luisa scream.”

“Scream?”

“Shout. Profanity. ‘That dirty whore!' Luisa yelled.” Natalya looked down at the ground when she repeated Luisa's curses. “Luisa was proper and quiet lady, but on that day, Luisa shouted like she was stabbed with ten thousand knives.” Natalya paused from pulling teacups out of the cupboard. “Most days, I walked slowly down stairs, but on that August day I raced, not caring if I fell.” Natalya shook her head. “Never in my life have I wished to be whole as I did that day. Never.”

“What happened when you got down there?”

“Luisa was holding purse in her hands, garish and red. ‘Taras's wife!' she shouted, and demanded to know if I had suspected that Bernie and Vera had an affair. I could not understand what made Luisa ask such question, until I went to purse”—unconsciously,
Natalya took a step toward us—“and looked inside. It belonged to Vera, holding her driver's license, her wallet, her lipstick.

“Vera's disappearance was family matter still. Shame kept us silent, and knowledge that when the hungry wolf inside Vera killed satisfied dog, she would return to us again. We waited. But that day I saw Vera's purse and I knew. She would leave family, job, home, but she would not leave purse behind. Our Vera,
pishov
. Dead.”

“What did Luisa say when you told her?” I asked.

“I told her nothing at first, and Luisa paid me no attention. Luisa acted wilder and wilder. Luisa threw cushions to ground, tearing at seams, the handbag forgotten. She shoved couch, hard and furious, her nails broken, her arms scratched. She was small, but the furniture moved releasing from wall, along with layer of paint stuck to the back of leather.”

“Paint?” Hale asked.

“Bernard did arrogant man's job of covering up crime. A little paint, and done!” She waved her hand back and forth. “Did not wait for wall to dry, and his laziness, it undid him. When couch moved, paint came with it. Underneath, there was blood.”

I thought of the stains that had appeared when Annie sprayed luminol in the basement, illuminating through the paint, revealing the crime. To the naked eye it looked like a few flecks of blood. With the luminol, it looked like carnage.

“And your father found what we found, June. The destroyed rug, hidden under couch. A large hole cut through, old black blood soaked to roots of rug.” She shook her head. “And smell of death over everything. Old blood.” She squinted at me. “You know.”

I did. It was sometimes hard to distinguish at a murder scene. The smell of rotting flesh fills the room, but the scent of blood hangs on the edges, acrid.

“All of it. A struggle ended, a life taken. That is what rug and wall and purse told me. And that is what made Luisa realize who she married. And she wept, her heart broken. She didn't love him
because of his selfishness, but she realized that the father of her child was a monster and she must escape before he realized that she was carrying another child.”

“Is that when you two came up with your plan?” Hale asked.

“It was. Luisa had not wanted to marry Bernie, and to defy him was impossible. He was rich, and his family powerful. We two, we decided that we would punish Bernie for killing Vera, and we would do it in way that Luisa would be free.”

“Natalya, we have reports of a party at Bernie's house the Friday she disappeared. Any one of them could have done it—”

“Why must you complicate this?” she said. “Vera was in Bernie's home. And then she wasn't. He killed her, and I had proof.”

Natalya explained how she had brought the purse to Taras so he would stop waiting for Vera to return. “When Vera was teenager, he planned to court her when she reached marriageable age. She seduced him, an innocent man, and refused to marry him for six months into pregnancy, a lifetime for my brother, who would die before being dishonorable. Her marriage vows came only when she had huge belly, Lucas almost born without his father. And then torture for whole marriage. Going away. Returning. And he waited, always.”

I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to the next question. “What did he do with the purse?”

“Nothing. I knew my brother, he would obsess, turning it into relic for woman who was no saint.” She raised her chin. “I took it. I have it. Still.”

“What?” Hale exclaimed, at the same time I said, “Where?”

Natalya pointed to a door at the far side of the kitchen. “Basement.”

“And when we found Vera's body, you didn't think to hand it over?”

“Bernard was in prison, and coming forward might draw unwanted attention from authorities for me, and for Luisa.”

We asked her to take us to where she had hidden the bag, but she declined.

“No handrail,” she said. “Stairs are not possible without at least one banister.” She walked to the door and held it wide. “I will tell you its location.”

Hale looked at Natalya and then the steps. “Ma'am, would it be inappropriate if I offered to piggyback you downstairs?”

Surprisingly, she laughed. “Gymnastics are . . . unwise.”

“But Officer Lyons and I might get lost down there,” Hale said. “And we need to have some sort of chain, linking the purse in the basement to Vera. When we go to trial to try to send Bernie back to prison.”

Natalya nodded and turned off the burner. We'd convinced her. I created a sling with my hands where Natalya could step, and on her third attempt she successfully climbed onto Hale's back. I toyed with the idea of going first, catching them if Hale flipped forward, but honestly, I was going to be useless if that happened. Instead I followed behind, ready to support Natalya if she slipped backward and boosting her gently if her arms gave way.

Once in the basement, Hale put her down. We passed a set of bookcases with Tara's old toys piled neatly on the shelves. A living room set and a TV were wrapped in plastic, Lucas's share of the furniture split in his divorce. A few racks of men's clothing that I'd bet had belonged to Dave and Lucas's dad hung nearby, and in the back corner there was a series of boxes, each labeled in Natalya's faint Cyrillic script.

Natalya patted a trunk shoved in the corner, mahogany with leather straps. “Retrieve for me.”

Hale dragged out the heavy piece of furniture. He'd flipped the first clasp when she stopped him.

“No.” She indicated a box tucked behind where the chest had been. “That one.”

I crawled back. The basement was dry, and the box and the documents
inside were covered with dust and spiderwebs. Natalya dug in without hesitation, pulling out tax documents from 1952 through 1995, copies of Taras's will, and insurance documents for expired policies. Underneath was a purse, cherry red, the bright vinyl cracking. No one would mistake it for Natalya's. Hale produced an evidence bag, and we slid it inside, planning to do a close inspection later.

Upstairs, we heard the door open, footsteps sounding above us.

“
Teta!
” Lucas called.

“Down here!” She grabbed the purse, dropping it into the box and covering it with files, and Hale scooped up the box, holding it close.

Lucas crashed halfway down the steps and then called again, following Natalya's voice to our corner of the basement. He stopped when he saw us. “I wondered how you got yourself down here. What are these two doing here?”

Natalya lied easily. “Employment records. From my time with Luisa and Bernie. The police plan to compare document signatures, so I give them documents.”

Lucas smirked. “But
teta
, what if the IRS audits your 1972 taxes?”

“You are not helpful, Lucas,” Natalya said. “Your brother? He found you?”

“No . . . why?”

“I sent him to bar.”

“No, I was at Felicia's. She wanted to hear what's going on.”

“Your ex-wife doesn't watch news?”

“She does.” Lucas looked offended. “But Tara did some interesting reporting of her own, and Felicia wanted the real story.”

“Well, how wonderful she has true story. It is important she remain informed.” Natalya wasn't warm and fuzzy, but I'd never seen her be unkind until I realized that she was intentionally trying to drive Lucas out. “Make yourself of use. Retrieve David.”