The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (12 page)

“
W
hat do you
mean, they’re pulling the case?” Leine looked at Lou in disbelief, her anger rising. The bitch shot, or BS, which Leine had nicknamed the hole in her arm, was particularly active today, giving her no end of grief. The combination of the pain and the frustrating weakness in her left hand was enough to send her into orbit.

“Mrs. Bennett called this morning and they want you—us—to stop searching for Elise. She heard about your run-in with the locals in TJ, and she’s worried you’re out of your league.”

“Out of my league? That’s a good one. And who the hell told them, anyway?” Leine paced the floor of the office, trying to work off the nervous energy that had plagued her since she’d gotten back to LA. Belinda Bennett’s decision was like throwing cold water on the gains she’d made in finding Elise. “Now is the time I
should
be looking for her, Lou. You know that. I’m not hamstrung by the same rules as law enforcement. And what about Josh? For god’s sake, the kid’s dead in a ravine with his face blown off and his kidneys hacked out.”

Lou sighed and shook his head. “It’s out of our hands, Leine. Gunderson and Nabokov are working with the local police regarding Josh.”

“Funny, I haven’t seen anything on the news about the murder.”

“They’re keeping it quiet.”

“Of course they are. Wouldn’t want stories of some kid’s death and missing kidneys to curtail the flow of tourists into the new and improved TJ now, would we?” Leine yanked her purse off of Lou’s desk and walked to the door. She turned to look at him. “I’m not letting go of this one.”

“I know,” Lou said. “Watch yourself.”

Leine walked to her car and got in, throwing her bag into the passenger seat with a little too much force. She intended to drive out to the Bennett’s to try to convince them to allow her to continue to look for their daughter. A quick glance at the clock on the dash told her that would have to wait. First, she’d promised to meet with Santa and his new partner.

He’d been noncommittal in his assessment of the new homicide detective, insisting he wanted Leine’s honest take on her. That in itself intrigued Leine. She wondered how Santa would fare working with a female partner. Granted, before he met Leine he’d been known by his fellow detectives in LAPD’s Robbery/Homicide Division as “The Swinging Dick,” riffing off his notorious reputation with the ladies. Apparently, all that changed when Leine showed up. She doubted the female detective would have any problems working with the new and improved Santiago Jensen.

Leine pulled into the parking lot of the Asia-Pacific Grill with five minutes to spare. She checked her face and hair in the mirror before she got out and walked into the restaurant.

The interior was cool and dark; upscale Thai meets Hollywood. Elegant, dark wood tables and chairs with an Asian motif, accented by framed photographs of visiting celebrities. Leine’s mouth watered at the fragrance of basil and curry floating through the air. The hostess ushered her past a massive statue of Buddha to a table near the back. A copper fountain splashed into a colorful, glass-bottomed pool, its interior home to several overgrown koi.

Leine spotted Santa across the room. His partner—sunglasses perched atop long blonde hair—sat with her back to Leine. As she came around the front of the table, a jolt of surprise slid through her.

Santa smiled as he rose and pulled out Leine’s chair. She had to force herself to sit. The woman was drop-dead, California-blond, flawlessly tanned gorgeous, with a body that would make Barbie jealous.

“Leine Basso, this is Heather Brodie. Heather, Leine.”

Heather extended her perfectly manicured hand. Leine blinked several times and after a brief hesitation returned the gesture.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Leine. Santiago’s told me so much about you.”

Interesting.
Leine cocked her head and looked at Santa, wondering how long he and Brodacious had been partners. When he’d suggested lunch the evening before, it was the first she’d heard of her. Santa avoided Leine’s gaze and passed her a plate of steamed edamame.

“Has he? I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage, Heather, because I know next to nothing about you.” Leine smiled sweetly at Santa as she tore into the edamame pod with her teeth.

Oblivious to the underlying tension growing between Leine and Santa, Heather grinned and bobbed her head. “Of course,” she said, waving her hand at the detective. “He probably doesn’t want to bother you with boring RHD stuff. There’s not much to know about me, really. I was born and raised in Southern California, and I love to surf. In my off hours you can usually find me wherever the waves are. Other than that, I’m pretty boring.” Heather grinned again, her perfect white teeth like little pearls against her precious, shell-pink lips. “I understand you work with SHEN?”

Leine nodded. “I started with them about a year ago.”

Heather leaned forward in her seat. “I remember watching the news when you exposed that global network of pedophiles selling movies to each other. Ugh.” Heather’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I couldn’t believe Stone Ellison was at the center of the whole thing. You did a great service for trafficked children everywhere.”

Okay, so she’s working me. I can live with that
, Leine mused. On the other hand, Santa appeared to be a tad uncomfortable.
Good. I can live with that, too.

“Yes, well, thankfully he’s no longer a threat.”

If Leine had her way, Stone Ellison would be singing soprano in hell. She’d had her chance, but held off killing him because he was unarmed and she’d have been brought up on yet another murder charge. At the time she’d been wrongly accused of three homicides, and the odds had not been in her favor. Thankfully, Ellison was in prison working off a very long, very unpleasant sentence and would likely die behind bars. Leine found solace in the fact that most of the prison population did not look kindly on pedophiles.

“I was just telling Santiago about my kids.”

“How many do you have?” Leine asked.
She has kids? With that body?

“Forty-two,” she said.

Leine gave her a puzzled look.

“I work with at-risk youth down at a community center on La Cienega
.
We try to funnel them into classes they’ll enjoy so they’ll stay in school, maybe look at further training. So far, seven have enrolled in community colleges. Crossing fingers they go the distance.”

Santa broke in. “Heather won this year’s Los ANGELenos Award for the program, beating out a couple of state senators.”

Heather lowered her eyes as her cheeks grew the same shade as her lipstick. “Oh, stop it. It’s not like I did it all by myself, you know. I had tons of help.”

Lovely,
Leine thought. Not only was Heather Brodie gorgeous and athletic, but she had an altruistic side. Leine realized she had a stranglehold on her water and relaxed her hand.

“You must be proud,” Leine said, and took a sip.

“It’s nice to know you can make a difference, right?” Heather frowned and her eyebrows actually came together.

Shit
.
The woman doesn’t even use Botox.
Leine surreptitiously checked out her bustline, trying to determine if they were real or not. Leine opted for fake, giving herself a small measure of satisfaction.

Very small.

“So I hear you and Santiago have taken up kite surfing? Awesome, right?”

Leine sighed inwardly. The woman probably resuscitated winos. Better to just go with the flow. No sense getting jealous. It wasn’t like she and Santa had ever brought up the subject of exclusivity. She had no hold on him and what or whom he did. Nevertheless, a tiny voice in the back of her brain kept comparing herself to this blonde bombshell, hoping for a telltale sign of insufficiency in the woman or at the very least, a nefarious case of bad breath.

She got nothing.

As the meal wore on, Heather proved to be an avid listener, an interesting and witty conversationalist, and extremely intelligent. She was also kind, compassionate, and helpful. Leine fought against the catty voices vying for dominance inside her head, countering them with a positive spin every time one appeared to be going off the rails.

She hated that she was jealous and had no idea how to rid herself of the emotion. By the end of the meal, Leine was longing for the old days when she’d receive orders to eliminate a target in some godforsaken corner of the world, allowing her to leave real life behind while she focused on doing her job.

Leine excused herself and made her way to the bathroom, hoping for a respite from Heather’s never-ending happy dance. What was it with some people? Life was not one endlessly beautiful day followed by another. She found herself longing to inject sarcasm into the three-way conversation, and had to bite her tongue several times lest she come across as overly jaded and cynical.

At the sink, Leine rinsed her face in cold water and stared at her reflection in the mirror. That’s what killing people for a living did to you. It made you hard. Tough. Suspicious. She tore off a paper towel and dried her face. It wasn’t something she could change.

Not now.

Hell, who was she kidding? She lost her innocence as soon as she’d agreed to that first job. Jaded? Yep. Cynical? You bet. She didn’t know one person that had killed someone either for God or country who wasn’t. Correction: only counting the non-psychotic ones. She wondered if Brodacious had ever killed anyone.

Doubtful.

Leine tossed the paper towel and was about to go back to the table when Heather walked into the bathroom.

“I was hoping you’d still be in here,” she said, smiling.

Leine plastered on a smile to match and said, “Why is that?”

She glanced behind her and then checked the stalls. “I wanted to ask you something about Santiago.”

Wary, Leine kept the smile. “Ask away,” she said.

“How do you deal with all the anal retentive stuff?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, how he insists on lining up his equipment in the trunk exactly the same way every time he signs out a car. How he crosses himself three times when he first sees a vic. Or, how he has to have three napkins with every meal. Not one, not two. Three. One for his lap, one for his hands, and apparently one for the grand finale. He thinks no one catches it, but I do.”

Leine couldn’t help but smile. She found Santa’s need for order endearing, and understood why he held fast to the things he did. Most cops she’d met had some kind of superstition they relied on in the field. But she also understood how it could drive the average person nuts. Having come from a background that dealt in chaos, Leine had adopted a few of those quirks herself, although they weren’t nearly as ingrained as Santa’s.

“I know it seems overly careful, Heather. You have to realize we all have our eccentricities. Santa’s are because of his history. Obviously. I’m not going to divulge anything about his past. He’ll have to do that in his own time. I will tell you this: with all he’s been through it’s a miracle he’s not locked up somewhere, living on Thorazine and gummy bears.”

“I know. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s just that I’m the new kid on the block, and I’m getting a ration of crap from the guys in the department, including your boyfriend. And yeah, I know I have to suck it up, it’s all part of the deal.” Heather leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. “I’ve wanted this unit ever since I became a cop, but the reality is a little different than what I’d envisioned. I was hoping we could be friends. It’s been…a difficult adjustment.”

“I can imagine. Look.” Leine joined her against the sink. “Don’t let the guys get you down. You’re gorgeous and they probably don’t know how to deal with gorgeous. Rise above it. Give them back everything they shove at you and more. I’ll bet sooner or later they’ll leave you alone. You gotta give them time to get used to you. Believe me, I know.”

Heather glanced at Leine. “What did you do before you started working for SHEN?”

“We should probably be getting back. Santa’s going to wonder what happened to his dates.” Leine moved off the sink and walked to the door. Taking the hint, Heather followed her out and back to their table.

Santa looked from Leine to Heather, back to Leine. “What’d I miss?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing. Girl talk,” Leine answered.

“Yeah. Right.” Santa smirked, giving Leine a sidelong glance, obviously not falling for the feint. “Since when did you add ‘girl talk’ to your resume?”

Heather cut in. “Leave her alone. She wanted to know where I got my lipstick.”

Leine laughed, knowing Santa would grill her later on, once they were home. A little uncertainty would be good for him.

L
eine drove west
along Sunset to North Beverly Drive and then onto Laurel Way. Downshifting with each hairpin turn, she searched the addresses for the Bennetts’ home. According to the map on her phone the modern, three-story residence sat nestled among all the other massive mansions in the canyon, near the top of the ridge. Three more corners revealed the address she was looking for—copper numbers set in stone just above street level.

She turned left and drove through the open gate past the security camera, and climbed the drive. The house came into view at the top—angles of concrete and glass, huge gray and white Super Legos with massive windows, surrounded by a permeably paved drive and eco-friendly landscaping. An enormous round sculpture of polished onyx with a metal rod spiked through the center rested in a serene pond. Water flowed along the rod, collected at its base and then disappeared.

Leine parked her car and got out. The driveway continued under the house to below-grade parking. The open garage door revealed a glimpse of a red 1961 Ferrari—a 250 GT California Spyder, if she wasn’t mistaken. She made her way along the walkway to the glass-enclosed entrance and pressed the doorbell.

With a solemn expression Teuta Vercuni walked toward her through an interior set of glass doors. The housekeeper opened the door and stood aside to let Leine in.

“Thank you, Teuta,” Leine said as she entered. Teuta nodded and closed the door after her.

“I have broken heart that Mrs. Bennett does not allow for you to continue with your business,” she said in a low voice.

Teuta led her through the entry and into a spacious living room filled with a veritable museum of Danish Modern pieces atop white marble tile. Bright swatches of Rothko-esque artwork dotted the walls, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean on one side and the San Fernando Valley on the other.

The housekeeper’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “My poor Eliseka,” she murmured.

“That’s why I’m here, Teuta. I want to understand why Mrs. Bennett chose to call off our investigation.”

“She say only need police. In my country, police are no good,” she said, spitting the words. She glanced at Leine’s left arm, frowning. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.” Leine was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt.
I must have been favoring it
, she thought.

“Leine Basso.” Dick Bennett came toward them, his voice reaching across the space, magnified by the room’s angles. The skin sagged under his eyes, and his normally tan complexion was pallid, adding at least ten years to his appearance. His usual, over-the-top energy had transformed into a more thoughtful demeanor.

“Mr. Bennett,” Leine said, extending her hand. He grasped it firmly.

“Horrible what happened to Josh,” he said, glancing at Teuta before he turned his attention back to Leine. “I want to thank you for risking your life to find our daughter.”

“It’s part of the job, Mr. Bennett.” Leine scanned the room for Elise’s mother. “I’d like to talk to you and Mrs. Bennett about your asking SHEN to step back from the investigation.”

Dick Bennett slid his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. Shaking his head, he lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry, Leine, but both Belinda and I think the risk is too great. We’d never forgive ourselves if something happened to you.”

“May I ask who informed you about events in Mexico?”

“Mr. Gunderson from Immigration and Customs mentioned it.”

“Listen.” Leine took a deep breath and let it go. “I’m sure I can find Elise, or, at least I can find out what happened. I don’t have the same…restraints as the police.”

Dick Bennett’s eyes shifted. The movement was slight but Leine caught the change. He wasn’t telling her something. He altered his stance and glanced at his housekeeper. “Teuta, would you be so kind as to get us both some refreshments?”

“Of course, Mr. Bennett.” Teuta moved toward the kitchen with surprising energy. Dick Bennett tracked her progress before he turned back to Leine.

“There’s something you should know—” he said leaning toward her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hello, Leine.” The temperature plummeted as Belinda Bennett swept into the room. Dick Bennett took a step back and clamped his lips shut.

Mrs. Bennett paused at a candy dish on a wooden credenza, selected a piece, and joined them. “You didn’t need to come all this way,” she said as she unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into her mouth.

“I was just explaining to your husband how I believe I can still be of use in the search effort,” Leine said.

“Is that so?” Belinda Bennett’s light blue eyes bored into Leine’s, reminding her of a bird of prey and giving the impression she was calculating possible responses. 

Jesus, the woman could freeze the Pacific with her attitude,
Leine thought.

“My actions are not scrutinized as closely as law enforcement, which gives me a tactical advantage. I found Josh. I know I can find Elise.”

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done, Leine. May I call you Leine?”

“Of course.”

“As I said, I’m—we’re grateful for what you’ve done, but we’d never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you. Please,” Belinda Bennett’s mask slipped, revealing something far deeper—fear? desperation?—before composure took its place again. “You need to stop.”

The kidnappers have made their demands,
Leine realized with a start. The Bennetts’ reactions implied
they were covering up something—the most likely scenario being the kidnappers had instructed them to continue to act as though there had been no ransom demand or they would kill Elise
.
Nabokov and Gunderson would continue to work with the cops in TJ. They’d never find her and the kidnappers knew it. Not as long as they kept her in Mexico.

If she was still there.

Teuta returned to the living room with a tray of glasses, placing it on top of a large ottoman. “I make lemonade,” she said.

The Bennetts glanced at each other. A look passed between them before Dick said, “Please, sit down, Leine. The police didn’t go into great detail about what you faced in Mexico—only that you had found Josh.”

Leine recounted a sanitized version of events in Mexico, skipping over the ambush at Doctor Ramirez’s office, all the while watching the interaction between the Bennetts and Teuta, who had asked to stay.

The dynamics had changed from Leine’s initial impression of the trio. Dick and Belinda both chose their words carefully. They obviously hadn’t confided in Teuta. And why would they? She was an employee. It made sense, given the housekeeper’s strong attachment to the girl. And yet, Leine sensed something else. Something in the way Teuta held herself. Defiance, perhaps? Leine assumed she wasn’t happy with the Bennetts’ decision to drop SHEN as part of the search team.

“I’m sorry you decided against SHEN continuing to search for your daughter,” Leine said. “Won’t you please reconsider? If my involvement has anything to do with it, there are several fine contractors who work with us that can take over the case.”

“Thank you, Leine, but the police are investigating and believe they’re close.” Belinda Bennett’s voice held a note of finality.

“Has anyone contacted you regarding a ransom?” Leine asked as she stood to leave.

Belinda held her gaze steady. “No.”

“That seems odd, doesn’t it? Forgive me, but why else do you think they kidnapped Elise?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps you could enlighten us? Since you seem to think you know the motivation of these animals.” Belinda Bennett’s demeanor had changed from ice-cold to hostile in a split-second, giving Leine the impression she’d hit a nerve. 

She switched tactics and pulled out her business card, handing it to Belinda.

“My card. In case you misplaced the other one. Don’t hesitate to call if you think of anything I can do to help.”

Leine nodded at Belinda and the housekeeper and followed Dick Bennett out.

“If you want to talk, please call me,” Leine murmured as she shook his hand, palming another card. He slid it from her and put it in his pocket.

“Look, I want to apologize for Belinda’s behavior. The stress of the changes my company’s going through combined with not being able to find Elise have taken their toll.”

“That’s right. You’re taking your biotech firm public, right?”

Dick Bennett nodded.

“I’m sure the questions surrounding your daughter’s abduction will be answered, in time. I don’t suppose you can put the IPO off until her disappearance is resolved?”

“Not now. We’ve come too far.” His face reflected a bewildering array of emotions—confusion, fear, dogged determination, hopelessness.

“Thank you for stopping by,” he said, opening her car door. “Be safe.”

***

“Why the hell shouldn’t I call her?” Dick Bennett slammed his keys on the nightstand and turned to face his wife. “We’re talking about our daughter, remember? Goes by the name Elise?” 

“Yes, I
remember
Elise. What kind of mother do you think I am?” Belinda Bennett took a deep breath and glared at her husband. “I think we should do exactly as they instructed. Remember
them
? The men with our daughter?” The sarcasm dripped between them like acid. “They insisted there be no outsiders. They told us to call off the police or they’ll kill her.
Remember?
” Her voice caught and she turned away, angrily wiping her eyes.

Dick crossed to his desk and opened his laptop, revealing the picture that had been delivered via email that morning. Elise, barefoot and chained to a bed, her dress torn, eyes swollen from crying, looking lost and alone.

And petrified.

Dick closed his eyes. “I think Leine’s right. The police aren’t getting anywhere.”

“And that’s exactly what they want, isn’t it? Look, if we just pay the damned money—”

“No!” Dick slammed his fist on the nightstand. “I will not negotiate with terrorists. And believe me, these people are terrorists.”

“I know it’s a huge amount of cash, but darling, this is our baby we’re talking about.” Belinda’s tone softened. She walked to where he was sitting and began to massage his shoulders. “We’ll get through this. Let’s talk things through.”

Dick sighed again and lowered his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. My gut tells me to go with Leine Basso, and my gut’s never been wrong.”

Belinda stopped massaging her husband’s neck as though she’d been handed hot coals.

“It’s wrong now,” she hissed and pushed him away.