Cold Hit

Chapter 46

The next morning I called Texaco. After sitting on hold for almost five minutes, a stern woman came on the line and identified herself as franchise manager. She sighed loudly after I explained my time-wasting errand.

"We don't generally give out the names of our franchisees," she snipped. "Wait one moment."

More recorded music followed as I dealt with the corporate ego of Chevron Texaco.

"Okay," she said. "I guess we can supply that." "Thank you."

"Where was our station located again?"

"The corner of Melrose and Fairfax in Los Angeles." "One moment."

This time she didn't put me on hold, but came right back on the line.

"You're mistaken. We have no franchise located there."

"This was back in 'ninety-five. It's not there anymore. I told that to the first woman I spoke to."

"But you didn't tell me, did you?" Frigid. Finally, I heard computer keys clicking.

"Okay, 'ninety-five. That station was actually not on a corner, but one up from the intersection with a Melrose Avenue address."

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll make a note of that. Could you tell me who owned the franchise?"

"Yes."

More silence.

"Would you mind telling me now?"

"I'm trying to pull it up, if you'll please give me a second."

We definitely weren't hitting it off.

"From 'eighty-three to 'ninety-five, that station was owned by Boris Litvenko. Then it was sold to Patriot Petroleum."

"Excuse me. Litvenko? Did you say Litvenko?" "L–I-T-V-E-N-K-0." She spelled it.

My heart was beating faster now. Boris must have been Marianna's husband and Martin Kobb's uncle.

"Do you happen to have the ownership names for Patriot Petroleum?"

"No, we wouldn't have. That."

"Thank you, ma'am. If I have any more questions, I might need to talk to you again."

"I'll be right here," she chirped, not sounding too happy about it, either.

I found Emdee and Roger eating prefab waffles at the kitchen table. They put two in the microwave, zapped them up for me, and handed me the butter and syrup.

"Anything?" Broadway asked.

"We're in business. Marianna Litvenko sold the station in 'ninety-five to an outfit named Patriot Petroleum. No surnames on the paperwork."

"Whatta ya wanta bet there's no patriots employed at Patriot Petroleum?" Perry said.

"So, like you said, Marty Kobb wasn't at the market. He was over visiting his Uncle Boris's gas station when he was killed," Broadway said.

"Why didn't Marianna Litvenko or anyone else mention that they owned a gas station right next to the market, and that Marty was there right before getting shot? When Blackman and Otto talked to her in 'ninety-five she never mentioned it."

"That ought to be our first question once we find her," Emdee said.

We spent the rest of the morning looking for Boris's widow. She wasn't listed in the phone book. Maybe she was listed under another name or had remarried. I thumbed through my shorthand of Blackman's and Otto's notes looking for the Bellagio address. I found it, picked up the phone, and ran it through the LAPD reverse phone directory. No Marianna Litvenko. The directory listed the people who owned the house at that address as Steve and Linda Goodstein. I called the number and Mrs. Goodstein said the house had sold twice since '95. She had never heard of the Litvenkos.

Emdee Perry finally found Marianna in the LAPD traffic computer. She had three unpaid tickets for driving with an expired license from three years earlier.

We agreed that since I'd turned this angle, I would run the interview on Mrs. Litvenko. Roger and Emdee would be there for backup. The address was way out in the Valley, in Thousand Oaks.

"Wonder why she sold the nice place on Bellagio?" I said as I unlocked my sun-hot car and we piled in.

Roger shrugged and took shotgun. Perry stretched out sideways in the back. We headed down Coldwater, onto the 101. Just after two o'clock we pulled up to a slightly weathered, not-too-well-landscaped, low-roofed complex of cottages in the far West Valley.

When we parked in the lot, my question was answered. There was a large sign out front: WEST OAKS RETIREMENT CENTER AN ASSISTED LIVING COMMUNITY