Guilt By Degrees

64

I woke up energized and hopeful about the leads we’d found last night. We were finishing breakfast and I was looking through my to-do list. I poured another cup of coffee for myself, but Bailey waved me off.

“I’m good,” she said. “I’m going to see if I can find out where our burglary victim is now.”

“If she’s still at the same location, she’s probably not our girl,” I replied.

Bailey nodded and opened her cell. She gave the victim’s name and address, and while she waited for a response, I slinked my fork over to her plate of hash browns and speared a mouthful. Bailey shot me a look.

“What?” I whispered. “You were done.”

She pulled her plate closer and returned to her call. “Yes,” she said, taking out her notebook and pen. She scribbled the information. “Thanks. Can I run a couple of other reports by you?”

Bailey gave the information we had on the purse snatch and car theft. While she waited for an answer, I went back to my bedroom to finish getting dressed. When I returned, Bailey was standing and finishing her coffee.

“And?” I asked.

“Our burglary victim has moved.”

“So far, so good,” I said.

She nodded. “The purse snatch is a bust. Victim was a tourist who got groped and robbed on Sunset Boulevard by R2-D2-”

“Funny, you ask me, I would’ve picked C-3PO to be that guy,” I said.

Costumed impersonators of famous figures, both fictional and real, had become a thriving business on Sunset Boulevard. On any given day, Darth Vader, Spider-Man, or the Hulk could be found strolling back and forth in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Unfortunately some of them were tweakers-speed freaks-who targeted unsuspecting out-of-towners.

“Our victim was an Aussie, and she went back to the Land Down Under,” Bailey said. “She declined to return to prosecute, and we’ve got no information on her current whereabouts. Suspect was a male.”

“Doesn’t sound like Lilah anyway, so no loss.”

“No,” Bailey replied. She checked the magazine on her.44 Glock and slipped it back into her shoulder holster, then put on her coat. “Let’s go see if Nina Klavens is our girl.”

Nina was now living in Studio City. According to her DMV record, she had a small house on Valley Vista Boulevard.

“That’s a pretty nice neighborhood, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Nice enough,” Bailey replied. “But remember, Lilah used to be a corporate lawyer, so she’s got skills. She could make enough money for a nice little place.”

Bailey assured our security detail of DA investigators that we could go it alone today. We’d be in her car and in decent places when we were out in public. A tail wouldn’t make us any safer. They checked in with their lieutenant, who’d agreed. I felt their despair at having to miss out on more time with us, but I was confident they’d console themselves with a second choice-say, for instance, clogging.

By the time we left, it was almost noon. That should’ve meant smooth sailing down the 101 Freeway, especially since we were heading northbound. But for some reason the traffic was even worse than usual. Getting stuck in traffic on a Saturday afternoon never ceases to confound and irritate me. What the hell is everyone doing out on the freeway on a Saturday? For the next half hour, in typical L.A. fashion, we crawled northbound, inch by inch.

We rode in silence until Bailey cleared her throat. “Have you said anything to Toni about…?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Are…ah…are you going to tell Drew?” she asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Because they were going to be alone in a quiet place for a while and she didn’t want to slip and tell him anything I didn’t want him to know. There was so much to appreciate about Bailey.

“I’ll tell Drew pretty soon.”

“And don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll never tell.”

“I know.”

“I’d never waste my time with Drew talking about you.” She grinned.

Bailey exited the freeway and headed west on Ventura. Ten minutes later, we turned onto Valley Vista and drove up the winding road, watching the address numbers. Halfway up the incline, I saw it.

“There.” I pointed, indicating a little brick house with white shutters on the right.

Small yet meticulously maintained, it was on a fairly secluded plot, set at least fifty feet back from the street and partially blocked from view by mature peppertrees. I could definitely see how this place would be a perfect fit for someone who wanted privacy.

Bailey parked and we followed a bricked path to the front door. A tasteful, well-polished brass knocker was placed just above a tiny eyehole. Bailey stood within view of the peephole and banged the knocker twice. At first, I heard nothing. But as I concentrated, I thought I detected Beethoven’s Seventh playing somewhere inside the house.

Bailey looked toward the driveway, and I followed her gaze. A red Prius was parked there. A likely indication that Nina, or hopefully Lilah, was home. Bailey banged the knocker on the brass plate a little harder this time. I leaned in to listen. I thought I heard the low thump of footsteps approaching on a wood floor. Seconds later, the thumping stopped.

“Who’s there?” said a woman’s voice, muffled by the heavy-looking door between us.

Bailey pulled out her badge and held it up to the peephole. “Bailey Keller, detective with the LAPD.”

“You alone?” the woman asked.

“No,” Bailey said, moving to the side.

I stepped in front of the peephole. “Deputy District Attorney Rachel Knight. We’re here to talk to you about the burglary,” I said.

The door swung open.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” said the woman.

Nina Klavens, who, it turned out, really was Nina Klavens. And ninety years old if she was a day.