Evidence (27 page)

“She
was an engineer, Judah, not a spark of creativity.”

“Be
that as it may,” said Cohen. “The manner in which she described the initial
project was valid, conceptually as well as structurally.”

Milo
said, “The Kraeker Gallery.”

Both
architects stared at him.

Holman
said, “How do you know about that?”

“Helga
told us.”

“Did
she? Then you were played, as well. Yes, it’s an actual place and yes they are
taking bids on a major expansion. But Helga never applied to be part of the
bidding process. And
they
have never heard of her.”

“When
did you find out?”

“A
few days ago, Lieutenant, when it became clear that Helga had no intention of
compensating us for our time and loss of prior employment.”

“We can’t find her,” said Cohen. “Or rather, our
attorney can’t.”

Holman
said, “Don’t ask why we didn’t check her out more thoroughly. A partnership,
like a marriage, is based on trust.”

Milo
didn’t blink. I was willing to bet on his internal dialogue.
Motels on
Washington Boulevard
.

Holman
said, “While she was truthful about her educational credentials, she lied completely
about other things.”

“Such
as?”

“First
off, she’s not German, she’s Austrian. And her father’s not a shipping tycoon,
he’s a banker.”

“Is
Gemein her real name?”

Reluctant
nod. “What should have tipped us off was her take on green: hatred for humanity
rather than feed and save the planet. The woman’s a
total
misanthrope
and as time went on, she felt freer to share her opinions on how the
evolutionary process had failed when it produced human beings. How
Homo
sapiens
disrupted the crucial balance, what the world really needed was a
good plague or a world war. Which coming from a Teutonic type is pretty damn
breathtaking.”

She
turned to Cohen.

He
said, “Rather impolitic.”

Milo
said, “Could we talk about the fire?”

“I’m
coming
to that,” said Holman. “This needs to be logical, so that you’ll understand
we’re not just a couple of disgruntled malcontents. Where was I—Helga’s lies.
The home address she gave us here in L.A. was phony, as we learned when we
tried to serve her with papers.”

“You’re
suing her.”

“Damn
right we are. Professional alienation, breach of contract, anything else our
lawyer can come up with.”

“Where
was the phony address?”

“Brentwood.
As to why we didn’t find it odd that Helga never had us over, we believed she
was all business and that was fine. We were motivated to create something
important
.
Correct?”

Cohen nodded.

Finishing
her drink, she returned to the kitchen, poured a refill. Cohen watched her with
sadness, turned to us. “It might be helpful for you to know that Helga hired
Des Backer before she talked to us. She presented him as a rising star whom
she’d met looking for young architects with green credentials. We did check
those credentials. Top of the class, his professors had nothing but praise for
him. However, when our attorney recontacted them, none had ever spoken to
Helga, nor had Des asked them for letters of recommendation. So she found him
some other way.”

Holman
said, “Given the advantage of hindsight, it’s clear Des’s work product was
nil.” Smirking. “In terms of architecture.”

Cohen
said, “Our attorneys had someone go through the office computers. Des did a lot
of gazing at pornography as well as surfing through some disturbing websites.
Which brings us to the fire.”

Milo
said, “Arson websites?”

“Eco-terrorist
websites. Congratulatory photographs of vandalized luxury housing and animal
research labs, chat strings of people who believe the ends justifies the
means.”

“We’ll
need those office computers.”

“Sorry,
we
need them,” said Marjorie Holman. “Our attorney has instructed us to
place all the furniture and equipment in storage, so we can show that Helga
clearly abandoned the office.”

Criminal
trumps civil, but Milo didn’t push it. “Those websites—”

“Were
sent to Helga. We had no idea the two of them had any relationship beyond the
firm. On the contrary, Helga claimed not to even like Des.”

“Even
though she hired him?”

Cohen
said, “Helga was good at putting things—and people—in boxes.”

“Acceptable
professionally,” said Milo. “Unacceptable personally.”

Holman
said, “There
was
no ‘personally.’ The woman is coldblooded. As was her
version of green.”

Cohen said, “The unfortunate truth is, a strong
misanthropic streak exists within the green community. But it’s a minority view
and Helga seemed to take it to the extreme.”

“Plagues
and wars.”

Holman
said, “Des sent her j-pegs of burned-out buildings and she sent him LOLs and
happy faces. Singing the praises of ‘selective pyrotechnics’ as a tool of ‘biological
cleansing.’”

Milo
had her repeat that, scribbled in his pad.

Cohen
said, “What was surprising was Des mirroring Helga’s point of view.
He
had seemed so sociable and humanistic. Talked about his niece, wanting to build
a better world for her.”

Holman
said, “She’s capable of anything, probably killed Des simply because she felt
like it. Or maybe he was supposed to burn down that house, chickened out, and
she executed him for disloyalty to the fatherland, whatever.”

Milo
said, “Who’s your attorney?”

Holman
said, “Manny—Emmanuel Forbush.”

Cohen
said, “Forbush, Ziskin and Shapiro. Here’s their number.”

“Thank
you, sir. What else?”

Holman
said, “That’s not enough?”

“It’s
a good start, Ms. Holman—”

“Then
get
going
with it. Run that bitch into the ground and do the world a
favor.” Making progress on the booze slur. She drank, spilled gin on her lap.
Cohen handed her a tissue. She ignored him, drank some more.

Milo
said, “Any idea where Helga is, ma’am?”

“For
all I know, she’s back in Shwitzerland.”

“Why Switzerland?”

“Because
that’s where she’s from.”

“Thought
she was Austrian.”

“She
was
born
in Austria but the family
moved
to Spritz-Shwitzlerland,
her father owns a bank there. Manny found that out easily enough.”

“Do
you have the bank’s name?”

“Why would I?”

Judah
Cohen said, “GGI-Alter Privatbank, Zurich. The address is a
postfach
—a
post office box.”

Holman
stared at him. “You should go on Jee-epardy.”

Milo
said, “A bank with no office?”

“I’m
sure there’s an office,” said Cohen, “but perhaps they’re all about investing,
have no interest in walk-ins. Apparently, it’s not unusual in Zurich, according
to Emmanuel Forbush. He’s sent several certified letters but no answer so far,
feels a civil suit will take years to unravel, we need to be patient. If we choose
to persist.”

Holman
said, “Oh, we
choose
, all right.”

Cohen
didn’t answer.

Milo
said, “Years to unravel unless Helga can be tied in to a criminal case.”

Holman
said, “She
is
a criminal, catch the bitch before she braids her hair and
puts on lederhosen and disappears into the land of cuckoos and chocolate.”

Milo
stood.

Marjorie
Holman said, “Exactly. Time to get a move on.”

Judah
Cohen said, “Good luck.”

Emanuel
Forbush, Esq.’s, baritone boomed through the car speakers.

“I’ve
been expecting your call. Guess you want the computers.”

“That
would be helpful, sir.”

“No
problem, Lieutenant, pick them up at your convenience. Of course, we will be
keeping copies of every single word of data. Don’t imagine you’ll mind, without
our coming forward you’d be in the dark.”

“Sitting
on evidence in a criminal case could have caused problems, Mr. Forbush.”

“If
you ever found out.”

“Thanks
for the vote of confidence, Mr. Forbush.”

“No,
no, I’m not—I just want to make sure our civil case is preserved.”

“You
really think a civil suit’s worth the effort, sir?”

“Why
wouldn’t it be?”

“It
just doesn’t sound as if the stakes are that high for all the trouble.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

“I
suppose you will, sir.”

“Lieutenant,”
said Forbush, “I don’t want to get off on a bad foot with you. Sorry if I came
on too strong.”

“No
problem, Mr. Forbush. I’ll send a detective for those computers today.”

“Great.
So how’s Marjie doing?”

“I
just watched her down two stiff drinks and my guess is they weren’t her first
this morning.”

Forbush
tsk-tsked. “That’s always been an issue for Marjie, poor kid.”

“You’re
friends?”

“Ned
and I go way back, we used to play squash. Hell of an athlete, damn tragedy.
Marjie’s had a lot to deal with, a victory would be good for her.
That’s
why I took on the case.”

“Friend
in need,” said Milo.

“The
only kind that counts,” said Forbush.

Milo
hung up. Laughed. “One of Ned’s old squash buddies. Should’ve asked him about
the current décor of Washington Boulevard no-tells. He took on the case to keep
the sheets hot, Cohen’s along for the ride, they squeeze out a settlement, it’s
found money for him. So now I’ve got dead ends in Sranil
and
in Zurich.”

I
said, “Maybe you’re in luck and Helga’s still in L.A. Or was, this morning.”

“What
do you mean?”

“She’s
a good-looking, well-built woman in her thirties with Nordic features. Cover
that bald dome with a platinum wig—something that flaps in the breeze—and all a
witness would focus on would be blond, blond, blond.”

“Amy
Thal’s jogger,” he said. “Yeah, she does have that Valkyrie thing going on.”

“Not
Swedish,” I said. “Swiss. What if Reed’s source was almost there?”

“Seen
one European, seen ’em all. Including the girl Teddy supposedly
offed.” He rubbed his face. “His vic was Helga’s sister,
or a close friend. She comes to L.A. to get revenge, starts a shell firm for
cover, looks for Teddy. Tries to find his local address by having Doreen—who
she met through Backer, maybe on some anarchist chat line—comb through
Masterson’s files.”

“Her
primary goal was to kill Teddy, but she found out he was out of her reach in
Sranil, either hiding in the palace or dead. So she settles for burning down
his house. Pays Backer and Fredd fifty thousand to do the job.”

“Not
much bang for all that buck, Alex.”

“If
she banked on Teddy being dead, messing with his
sutma
would’ve been
emotionally appealing. The sultan’s religious, so the thought of his brother
dangling in perpetual purgatory would be unsettling.”

“You
fuck with my family, I fuck with yours? With Backer and Fredd gone, Helga cases
out the place herself, decides on a do-it-yourself?”

“Maybe
she arrived this morning with her own bolt cutters, saw the gate open, and
walked right through.”

“Meanwhile,
Rutger’s snarfing bubbly and liver, making himself easier to ignite… so who
killed Backer and Doreen? The sultan’s hit squad or Helga herself because she
learned how to go kaboom from hanging with them, decided they were expendable?”

“If
Helga is involved, I don’t see her acting alone. Overpowering two people by
herself, even with two guns, would be tough for a woman, even a strong one. And
using a gun to rape Doreen doesn’t fit.”

“Everyone
says she hates people, Alex.”

“Even
so,” I said. “That scene reeked of
male.”

“Helga’s
more social than she lets on, has a pal? Or this whole damn theory’s one big
house—mansion of cards.”

He
phoned Captain Don Boxmeister at the arson squad, left a message. Followed up
with a call to Special Agent Gayle Lindstrom, connected, gave her a recap,
asked her to research Helga Gemein.

She said, “Is she a Swiss citizen or Austrian? It
makes a difference, tactically.”

“They
both extradite, Gayle.”

“They
do, but the Swiss make it a lot more difficult. Prying out a Swiss citizen is
going to be hell.”

“I
don’t know where her passport’s from.”