the tires might match the imprint we found outside the Bentons’ house. To the right of it was an interior wall that bisected the space. There were two doors. The one closest to the front of the building was open and led into a dimly lit office. Behind a computer screen, with his back to the wall, sat Anton Tropov. He looked up as we got closer to the office door.
“Hello,” he said. “How are you? What can I help you with?” He’d jettisoned most of his Russian accent somewhere along the way and was doing a respectable job of imitating an average, everyday, run-of-the-mill harbor business monkey. He met us halfway and extended his hand. Jen and I each gave it a perfunctory shake. If I hadn’t read his file, his shtick would have been good enough to stop me from thinking about drawing my gun.
I badged him and said, “I’m Detective Danny Beckett, and this is my partner. We’re with the Long Beach Police.”
“Yes, Detectives,” he said. “Please come into the office and have a seat.” He showed us in. Along the wall that separated the office from the interior of the building was a leather couch. It was a bit worn on the arms but still quite a bit nicer than any furniture I’d ever seen in an office setup like this one. Everything in the office, in fact, was in better shape and of a higher quality than I would have expected. The desk looked like solid oak, and there was a matching return and bookshelf, too. The file cabinets in the far corner looked brand-new.
“This is a nice office,” Jen said.
“Not what you expected it would be?” Tropov said. “That’s what most people think. The furnishings are a bit better thanis usual in this neighborhood. I believe a businessman should maintain a comfortable working environment. I spend a bit more to do this.”
I nodded, pretending I appreciated his comments.
“Plus,” he went on, “it helps to make a good impression on clients.”
“You have a lot of clients here in the office?” I asked.
“Not many,” he said. “But sometimes.”
“It’s always good to be prepared,” Jen said.
“Yes, Detective Tanaka, it is.”
I’d never told him Jen’s name. He knew who we were. That didn’t surprise me.
“What kind of business do you do, Mr. Tropov?”
“Importing and exporting. Consolidation,” he said.
“I don’t know much about that kind of thing,” I said. “What exactly is ‘consolidation’?”
“We work with our clients to help coordinate the shipping services of the much larger importers and exporters here at the port. We help to meet the specific needs of individual and smaller businesses with a degree of specialization not possible with major shipping companies,” he said, sounding as rehearsed as an actor on opening night.
Jen nodded, and I said, “I see,” as if what he had just said had actually explained something. We could have pushed some more, but we knew Tropov would be able to keep it up as long as he wanted to.
“We need to ask you about an employee of yours,” I said.
“Of course,” he said, his voice rich with concern.
Jen began. “What can you tell us about Oleksander Turchenko?”
He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to his desk, as if he were remembering the loss of a favorite puppy. “I have heard something about his trouble. He was arrested, yes?”
I nodded.
“This is a great disappointment. I do not know Oleksander well, but he is a distant relative. I hired him at the request of my uncle, as a personal favor. To find out he is charged in such a horrible crime is a great shock to me and my family.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
Jen asked, “What kind of work did he do for you?”
“He was a freight handler and occasional driver.”
“And he worked here full time?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” Tropov said. “We have only three full-time employees. Myself, my secretary, and one driver. Most of the people who work for us are temporary contract employees.”
“And that’s what
“Hello,” he said. “How are you? What can I help you with?” He’d jettisoned most of his Russian accent somewhere along the way and was doing a respectable job of imitating an average, everyday, run-of-the-mill harbor business monkey. He met us halfway and extended his hand. Jen and I each gave it a perfunctory shake. If I hadn’t read his file, his shtick would have been good enough to stop me from thinking about drawing my gun.
I badged him and said, “I’m Detective Danny Beckett, and this is my partner. We’re with the Long Beach Police.”
“Yes, Detectives,” he said. “Please come into the office and have a seat.” He showed us in. Along the wall that separated the office from the interior of the building was a leather couch. It was a bit worn on the arms but still quite a bit nicer than any furniture I’d ever seen in an office setup like this one. Everything in the office, in fact, was in better shape and of a higher quality than I would have expected. The desk looked like solid oak, and there was a matching return and bookshelf, too. The file cabinets in the far corner looked brand-new.
“This is a nice office,” Jen said.
“Not what you expected it would be?” Tropov said. “That’s what most people think. The furnishings are a bit better thanis usual in this neighborhood. I believe a businessman should maintain a comfortable working environment. I spend a bit more to do this.”
I nodded, pretending I appreciated his comments.
“Plus,” he went on, “it helps to make a good impression on clients.”
“You have a lot of clients here in the office?” I asked.
“Not many,” he said. “But sometimes.”
“It’s always good to be prepared,” Jen said.
“Yes, Detective Tanaka, it is.”
I’d never told him Jen’s name. He knew who we were. That didn’t surprise me.
“What kind of business do you do, Mr. Tropov?”
“Importing and exporting. Consolidation,” he said.
“I don’t know much about that kind of thing,” I said. “What exactly is ‘consolidation’?”
“We work with our clients to help coordinate the shipping services of the much larger importers and exporters here at the port. We help to meet the specific needs of individual and smaller businesses with a degree of specialization not possible with major shipping companies,” he said, sounding as rehearsed as an actor on opening night.
Jen nodded, and I said, “I see,” as if what he had just said had actually explained something. We could have pushed some more, but we knew Tropov would be able to keep it up as long as he wanted to.
“We need to ask you about an employee of yours,” I said.
“Of course,” he said, his voice rich with concern.
Jen began. “What can you tell us about Oleksander Turchenko?”
He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to his desk, as if he were remembering the loss of a favorite puppy. “I have heard something about his trouble. He was arrested, yes?”
I nodded.
“This is a great disappointment. I do not know Oleksander well, but he is a distant relative. I hired him at the request of my uncle, as a personal favor. To find out he is charged in such a horrible crime is a great shock to me and my family.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
Jen asked, “What kind of work did he do for you?”
“He was a freight handler and occasional driver.”
“And he worked here full time?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” Tropov said. “We have only three full-time employees. Myself, my secretary, and one driver. Most of the people who work for us are temporary contract employees.”
“And that’s what
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