Turchenko is?”
“Yes,” Tropov said. “Rather, what he
was
. I’m afraid it’s unlikely we’ll be able to employ him again.”
“Well,” I said, “he is innocent until proven guilty. What if he’s not convicted of the charges?”
“If that is the case, there is a possibility. But appearances are very important in my business. People’s judgments and opinions have a great impact on our concerns. The perceptions of him, unfortunately, may be too much to overcome. I’m sure you understand.”
“That would be a shame,” Jen said.
“Yes,” Tropov said, “it would.”
“Would you be able to tell us if he was working for you on the evening of”—I paused and pretended to consult my notebook—“February twenty-first?”
“Of course,” he said. He swiveled his desk chair, punched some keys, and pretended to consult his computer files. “No, he was not working for us that night. I wish he had been. My uncle would be much happier if he had been.”
“I think that’s everything.” I looked at Jen, and she agreed. “Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Tropov.”
“You are most welcome,” he said as we all stood up. “Let me show you out.” He led us back onto the asphalt lot. “Please let me know if I can be of any more help to you.”
“We will,” Jen said. “Thanks again.”
We stood there and looked at him until he blinked at the bright sun, turned, and went back inside.
In the car, as she turned back out onto Eleventh Street, Jen said, “That was fun and all, but did we get anything we could use?”
“Oh yeah.”
“What?”
“We know Tropov’s the brains.”
“Think he’s in this?”
“He’s in something.” I looked out the passenger-side window at the colossal cranes along the water’s edge. Docked at the closest of them was a giant freighter with dirty red-and-blue containers stacked ten high on its deck. They made me and the tightening muscles in my neck feel very small.
When we got back to the squad room, I went through my voice mail messages and, surprisingly, found one from Julian Campos. “Mr. Beckett,” he said, deliberately using “mister” rather than “detective” in what I was sure was an attempt to irritate me. He might have been a good lawyer, but he was out of his league when it came to trading petty, thinly veiled, passive-aggressive insults. “If you can clear some time in your schedule today, Bradley Benton is prepared to speak briefly with you and Detective Tanaka. Please call me back to make the arrangements.”
I said to Jen, “We got our interview.”
She looked surprised and a bit wary. We both wondered what angle Campos was playing. The possibility that he was just doing his best to assist us in our investigation never occurred to us.
Bradley hadn’t been home since the murders. He was still staying with his parents.
The Benton family had a knack for finding expensive neighborhoods in Long Beach. The congressman and his wife lived inone of the most exclusive areas of the city—Park Estates. It was a relatively small enclave hidden between the Recreation Park Golf Course and the Veterans Administration hospital on Bellflower. Driving past on one of the major streets around the community, you’d never actually know it was there. But once you went looking for it and started winding through the heart of the area, it felt like you’d taken a wrong turn and somehow wound up thirty miles north in Bel Air or Beverly Hills. It was one of the few places in the city where you could find an actual estate.
Which was exactly what the congressman had found about fifteen years ago, when he’d moved up the coast from Newport Beach to a location that was right in the geographic center of his district.
Before we left the squad, we looked up the residence on Google Earth. I’d already seen it from the street, but I wanted to see it from above to get a better feel for the place. It was quite a spread. It appeared that there were only two
“Yes,” Tropov said. “Rather, what he
was
. I’m afraid it’s unlikely we’ll be able to employ him again.”
“Well,” I said, “he is innocent until proven guilty. What if he’s not convicted of the charges?”
“If that is the case, there is a possibility. But appearances are very important in my business. People’s judgments and opinions have a great impact on our concerns. The perceptions of him, unfortunately, may be too much to overcome. I’m sure you understand.”
“That would be a shame,” Jen said.
“Yes,” Tropov said, “it would.”
“Would you be able to tell us if he was working for you on the evening of”—I paused and pretended to consult my notebook—“February twenty-first?”
“Of course,” he said. He swiveled his desk chair, punched some keys, and pretended to consult his computer files. “No, he was not working for us that night. I wish he had been. My uncle would be much happier if he had been.”
“I think that’s everything.” I looked at Jen, and she agreed. “Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Tropov.”
“You are most welcome,” he said as we all stood up. “Let me show you out.” He led us back onto the asphalt lot. “Please let me know if I can be of any more help to you.”
“We will,” Jen said. “Thanks again.”
We stood there and looked at him until he blinked at the bright sun, turned, and went back inside.
In the car, as she turned back out onto Eleventh Street, Jen said, “That was fun and all, but did we get anything we could use?”
“Oh yeah.”
“What?”
“We know Tropov’s the brains.”
“Think he’s in this?”
“He’s in something.” I looked out the passenger-side window at the colossal cranes along the water’s edge. Docked at the closest of them was a giant freighter with dirty red-and-blue containers stacked ten high on its deck. They made me and the tightening muscles in my neck feel very small.
When we got back to the squad room, I went through my voice mail messages and, surprisingly, found one from Julian Campos. “Mr. Beckett,” he said, deliberately using “mister” rather than “detective” in what I was sure was an attempt to irritate me. He might have been a good lawyer, but he was out of his league when it came to trading petty, thinly veiled, passive-aggressive insults. “If you can clear some time in your schedule today, Bradley Benton is prepared to speak briefly with you and Detective Tanaka. Please call me back to make the arrangements.”
I said to Jen, “We got our interview.”
She looked surprised and a bit wary. We both wondered what angle Campos was playing. The possibility that he was just doing his best to assist us in our investigation never occurred to us.
Bradley hadn’t been home since the murders. He was still staying with his parents.
The Benton family had a knack for finding expensive neighborhoods in Long Beach. The congressman and his wife lived inone of the most exclusive areas of the city—Park Estates. It was a relatively small enclave hidden between the Recreation Park Golf Course and the Veterans Administration hospital on Bellflower. Driving past on one of the major streets around the community, you’d never actually know it was there. But once you went looking for it and started winding through the heart of the area, it felt like you’d taken a wrong turn and somehow wound up thirty miles north in Bel Air or Beverly Hills. It was one of the few places in the city where you could find an actual estate.
Which was exactly what the congressman had found about fifteen years ago, when he’d moved up the coast from Newport Beach to a location that was right in the geographic center of his district.
Before we left the squad, we looked up the residence on Google Earth. I’d already seen it from the street, but I wanted to see it from above to get a better feel for the place. It was quite a spread. It appeared that there were only two
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