"IT WAS A SLOPPY investigation, that's why." Detective
Jordan St. James leaned forward, palms on the captain's
desk. He had his reasons for wanting to reinvestigate the
Kolnikov case, but he couldn't tell his boss what they
were.
Captain Jeff Carlyle stood behind the oversize desk, arms
crossed. A tall black man with silver hair, Carlyle was
well liked by all the detectives in the Robbery Homicide
Division of the LAPD.
"That case went cold four years ago. Unless you have new
evidence, we have other priorities."
Yeah. He knew the drill. The murder of a prostitute wasn't
important unless it could be connected to a high-profile
name, politics or money. While Kolnikov's case had the
potential for all that, they hadn't been able to get
evidence to prove any of it.
"Frank DeMatta is still a priority, isn't he? Kolnikov
worked for him for more than thirty yearsβ¦and was his
mistress for practically as long."
"We worked every angle on Kolnikov. If there was something
to use, we would've done it. What's the deal, St. James?
Why're you so interested in this case?"
Jordan clenched his hands into fists. "Kolnikov also knew
Eddie Gianni."
For years the LAPD had been champing at the bit to finally
take down mobster Frank DeMatta, and his nephew Eddie
Gianni would have been the star witness against him.
Gianni's murder three years ago had been a devastating
blow to the department. Without the nephew's testimony,
they had no case. "My gut feeling is there's something in
Kolnikov's case that will get us DeMatta. I just have to
find it."
It wasn't a good answer, but it was all he had.
As he watched the captain thumb through the file, Jordan's
muscles tensed. The unspoken philosophy that one person's
life might be more important than another grated on his
conscience. Sadly, it was a fact of life in the
department. There were only so many hours in the day and
some cases had priority. Anna Kolnikov was a prostitute;
no one cared that she'd been murdered. She was a discard.
He hated what the woman was. He wanted to forget her, but
something kept drawing him back to the file, reading and
rereading, compelled to know more. He had to solve this
woman's murder. If he didn't, he wasn't sure he could live
with himself.
Regardless of his personal feelings about Anna Kolnikov,
she deserved justice. If he had to use DeMatta's name to
do it, so be it.
Carlyle eyed him narrowly. "You know it'll reach DeMatta
before you leave the building." His gaze shifted to the
open-space squad room, desks butted one against another in
domino patterns, each cluster defined by that group's
investigation priority.
"I know." They'd long suspected a mole in the department
was feeding DeMatta information. Jordan smiled. "So maybe
that's a good thing. We might draw someone out. Make
people nervous."
The captain rubbed his chin. "Okay. You've got a few weeks
to show me something. But only because I want DeMatta.
Don't forget it."
Still smiling, Jordan retrieved the file and strode from
the office. The captain's sanction meant a lot. He didn't
like working on his own, but in this case, he would have
if he'd had to.
"Yo, paesan." Rico Santini's voice carried through the
room, his New Jersey accent still strong even though he'd
been living in L.A. for more than ten years. "What's the
verdict?"
"I'm good to go." He gave his partner a thumbs-up and then
sat in the gray chair that matched his gray metal desk.
"You really got a thing about this case."
"You never had a thing? I know a couple of cases you
bulldogged, so give me a break."
Rico raised a hand. "You got me there, pal."
"It could be a way to get DeMatta."
"Then I'm sorry I won't be around to help." Every cop on
the LAPD wanted to nail the mobster. It had been twelve
years since two of their own were gunned down by DeMatta's
goons, but no one had forgotten. Sooner or later they'd
even the score.
"Hey, you coming to Bernie's tonight?" Rico glanced at
Jordan.
Jordan's three best buddies in the unit had a standing
meet at Bernie's Sports Bar and Grill to catch a game or
just hang out. Jordan's partner, Rico, hadn't been doing
much hanging out since he'd married, but he still managed
to show up for the most important games. "Tonight might be
the last time I'll be there for a while," Rico
added. "Starting tomorrow I'm off on that belated
honeymoon, besides getting the adoption thing going."
Jordan nodded. "Okay. I'm there. And by the way, I think
what you're doing with the adoption is great. Billy's a
great kid."
His partner and his wife, Macy, had decided to adopt an
abandoned boy she'd been working with as his court-
appointed attorney. Jordan knew the blessings and the
pitfalls of adoption. His relationship with his own
adoptive parents was both wonderful and full of turmoil.
Especially when he'd told them he wanted to locate his
biological parents. All hell had broken loose and they'd
never talked about it again.
Eyes gleaming, Rico smiled. His marriage and the impending
adoption had him smiling a lot these days.
"Okay. Later, then." Watching Rico go, Jordan felt
enormous happiness for his partner and β oddly β a sense
of loss. They'd been best friends for more than ten years.
Now Rico's wife was his partner's best friend.
He pushed his personal thoughts aside, pulled out Gianni's
file and started from the beginning. While in college,
DeMatta's nephew had collected money for his uncle's
business interests. It was well-known DeMatta had his
fingers in every illegal activity in L.A. Gambling,
prostitution, drugs, the protection racket. But there were
so many levels to the mobster's network and, because his
goons took care of business for him, the department hadn't
been able to prove DeMatta's involvement. Not without hard
evidence or someone to testify against him. But it was
only a matter of time. Jordan suspected DeMatta had
collected money from Anna Kolnikov, the most well-known
madam in L.A., but, again, he had no proof.
He flipped pages, reading quickly. Gianni had quit working
for his uncle after college and had gone into real estate.
Later they'd had a falling-out over the nephew's gambling
debts. The department, hearing from one of their snitches
that Gianni had become a liability for the mobster because
he knew too much, had swooped down. The small-time hood
had been easily persuaded to testify against DeMatta β but
only if he was offered protection in return.
Some protection. Their star witness had been snuffed the
night before he was to go into WITSEC, the federal
marshal's protection program, and it wasn't too hard to
guess who'd hired the hit man. Unable to find any hot
evidence, and embarrassed by the screwup, the department
quickly deep-sixed the case.
He read down another page. The name Laura Gianni caught
his eye. The star witness's ex-wife. She'd been
interviewed after the murder, but the line of questioning
was thin. Strange. The woman had been married to Gianni
for two years, they'd had a child together. She must've
known something about her husband's past. About his uncle.
He wrote down the ex-wife's name, then switched his focus
to the Kolnikov case. DeMatta had been a prime suspect
during the investigation, but he'd alibied out. With no
other leads, the case had gone cold.
Yet, every fiber in Jordan's being screamed that the mob
boss was involved in the woman's death β hers and every
other execution-style slaying in L.A., including two LAPD
undercover detectives who'd been working on a major drug
sting.
Oh, he had a thing about this case, all right. He wanted
to nail Kolnikov's killer, and if it turned out to be
DeMatta β all the better.
MUSIC BLARED FROM tricked-out cars cruising the dimly lit
street. Hookers lined the curb, ogling the slow-moving
vehicles as they went by. Parked at the corner, Laura got
out of the van and handed her card to a teenager hiding
behind several layers of makeup and fake eyelashes. Opium-
sweet perfume formed a barrier around the girl, who
couldn't be more than fourteen.
"We're open twenty-four/seven" was all Laura got out
before the teen sashayed toward a car that had pulled
over. Counseling wasn't an option in the middle of the
night with depraved men circling in their cars like
vultures.
If she could get only one child to call β and they were
just children β she'd feel her message hadn't been lost.
You're not alone. You don't have to live this way. We care
about you.
She nodded at her co-worker, Phoebe Patterson, in the
passenger seat, as she climbed back in the van. Driving
on, she turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, where four teens
dressed in halter tops and microminis, showing more skin
than they covered, huddled on a corner under the yellow
streetlights, where they could be seen by any john passing
by.
"It's time to go home." Phoebe squinted at Laura through
her retro wire-rimmed glasses. "We're not getting any
takers tonight."
"Just one more try here, then I'll give it up."
As they headed toward the corner, a red Corvette coasted
up next to the group and stopped. A tall man in a dark
suit pulled himself from the driver's seat. "Have you seen
that guy before?" Phoebe asked.
"No. But I think we should hover and maybe scare him away."
"I've seen him somewhere. He's too good-looking to have to
buy it on the streets."
"Maybe he's a cop."
"Driving a Corvette. No way! I dated a cop once. He had
all he could do to scrape together enough money for a
movie."
Laura chuckled. "Maybe your cop was sharing the wealth."
"Yeah." Phoebe slouched against the seat. "What is it with
guys who can't make a freaking commitment?"
"I'm the last person to ask." Laura made a U-turn, then
drove by the red car again, both women making a point to
stare at the man as they went by.
"Maybe it's time you got out a little. Have some fun for a
change." Phoebe's eyes glinted with mischief.
"I have fun." Laura raised her chin.
"Not the kind I'm talking about."
Phoebe teased Laura unmercifully about her self-imposed
celibacy. She had to admit, she'd also been thinking a lot
about her physical and emotional needs lately. For a long
time after the divorce, all she'd thought about was
protecting Caitlin. Overprotecting. The only fun she ever
had was with Caitlin and the girls at the shelter. Until
recently, it had been enough.
"You gotta get it on with someone sometime, girlfriend. It
doesn't have to be permanent."
Laura expelled an exasperated breath. "Well, I'm willing,
but I haven't met anyone I want to get it on with.
Besides, what kind of role model would I be if I slept
around?"
"A date once in a while isn't taboo. Everyone's gotta have
a life."
"I've got a life. A very good one."
"Yeah, especially when you're working all the time. You
can't meet anyone that way."
"I haven't been living in a bubble. I meet people all the
time. Justβ¦not the right ones."
"That's just it. Every date doesn't have to be the right
one. You come out with me some night. I'll introduce you
to one of Adam's friends.You'll have fun. I know you will."
Before Laura had the chance to say no, Phoebe perched on
the edge of her seat and pointed toward the corner. "Okay,
he's leaving. And he's alone." Her voice rose with
excitement. "I think we scared him off."
"Good." Laura's stomach churned as she watched the man
drive away.
© 2003-2026