“I think you should. Uncle Benny met a nice girl in his building. Single. Very attractive. From a nice family. He wants to bring her along.”
“Forget it. Tell Uncle Benny I appreciate his efforts, but to hold off.”
She did not respond.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently.
“Look. I’m just too busy this week. Please pass that along to Uncle Benny. Tell him not to bring the girl.”
“Oh, your job is so important. God forbid, another shvartzeh gets murdered in South Central and you don’t show up. That would be such a tragedy-”
“I don’t work South Central anymore, Mom.”
“Wherever you work, I think it’s important that you have dinner with us on Friday because-”
“Got to go Mom,” I interrupted.
I hung up, and returned to the files I had recovered from the archives. A homicide in the Hollywood Hills looked faintly promising. The victim was a small-time burglar named Jack Freitas who had clipped the wires to the alarm system at the home he was robbing. The owner, Lloyd Silver, was vacationing in Italy with his family when Freitas broke in. The case was a curious one because someone shot Freitas in the temple, but the killer was never caught.
Relovich and Mitchell had been on patrol in the area, heard the gunshot, and sped to the scene. They found the body and arrested a homeless man wandering down a nearby street, who, they later discovered, had no connection to the case. Homicide detectives theorized at the time, according to the files, that Freitas’ partner double-crossed and killed him because he didn’t want to share the loot.
What interested me was the name of the firm Silver owned-Kyoto Import-Export. Since Kyoto was a city in Japan, it followed that Silver might have collected some netsukes and ojimes. The property report, however, did not list any stolen objects d’art. The thieves had blasted open a bedroom safe and stole Silver’s wife’s diamond and emerald jewelry, valued at more than $300,000.
I decided to stop by the Lloyd Silver’s house in the Hollywood Hills.
CHAPTER 25
I headed west on Sunset at dusk and cut north on a canyon road, past hills cloaked in chaparral, studded with yucca and stunted fan palms. Cruising beneath a canopy of live oaks, I pulled onto a narrow, winding street, the homes bordered by oleander with pink and red blossoms, thick stands of bamboo, and cactus gardens, the prickly pears starred with pale orange blooms.
Silver’s house was easy to spot, a dramatic, modern structure, all sharp angles, built of glass and steel, teetering on a hillside. After climbing fifty-one steep steps, I rang the front bell. While I waited for someone to answer, I realized how quiet it was in the hills compared to my loft. The only sounds were the breeze rattling the bamboo and the cars whirring through the canyon.
A man looked through a peephole and shouted, “Who is it?”
“Detective Ash Levine. LAPD.”
“ID?”
I covered the peephole with my badge.
The door opened, revealing a short, skinny man with thinning gray hair and a little ponytail. He wore shorts, sandals, and a short-sleeved yellow silk shirt. “What’s the problem, detective?”
“No real problem. Just checking out some old cases. I wanted to talk to you about that burglar who was killed at your house about ten years ago.”
Silver sighed, absentmindedly fingering his ponytail.
“Can I come inside?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I followed Silver into the living room, which had a sweeping view of the city, sheathed in a film of smog. The room was spare, almost monastic, with hardwood floors and a scattering of black leather and chrome furniture. The white walls were bare.
I joined Silver on the sofa and asked, “When it’s clear, can you see the ocean from here?”
“A few times a year,” Silver said, looking distracted. “So what’s this about? Did you finally find out who killed that thief in my living room?”
“We haven’t.”
“Well, he was no great loss. But that means the shooter is still out there victimizing other home owners.”
“With your cooperation, we might be able to get him behind bars.”
“And recover my property?”
“Maybe.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Not exactly. I’m working on another homicide case and I’m trying to determine if it’s related to that murder at your house.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It was,” I said. “But just to cover all my bases, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
“I noticed from the crime report that three hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry was stolen from your safe.”
“That’s right,” Silver said.
“That’s a lot of jewelry.”
Silver flashed me a forced smile. “My wife has expensive taste.”
“What kind of business are you in?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, sounding defensive.
“Just background.”
“Okay. I’m in the import-export business.”
“From what country?”
“Japan.”
“What do you import?”
Silver nervously tugged on his ponytail. “Is all this necessary?”
“Got anything to hide?” I said, smiling.
“Of course not. We import Japanese electronic equipment.”
“And what do you export?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You said your business was import-export.”
“It’s just an expression.”
I sensed Silver’s growing irritation, so I shifted the interview in another direction. “Anything else stolen from your house?”
Silver lightly brushed his forefinger across his lips and said “Just the jewelry. I told the officers that at the time.”
“You sure nothing else was stolen?” I asked.
“I’m sure.”
“How about any art work or art objects?”
He shook his head.
“You sure no small Japanese figurines were stolen, or things like that?”
Silver glowered at me. “You calling me a liar, detective?”
I knew this was a critical juncture in the interview. If I was too belligerent, too combative, Silver might refuse to answer the questions and tell me to pound sand or call his attorney. I had no leverage. I would simply have to
