Counterfeit Road (9 page)

They dropped off the freeway, the offramp dipping down to Highway 4. They were probably fifteen minutes from Branson’s yard. Raveneau turned to her.

‘He’s going to recognize me. He’s going to realize he was right last night in the bar. That’s going to unsettle him.’

‘OK, but let’s do the time frame once more. He delivered the plywood at 1:07 and the delivery receipt is signed at 1:15. He called his boss at 1:19 as he was leaving.’

‘That’s right, and we want to know about the rest of his day.’

‘And David Khan left the meeting where he was measuring kitchen cabinets at 1:21, give or take a few minutes, and that’s been verified by both the owner and the designer.’

‘Yeah, that’s what Ortega’s team says.’

‘We’re not part of the team?’

‘Other than with Drury he doesn’t want any help, and Drury only because I’ve already stuck my nose in.’

‘Did you and Ortega have a problem last night?’

‘No.’

‘OK, who checked out the route the cabinet shop owner says he took to come back to the shop?’

‘Hagen did. He drove it three times and thinks Khan would have gotten back right around 1:40, which fits with Khan’s story. He called 911 at 1:47, so that fits too. But if he got back sooner, say, 1:30 to 1:35, and he didn’t call for another twenty minutes or so, then that’s a little odd.’

‘Could Khan be the shooter?’

‘The medical examiner doesn’t think so. The paramedics got there within five minutes of the call and blood was already drying.’ Raveneau pointed at the sign ahead as he slowed. ‘Here we are.’ Then turning into the trucking yard he added, ‘This is probably our one interview and then Ortega will take over.’

‘Bruce Ortega is a good inspector.’

‘And a wonderful father and husband.’

‘You’re in a bad mood today.’

‘I’m fine.’

Branson’s yard was on Industrial Parkway, an asphalt road with oil refineries as a backdrop. A fourteen foot high chain-link fence topped with razor wire marked the borders. Raveneau studied the razor wire a moment as they got out of the car. It was as serious as a prison fence.

The owner, Hap Branson, turned out to be one of those guys whose face looks older than the rest of him by twenty years. He was in his early forties, a former trucker and probably tough on the guys that worked for him. Within ten minutes of meeting he told them his story, the trucking business that went under in the recession, not the Great Recession but the one before it.

‘It took me years to get back on my feet. I lost everything, but now I’ve got sixteen drivers.’

‘How long has John Drury driven for you?’

‘Four years and with no accidents or major incidents, though he’s got a temper. Once or twice he’s got into it with someone we’ve delivered to.’ He pointed out the window. ‘He’s here. Why don’t you come in here and sit down and I’ll talk to John and let him know what’s going to happen.’

Branson led them into his meeting room. It held an aged oak table with folding chairs and a floor with a chocolate brown carpet that smelled heavily of dogs. The ceiling was acoustic tile, several of which were yellow from leaks, but everything about Branson said he was serious about his business and it didn’t surprise Raveneau that the room was without frills.

When Drury walked in he was already fuming, no doubt feeling his boss set him up. He directed his anger at Raveneau.

‘I don’t care if you’re a homicide inspector or the fucking mayor of San Francisco. Back off. Why were you following me last night? What have I done wrong?’

‘I’ve got two questions for you before I answer the rest of that. The first is, why did you lie to me last night, and why do you have a problem helping us figure out why four people were murdered?’

‘You can’t put it on me. All I did was deliver fucking plywood. What were you doing following me?’

‘You were on the phone lying to me and I wondered where you were going. Right now, your credibility is suspect. You need to change that.’

Drury snorted and turned to Branson, saying, ‘This is total bullshit and I don’t have to do this.’

‘You’re right,’ Raveneau said. ‘You don’t have to say a word to us. You can completely blow us off and after you do that we’ll focus harder on you.’

Drury looked past Raveneau at the window and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I might be dead too, right. I might be fucking dead if I got there later. That freaked me out last night. I couldn’t deal with a lone cop coming to talk to me. I didn’t even know if you were real.’

‘You weren’t sure I was a homicide inspector?’

La Rosa entered the conversation, her voice soft and without any combativeness.

‘We’ve seen homicides where people just missed being in the wrong spot. It can cause a lot of anxiety.’

Drury ignored her. He pointed a finger at Raveneau.

‘Last night I knew you had me in mind and I thought you were going to try to kill me. I had all these kind of weird ideas. You said you were a homicide inspector but I talked to a different inspector earlier, and I was picturing you as the killer coming back to get me. You know, like you just missed me when you killed everyone. That’s what weirded me out in the bar. That’s why I took off.’

‘Makes a kind of sense,’ Raveneau said and didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Let’s talk through the time frame of your delivery. We know when you phoned in. We know when the foreman there logged your arrival and signed the delivery receipt. We know when you called in and said you were done and on the road to the next delivery. Did you call anyone else as you drove away?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I just asked, did you make any other phone calls between your delivery in San Francisco and your next one in San Jose?’

‘No, I hauled ass to San Jose. I was late.’

‘Do you have more than one phone?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean you were late?’

‘I was late all day.’ He nodded toward his boss. ‘We can’t go more than forty hours a week. Yesterday was the end of my week.’

‘How late were you running?’

‘Twenty minutes.’ He gestured toward his boss again. ‘When you call in a delivery he tells you how you’re running.’ After a beat he showed his anger toward Branson, adding, ‘He’s on our ass all the time.’

‘So you must have checked the time when you left to see how you were doing.’

‘No, man, there’s nothing I can do about traffic. I tried to make up some here and there but I don’t sweat the shit I can’t control. Like that book, don’t sweat the small shit.’

‘Let’s start with your first delivery yesterday. Take us through your whole day.’

He did it but in a sketchy way and Raveneau returned to details of the plywood delivery to Khan’s Cabinets. How long for the forklift to move the plywood? Did he do anything else while he was there? Did he see anybody else in the neighborhood that caught his eye? Did he stop anywhere else as he left for food or coffee or a soda? When he heard about it on the radio what station was he listening to?

‘Do you own any guns?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Do you own a gun?’

‘I have two and they’re registered.’

‘Do you own a nine millimeter?’

‘No.’

‘How are you as a marksman?’

‘Decent.’

‘Do you have a shooting range you go to?’

‘Bailey Gun Range.’

‘How often do you practice?’

‘Maybe twice a year, but I don’t think that’s any of your business. Do you know what a sovereign citizen is?’

‘That’s about all the time we get at the range too,’ la Rosa said, and eased it all down again. She explained that four people were murdered and they had to ask every question of everyone.

‘It’s not just you.’ She paused. ‘But other than the killer you’re the last person to see them alive so we’ll have to keep working with you. You’re our nearest link to what happened.’

She showed a worried look. She turned empathetic.

‘I know it’s not fun to be questioned like this.’

‘It sucks.’

‘We understand, but we have to talk to everybody and we really need your help.’

‘You need more than my help. You people suck. Four people got wasted and you’re following me around. If you’re following me you’re incompetent. You know, you should be doing something else, being a meter maid.’

Raveneau watched his face change.

‘I’m the taxpayer. I drive all day. I hustle and what do you do? You get to retire early with your fat pensions. Fuck this.’ He turned to Branson. ‘And fuck you for setting me up. I’m going to do the lawyer thing. I’m not talking any more. I’m out of here.’

Raveneau knew they were done but la Rosa tried again.

‘We need your help. I can’t say that enough. I can understand you being angry, but four people were murdered and we need your help. The questions might feel accusatory but they actually clear you of suspicion.’

‘Why would there be suspicion of me?’

‘It’s what I said before, you were the last person to see them and you have to understand that we work from the last known thing. We know you were there. We’re trying to get from when you left there to the killer.’

‘You’re just looking for someone to arrest, but it’s not going to be me.’ His face reddened as he said, ‘Have I ever fired a nine millimeter? Go ask old man Bailey who’s a killer shot.’

‘I’ll ask him,’ Raveneau said.

‘Oh, I know you will.’ He focused on Branson again. ‘I’m giving you notice. I quit as of right now. I’m done with this crap.’

He reached in his jacket and pulled out a key ring, then dropped it on the table, his focus on his boss now.

‘You set me up and I quit and I want my last check right now. Get your fat ass up and get your checkbook.’

Branson got to his feet but he didn’t look like he was going for his checkbook. He dropped his arms to his sides and balled his fists.

‘You’ll get your check when I’m ready and not before.’

‘I’ll go to the Labor Board.’

‘Then get going. Get off my property before I teach you a lesson.’

SIXTEEN

I
t escalated rapidly and Raveneau knocked his chair over as he stepped away from the table. Branson and Drury were yelling and already out in the front office, Drury trying to get to Branson’s desk.

‘Ben, wait.’

La Rosa reached for his arm and was too late, and if Raveneau heard her, he didn’t give any sign. He followed them out and now Branson was in Drury’s face yelling, spittle flying on to Drury. Drury was the longer bigger man, but he didn’t have Branson’s low thick leverage and she watched as Branson took a boxing stance like someone out of an old black and white movie. His face was solid, fists up, shoulders thick as a bear. He threw a hard punch catching Drury under the right side of his chin with a loud smacking that staggered Drury. He stuttered, stepped back, and almost went down.

‘Get the fuck off my property you sonofabitch!’

Drury wobbled to the wall behind him and then stared at Branson with a look that was eerie. Raveneau picked up on that and stepped between them as Drury moved sideways. La Rosa watched him grab a trophy displayed on a shelf on the wall, some sort of industry thing, an insurance company sponsored award for the firm with the most miles without an accident. She read the inscription when she and Raveneau first arrived. Drury grabbed it off the shelf with his right and punched out the window nearest him with the trophy’s heavy base. Glass shattered and fell on the concrete outside.

He swung the trophy first at Raveneau, then at Branson, and Raveneau moved. He moved like nothing she’d ever seen in him before. Raveneau was maybe six foot one, and you didn’t know it looking at him, but he was very quick when he needed to be. She learned that playing one-on-one basketball against him, and she’d played point guard at Santa Clara College. But Raveneau wasn’t young. He was in his fifties. Drury caught Branson on the left bicep with a corner of the trophy, and then he was on the ground, the trophy across the room and Raveneau leaning over him, repeating, ‘You don’t want to take this any farther.’

‘I’m going to call the local police,’ la Rosa pulled her cell as Branson begged her not to.

‘Please don’t, I just want him out of here.’

‘He was swinging at your head. I’m going to call it in.’

‘I just want him out of the yard.’

She glanced at Raveneau. She read his eyes. She called it in.

‘I’m not pressing charges,’ Branson said. ‘I don’t work that way. We settle things like men. Get out of here,’ he told Drury, and Raveneau answered.

‘He waits.’

A police report got written and Drury didn’t say anything, not a single word. He was handcuffed and led to the back of a Martinez police cruiser. She watched him try to stare down Raveneau before the cop holding him pushed him into the back seat.

‘You OK?’ Raveneau asked Branson.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Is he going to come back here?’

‘I’ll get his check cut, that’ll end it. He got into it with another driver at a fuel stop a few years ago and I believed his version, but I don’t think I should have. He’s got a thing about him. On some mornings he’s angry at the whole world. He doesn’t think he should be driving. He said something to me once and I thought he was joking and laughed and it made him angry for three weeks.’

‘Yeah, what was that?’

‘Oh, he said Elvis Presley was a truck driver before he was a successful singer and he was better than Elvis and that he was going to become an actor. There’s some movie star he thinks he looks like. He had photos taken of himself. He showed them to me and other drivers here and sent them to a talent agency. When they didn’t contact him and weren’t taking his calls he got angry. I had to sit down and talk with him about it.’

‘When was this?’ la Rosa asked.

‘Last spring, April, right around tax time, and he had a two thousand dollar charge on a credit card for the photos. He was very angry about that.’

She wanted to know more about them.

‘What were they? What kind of photos? Were they head shots, poses, what were they?’

‘Some were head shots but one was in swim trunks that tied together in the front and it was kind of loosened like they were ready to come off. That’s the photo they laughed at around here. But he got himself in great shape. What’s the word used now? Ripped, he’s ripped. He’s strong.’