Dinner And A Murder: The 3rd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (13 page)

“No, but you suspect him.”

I shook my head. “Are you going to be disappointed if someone else turns out to be the killer?”

“Probably. But for now, it’s enough that I’m not the only one who thinks that man is twisted.”

I left them at Gina’s kitchen table, working out a schedule so that one of them would always be watching Wallace’s house.

I drove back to the marina and gave Buddy a long drink from the hose in the driveway. Then I took him for a quick walk around the grounds. After our walk we went down to the boat where I selected a couple of large plastic bowls, filling one with kibble. We went up to the office where I set the kibble dish on the floor in the kitchenette. I filled the other bowl with water, and placed it next to the kibble.

Buddy looked up at me, took a few laps of water, sniffed at the kibble, and then ambled across the office and planted himself on the floor between my desk and the front door. He would be between me and any potential intruder, and he would also be in a position to stop me if I tried to leave the office without him. Clever boy.

I pulled the printout from my purse. I was excited about the Hummer lead, but I wasn’t thrilled about the amount the time it would take to find out if any of the family members of the plane crash victims had purchased one in the last two months.

I was plotting the route from the office to the homes of three female surviving family members, each of whom had lost her husband and at least one child, when my phone rang. I picked it up without checking the display, lost in the bowels of MapQuest.

“Hunter Investigations.”

“Nicoli, it’s Sam.” The static on the line told me Sam was calling on his cell phone.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m following the subject,” he said, meaning Boscalo. “He just happened to be home when I dropped by, so I waited around. When he drove out I was able to see into the garage and what we’re looking for isn’t in there, so I thought I’d see where he was headed on a weekday afternoon. He went to a storage facility on Delaware Street. I took a chance and drove in behind him. I just hope I can get back out again.”

“Is that why you called? You need me to break you out of a storage facility?”

“No, Nicoli. I called you because he’s got a ten-by-thirty foot unit and I can’t get close enough to see what’s inside without alerting him.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s big enough to store a car!”

“Bingo,” Sam declared. “I need you to take a look at unit D-twenty-four tonight after they close. You think you can do that without getting yourself in trouble?”

“No, but I know someone who can.”

I told Sam about the contents of Wallace and Fragoso’s garages, and about the three female surviving family members I planned to check out next. Not that I expected anything to come of it. My gut told me we were on the right track with our original suspects, but Sam had taught me never to assume anything. So I was being thorough. He said he’d be checking on a woman who lived in the South Bay area, himself.

When Sam and I hung up I called Elizabeth. I was going to ask her boyfriend, Jack McGuire, the former cat burglar, to come out of retirement, and I needed her permission first.

“This is Elizabeth,” she answered on the first ring.

“I need a huge favor.”

“Hi, Nikki. How are you doing? More importantly, how is my sweet little Buddy doing?”

I looked down at the dozing canine. “He’s adjusting nicely,” I said.

“Excellent. So what can I do for you?”

“I need Jack to help me with a surveillance job tonight.” You can’t be too careful what you say on the phone, even on a landline.

“Surveillance, huh?”

“I wouldn’t ask, but it’s an emergency. My friend’s life is in danger.”

“Is this the investigation you told me about?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to call Jack without talking to you first.”

“Good thinking. I’d like to know the details. Can I drop by your office after work?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. I’ll be there around five.”

“I’ll see you then. Oh, and can you watch Buddy for a couple of hours tomorrow?”

“I’ll take him all day if you want.”

“No need. I’m just having lunch with my high school friend Cher, and you know how busy The Pelican is on the weekend. Buddy’s still a little skittish around strangers.” 

“I’ll be at the marina all day tomorrow. You can drop him off on your way to lunch.”

“Great. Thank you.”

I called Bill next.

“Are you working late tonight?” I asked.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I have to go out and I was wondering if you could babysit Buddy onboard the boat. He hates it when I leave him in the car.” I could leave him with Elizabeth, but she has a cat, and I wasn’t sure Buddy would be safe around K.C., aka Killer Cat. He spends his days prowling around the marina, but his nights with Elizabeth.

“What time do you need to leave?” Bill asked.

“Seven-thirty.”

“I can do that.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

I was getting behind with my regular clients, but the urgency of Paul’s case couldn’t be ignored, so I finished plotting the route to my selected next of kin candidates, and Buddy and I hit the road again.

We made stops in San Mateo, San Bruno, and San Francisco, driving around residential neighborhoods in each case, searching for a black Hummer. Because San Francisco garages are so close to the street, I was able to discreetly peek in that one, but I wasn’t as fortunate with the San Mateo and San Bruno neighborhoods. Too many people were home, as was evidenced by the number of cars parked on the streets and in driveways.

We were back at the office by 4:30. I checked in with Sam, letting him know the results, or lack of results, of my property search. He hadn’t had any luck either. I told him I’d call in the morning with news about Boscalo’s storage locker and ended the call.

Buddy and I walked out onto the lawn in front of the office to wait for Elizabeth. It was a sunny afternoon, and I felt guilty about keeping him indoors so much of the time. He watered a few shrubs and then rolled around on the grass with his feet up in the air. When he stopped rolling he stayed on his back, mouth open, exposing his beautiful white teeth. He was still like that when Elizabeth showed up.

“Ooohhh, look at the baby boy,” she cooed.

Buddy rolled over and jumped to his feet in one smooth motion, then crouched like a cat, leaped into the air, and flung himself at Elizabeth. She caught the pup in her arms and tumbled backwards onto the lawn, her eyes wide.

“Wow,” she said.

“I think he likes you.”

Elizabeth giggled and scratched behind his ears, and he sat down on her belly.

“So, tell me,” she said from her prone position on the lawn.

“I have to break into a public storage facility tonight, and then break into one of the lockers without getting caught and without leaving a trace. I need Jack.”

“What are you looking for?”

“We know the killer drives a black Hummer. I need to see if there’s one parked in the locker.”

“Okay. But if you get caught and Jack gets in trouble, you have to fix it. He’s finally an honest man and it would be too ironic if he got caught breaking and entering for a just cause.”

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to him.” It was an empty promise and we both knew it, but sometimes you have to say the words anyway.

“I’ll give him a call,” she said. “Do you want to pick him up at his house?”

“That’s what I had in mind.”

“Do you need someone to watch Buddy tonight?”

“Bill’s coming over. I didn’t think K.C. would appreciate canine company.”

I helped Elizabeth to her feet and pulled her in for a hug. Then she went through the locked gate to the docks, and Buddy and I went back into the office to shut everything down.

Chapter 20

B
ill arrived at 7:16 with a bag of Chinese takeout, filling the boat with the tantalizing aroma of deep-fried carbohydrates. He also had a binder under his arm.

I took the bag and set it on the galley counter, then glanced at the binder and said, “Homework?”

“I can’t seem to get a fix on this one,” he said.

“I have a little time. You want to tell me about it?”

I grabbed three egg rolls and a handful of pot stickers and tossed them on a paper plate.

Bill set the binder on the galley counter and slid it toward me. This was unprecedented behavior. Normally getting Bill to share information on an unsolved case is like pulling teeth.

I flipped the binder open and glanced at the crime scene photos. Caucasian male, face up on the ground. There appeared to be a single stab wound to his upper abdomen. Not a lot of blood. I looked at Bill.

“The victim was a registered sex offender,” he said. “He was killed outside a daycare facility on Middlefield Road. No witnesses. None that we’ve located anyway. He was stabbed with a long, sharp blade. I can’t help thinking this is too much of a coincidence. The guy was a pedophile, hanging out near a daycare center when somebody killed him. We may have a vigilante on our hands.”

I paged through the reports, which included the victim’s criminal history. He’d done time and been released, twice, for abducting and molesting children. I struggled with feelings of admiration for whoever had killed him. I have major issues with anyone who preys on the innocent.

“Who has access to the registered sex offender files?” I asked.

“Pretty much anyone who works in law enforcement. The files at the station are kept in a locked cabinet in investigations. Each file has the offender’s record and registration form. The records department also has files on these guys, and those cabinets aren’t locked.”

“What about public access, and what about the families of the children he abducted?”

“There are two categories of sex offenders, those who are subject to disclosure and those who aren’t. Sexually violent predators and sexually habitual offenders are subject to disclosure and are registered on the Department of Justice website. This guy was a habitual sex offender, so basically anyone with an internet connection could get his name, home address, and a list of his crimes. There are photos on the website too. The first thing we did was check the alibis of the affected families. One of them has moved out of state, and there’s no record of any travel in the last month. The parents of the other child he was convicted of abducting were both at work at the time he was killed.”

“Are you having trouble getting motivated?”

“Murder is murder, Nikki. No matter who the victim is.”

“If you say so. I have to change clothes. Don’t give Buddy too much people food.”

I dressed in black stretchy jeans, a black long-sleeve tee shirt, and black running shoes, tucking my taser in my black leather jacket pocket.

I kissed Bill and leaned in for a hug. When I felt the tension melt out of my body I let go, retrieved my purse, and jogged up the companionway. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Buddy gazing up at me. “Stay,” I said, holding up my hand like a stop sign before closing the hatch.

“What time will you be back?” Bill called out.

“I’m not sure, but it shouldn’t be too late. Thanks for watching Buddy for me.” I made my escape before he could ask why I was dressed like a ninja.

I was hoping the public storage facility wasn’t one of those that has a manager living on the premises. If Jack and I got caught, I was afraid Elizabeth would never speak to me again.

As I pulled out of the parking lot I felt like part of me was missing. There was no warm puppy breath on the back of my neck. No one was licking my ear and pushing my head aside so he could stick his nose out my window. Buddy had only been with me for two days and already I missed him when he wasn’t there. Maybe I’d have to rethink the idea of finding him a home with a fenced yard.

I wasn’t picking Jack up until 9:30, and I wanted to see where Fragoso went after work, so I drove to Best Buy and parked near the entrance. I got out of the Bimmer and walked inside.

I hovered around kitchen appliances, peeking surreptitiously between the shelves into the home entertainment department until I caught a glimpse of him. Then I snuck back outside and circled the store on foot, looking for an employee entrance. I found a shipping and receiving dock, but I didn’t think he was likely to exit that way, so I got back in my car and watched the front doors.

At 9:02 the last of the customers straggled out and one of the employees locked the doors from the inside. A few minutes later Fragoso came out, the same employee locking up behind him. I crouched down in my seat, even though the parking lot was fairly dark.

Fragoso stopped and lit a cigarette before walking to his car. He inhaled deeply and I remembered how good that used to feel. Then I remembered how hard it had been to quit. Not worth it.

I watched Fragoso walk to an old dilapidated VW van, about as far from a Hummer
as you could get. He drove north on Highway 101 into Burlingame, and I followed. He took the Broadway exit and made the first right off of Broadway, then took an immediate left. He parked in front of a red brick duplex.

I doused my lights and pulled to the curb at the end of the street. Fragoso got out of his car, walked up the steps, and let himself in, turning the interior lights on as he stepped inside. The duplex had been dark before he entered, so he was probably alone in there. There was a garage, but he had parked on the street—maybe because there was a Hummer in the garage?

I made a note of the address and took off for Hillsborough.

I arrived at Jack’s estate at 9:25. The gate was open so I pulled down the driveway and stopped in front of the main house. He was out the door before I shifted into park and didn’t say a word as he got into my car.

“How are you, Jack?” I asked.

He gave me a stern look. Jack is normally pretty easygoing.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

He turned away and said, “Why would you think that, Nicoli?”

Oh man. I was in big trouble. He never called me Nicoli anymore, and his accent was more pronounced than usual.

“Because I went through Elizabeth to ask you for a favor, instead of coming directly to you?”

“And why should that make me angry?”

This was typical Irish banter. They always answer a question with another question.

“Because you’re your own man and nobody makes your decisions for you?” I was beginning to enjoy this.

“So you think I might be upset with you because you asked Elizabeth for
permission
rather than asking me directly to help you with a little breaking and entering. Is that it now?”

“Your accent is showing,” I said.

Jack was born here but raised by his grandparents in Ireland after his mom and dad were killed in a plane crash.

“Listen, Jack, Elizabeth is my best friend. I’ve known
you
for what, two months? It means a lot to Elizabeth that you’ve retired. If I had come to you and asked for help without talking to her first,
she
would have been pissed off at me. I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I’d rather have you angry with me than Elizabeth.”

He turned to look at me, a shadow of a smile on his face. “I suppose I can understand that.”

I drove past the Delaware Avenue Public Storage facility so Jack could get a look at the layout. There was a small two-story building to the left of the gated entry. Lights were on in a loft apartment above the office. There was an onsite manager, and they were home.
Crap.

I parked a block away and we walked around behind the lot. The storage facility, which took up half a city block, was surrounded by hurricane fencing, and there were two strands of barbed wire across the top of the fence.

“What have you got in the trunk?” Jack asked.

I thought about the question for a moment before I realized what he was asking. I jogged back to the car and dug a heavy beach towel out of the trunk.

When I got back to where Jack had been standing he was perched halfway up the fence with his left hand and the toe of his left shoe holding him in place. He looked like he was levitating there. He was dressed all in black, including a pair of black leather gloves. A black watch cap covered his red hair. In the few minutes I’d been gone he’d applied black greasepaint to his face. I wished I could snap a picture, but Jack wouldn’t have the patience for that.

I handed him the towel and he draped it over the barbed wire, folding it in half for extra padding. He reached his hand down for me. I hoisted myself up onto the fence and Jack helped me over the portion of barbed wire covered by the towel. He waited until I’d dropped to the ground on the other side, and then flipped himself up and over the towel like a gymnast. He flicked the towel down from the barbed wire and tucked it under a bush, then took me by the arm and pulled me behind the trunk of a eucalyptus tree. He took something out of his fanny pack and handed it to me. It was a tube of black greasepaint.

“Do I have to?” I whispered.

“Do you want to get caught?”

I unscrewed the top of the tube and rubbed the noxious gunk all over my face, neck and hands. Then I wiped my greasy palms on my jeans. Paul would have to pay for the jeans. This stuff wouldn’t wash out.

Jack took a small flashlight out of his fanny pack and whispered, “What’s the locker number?”

“D-twenty-four.”

He moved toward the nearest row of lockers and shined a narrow beam of light onto the area above the door. F-103. He moved the light one locker to the right and began silently walking toward the back of the facility. I followed. Halfway across the complex I turned to look over my shoulder, and when I turned back Jack was gone. He’d just vanished. This happens more often than you would think with Jack. I’m convinced he’s half leprechaun.

There were no lights anywhere nearby, and I couldn’t see two feet in front of my face.

“Jack,” I hissed.

An arm snaked out of the dark, grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled me into the shadows. I sucked in a breath, but stopped myself before any sound could escape my lips.

“Relax,” Jack whispered. “I thought I heard something, so I stepped into this alcove. I assumed you were right behind me.”

As my eyes adjusted I realized we were in a long, narrow hallway off of which were doors to some of the smaller storage lockers. Jack and I stood perfectly still, pressed flat against the cold aluminum wall. I didn’t hear anything, but I suspected he had extra sensory hearing from the years he’d spent as a cat burglar. I stared out into the yard, which now appeared lighter than the interior of the hallway. Jack kept his hand on my wrist, making sure I didn’t move before he was certain it was safe. I felt protected and also a little irritated that he didn’t trust me not to do something stupid.

After a minute, which lasted at least an hour, I heard a faint rhythmic clicking. I knew the sound instantly. There was a dog outside. Probably a Doberman or a Rottweiler, something ferocious and deadly. We were finished. We’d both be maimed and end up in jail, and Elizabeth would never speak to me again. I couldn’t let that happen. I love dogs more than any other animal, but this wasn’t just any dog. This was the end of my career, and Jack’s future with Elizabeth would forever be tainted because of me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my stun gun.

I felt Jack tense as the clicking grew closer. At the last possible moment I twisted my wrist out of Jack’s grasp, nudged him behind me, and dropped to one knee, taser extended, ready to knock out the poor animal who was just doing its job. I was overwhelmed with guilt. My finger was poised over the switch and my heart was racing. I heard a sniffing sound. The creature had caught our scent.

Out of the darkness stepped a fluffy golden Cocker Spaniel. Big round eyes turned in my direction, and the pup’s tail wagged tentatively. I caught myself before I pressed the switch, and had to stifle a laugh. How ridiculous was this?

I knelt in the doorway and whispered, “Hi, little fella.”

The Cocker sniffed the air around me and then looked up at Jack. He growled softly.

“Sit down, right now!” I hissed.

Both Jack and the dog sat.

“Good boy,” I whispered.

I reached out my hand, palm down, and the Cocker sniffed and then licked it, greasepaint and all. Dogs can always tell how you feel about them. I dug in my pockets until I found a dog biscuit, broke off a small piece, and held it out. He sniffed the offering and gently removed it from my hand. He chewed slowly, wagging the whole time.

I heard a shuffling noise and a woman’s voice called out, “Sydney? Where are you, boy?”

The Cocker jumped up and ran in the direction of the voice. Jack and I stood slowly, not making a sound. I kept the stun gun out in case Sydney’s mom decided to pay us a visit. We didn’t move a muscle for several minutes and my legs started to ache from the tension.

Finally, Jack poked his head out the door and looked in both directions. “Stay here,” he whispered.

“I’m coming with you.”

He grimaced, but said nothing. Together we exited the hallway, moving slowly toward the back of the lot. Jack didn’t want to risk using his flashlight again, so we had to get up close to the lockers in order to read the letters and numbers identifying them.

Eventually we found D-24. It was in the south corner of the lot and it was the largest locker on the premises with a garage-size overhead door. Jack held the padlock in his hand for a moment, studying it, before he opened his fanny pack and selected the appropriate picks.