A Real Basket Case (18 page)

As Claire drove off, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Ellen and Jill stood side by side, their expressions grim as they clutched their coats closed.

___

Claire put some distance between herself and the gym, switching between I-25 and the city streets. Frequent checks in the rearview
mirror assured her that no car followed. Finally, she stopped at
a gas station to fill up and call Deb Burch. Deb didn’t answer her office phone, so Claire tried Deb’s cell phone number.

“I’m glad you called, Claire. I’m on my way down from Denver. I just crested Monument Hill and should see the Air Force Academy soon.”

Claire told Deb about the death threat and her dash out of the gym. “I’m scared, but I think I should go to the police. Do you agree?”

“Definitely. You’ve got to take the note to Detective Wilson right
away. This is direct evidence that someone other than Roger is
involved. Plus, the CSPD might be able to pull prints off it.”

“Oh, no. Ellen, Jill, and I all touched it.”

“Where is it now?”

“In my gym bag.”

“Okay. Don’t touch it again. Take your bag to Wilson and let him remove the note.”

Claire huddled against the car with her back toward the ding-ing gas pump. The chill wind blowing against her damp leggings made her teeth chatter. “What then? I can’t keep driving around the city in my sweaty gym clothes.”

“The note could be an empty threat. I’m sure those women at the gym don’t want the police finding out they bought drugs from Enrique, or slept with him. The note may not even be from the killer.”

“But what if it is?”

“We’ll ask the police if they can provide you with some protection.”

“Oh, God. Roger’s home. The killer may go there looking for me and find him instead.”

“Roger’s okay. The killer wants to frame him, not kill him. But just in case, tell him to leave the house and meet us downtown at the police station. I should be there in twenty minutes. We can talk to Detective Wilson together. Are you sure no one followed you?”

Claire glanced around the gas station. “I see only one car here, a young mother with two kids in the back seat.”

“Good. Sit tight for a few minutes, then head for the station. We should arrive about the same time.”

After Claire hung up, she called home. Roger didn’t answer. She left a message asking him to call her cell phone.

Apprehensive, she called his work number. “Has Roger come into the office today?” she asked his secretary.

“Not yet. Mr. Peters told me he wanted to see him, though, so I called your house.”

“When?”

“About an hour ago. Roger said he’d come right in.”

“He must be on his way,” Claire said calmly, hiding her dismay. “When he arrives, tell him to call my cell phone before he talks to Mr. Peters. It’s vital that I talk to Roger right away.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Claire paced beside the car as she debated whether to drive to Roger’s office and stop him at the door. But if the killer had lost her, he or she could be following Roger’s car after watching him leave the house. She halted her pacing mid-turn.

She had to warn him! No. Whoever wrote the death threat was after her, not Roger. He’d call her when the secretary gave him the message, wouldn’t he? She tried his cell phone but got the message that indicated the phone was turned off.

Where is he
?

She climbed in the car, fired up the heater, and pulled out of the gas station.

When her cell phone rang a few minutes later, she grabbed for it, knocking it onto the car floor. Hastily, she pulled over to the side of the road and scooped up the phone. “Hello.”

“Claire, it’s Deb. I’m at the police station.”

“I’m almost there, but I’m worried about Roger. I’m sure he’s on his way into the office to talk to his boss. I’ve left messages everywhere, asking him to call me, but—”

“Leave your cell phone on, but get down here.”

“Maybe I should go to Roger’s office first.”

“Claire, the best way for you to help him is to show the note to the police.”

NINETEEN:
TEAMWORK

As Claire approached the
police station, Deb waved from the corner. Her coal-black ponytail tossed in the wind, and her ski jacket was zipped up tight. She walked over as Claire parked her car in the lot across from the station. After Claire had climbed out of the car, Deb gave her a big bear hug, engulfing Claire in the padded jacket.

She reveled in Deb’s hug, then stood back to get a good look at her friend. “God, I’m glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

Deb gazed at her with merry eyes, outlined with laugh lines. “Yes it has. I wish I could’ve come down earlier, but I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made without me. You go, girl.” Playfully, she punched Claire in the arm.

Flashes of light blue on Deb’s hand caught Claire’s eye. “Any new rings?”

Deb pointed to a twisted silver ring inlaid with turquoise stones on her middle finger, one of four on that hand. “This one from my sister. And these are from my aunt.” She flipped one of the blue beaded earrings dangling from her ears. “Wish I could make ’em myself, but I don’t have the patience.”

“Your sleuthing talents more than compensate.” Claire patted her gym bag. “I’ve got the note in here.”

“Let’s move.” Deb linked arms with Claire and escorted her across the street.

After they had checked in at the front desk, Claire said to Deb, “I’m not sure what kind of reception we’ll get from Detective Wilson. The last time I saw him, he said he hoped he’d never see me or hear from me again. And he doesn’t like private investigators mucking around in his cases, as he put it.”

Deb patted Claire’s arm. “You let me handle Detective Wilson.”

As Claire and Deb entered the detectives’ bullpen, Wilson stood and glowered at them from behind his desk. Then he forced a polite smile. “Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Hanover again. Who did you bring with you?”

Deb stuck out her hand. “Deb Burch, Detective Wilson. I’m a friend of Claire’s. She has some important new evidence in her husband’s case. Understandably, she felt unsure about your reaction, so I came along to provide moral support.”

“I hope this evidence wasn’t obtained illegally.” Wilson glared down his nose at Claire.

“No.” Claire unzipped her gym bag and pointed to the death-threat note inside with a shaky hand. “I found this in my locker at the gym when I left class this morning.”

Wilson raised a skeptical eyebrow at Claire, but opened his desk drawer and took out a pair of overlarge tweezers. He extracted the note from the gym bag and sat down to read it.

Deb glanced at Claire and pointed to Wilson’s visitor’s chair. While Claire sat, Deb pulled over a chair for herself. “Claire’s been investigating women at the gym who had affairs or business dealings with Enrique Romero. She thinks this note may have come from one of them.”

“Or from Mrs. Hanover herself.” He dropped the paper on his desk and stared at Claire. “The basement door story wasn’t good enough, so you produced this.”

“I did not!”

Deb laid a restraining hand on Claire’s arm and craned her neck to look at the death threat. She wet her finger and dabbed her spit on the last word, smearing the ink. “This was printed on an inexpensive ink-jet printer.”

Wilson narrowed his eyes. “So?”

Deb turned to Claire. “What kind of printer do you have on your
home computer?”

“Laser.”

“You can’t get the ink to smear like that from a laser printer.” Deb crossed her arms and grinned at Wilson.

Claire leaned forward. “Detective Wilson, I wouldn’t be stupid
enough to make this up, especially after our last meeting. This death
threat is real. And there’s more.”

Wilson rubbed his chin. “Go ahead.”

Claire told him about Karla’s and Ellen’s affairs with Enrique, his rebuff of Jill, and Patti, the Hispanic cocaine buyer who limped.
She felt as though she was unburdening herself, laying the evidence
at Wilson’s feet. If he took over her lines of investigation, she could
focus on taking care of Roger, stop taking risks, and leave the whole case in Wilson’s hands.

He took notes and nodded thoughtfully during her tale. He pulled a plastic bag out of his desk drawer and put the death threat in the bag. As he sealed and labeled the bag, he asked, “Who’s touched this?”

“Me, Ellen, and Jill,” Claire answered.

Wilson looked at Deb. “And Miss Finger-licker here.”

He wrote the four names on the bag. “It probably won’t do much good, with all of you handling this, but I’ll have the note analyzed for fingerprints. If whoever produced this has any brains, we won’t find any prints other than yours.”

He peered at Deb. “What’s your occupation, Miss Burch?”

Deb pulled out a card and handed it to him.

Wilson read it, pursed his lips, then said to Claire, “So this is your P.I. friend.”

Claire sank a little lower in her chair. “Yes.”

“I told you, I don’t work with private investigators.” Glowering, he tossed the card on his desk.

“I’m only here as Claire’s friend,” Deb said. “I won’t interfere in your case.”

“Mrs. Hanover has done enough of that herself.”

Simmering, Claire said, “Look. I came here even though I knew you’d be angry, because I thought this note was important. And, frankly, it scared me. Can we get back to discussing it instead of past history?”

“As long as you two understand my position.”

In a conciliatory tone, Deb said. “We understand. Now, can you reach any conclusions about the note?”

Wilson leaned back in his chair. “I see at least four possibilities. First, that the note is a serious threat from someone ready to carry it out. It could have come from a person at the gym or one of Enrique Romero’s gang members.”

“Leon’s already threatened you, right?” Deb glanced at Claire.

“What’s this?” Wilson sat up. Surprise, then worry, crossed his features. “Have you been talking to Romero’s drug boss?”

“His bodyguards kidnapped me right in front of the police station after you released me Wednesday night.”

“What the hell! What did he do to you, and why don’t I know about it?”

Claire told him the story, then finished with, “You said you never wanted to see or hear from me again.”

Wilson gritted his teeth. “Maybe I deserved that. But the audacity, right in front of the station.” Ruefully, he shook his head.

“I got the impression Leon was providing some service to the police,” Claire said. “You mentioned a drug interdiction operation. Leon alluded to it, too.”

Agitated, Wilson rubbed his forehead. “That doesn’t excuse these kinds of actions. He’s gone too far, snatching you and leaving this.” He tapped the plastic bag.

Claire shook her head. “Leaving a note isn’t his style.”

“It’s a way of showing he can get to you, even in a women’s locker room.”

“True,” Deb said, frowning at Claire. “Travis or Leon could have coerced one of their customers at the gym into leaving the note.”

“Or Condoleza. I saw the back of a cleaning woman who looked like her in the pool area. At the time, I didn’t think she could possibly work there, but maybe she does. Or maybe the whole getup with the mop was a disguise.”

“I’ll check on that.” Wilson jotted a note.

“What about the two women who bought drugs?” Deb asked. “Did one of them follow you into class or leave before you?”

Claire thought for a moment. “One came into the classroom after me, and just about everyone made it into the locker room before me.”

“Two women?” Wilson glanced down at his notes. “You only mentioned one—”

“I won’t name the other woman. Sorry, but I gave her my word. If
you
discover she’s the killer during
your
investigation, that’s not my fault.”

“Claire—” Deb looked at Claire’s face, then shrugged.

“You said there were four possibilities.” Claire said to Wilson. “What are the other three?”

“One of these women on your list could have stashed the note in your locker. Not as a serious threat, but to keep you from coming to me and exposing her sordid relationship with Enrique.”

Deb nodded. “Claire and I already discussed that.”

“Then, as I already said, the third possibility is you constructed the note to try to save your husband’s skin.” He glanced at Deb. “Using some computer other than your own.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but Deb squeezed her arm.

“And fourth, your husband or one of your concerned friends is trying to convince you to stop your snooping.”

“In the fourth case,” Deb added, “that concerned person would have to think Claire was putting herself in danger.”

“But not necessarily from a killer on the loose,” Wilson said. “She’s been meeting with drug dealers, for Christ’s sake.” He
turned to Claire. “Where’s your husband been this morning?”

She winced. “I don’t know. Roger was at home, but he got a call to come in to the office over an hour ago. I haven’t been able to reach him.” She glanced at the cell phone in her hand. “I’m worried about him.”

Wilson quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I told him to wait before talking to his boss. I wanted to find more evidence that someone else killed Enrique first, to prevent his boss from putting him on long-term leave, which is the same as firing him. But I’m afraid he may be talking to his boss right now. Or he’s already been told not to return to work.

“I’m also afraid that whoever wrote the note could have gone to our house, looking for me, and . . .” Claire choked on the lump in her throat and couldn’t continue.

Deb handed Claire a tissue. “Detective Wilson, I know Claire very well. We go all the way back to college, and I can swear on the Bible that she would not fabricate this note.”

“I’ll decide that for myself.”

Deb leaned toward Wilson. “Even if you keep open the possibility that her husband or a friend wrote the note, if Mr. Romero’s killer wrote it, then Claire’s life is in danger. She needs protection.” Deb pulled out her wallet, opened it, and handed Wilson a folded paper. “I’ve got a concealed weapons permit and training in defensive techniques. If you can’t assign anyone to protect Claire, I’ll do it.”

Wilson whistled. “A baby Glock. I’m sure you paid a bundle for that.” He handed the permit to Deb then addressed Claire. “Where do you plan to go from here?”

“Roger’s office.”

“I’ll check out these women from the gym this afternoon, and contact you if I find out anything. In the meantime, you’ll cover her?” He looked at Deb.

“That was my plan.”

Wilson tapped his pencil on his notepad. “As we discussed, a lot of people could’ve planted the death threat, Mrs. Hanover. What I’m getting at is, you should tell no one, not even your husband, that you brought it to me.”

“Okay.”

“I suggest you go home and lock the doors. Don’t do anything stupid.”

___

After Claire had unlocked her car, Deb plopped into the passenger seat. “That went well.”

“C’mon. He nearly ripped my head off when we walked in, then he accused me or Roger of fabricating the death threat.”

“Just what I expected him to do.” Deb smiled. “But he reopened
the case, didn’t he? He’s going to investigate the women at the gym
. We couldn’t ask for more.”

“I suppose.” Claire still felt like grumbling. “I didn’t like his last comment, though. Does he really expect me to do something stupid?”

Deb laughed. “Last time he saw you, you’d just been pulled out from under a drug dealer’s bed.”

Claire grinned sheepishly. “I’ve got to admit that was stupid.”

She drove out of the lot, leaving Deb’s car there for the time being, and headed for Roger’s office building. After a short elevator ride, she strode through the subdued, gray-and-maroon lobby of the corporate suite with Deb in tow. Without hesitation Claire walked straight to the secretary’s desk outside Roger’s office. “Is Roger in?”

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Hanover.” The secretary’s eyes widened in surprise. “Roger came in a while ago, met with Ned, then left.”

Claire’s heart sank. “When did he leave?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Did he indicate how the meeting with Ned went?”

The secretary shook her head. “Roger didn’t go back to his office after the meeting—he just left the building.”

Claire took out her cell phone and tried calling Roger’s cell phone and their home phone, again with no luck. Desperately, she wracked her brain, trying to figure out where he might have gone, but an image of Roger’s agonized face clouded her thinking. She shook her head to clear it.

“Is Ned in?” she asked the secretary.

“He left for a lunch meeting right after he talked to Roger.”

“So no one can tell me what went on during their meeting.”

The secretary pursed her lips. “Sorry.”

“I bet Roger’s on his way home,” Deb said. “Why don’t we head there ourselves?”

Claire drove to her house, her stomach in a knot over what Roger must be going through. She felt even worse when she opened the garage door. His car wasn’t there. “Where is he?”

“Let’s have some lunch while we wait for him,” Deb said. “But first, I’m going to check the perimeter.”

Claire looked at her watch. One-fifteen. With her stomach in knots, she didn’t think she could eat anything, but realized Deb probably felt hungry.

Deb returned. “Nothing. You have a security system, right?”

Claire pointed to the box by the door into the house. The light showed it was still armed and untripped.

“Good,” Deb said. “We can assume whoever threatened you isn’t here.”

Claire disarmed the security system, pointed Deb toward the kitchen, and quickly changed out of her gym clothes into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When she returned, Deb had placed sandwich fixings on the counter.

As Deb spread mayonnaise on a slice of rye bread, she said, “Let’s review the suspects from the gym. It’ll help keep your mind off Roger, and we might discover something useful.” She put down the bread and pulled a PDA out of her pocket. “Give me the names again.”