Dead in the Water (20 page)

Lena stared at me. “What did you just say?”

“Dick Waddell has or had—I don’t know yet—a wife. Her name is Holly. It was Holly Worthington. She’s one of those homeless people in San Francisco you see pushing grocery carts. All their belongings stuffed inside.”

“And you know this, how?”

“Dr. T, your Dr. T, introduced us. She is currently sedated at SF Memorial, some kind of drug overdose. Sound like familiar symptoms? And guess what, she’s on the same floor as Jackie, just a stone’s throw down the hall.”

“How convenient.”

I gave Lena a blow by blow description of my day and why I was trying to reach her.

“So you heard the last part of my interview. That’s weird. You know, the JL interview was nothing out of the ordinary. I met Justin— not bad looking, by the way—and I didn’t mention that I thought he was a jerk for standing you up at the ball park. He said that he knew you but after that, it was all business. ‘This is what we need; this is when we need it by.’ Could it be possible that the ‘product’ you overheard them talking about was the stuff that they sell—like RazzleD—purely legal? Could you be reading too much into it?”

“Terrel checked with a doctor friend of his at a San Francisco clinic. The doc has connections with the police since he treats so many patients on drugs and found out that JL & Associates are being watched by the Drug Task Force in San Francisco.”

Lena stared at me.

“I think it’s time that you talked to the police.”

“That’s what everyone says. But, I don’t like talking to the police. I told you that.”

“What makes you so inflexible? Look, your association with the police was…was…I don’t know. Anyway, that was then. This is now, something completely different.”

“You sound like Terrel. What if I’m wrong?”

“What do you care? Let them figure that out. It’s their job. But…but…I think, only for the next few days until you talk to the police, we continue doing what we are doing. If they are behind this, we can’t act suspicious. I’m back in their office in the next day or two. I’m actually going to be working there. I’ll look around. See what’s in the file cabinets and on the computers.”

“I can’t believe Justin is involved,” I said.

“You don’t want to believe it.”

“It’s hard to think he would purposely hurt someone.”

I thought of how apologetic and kind he had been at dinner, how approachable he seemed after the Russian River swim.

“I’m going to give him a call and come up with a reason to talk to him. Could be as simple as needing more information about Waddell for the memorial presentation. We need to meet some place in the open. I know it is not a good idea to be alone with him. Maybe I can ask him to tell me more about RazzleD, because… because…the office wants to develop a business relationship with his company. How does that sound?”

“If he is dangerous, maybe you should do it over the phone?”

“No, that won’t work. I want to see him, watch his reactions while I talk to him.”

“We are in this only for a few days, right?”

I nodded.

“Don’t tell Terrel,” Lena said. Then she went into a full-on Terrel imitation, deep voice, complete with head bob. “Seriously, should you be involved with this? No…you… shouldn’t.”

.

26

I had just turned
on my computer at the office, when the ‘dude’, that’s the only word for him, walked in. Shaggy blond hair, dark grey hoodie, baggy shorts and sandals. I guessed right away. It was the wandering Chris.

“Hey, sistah,” he said, looking quickly at me and then at Bill or rather Bill’s empty desk. “Where’s the head man?”

“Should be in shortly. You’re Chris?”

“You got it.”

It’s the Peter Pan of surfers. I stared at his face. There were wrinkles around his eyes and off the corners of his mouth. He had to be in his early forties.

“You know I used to work here,” he said, moving over to sit on a corner of Bill’s desk.

“So I heard. I’m Trisha. It’s my job now,” I said with a ‘Gee, I love you’ smile that I didn’t feel.

“For reals?”

“Yeah, for reals.”

“Hmmm, no worries. I’m sure Bill will find you something else.”

I felt like picking up my stapler and tossing it at his head. From down the hallway, I could hear Bill talking on his cell phone nonstop. He exploded through the door, Bluetooth blinking in his ear, both hands waving wildly in the air.

“Oh, holy shit, Chris. What are you doing here?” Bill said good naturedly. “I told you I had the job covered. ‘Hey, Chris is in the office,’” he said into the cell phone, “Gotta go. Good to see you man.” They went into an elaborate series of fist bumps. “You met Trisha. She’s got your job, now.”

“Bro, I wanna take you for some serious coffee. You up for that?” said Chris tugging Bill in the direction of the door he just came through.

“Love to.” He glanced over at me with a ‘what am I supposed to do’ grin, shrugged his shoulders and walked out the door, not more than three minutes after he first came in.

“Hey Jon,” Bill said as he passed the NPS security officer on his rounds in the hall.

Jon walked into the office. “Chris is back? Very likeable guy, not great on the business side, but fun to have around.”

“Let’s hope he’s not back as in ‘back at this job.’ I need it.”

“So tell me, Miss Marple, anything new with your case?”

It took ten minutes to fill him in.

“What is it going to take for you to involve the police? This is serious.”

“That’s what my sister says and her boyfriend. Look, all I’m doing is asking questions.”

“Trish, by asking questions to the wrong people, even to the right people who pass along your interest to the wrong people, you put yourself and your sister in danger. But I bet you already know that.”

He walked over to my desk, put both hands on the corner and leaned down to look me straight in the eyes. Very serious.

“Can you come down to the security office later this morning? I’m going to have someone from the San Francisco Police there. It’s time you talked to them.”

“I don’t have that much to tell anyone.”

“I’ll call you later with the time.”

When I walked into the NPS Security office that afternoon, there was a woman standing with her back to me. She was about 5’5”, slim, wearing a long sleeve, dark blue sweater and dark blue slacks. She had thick, pure white hair that curled around her ears. Three officers were laughing at a comment she made.

How nice, someone’s grandmother stopped by, I thought.

Jon looked over at me.

“Hey, Trisha.”

On cue, the woman turned around. This was no grandmother. She was about my age, in her forties, with the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. She wore her badge on a lanyard, hanging around her neck. On her left hip was a holster with a Sig 229 resting inside. Attached to her belt were handcuffs. She held out her hand.

“I’m Inspector Carolina Burrell with the San Francisco Narcotics Task Force, Investigations.”

Inspector Burrell with her starkly white hair and ocean blue eyes was a knock out. But more than that, she exuded intelligence, cunning and toughness.

Two of the NPS security officers excused themselves and Jon led Inspector Burrell and me into a small conference room.

“Jon tells me you have had a break in at your office.”

I nodded. “Yes, about two weeks ago.”

“Anything since then?”

I shook my head. My vocal chords had turned to stone.

“Tell her about the swimmer who died,” said Jon, leaning forward.

“This is awkward. My boss instructed me not to talk about it. He feels that it reflects badly on our organization if the death was not a heart attack. If the swimmer was actually, uh…”

“Murdered? Does he believe that the swimmer was murdered, but he isn’t willing to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t mean that at all. He thinks that the swimmer had a heart attack and that the incident and any accompanying publicity, should go away.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

I glanced over at Jon. He nodded at me as if to say, “Go ahead.”

“I disagree with him. I think even the swimmer’s sister disagrees with him. Because of some test results, she requested an autopsy.”

“What do the results say?” asked Inspector Burrell.

“As far as I know, they aren’t back yet.”

I pulled out my growing number of cards, laid them carefully on the table and explained who each person was and how they were related.

“So, we’ve got a death, two people in the hospital with the same drugs in their system, another swim where there were some adverse events—which may or may not be related—and a connection with JL & Associates. You’ve been busy. Do you compete at these events?”

“No. I just work for the Swim Association and I drive my sister to the swims.”

“How did you learn about JL & Associates?”

“They make a sport nutritional drink, RazzleD and have a booth at some of our open water swims. I met one of the partners and he told me about the company.”

“And who was that?”

“His name is Justin Rosencastle.”

Jon shook his head.

“Do you know anyone else connected to JL?”

“Yeah, the brother-in-law of the swimmer who died. Spencer Matthews, that’s his name. He is one of the partners, I think. Then, there is someone named Tip.”

Carolina glanced up at Jon.

“You met Tip?”

“No, his name was mentioned in a phone call that I overheard.”

It was time to explain more than what was on the cards. I gave a word for word recap of the phone call.

“T, my sister’s boyfriend, said that JL & Associates were being watched by your Task Force? Is that right?”

“Who is T?”

“Dr. Terrel Robinson. He’s an ER doctor at SF Memorial. He heard this from another doctor, one who works in a community clinic.”

“You certainly have access to a lot of information. Anything more?”

“I think there are too many things happening to the swimmers for them not to be related.”

“Thank you, Trisha. We’ll take it from here. Call me if something else comes up.” She handed me a card. “Or talk to Jon.”

“Okay, I will.”

I stood up and shook hands with her, nodded to Jon and walked to the door of the conference room. They both looked at me. It was obvious they were waiting for me to leave to continue the discussion.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Someone’s been following me. A guy with a goatee in a dark colored car. And someone’s been taking my picture and my sister’s picture.”

“Why don’t you sit back down for a minute or two,” Inspector Burrell said.

.

27

For the rest of
the day, I helped Bill prepare for the Nor Cal Swimming Association board meeting. It was to take place this evening in a conference room one floor below the office. When I typed up the agenda, I noticed the first item under New Business was ‘Accidents.’ That would be interesting to hear. I wondered if any of the board members even suspected that the accidents were connected and planned. Guess I’d find out tomorrow.

I made sure there were thirty copies of everything: agenda, committee reports, schedules. I ordered dinner from a small Italian restaurant on Chestnut Street in the Marina.

On my way down to the room to check on the phone lines and internet connection, I ran into Cody Stephenson. With him was a man I’d seen before—short, squat with a full face, shaved head, and deep-set dark brown eyes, topped by a partial unibrow. Well developed upper arm muscles pressed against the sleeves of his black tee shirt. His neck was thick and wide.

“Trisha, this is Mario Rossi. He was a friend of Dick’s. This is the guy I was telling you about.”

“We met, remember? Lena introduced us at the Lake Joseph swim.”

“You’re right. Not good with faces.”

Cody continued on up the steps to the office.

Mario stood in front of me, a wide stance, arms crossed in front of him. His biceps rested on his chest. He was a human wall; no one would get by him.

“So what do you want to know about Dick?”

“I need to set up the room for the meeting tonight. Why don’t you come with me and we can talk.”

He turned sideways and I had just enough room to squeeze by him.

Like many of the offices and meeting rooms in the building, this one had tall unadorned windows that faced San Francisco Bay. A graceful long oval table was in the middle of the room. To the side, against the wall, were two small tables, an easel with an oversized chart pad and a box of large multicolored markers.

“Kick ass view,” Mario said.

“Give me a hand,” I said, holding stacks of papers out to him. “This will go faster if you help me. Just put one stack at each place.”

He worked his way around the table while I set up the multimedia projector or at least tried to.

“Are you still into body building?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he mumbled as he meticulously lined up each packet, making sure every piece of paper was directly below the piece above it.

“Is that how you know about JL & Associates?”

Mario lifted his head and smiled. “I thought the questions were going to be about Dick? Material you could use for his memorial.”

“I think I have enough for the memorial. How did you come to join a swim team? Kind of a strange jump.”

“I was injured. I’m swimming as part of my rehab. You wanna know the truth, I sink like a stone. But I like the water; I never thought I would.”

“Did you know that Dick and Spencer were brothers-in-law?”

“Dick talked about it from time to time.”

“Did you know Spencer?”

“Oh, yeah. The bodybuilding guys were well-aware of the guys from JL.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the long table.

“I know that body builders are big on nutritional supplements, creatine, things like that. Do you use them?”

“Everyone I know does. That stuff is legal. You can walk into a health food store and buy it over the counter. Even the illegal stuff is easy to get. Mention it to a buddy one week in the gym; the next week he hands you something in a paper bag.”

“Did you think Dick was taking anything illegal?”

“I’d bet on it. One day in the locker room, he mentioned his brother-in-law’s company. I’d heard the name before and I knew what they really manufactured. Later he asked me what I thought about High Test and HT2.”

“Did you ever see him take this stuff?”

“Are you kidding? This is a hush-hush thing, very private. Lots of people do it, but they don’t want anyone to know.”

“So you think he got this from his brother-in-law?”

“I didn’t say that. I never heard Spencer’s name used in the same sentence with High Test. I have to believe, however, that his drugs came from JL & Associates.”

I couldn’t get the projector to recognize the connection to the laptop so nothing was showing up on the screen. I held the directions in my hand, absentmindedly drumming my fingers on the table and mumbling to myself.

“Hey, let me help.”

“I would be forever grateful.”

He turned some switch on and off, pressed a button I thought I had pressed and the screen lit up.

“Think you might want to work here?” I asked.

He laughed. “Nah, got my own job. Have to go track down Cody. I need to find him, then take off. Did you get your questions answered?”

“I guess. Did you ever hear of Mike Menton?”

“No, who’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Another swimmer. Big competitor.”

“I don’t do the competitive swimming thing. Sometimes, I’ll swim an open water event. That’s it.”

I remembered a name from Waddell’s old address book.

“You ever hear Dick say anything about someone named Jeremy Reid?”

“Yeah, he’s a relative, I think. Teaches in Fresno.”

I thanked Mario and showed him how to get to the office.

Later, Bill mentioned that I wouldn’t be attending the meeting since I wasn’t a permanent employee. But then, he looked at me and smiled. “Trisha, you’re doing a good job. You’ve learned quickly and the swimmers, our clients, customers, whatever you want to call them, like working with you. Although you have been a little too concerned about the recent accidents, I’m going to tell the board tonight that I want to hire you permanently. Then, lucky you, you’ll have to attend these meetings and the executive committee meetings all the time.”

Even with the rambling Chris showing up on the scene, I still had my job. And it was going to be those wonderful words, ‘permanent and full-time.’ That meant a steady paycheck, benefits and health insurance. I could start thinking about my own apartment. Every inch of my body breathed a sigh of relief.

I stayed around to make sure any stragglers knew how to find the meeting room. Fifteen minutes later, I heard someone running up the steps, taking them two at a time. Justin came barreling through the office door.

“What are you doing here?” My hand reached for a nearby phone.

“The meeting. I’m late. Where is it? There’s been a misunderstanding. I need to clear it up.”

“You’re not on the agenda.”

“I am.”

“Downstairs, in the conference room. Justin, I need to talk to you. About RazzleD and the swims. The office is thinking of…”

He cut me off.

“That’s why I’m here.” He turned around and was gone.

I picked up my cell phone and texted a message to Bill.

“Justin Rosencastle is on his way.”

Something was up. The other day when I finally had a chance to give Bill a full recount of the Russian River swim, I mentioned that the RazzleD van had been there. He seemed unhappy with that news. He said that he specifically told ‘that group’ not to come to the swim.

I still had to wait in the office for about another hour. With not much to do, I dumped out my backpack on the desk. Time to get rid of the cookie crumbs stuck to the inside. There was Waddell’s camera. I had forgotten about it.

I sat back in the chair, put my feet up on the desk and turned it on. Most of the photos were swim related—open water races, pool meets. I recognized some of the swimmers.

I flipped through them quickly. Boring, boring, boring. But then, I stopped. Here was a shot of Richard and a young man in his late twenties, early thirties. They stood side by side, not touching. Richard was smiling. The other man was biting his lower lip. They stood in front of a modern building. The faint letters UNI could be seen at the bottom left of the photo on a stone fence. It was the shouter from the Lake Joseph swim, the man who alerted the lifeguards to the swimmer in distress.

These two had to be relatives; their resemblance was striking. Maybe this was Jeremy Reid? But where did he fit in the family? Pamela and Spencer didn’t have any children. Could be a distant younger cousin, maybe another part of the West Coast family he wanted to be close to. Strange though, the date stamp on the photo indicated it was taken three years before Waddell moved to California.

I turned the ringer on my phone and it vibrated, dancing around the desk, telling me there were messages waiting. The calls were from the racers pulled out of the Russian River. I had asked all of them if they had any allergies. I listened with disbelief. They were allergic to nuts. Just like Lena. But none of them had eaten any nuts before the swim. How did it get in their bodies? Maybe Terrel had an idea, because I didn’t.

It was 8:00 p.m., when I left the office and headed for my car. Seeing Justin run in and out like that was unnerving. Add to that the pure joy and relief I felt about being made a permanent employee. I couldn’t go home and I was too jazzed to sit still. Once again, I found myself looking for a parking spot in San Francisco’s Mission District. I had driven past El Oriente Salvaje twice with no luck. I made a quick right turn and there it was, a rarity, a place to park. When I pushed open the front door, it was close to 9:00 p.m. and there were only two people sitting in a booth by the window. Nancy stood back by the cash register chatting with her mother.

“Hello,” she said when she saw me. “No Justin?”

“No, not tonight. He’s in a meeting. I just had some good news. So I guess you’d say, I’m celebrating.”

“Felicitaciones.”

“Thank you.” I sat down at a table not far from the kitchen.

“Nancy, who is that back there? Is that your brother? He looks just like you.”

But even from across the room, I could see he was missing Nancy’s warmth and her easy smile.

“Yes, that is Roberto. He helps out in the evenings when we are about to close. The abuelitas working in the kitchen have gone home, so mama is making the last batch of papusas. I’ll bring you some.”

As she walked back toward the kitchen and called to her mother in Spanish, Patricia looked up, smiled and then nodded to me. Roberto glanced in my direction with a blank stare on his face. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. Then he moved back into the kitchen and I couldn’t see him anymore.

When the papusas arrived I looked up expecting to see Nancy or her mother, but it was Roberto.

“Que pasa, calabaza?”

“What?”

“Ignore my brother. He thinks he is funny. He said, ‘What’s happening, pumpkin.’ It rhymes in Spanish.” Nancy shrugged her shoulders, shook her head as she walked by with two dishes in her hands.

“So you know Justin?” he said as he sat down across from me.

Odd opening. Not a “Hello. Do you like the food?” No small talk. Very direct and to the point.

“I do. He mentioned you. But he didn’t tell me how he knew you.”

“We were roommates, so to speak,” said Roberto.

“College?”

“Not quite.”

I was silent. Roberto was a hard man to read. He didn’t smile. The dark eyes that locked onto mine were sly, yet wary. He sat at an angle in his chair, the front of his body facing the door, head in my direction. I took a sip of water and stared at him through the side of the glass. His eyes were half closed as he stared back.

I noticed he had a tattoo on his neck, a clock face without hands.

“I think Justin has that same tattoo on his neck.”

Roberto’s expression didn’t change.

“You get them at the same place?”

“How do you like the food?” he asked.

“Roberto, why did you come over here and sit down? You don’t want to make small talk. I can see that.”

Roberto turned his body around in the chair so every part of him was facing me directly. He leaned in and spoke in a low voice.

“I wanted to see what you were about.”

“Come again?”

“I’m saying, don’t screw with Justin.”

“I’m no threat to him.”

Roberto looked away, then back at me. “Okay, I’m going to tell you something. It’s between you and me. You tell Justin, I’ll deny it and you’ll regret it.”

A thread of fear skimmed down my arms. Roberto scared me. He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms out on the table.