Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As Rebecca stepped onto the elevator the next morning for the ride up to the homicide bureau, instead of the usual excitement she felt going to her job, she was feeling almost defeated. The murders she was dealing with were ugly and sad, and despite all the criminal activity going on, there was no clear motive for the deaths, and therefore no clear suspect.

She filled in Bill Sutter and Lt. Eastwood in on all she’d learned, claiming her source was a “confidential informant” who would remain confidential. Eastwood didn’t press it. He decided they needed to let the Marin County sheriff’s department know where Connor Gray was hiding and try to pick him up. Rebecca had a contact in the department there, Deputy Sheriff Mike Vargas. He was another good man that she might have been interested in dating were it not for Richie. Was she seeing a pattern here? In any case, she phoned Vargas and explained Connor Gray’s role in her case, and where he was hiding out. She warned him of the potential danger involved in trying to arrest a nervous, paranoid man with a long-range rifle. Vargas assured her they’d be careful, and could handle it.

Then she drove to Kyoto Dreams before it opened, and waited outside in her SUV. Despite Tanaka’s death, the restaurant continued to function. Only after Shay’s money-laundering explanation did she understand why. It wasn’t about the food.

Connor Gray had told her that the restaurant’s manager, Kazue Hanemoto, would walk to a small Japanese bank branch office each day shortly after the restaurant opened. She sat, waiting to see if Connor was right.

Sure enough, Hanemoto soon appeared. She got out of the SUV and followed him two blocks to a small storefront. She took a photo of the Japanese characters showing its name, and sent the photo to the interpreter she’d once used. The business appeared every bit as quiet and seemingly innocuous as Connor had described.

She soon received an answer. The name of the bank was “Asahi Ginkou” which translated to “Morning Sun Bank.” But, the interpreter pointed out, Asahi was also the name of a popular beer.

Back at her desk, she contacted the detective in Kyoto who had helped her when she first learned of Shig Tanaka’s death. When she told him a little of what was going on and gave him the name of the bank Hanemoto entered, he sounded nervous. “Please, do not look into it any further. It is not a real bank. The people involved kill first, and they are protected. It is not anything for local police to try to handle.”

With the Kyoto detective’s warning ringing in her ears, she put in a call to Brandon Seymour, an FBI agent she had worked with in the past.

Seymour said he wasn’t far from the Hall of Justice and not a half hour later, he reached her desk. He looked so much like a stereotype of an FBI agent—big, beefy, short blond hair, clear blue eyes, and wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie—it made her smile. Seeing his return smile, she realized she’d made a mistake. He had seemed a bit sweet on her from time to time. He tried not to show it, of course, but she suspected that if given the slightest encouragement, he would have.

“Good to see you again, Rebecca,” he said.

She told him all she had found out about the possible money-laundering schemes going on in the city.

Seymour pursed his lips. “So now, Amalfi has you involved with international gangs. He’s a real gem, isn’t he?”

“No, a murder got me involved. It’s my job.”

“As I see it,” Seymour sniffed, “the victim of that first fire has been all but forgotten.”

Rebecca bristled. “And as I see it, I’m dealing with three murders. I assure you, I
never
forgot the first victim. The poor guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but his killing has been solved—Connor Gray confessed. He had a name, by the way—Benjamin Larkin. His death and the arson that caused it were catalysts for a whole series of crimes. And while I’m quite close to solving the murders of Tanaka and Bosque, I find their murders overlap into your jurisdiction. But if you aren’t interested …”

“Calm down, Rebecca. I’m interested. Very much so. If the Yakuza is trying to move into this city, I want to know all about it.”

“What I’ve got,” she said, “is based on assumptions at this point, but good assumptions. If they’re correct, I know you’ll want to step in. We have quite enough problems with our home-grown gangs without leaving the door open for new ones.”

Seymour went quiet as he looked over the data she gave him. “It looks to me as if you’ve got some deep sources. Do you think the person who gave you this would be willing to make contact with these people and nail down exactly who is doing what?”

“I doubt it.”

“Right now,” Seymour said, “if I were a betting man, I’d say Hanemoto is working with the Yakuza, and they decided he had to get rid of Tanaka. But I’d hate to have us tip our hand before we know exactly what’s involved here.”

“But the Thirteens and El Grande …”

“They’re fighting with Yakuza, that’s clear enough.”

“It may be a little more complicated,” Rebecca murmured.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” Richie said as he strolled towards Rebecca’s desk. He then gazed at Rebecca and she couldn’t help but warmly smile—a smile that, she was sure, wasn’t lost on Seymour.

“Amalfi,” Seymour said with a frown. “I should have known.” He faced Rebecca. “This is where you’re getting your information, right?”

“A lot of it. We’re friends, so why shouldn’t he help me?”

Both Richie and Seymour looked at her with disbelief. Seymour sneered. “Friends?”

“That’s what I said. And Richie’s not involved. He was a victim.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” Seymour hooked his arm over the back of the guest chair and looked up at Richie. “Somebody’s supposed to be trying to kill you, right, Amalfi?”

Richie turned the full force of his glare on Seymour. “Whoever it is hasn’t succeeded, as you can see.”

“There’s always hope.”

“Funny man, Seymour. Maybe you want a job as a comedian at my club.”

“I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“Not to worry. You’d never get the job anyway.”

“Will you boys stop it?” Rebecca said, giving them both a harsh glare until they calmed down. “I’d like to get back to business. Richie, I was just telling Brandon what we’ve found out about a potential Yakuza situation, and he was asking if we know anyone who could infiltrate the Kyoto Dreams group and find out exactly what’s going on.”

“Tell me a little more what you’re thinking,” Richie said to Seymour. “If you’re thinking, that is.”

“Richie!” Rebecca warned.

He held both hands up in a mock “I give up” type gesture.

Seymour gritted his teeth until the urge to snap back passed. “Okay, it’s simple enough.”

“It sure as hell couldn’t be complicated,” Richie muttered softly to Rebecca.

She rolled her eyes.

“As I was saying,” Seymour said gruffly. “Someone needs to go in there. Maybe someone who can say he’d like to take over where Tanaka left off and see who takes the bait. Then we’ll know who was working with Tanaka, and maybe even learn who killed him and why.”

“From what little I’ve seen of the situation in Kyoto Dreams,” Rebecca said, “they wouldn’t trust anyone who just showed up and asked to become part of it. Shig Tanaka and his manager, Hanemoto, went to school together. I suspect most people involved have similar long-standing relationships, probably going back to when they were in Japan together. I don’t see anyone winning over their confidence.”

“She’s absolutely right,” Richie said.

Seymour grimaced.

“But there’s another way,” Richie said. “It’s easy.”

Both looked at him and waited.

“We don’t go in there asking to be let in like some little wuss seeking a favor. Not like, oh, I don’t know, Brandon Seymour might do. Instead, we go in and
tell
them what’s up.”

Seymour’s face turned livid at the insult. “What the hell are you talking about, Amalfi? Nobody tells the Yakuza ‘what’s up.’”

Richie folded his arms. “I suspect the Yakuza aren’t sitting around in Kyoto Dreams making fancy sushi dishes or bussing tables. The people I would talk to are Hanemoto and his staff.”

“You?” Rebecca gasped.

“That’s right. I’d go in there and tell them Shig was a friend of mine—which they know is true—and that I know all about what he was doing. Also true. Now that he’s gone, I’m moving in. Either they take it, or I make my own deals with the money men, and they’ll be cut out altogether.”

Seymour looked disgusted. “Why in hell would they take a deal like that?”

“Because they’re scared,” Richie said. “I think whatever happened—and I’ve got an idea, but I’m not positive as yet—the people in the restaurant involved in the scheme are scared to death of two things. The first is losing the connection that’s bringing in a lot of extra money for them, and the second is ending up like Shig. I don’t know if they’ve decided which is the lesser of the two evils.”

“You expect to be able to pull off something like that?” Seymour asked.

“Sure.”

“No, you can’t,” Rebecca said. “You make it sound easy, but I can think of a million ways it can go very, very bad. To start, Hanemoto could decide there’s no way he’d let you take over anything. If he’s already killed his best friend, he’ll have no qualms about pulling out a gun and shooting you on the spot.”

“I’m sure my friends in the FBI won’t let that happen,” Richie said, facing Seymour. “Maybe I need to wear a wire so if anything goes wrong, you’ll come rushing in like the cavalry, right Seymour?”

Seymour snorted.

“You can’t do it, Richie,” Rebecca insisted. “That group is too dangerous.”

“Shig was my friend, and someone killed him. And I can’t forget that my idea was the catalyst that ultimately got him killed. Who knows who they’ll go after next.”

“But this is simply too dangerous,” she said.

“It’s also the best and fastest way for it to end.”

Rebecca vehemently shook her head. “You’re a civilian. You can’t—”

“Rebecca, I can,” Richie said. He faced Seymour. “How do we do this?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Richie sat in his car in the Hall of Justice parking lot and phoned Shay. He was definitely going to need his friend to help him make it out of this situation in one piece. He trusted the FBI, but not with his life. Plus, as he, Seymour, and Rebecca talked, an idea had formed—a dangerous idea, but well worth trying—and he needed Shay to pull it off.

They met at a coffee shop to work out the plan as much as possible, and then the two of them went to dinner at Kyoto Dreams. Richie had been stunned to learn it remained open after Shig Tanaka’s death. That in itself was a huge red flag for what was going on.

As a waitress brought them to a tatami room, Richie gave her his card. “Please give this to Mr. Hanemoto. We would like to talk to him. It has to do with Mr. Tanaka.”

Her eyes widened, and she hurried away. Another waitress brought them a bottle of warm sake and two small cups. She filled a cup for each of them, and then left. They had no sooner finished the first cup than they were told Mr. Hanemoto would see them.

The two followed the waitress down a hall, past the restrooms and kitchen. Two offices and a storeroom were located there. She knocked lightly, and then opened the door to the first office. “Here is Mr. Hanemoto,” she said to Richie and Shay bowing slightly, and then she left them.

A short, slight man with squared shoulders and a stiff demeanor stood as the two entered the room. He gave a small bow. “I am Hanemoto. I recognize you as one of Mr. Tanaka’s friends”—he inclined his head towards Richie—“but not your companion.” He faced Shay.

“This is Henry Tate, my associate. Henry, Mr. Hanemoto.” It always struck Richie oddly using Shay’s real name—Henry Ian Tate, III. He’d never learned where the nickname “Shay” came from, and knowing the guy, probably never would.

Hanemoto and Shay shook hands.

“You know,” Shay said looking at both of them, “since this doesn’t involve me, maybe I should just go back to the restaurant. I’d hate the sake to get cold.”

Richie nodded his agreement.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Hanemoto said with a quick, stiff bow.

As soon as Shay left, Richie faced Hanemoto. “I’d like to set up a meeting. It should be sometime and someplace where we can talk at length, and openly, about the future.”

Hanemoto’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “I cannot imagine why you would request such a thing.”

“Can’t you?” Richie asked. Then, although he hadn’t been invited to sit, he took a seat to show he wasn’t going anywhere until a time and place was set for the requested meeting.

o0o

Later that night, Richie phoned Rebecca to say Hanemoto had agreed to meet at Kyoto Dreams, but only at a time when no one else would be anywhere near: four o’clock in the morning.

Rebecca needed to relay the information to Seymour and work out the logistics to make sure Richie stayed safe. She also told Richie that although the FBI was in charge, she had gotten Lieutenant Eastwood to agree to have the San Francisco SWAT team on the scene and ready for a take-down, if it came to that. Although the FBI had various tactical squads, she personally knew many local SWAT members and trusted them. Still, the entire situation was making her quite nervous.

Richie told her he was at Big Caesar’s, and would be there that night until closing time. She didn’t need to ask why. He recognized the danger he would be walking into, and she suspected he was making some last minute plans “just in case.” The thought made her stomach clench.

Alone in her apartment, she tried to nap, but her mind was so filled with all that could go wrong with Seymour and Richie’s plan that sleep wouldn’t come. Richie wasn’t trained in undercover operations, and hadn’t signed up for this kind of danger.

At two fifteen in the morning, he arrived.

She opened the door and put her arms around him. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

He held her close a long moment. “If I did, I’d have to spend a lot of my time looking over my shoulder. We’ve got to get rid of these people.”

“It doesn’t have to be your fight,” she said.

“Doesn’t it? Too many fingers have pointed at me, including El Effin’ Grande and maybe the Yakuza.” He walked to the sofa and sat, leaning forward. “Worse, I’ve got an idea about what might have really happened, and if I’m right, tonight will end what might grow and fester into a blood bath. So, since I’m already caught up in it, I’m in the best position to stop it.”

“But you shouldn’t be.” She sat beside him, her hand on his back.

“I know what these people are like,” he said, “and what they’re capable of if they get unhappy. It ain’t pretty.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be you,” she whispered.

“Hell, you aren’t the only one!” he admitted.

She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. His phone buzzed. It was a text message. He read it, and his mouth tightened. Who, she wondered, was sending a message at two-thirty in the morning? “What’s happening?”

“Nothing unexpected,” he said as he put the phone back in his pocket. He faced her. “Let’s think about something else for a while. Tell me, was your sister another one who suggested you stay away from me?”

She warmed at the memory. “Not hardly. She liked you, and when you tried to rescue her from those goons, wow!” Her gaze became intense. “She also said something odd, that we need to stop listening to what we
say
to each other, and listen more to what she suspects runs deeper.”

He looked a bit perplexed, but slowly his expression eased to a gentle smile. “I think I like your sister,” he murmured. He put his arm around her and they held each other close as the last few minutes ticked by before it was time to meet Seymour.