Last Fairytale, The (22 page)

Mack came up over the lip of the bag clutching a brown wig. “Will you look what we have here.”

Gen fingered the thick shank of hair pinned into a coil at the back. “That’s the same hairstyle the cross-dresser wore during the Elergene break-in,” she said. “I recognize it from the tape.”

“You sure?” Garcia asked.

“Hey, I’m a girl. I notice stuff like that.”

“And look at this.” Mack leaned back over the bag and surfaced with a lab coat and a slim black skirt that were remarkably similar to the burglar’s attire.

Garcia took the wig and examined it. “This sure makes it look like Yates was the thief.”

Gen palmed her forehead. “Oh, my gosh. Oliver said something like that when he saw Russell’s picture.”

“Said what?”

“That he looked like he could be the break-in babe. I didn’t take it seriously.”

Mack tossed the coat and skirt onto a nearby chair. “Yates is comfortable in makeup and costumes.”

“It would fit,” Garcia added. “As a Board member, he had a key and access to Ducane’s lab.”

“Still lacks motive,” Mack said.

“Maybe we just haven’t found his motive yet,” Garcia replied.

“But it’s awfully convenient,” Gen said. Garcia passed the hairpiece to Gen and she looked at it again.

“Meaning?”

“She thinks finding this was too easy,” Mack replied.

“Criminals implicate themselves all the time.” Garcia toed the bag. “But it is curious, why he’d send an ex-girlfriend the key to a place where he kept this stuff.” He paced away, hands on hips, and returned to contemplate the wig.

“Could be he didn’t care if it was found,” Mack said.

“Or he wanted someone to find it,” Gen countered.

“That would suggest he had nothing to hide. But we’re still operating on the theory he was working with Ducane,” Garcia said, “and if he was, why would he need to take the research? If Yates was the burglar, what was his reason?”

“Their partnership was going south,” Mack replied. “Or Ducane was holding out on him, so he stole the formula.”

“If that’s true, it could have been a reason for Yates to murder Andrew after he got it,” Gen replied.

“We need to find those files. There’s a chance they’re here, too.” Mack pulled down another bag.

Gen looked around. “Yeah, well. If we found them, it will help tie this case up into a neat little package. Except, of course, for Yates himself. You haven’t found him.”

“The guy had money,” Garcia replied. “He could be on a beach in Costa Rica right now, soaking up the sun.”

“Why would an actor with no criminal background steal paperwork,” Gen said, “then kill somebody and run?”

“We found drugs,” Garcia said. “He was into something.”

“But you also said his friends never saw him take anything but alcohol,” Gen said. “And if I remember correctly, even that wasn’t in large quantities.”

“Even better,” Mack said. “A dealer who doesn’t partake in the product doesn’t waste the profits on his own habit.”

Gen grinned. “You sound like Confucius.”

“Nobody’s background in this case suggests they’d stoop to murder,” Garcia said.

“Maybe someone’s does,” Mack replied, “and we just haven’t turned it up yet.”

“Well, let’s do it.” Garcia flipped the cover off the couch and lifted the cushions. “If Ducane’s stolen research is here, I want it.”

Mack and Gen fanned out to opposite ends of the room and began to yank sheets. Gen’s first reveal was a squatty, leather-topped coffee table. Not much to look at. She upended the wooden square and checked the bottom in case he’d strapped a file or an envelope beneath it.

Nothing.

Across the way, she saw Mack slice through plastic with his blade, then rifle an antique mahogany dresser. From what she could see, it was nearly empty. He pulled each drawer to check the underside before moving on to the armoire beside it.

She followed suit and twitched the drape from an old oak desk. A padded 1880’s piano stool was stashed in the keyhole. When she balled up the cloth, she noted a distinct lack of dust compared to the layer that tippled the coffee table. She tossed it aside, then pulled out the stool and sat.

The top drawer opened easily, revealing a felt-lined interior with a molded plastic separator glutted with old pens. A roll of stamps and a staple puller, a few paperclips, and a jumble of coins kept them company. She scrabbled around in the back and came up with an empty check book cover and a couple of fresh transaction registers.

The three drawers on the left gave up squat, beside the fact it looked like he was using the desk to store paperwork. She found AAA trip guides for the East Coast dated the previous year. A half-empty box of white legal envelopes. A stack of blank note cards.

Nothing worthwhile here.

Gen tugged at the bottom right pull and got solid resistance. It was deeper than the others, and, apparently, it was also locked. She returned to search the mishmash of office supplies for the key. Nothing. She emptied out the plastic divider and examined the bottom.

Pay dirt.

The key was taped to the back.

She peeled it off and stuck it into the brass-faced lock, then opened the drawer. The interior was set up with hanging files. The first hand-lettered tab read PV.

Gen lifted out a professional-looking dossier and thumbed it open. A stack of surveillance-style photos were pinned at the top with a two-punch metal tab. On the other side was a handful of typed pages. She laid it out on the desk. “You guys will want to come look at this.”

Mack and Garcia strode across the room and took up positions on either side of her.

“Looks like he hired a firm to track someone.” Gen traced the company name with her fingernail. “Anybody recognize the logo?”

“Yeah,” Garcia replied. “That’s an outfit out of Oakland.” He pointed to the top photo, a woman with dark hair and sunglasses, behind the wheel of a car. “Why would they be dogging Vonnegon’s secretary?” He flipped up a few of the photos. “They’re all her.”

Mack ran a finger down a paragraph of type, then rested a hand on Gen’s shoulder. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Her name is Patience.”

She looked up at him. “His mother’s name.”

“So his mother is his secretary.” Mack looked at Garcia. “There was bad blood between Russell Yates and Patience Vonnegon, from what the second wife had to say.”

“Yeah,” Gen said. “Did Vonnegon mention his mother was answering the phones?”

“No,” Garcia replied. “But we never asked. Wasn’t any reason to look into the secretary’s background.”

Gen snapped her fingers. “Nadine told us he had Patience. I thought she was talking about his character, but she meant it literally, that Vonnegon had his mother with him. Why is it important?”

Garcia turned up the last of the pictures and stopped. “Here’s your answer.” The next grainy image showed Catherine Robeson and Patience Vonnegon on the deck of Andrew Ducane’s sloop.

“Catherine said she never saw Andrew with anyone from Elergene.”

“Catherine lied,” Mack said. “We should have another talk with her to find out what else she didn’t tell us.”

“Why would Vonnegon’s secretary have anything to do with a podunk operation to grow wacky mushrooms?” Gen slid the packet over to Garcia and went back into the drawer for more.

She pulled out a dog-eared folder and thumbed through pages of hand-annotated documents. “Here we go. This must be Ducane’s stuff.” She held up a drawing that resembled the rolling grow bed they’d seen in the Mill Valley garage.

“Okay,” Garcia said. “How about you and Genny go visit Catherine. Take the picture of her and the secretary. I’ll try to track down Vonnegon and see what he has to say. If I can’t find him, I’ll head back to the shop. We can hook up there.”

* * *

“Hey, Gramps.” Mack shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn Levi jeans. “We’re here to interview one of your guests, Catherine Robeson.”

The gatekeeper was a grizzled veteran. He looked as though he had the motor home outfitted and ready to go and was crossing off the days, just waiting for his gold watch so he could hit the open road. He winked. “Who’s your friend?”

“Genevieve Delacourt. Sign her in, she’s going with me.”

Gen showed her ID and scribbled her name in the log the old cop pushed across the counter.

They were buzzed through a heavy metal door. Mack led her into a cubicle with a window that revealed the inmates’ side of the lock-up. Five minutes later, Catherine Robeson appeared and took a seat. Mack picked up the telephone and indicated she should do the same. Her response was slow.

Apparently, she wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“What do you want now?”

“You forgot to tell us something important.” He pushed the photograph of Catherine and Patience Vonnegon flat against the glass.

Catherine looked unconcerned. “What about it?”

“Explain why you said you’d never met Ducane’s co-workers.”

“I haven’t.”

“Lady in the picture with you. Tall older woman, short dark hair. Secretary to Elergene’s CEO. Also happens to be his mother.”

“Yeah, I know Patience, so what? That’s who I was following when your friend here tackled me. But I didn’t know she was Vonnegon’s mother, or his secretary. Nobody ever told me that. Why would she be tailing her own son?”

Mack placed the photograph face up on the table. “How do you know her?”

“Andrew hired her to show us how to identify different kinds of wild mushrooms. He never told her why we were looking, just that he wanted to study them, find some edible ones, stuff like that. Pretended we were back-to-the-landers.

“We asked about everything we found so we’d know which ones were psilocybin. I thought she was clueless. But after he died, I wondered–” She stopped. “I wanted to talk to her, that’s why I was following. I wanted to catch her alone.”

“Why did Andrew ask Patience to help?”

“She grew up in the woods back East. She knew all about wild plants and trees and stuff. What to look for, what to avoid. Said her mother taught her. They picked wild mushrooms, too.”

It was starting to make sense.

Mack drummed his fingertips on the table. “So he never said anything about Patience working at Elergene?”

“I said no.”

“Did you spend much time with her?”

“We hiked around a bunch of times. She pointed out all the stuff you could eat that grew wild. She was a good teacher, and she was at home in the woods. Quiet, like an Indian. Knew how to walk so the leaves didn’t even crackle underfoot. It was kind of spooky, really.”

“No small talk? No chit-chat while you looked?”

“Not really. Once she said she spent a lot of time outside when she was a kid so she didn’t have to be around her father. I guess her old man was a prick. Patience was intense, you know? When she was focused on something, that lady really dialed in. Nothing else seemed to matter. So when we were out mushroom picking, she was obsessed with the hunt. That was it.”

“How did you arrange to meet for these expeditions?”

“She’d text. We had a silly code. When she texted me the word, it meant we’d meet the next day. Always at the same time and the same place.”

“What was the word?”

“Rapunzel.”

Gen froze.

Mack angled his head and regarded the girl. “Why did you need a code?”

“It was her idea. I thought it was just a goof.” Catherine raised her palms up toward the ceiling, then dropped them back into her lap. “You know.”

Mack asked Catherine a few more questions, then summoned the guard and led Gen back to the entrance. They exited the building and stood on the front steps.

“Mack, it isn’t a coincidence.” Gen clutched his arm. “Patience knows all about picking mushrooms in the woods because she grew up doing it.”

“Yeah, that’s what the girl said.” Mack took her hand. “What’s up? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Remember the contact who told me about the mushroom-related operation he’d gotten wind of? He’d heard a name associated with the setup. The word was Rapunzel.”

Mack pulled out his cell. “We better tell Garcia.”

Gen started to jog toward the car, but stopped when her own phone rang. She waved Mack on. “And we better go see Vonnegon again,” she said. “We need to talk to him about his mother.”

Oliver’s voice on the other end of the line was subdued. “You’re about to be very upset with me.”

“Sorry Liv, I’m in a rush,” Gen replied. “We just heard something that could blow this whole Ducane thing open. What’s up?”

“I must have been taking a nap because I didn’t hear the phone. Bree left a message. Said she was going out for a late lunch with a friend. She wanted to invite me. So I got dressed and decided I’d surprise her and give her hell for going out alone.”

“Cripes. Why would she do that?”

“Something she said yesterday. That she’d walked over burning coals that night in the bay and she didn’t think she’d be tested again. She said she was ready to live, that she didn’t want to waste another minute.”

“She had to get out and live all by herself?”

“I guess. She knew she shouldn’t do it because she told me not to blab. But I have to. Because she’s not here. I’m outside Swan’s on Polk. That’s where she was going. I’ve walked the place a dozen times, and no Bree. The manager was about to throw me out so I’m standing in front, waiting to see if she shows up.”

“Couldn’t she have come and gone already?”

“I have a picture of us in my purse and I showed it around. I knew that’s what you would do. None of the wait staff has seen her.”

“Who was she meeting?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Her friend might have picked up food and they met somewhere.”

“I thought about that.”

“And you’ve tried her cell and she doesn’t answer?”

“Goes right to voice mail.”

“Well, let’s give it some time before we get everybody too excited.”

“I assume you mean the boys in blue.”

“Exactly. I’m not looking forward to what they’ll say about our babysitting skills.”

“They couldn’t send me to jail, could they? I don’t look good in stripes. Although the dating atmosphere might work out.”

“Good Lord. No, jail time isn’t in your future.”

“Okay, I’m going back to her condo to wait. I’ll keep my phone close.”

Gen’s anxiety meter had clicked over to high by the time they ended the call. Mack, waiting beside the pickup, read her expression as she approached. “What now?”

“That was Oliver. Bree went missing again.”

“From her house?”

“She went to meet a friend at Swan’s for lunch but didn’t say who. She left a message on his cell that he was invited, so he went to the restaurant to meet them. She never showed.”

“Maybe they went somewhere else.”

“Or just got food to go and ate in the park.”

“What would prompt her to take a chance?”

“That’s just it. Oliver says she’s been feeling like the danger has passed.”

“Have you tried to call her?”

Gen nodded. “Just this minute. Straight to voice mail. Oliver said the same.”

Mack frowned. “Garcia won’t like it.”

“Well, let’s just hope we can watch him rip her a new one in person this afternoon.”

“Let’s do.” He waved her into the car and shut the door, then walked around and pulled himself into the driver’s seat.

* * *

They found Garcia working the phones. The coffee cup on his desk was partially concealed by open files and a list of phone numbers. Ducane’s research and Yates’s surveillance photos were fanned out; he was obviously trying to tie it all together. He looked up when Gen sat down beside him.

“Sorry Eric,” Mack said. “But there’s been another development. We’re not sure anything is actually wrong, but Bree went out alone again.”

Garcia shook his head slowly and raised his eyes to scrutinize the ceiling. “She better not be off on another crusade.”

“We’ve tried her cell. We’re getting no response.”

“Same with Vonnegon,” Garcia replied. “His people at Elergene tell me he and his secretary are nowhere to be found today.”

“Is that unusual?”

“They say he takes meetings outside the office all the time. Today his calendar shows him on a helo down to San Jose. Some kind of confab with a supplier. He’s not answering his phone.”

“Okay,” Mack said. “We’ll tell you what Catherine Robeson just shared, then we can discuss options.”

They decided that Garcia would stay at his desk while Mack and Gen returned to Bree’s, to see if she’d come home or left any sign indicating where she might be.

“Keep calling,” Garcia said. “Leave a message every time, and tell her to get her butt home, pronto.”

* * *

Mack paused in front of Gen’s office long enough to let her scramble from the car, then wedged his pickup back into traffic to look for a place to park.

Gen went inside to check for messages on the chance Bree had left one, then called her answering service.

Nothing.

She locked up and headed for the condo.

Oliver was wringing his hands in the living room when she came in.

“No news,” she said. “But no sense going all worry-wart just yet, there could be a thousand explanations. Have you looked around to see if she left her phone here by mistake?”

“Yes,” Oliver replied. “I even called to see if I could hear it ring.”

“No luck?”

“No, but that would only work if it was on. So then I looked in the fridge to see if she’d left it there, because it wouldn’t be the first time. I checked her spare purses, under the bed, on the dresser and side tables. The bathroom counter. You know, the usual places. I found zip. I checked her land line answering machine. Her sister called, that’s it.”

“Let’s keep searching. I’ll take the living room. How about you take the bedroom?”

“Right.” He stopped mid-stride as he was making a beeline for the bedroom door. “I forgot, there’s more. I checked and her car is downstairs. That’s bad, huh?”

Gen was already looking under the sofa cushions, and she straightened from her task. “Didn’t you say she was meeting someone?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Is she a fan of public transportation?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Gen’s expression soured and she dropped like a stone onto the couch. “Unless she changed her plans and her friend picked her up, I’d say the fact that her car is here is definitely not good. Her purse is gone though, right?”

Oliver nodded yes.

A knock announced Mack. Gen opened the door and stared at him, but couldn’t bring herself to speak.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Bree’s car is downstairs.”

Mack filled in the blanks. “And she was supposed to meet this person at the restaurant.”

Gen nodded. She sat down again, then stood and paced to the kitchen door and back. She was turning to repeat the route when Oliver intervened.

“Well, I have to do something, so I’m going to keep looking for her phone.” Oliver started for the bedroom.

“Seen her car keys around?” Mack asked.

“No,” Oliver replied. “I’ll look for those, too.”

“I’ll check the garage. What’s her space number?”

“Same as the condo,” Gen said. “I’m going, too.”

The elevator took a lifetime to begin its trek up the shaft. Impatient, Gen led the way to the stairwell and they raced down eight flights to the garage.

“Over here.”

They made their way among the dozen or so vehicles that separated the VW from the entrance to the stairs. As they grew closer, Mack slowed and trained his eyes on the ground. Gen followed his lead and swept the concrete corridor, up one side and down the other.

She reached Bree’s car first and was going for the handle when Mack warned her off.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Of course. They might need to check for prints. She wandered around the vehicle instead, looking in the windows. No purse, no keys. No sign she’d been anywhere near it.

“Here,” Mack said.

She returned to the driving corridor and found him directly behind the car, crouched over a black tire mark etched onto the slab.

“Looks like someone laid down a little scratch.”

“Does it mean anything?”

When Mack looked up, she could see the compassion on his face. He shrugged and looked away. “Might mean someone picked her up.”

“And they were in a hurry to get away.”

“We can’t know that actually happened.”

“Does enough of the tread show to match it to the manufacturer?”

“Let’s hope so.” Mack snapped pictures of the track with his phone and emailed the shots to Garcia.

Gen called Oliver and told him they were going back to the station. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

“Just find Bree,” Oliver replied.