Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (13 page)

Chapter 17

T
he drive to San Francisco went swiftly and I was there by 2:40. Parking was something else altogether. I drove slowly around the block, and finally settled for a spot under a tree full of sparrows that my little Bimmer would just fit into. The car needed to be washed anyway.

I squeezed into the space, locked the car, and walked the half block to Rod’s address. It was a two-story gray bungalow with white trim. The houses on either side of Rod’s were identical to his, except for the color. The one on the left was a pale peach, also with white trim, and the house on the right was white with green trim. There was a fence around his tiny front yard, and a locked gate at the entrance to a walkway that led into a small courtyard.

I pressed Rod’s buzzer, looking up at the second-story windows. After a few moments the gate emitted a high-pitched whine and I pushed my way through. On the other side of the courtyard was a concrete stairway leading up to the front door. The door was red and the brass knocker was shaped like a bull’s head with a ring through its nose. I was halfway up the steps when the door opened.

Rod Howard was indeed a younger version of his father, with slightly more delicate features. His nose was hooked, his lips were thin, and he was over six feet tall. His eyes were hawk-like and his pupils were dilated. I reached out to shake his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, he responded. His was cold and damp, his grip firm, but twitchy.

“Nicoli Hunter,” I said. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Come in,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Would you like coffee? I just made a pot.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Do you have any lactose-free milk?”

“No.”

“Then regular milk will be fine. No sugar, thanks.”

My reaction to lactose in small doses is mild. I just get a little phlegmy. Unfortunately, this does nothing to diminish my craving for dairy.

Rod went into the kitchen to get the coffee and I wandered into the living room. The furnishings were modern and sparse. Everything was neutral in color. The carpet was light beige, the leather sofa was cream-colored, and the lithographs on the walls were black and white with red accents.

There was a fireplace against the rear wall that looked like it had never been used. There were no ashes, anywhere. A stereo system dominated the front wall under a plate glass window facing the street. To the right of the living room, also at the front of the house, was a dining alcove containing a large flat panel TV, a cherry wood table, and six matching chairs. The kitchen was between the dining alcove and the front hallway.

Rod came out carrying a tray with two steaming mugs, napkins, and a small pitcher of milk. He set the tray on the dining room table. I chose a cup and added milk. I tried a tentative sip. The coffee was hot, fragrant, and robust.

“Excellent.”

“I grind the beans myself,” he said, and smiled briefly.

“I can tell.”

After I’d finished half the cup I reluctantly set it down on a napkin and took out the pictures I’d copied from the yearbook. I spread them on the table. Rod looked at them as he sipped his coffee and picked up the one of Laura and Charles together.

“God she was beautiful. When was this taken?”

“It’s from her last year in college. Do you recognize the man?”

He looked more closely, then said, “No. Is this Charlie? I never met him.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s Charles Spencer. Did Laura talk to you about him?”

“She mentioned him occasionally. We didn’t really see that much of each other. She’d mostly just call. Sometimes come up for the weekend when Dad and Kate were getting her down.”

He set the picture back on the table and clenched his jaw, causing the muscles to bunch. Something was making this guy edgy. It could be my presence, or it could be whatever made his pupils remain dilated in the bright sunlight coming through the picture windows. Probably it was a combination of the two.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where Charles lives.”

“No.”

“What did Laura say about him?”

“When they first got together she thought he was wonderful, but after a couple of years she told me he was rigid and controlling.” His right eye twitched, and he pressed a finger to his temple.

“Did you talk to her after they split up?”

“No more than usual. Why?”

“I’m curious about how Charles handled the breakup.”

“Now that you mention it, she did say he wouldn’t let go. He kept showing up at the house, even when she wasn’t there. He asked Kate to try and talk some sense into her, as if that would do any good.”

“Was she afraid of him?”

“I don’t think so. Do you think
he
killed Laura?”

“I haven’t even met him. Did you get the feeling from your talks with Laura that he was capable of violence?”

“Well, she said he was a jock, and you know how they are.”

I assumed Rod hadn’t done well in sports. Time to stop beating around the bush. “I understand you’ll be getting half of Laura’s inheritance.”

“That’s right, and Dad and Aunt Sylvia will get the rest.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Oh my
God
, what a
question
! How would
you
feel if you lost a sibling and then inherited a few million dollars?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’d feel guilty.”

“Well, that’s how I feel. I’ve got a load of laundry to put in the dryer. I’ll be right back.”

He stalked down the hall toward the rear of the house and went out through a back door.

I listened to his footsteps descending the stairs. When I couldn’t hear them anymore I made a quick tippy-toe tour of the house. Office, bedroom, and bathroom in the back. Nothing much of interest in the office. Art books on the bedroom shelves. The bathroom was pristine. Only prescription drugs in the medicine cabinet.

On my way back to the living room I spotted a leather shoulder bag on the hall table opposite the front door. I held my breath, listening intently, and when I didn’t hear approaching footsteps I took a chance. Digging into the bag I quickly located his wallet, found his driver’s license, and memorized the number. I replaced the wallet and dashed back into the dining room just as Rod came up the stairs. I picked up my cup and tried to slow my breathing, repeating the license number in my head.

He came out through the kitchen, looked into his cup and said, “You want more coffee?”

“Please.”

I made a note of his driver’s license number while he was getting the coffee.

Rod seemed even twitchier now than he had before. I wondered if he might have supplied Laura with the crank Frank said she had used.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted Laura out of the way?”

“What makes you think it was someone she knew?”

“I don’t know. Just a hunch, I guess. Any ideas?”

It didn’t seem appropriate to discuss the absence of defensive wounds with Rod, or to mention the fact that Laura’d had sex just prior to her death. I
hoped
it had been someone she knew. If she’d turned to prostitution and had been killed by one of her clients, the odds against finding her murderer were even higher.

“Laura was beautiful and smart,” he said, “and sometimes tactless. I suppose it could have been someone who was jealous of her. But if you really want my opinion, I think our father deserves a second look. He molested Laura when she was a child, you know. She told me about it one night when she’d had too much to drink. Maybe he couldn’t handle her displaying her beautiful body for all those strangers every night.”

Holy shit!

“What about you?” I asked, my mind racing in disgusting directions.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did your father molest you?” It was a reasonable question. I had read that pedophiles are often attracted to both male and female children.

“Oh. No. Not that I recall anyway,” he said. “Although that would explain a lot.” He gazed out the window and his eyes lost focus.

“Do you know if Laura told anyone else about this?”

With an effort Rod pulled his attention back to me. “I don’t think she even remembered telling me,” he said, and sipped his coffee. “She’d recently started therapy with a woman she said was both a psychologist and a Shaman. During one of their sessions her childhood memories started to surface. Poor kid had no idea how to deal with it. That’s why she came up here for a visit. She needed to get out of the house and process the information. You know…that’s the last time I saw her.” He frowned, and sipped more coffee.

“And you believed her?”

“Yes. She was drunk, but she described what she’d remembered in detail, and the particulars convinced me.”

I wanted to know about the particulars, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

“Did you ever confront your father about it?”

He coughed out a laugh. “You haven’t spent much time with Dad, have you? He’s not a man you casually confront. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk being disinherited. That wife of his isn’t much better. She’s addicted to tranquilizers. I have no idea why Laura chose to live with them. What a misery that must have been for her.”

It was time for me to go. I’d leave Rod to ponder whether or not he’d also repressed childhood memories too traumatic to cope with.

I took out a business card. “Do you remember where you were the night Laura was killed?” I asked, holding out the card.

Rod’s face flushed and the veins in his temples bulged. “I was here,” he said. “Alone.”

I thanked him for his time and since he hadn’t taken my card from me, I placed it on the table. I asked him to call if he thought of anything else I should know, and I let myself out, the hair on the back of my neck prickling.

Chapter 18

D
riving back to Redwood City I replayed the Rod Howard interview in my mind. I didn’t like Rod, but that was no reason to assume he’d kill his own sister for half of a measly five million dollar inheritance, plus interest. The way he’d casually brought up the issue of molestation, implicating his father, gave me something to think about. I half suspected he’d done that to divert attention away from himself. Maybe the combination of the money and his desire to point the finger at his dad made him a suspect, but I didn’t get a killer vibe from Rod. I would run financial and criminal backgrounds on him, and then decide if he was worth a closer look.

I wanted to suspect Fred/Marc, but the only incriminating item in his house was the box of condoms.

Derrick was annoying enough that I almost hoped he was guilty of something for which he could be incarcerated. I’d pay him a visit at his office tomorrow and see how worked-up he got discussing Laura’s solicitation arrest.

Charles was looking good too. Rigid, uptight, not willing to let go after Laura ended the relationship, and a jock. Definitely in the running. I’d have to track him down.

When I got back to the office I hauled out my Palo Alto phone book. It’s a little known fact that private investigators keep stacks of telephone directories in their offices for occasions such as this. Not everything can be found online. There were six Charles Spencers listed in the city of Palo Alto. I called the first one and got an answering machine. I left my name and number, and dialed the second. A man who sounded at least a hundred answered on the third ring.

“Is this Charles Spencer?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Charles Senior or Charles Junior?”

“What?”

“Sorry. I must have the wrong number.”

The next was answered by a cheerful woman who sounded like she was in her twenties.

“Is this the home of Charles Spencer?” I asked.

“Yes, it is,” she chirped.

“Is he there?”

“Not at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Actually, I’m trying to organize a reunion and I’m not sure I have the right number. Did Charles go to Stanford?”

“Why yes, he did! Who’s this?”

Oops. It hadn’t occurred to me she might have been in the same class. Now I was stuck.

“My name is Nicoli Hunter.” When you’re stuck, you’re stuck.

“Nicoli. I don’t remember any Nicoli, but it’s a big campus.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ashley. I used to be Ashley Drake. Now, of course, I’m Ashley Spencer.”

“Ashley, why don’t you give me your address and I’ll send you all the information.”

“Excellent! I
love
reunions.”

She gave me an address on Emerson Street in Palo Alto.

“When is it going to be?” she asked.

“Sorry? Oh, the reunion. Not for a couple of months. I’ll get this information packet right out to you.”

I hung up before she could ask any more questions. I’d get up early tomorrow and follow Charles to work.

I typed an e-mail to CIS requesting a standard background check on Frederick Marcus Wulf, based on his social security number, and asking for DMV, financial, and criminal records on Rod Howard in San Mateo, San Francisco, and Santa Clara Counties.

After sending the e-mail I checked my watch. I had time to do my grocery shopping before meeting up with Elizabeth. I drove to Whole Foods and loaded the basics into my cart; tuna, lettuce, avocado, broccoli, carrots, raw sunflower seeds, peanut butter, organic Kona coffee, spring water, and dog biscuits. I snacked on the sunflower seeds driving back to the marina.

As I was walking down the companionway Elizabeth appeared in her open doorway, said, “Wait a minute,” and disappeared back inside.

Because Elizabeth’s boat is at the bottom of the ramp, she has learned to recognize familiar footsteps. I reached her trawler and set my groceries on the dock steps.

She returned a moment later, brandishing two new pairs of size four-and-a-half shoes. The first looked like tiny black combat boots, but stylish, and the second were teal and purple reef runners.

“Very nice,” I said.

“What should I wear tonight?”

I was relieved that she’d remembered.

“Whatever you’re comfortable in. It’s a dive. The employees dress in spandex or nothing at all.”

“Okay, casual. Sevenish?”

“Perfect.”

I walked to my boat and put away the groceries, then sat down in the main salon, put my feet up on the settee, and drank one of the bottles of water. That’s when I remembered I was meeting Detective Anderson after Elizabeth and I got back from the
Fanny Pack
. It was almost 6:00.
Crap!
I grabbed a towel and my shower bag, and sprinted up to the marina facilities.

When I was squeaky clean I took a long appraising look in the mirror and decided I needed to get more sleep. I’m one of those unfortunate individuals who need at least eight hours a night in order to be at my best. I gelled, scrunched, and dried my curls, then hurried back down to my boat.

I put on the same outfit I’d worn the night before, minus the high healed boots. I slipped on my Eccos instead. People who live aboard learn to minimize, particularly in the area of wardrobe. There isn’t room for duplication, so we generally have only the essentials. Otherwise we end up with boxes of clothes we don’t even remember we own in storage.

I checked the Glock’s magazine and pulled the slide back to make sure a round was chambered. I slipped it back into my purse holster, noting with satisfaction its compact profile.

I applied some ruby-red lip gloss and just a dab of Must de Cartier, my signature scent. Then I loaded my pockets with dog biscuits and strolled over to Elizabeth’s. I stopped along the way to feed D’Artagnon the biscuits, reminding him what a good dog he was. When he’d swallowed the last bite, he leaned his forehead up against mine, sighed, and wagged his tail.

As I continued down the dock, I noticed a petite brunette perched on the steps of Elizabeth’s trawler. She was wearing a floral print mini-dress and a pair of tiny black combat boots. I did a double take.

“What do you think?” she said.

“I almost didn’t recognize you. What’s the idea?”

“In case any of the people we talk to tonight is a psycho-killer, I don’t want them to be able to recognize me. I borrowed this from Lily. Does it look real?” she asked, patting her head.

“Yes. You look great, but I like you better as a strawberry blonde.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Are we ready to go?”

“In a minute. I want to brief you on what we’re looking for.”

“Can’t we do that in the car?” she asked.

“I guess so.”

We arrived at the
Fanny Pack
at 7:13. I’d forgotten to call and ask if Frank and Candy worked on Sundays. Too late now. I pulled into the last available space in the parking lot.

Elizabeth stopped just inside the door, the way I had on my first visit.

“Oh my God,” she said.

I gave her a gentle shove and we walked toward the bar. Frank was on duty.

“Hi, Frank,” I said, as we sat down.

He squinted at me through the cigarette smoke, smiled, pointed at me, and said, “The PI, right?”

“Right. This is my friend, Lisa.”

Elizabeth reached across the bar and shook his hand.
Unbelievable
. He gave her a big smile.

“Coffee?” he asked, glancing in my direction. Before I could answer he’d filled a cup and was concentrating on Elizabeth again. “And what can I get for
you?
” he said, leaning forward.

Apparently Frank thought this was a social visit. Elizabeth ordered a tall Mudslide. Frank prepared the drink with a flourish, filled a tall rocks glass, placed two straws in it, and set the chocolaty concoction in front of Elizabeth expectantly. He had made a rapid recovery since our last conversation.

She took a sip. “Wow!” she exclaimed.

“Too strong?” Frank asked.

“Oh no. It’s perfect,” she giggled.

I decided to break up the party. “Frank, I need to show you some pictures.”

He turned to me, looking a little surprised that I was still there. I pulled the yearbook photocopies of Charles out of my bag, along with the Polaroid shot of Fred and Laura from the Sky Ranch, and one of the pictures I’d taken of Fred at InSight. I placed them on the bar and he looked at each one.

“Well, he looks kind of familiar,” he said, pointing to the photo of Fred next to his Jaguar, “But I see so many people in here, and it’s always dark. I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Were you working the night Laura was arrested?”

“No, but I sure heard about it. It was all anybody could talk about. Candy was royally pissed off, but she’s always pissed about something.”

“What about Alfred?” I asked.

“He thought Laura was cool for not telling the cops about the rooms upstairs when she got busted.” He realized what he’d said, blanched, and started washing glasses.

“It’s okay Frank. I’m a PI, not the police.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess everybody knows what goes on up there anyway. Laura was never part of that, though.”

“So she knew the guy was a cop?” I asked.

“That’s what she said.”

“How?”

He thought about it for a minute. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay. Thank you, Frank. You’ve been great.”

I put a twenty on the bar as Frank made his rounds, checking on the other customers. Elizabeth was watching a lap dance.

“Elizabeth,” I said. She didn’t seem to hear me.
“Elizabeth,”
I said, louder this time. I finally had to grab her arm and give her a shake to get her attention.

She was so startled she almost fell off her barstool. “
What!
”

“Let’s go talk to the dancers.” I pointed to the hallway.

“What?” she repeated.

The music wasn’t that loud. I think she was in shock. As we moved away from the bar Frank told Elizabeth he’d keep her drink cold for her and she grinned like an idiot.

Alfred’s door was closed, but I could smell the cigar smoke. If he was watching his monitors he already knew we were there. We continued down the hall and I knocked on the dressing room door. Almost a minute passed before it was opened a crack. Buffy peered out at us. I reminded her who I was and asked if we could come in. She looked puzzled, but stepped back, allowing us to enter.

Candy was seated at her dressing table, putting on make-up. She gave us a sideways glance, and then looked back into the mirror. There was one woman present whom I hadn’t met before, a tall willowy brunette. I decided to try the group interview thing again. I pulled the pictures out of my bag.

“Does anyone recognize either of these guys?” I asked, as I spread the pictures across an unoccupied vanity table.

Buffy and the woman I hadn’t met before came over. They both looked stoned, and I spotted a tiny charred wad of aluminum foil on Buffy’s make-up table.

Neither of them recognized Charles or Fred. I walked the pictures over to Candy.

“How you doin’, Candy?”

“Fine. You?” She made eye contact with me in the mirror.

“Not so good. I need your help.”

When in doubt, ask for help, that’s my motto. It got her attention. She selected the picture of Charles and Laura, and placed a long red fingernail on the image of Charles.

“If this is him he’s older now, less hair, but he’s still built nice. He used to come in once or twice a week. Stayed in the back, in the shadows.”

Shazam!

“Was this when Laura was working?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about Laura’s arrest. I understand she propositioned a Vice cop.”

“Yeah, the bitch. With all my regulars watchin’ too.”

“How did she know he was Vice?” I asked.

“Well, that’s the funny thing. I was on stage when it happened. She walked right up to this guy’s table like she knew him. He didn’t request a table dance. I checked.”

“So it looked like she’d met him before?”

“Sort of.” She gave me back the photocopy. “I gotta go on.”

“Thanks,” I said to her back as she sashayed toward the door.

I turned to the other dancers and handed out business cards again. I asked if any of them knew how Laura had found out the officer who’d arrested her was Vice. No one said a word. They just looked at each other and shook their heads.

I collected Elizabeth, who was hovering near the door, and we went down the hall to Alfred’s office. His door was open now, but he wasn’t inside. We were turning back toward the bar when we heard a toilet flush and Alfred sauntered out of the men’s room, puffing on a stogy.

“Hey, Alfred,” I said.

He looked me up and down, making my skin crawl, then turned his attention to Elizabeth. A lecherous smile spread over his face. “You lookin’ for work?”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and she looked at me, a stunned expression on her face.

“She’s with me,” I said. “Nicoli Hunter, PI, remember?”

Alfred tore his eyes away from Elizabeth. “Oh, yeah. What do you want?”

“I just need to show you a couple of pictures. Won’t take a minute.”

“Okay,” he grumbled. “Come on in.”

We sat, even though he hadn’t offered. Elizabeth seemed mesmerized by the closed-circuit video monitors. I handed Alfred the pictures of Charles and Fred. He looked them over, and said, “So?”

“Have you seen either man before?”

“Nope. But that don’t mean they ain’t customers. I spend most of my time in the office and you can’t really make out faces on these things.” He gestured toward the monitors.

“Okay. Tell me what happened when Laura was arrested.”

“You heard about that, huh? It was no big deal. She was new, and she propositioned this guy from Vice. When she got arrested I was sure she’d blow the whistle on my little operation, but she kept her mouth shut like a good girl. After that I asked her if she wanted to work upstairs between sets, but she wasn’t interested. You sure you aren’t lookin’ for work?” he asked Elizabeth.

“No, but thank you for asking.”

Elizabeth is polite under the most unusual circumstances.

I gathered up the pictures and we went back to the bar. Elizabeth wanted to finish her drink. It was 8:02 and I was meeting Anderson at 8:30. I toyed with the idea of leaving her there, but decided that wouldn’t be kosher, even if Frank was more than capable of watching out for her.