Murder Over Cocktails: The 2nd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (14 page)

Chapter 27

P
eter Treski arrived at 8:42. He was in his early forties, blond, blue-eyed, and sort of nerdy looking. He had tortoiseshell glasses and wore a pale yellow blazer over a white shirt, red tie, gray slacks, and Gucci loafers. I told him the whole story, and he listened attentively, taking notes, but not interrupting even once. His attention was sharply focused, but his eyes looked compassionate. Either this guy was a decent human being or he had perfected his act. At the moment I didn’t care which.

The police arrived a few minutes after 9:00. There were four of them, two uniforms and a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as Detectives Stegbahn and Loftus. They were all with the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. Evidently Maggie’s death had evolved over night from a self-defense case into a murder investigation.

Stegbahn was in his late-thirties, just over six feet tall, and spongy around the middle, wearing a brown polyester suit that matched his hair and a white shirt with no tie. Loftus was in her forties, about five-seven in low heels, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and no makeup. Her features were delicate, but her expression was hard. She wore a navy-blue pantsuit with a red blouse. I wondered if these two were partners or if they’d just been paired up for this assignment.

The uniforms were both male, and appeared to be in their early twenties. Both were clean-shaven. One was tall and slender with dark hair and the other was average height, blond, blue-eyed, and muscular. Neither of them made eye contact with me, even when I asked for their names and badge numbers. I wrote down their physical descriptions, just to have something to do. I was feeling helpless, angry, and bone-tired. I wanted desperately to escape.

As expected, they had a search warrant for the office, one for my car, and one for my boat. I was glad I’d given Elizabeth my guns. Peter read the warrants carefully and insisted we both be present during the search process at all three locations. Stegbahn and Loftus watched me open my office safe while the two uniforms began searching my desk. They bagged and labeled the videotapes, and then Loftus searched the kitchenette and Stegbahn took the bathroom.

I unlocked my Pendaflex drawer and the uniforms went through my files, emptying all my drawers and cabinets, but did nothing with my computer. I would ask Peter the reason for this blessed omission later. They noticed the empty Velcro holster fastened under my lap drawer and called Stegbahn over. He glanced under the desk and then approached me and Peter.

“Mind telling me where the gun is that you normally keep in that holster?” he asked.

“I’m having the sight replaced,” I said.

“Where?” He took a notebook from his jacket pocket.

“Heinz’s Gun Shop,” I said. “San Carlos.”

I’d have to call Heinz and feed him the story. He’s a good friend, and I buy all my guns and ammo from him. Heinz was a Hitler Youth during World War II and loves to tell stories about the Nazis. His family hated Hitler, but his parents persuaded him to enlist so they wouldn’t look suspicious. Sam Pettigrew took me to Heinz to purchase my first revolver. Since that time I’ve purchased three additional handguns from him and listened to countless stories about his life.

Maybe I’d get my Glock back from Elizabeth and drop it off at the gun shop. It could use a new sight. The old one is low profile and colorless. I prefer high profile sights with tritium inserts because they make it easier to hit what you’re shooting at, and tritium glows in the dark.

Stegbahn and Loftus made less of a mess than the two guys in uniform but, regardless of the method, a search of your private property is like an emotional assault. The uniforms were careless when looking through my file folders, leaving the contents scattered. It would take me hours to sort everything out, and I’d have to clean every surface in the office to reclaim my space when this was over.

Peter stayed close to me at all times, occasionally patting my back sympathetically. About halfway through the search of my office I went outside and lit a cigarette. I gazed numbly at the beauty around me. Although I was seeing it, I just couldn’t take it in. I couldn’t feel the joy that normally washes over me when I look at my home. I needed a good long cry, but for now I had to harden myself into an emotionless state. The cigarette helped, damned filthy habit.

By the time they were finished with my office it looked like they had taken all my drawers, turned them upside-down, and dumped everything out. I locked the door, trying not to look at the mess as I did so. We moved to the parking lot and my little 2002.

I love my car. It’s almost like a pet, and is the most reliable transportation I’ve ever had. I couldn’t stand the idea of these jerks pawing through it.

I unlocked the doors and the trunk and stepped back. I wanted to issue some kind of a warning or a plea for mercy, but I kept my mouth shut and lit another cigarette.

The detectives examined each item in my glove compartment. There was a medium sized Mag-Lite, my Thomas Guide, the car registration and proof of insurance, a couple of Jeff Beck CDs, a box of fuses, a pair of black leather gloves, a lint brush, and my owner’s manual. They reached under the front and back seats and felt under the console. I hoped none of the wires got disconnected.

While all this was going on, Bill came up from the boat and had a word with Stegbahn and Loftus. I kept my distance, not wanting to interfere with Bill when he was in cop mode. I saw Loftus shake her head, apparently disagreeing with something Bill had said, but then both Sheriff’s department detectives shook his hand and did some nodding, and Bill took off in his Mustang without saying a word to me. Huh.

The two uniforms were taking everything out of my trunk. All my tools were displayed on the ground. My jack was sitting in a puddle created by the marina sprinklers. I walked over, picked it up, shook it briskly, and set in down in a dry area. The shorter of the two uniformed officers promptly replaced the jack with a beach towel I keep in the car to cover the upholstery on hot days. I snatched it up before it could absorb the muddy water.
Asshole.

The taller uniform was going through my gym bag. He examined my shampoo and conditioner and looked suspiciously at my heart monitor. The shorter guy took a flashlight off his belt and looked up my exhaust pipe.
Was he kidding?
When they were done they left everything from the trunk on the ground. I made them wait while I replaced the contents myself. Then I locked the car and patted it affectionately before escorting the group down to my boat.

D’Artagnon started barking as soon as we came through the gate. He continued to bark, spit, slobber, and snap at the officers as they walked past his boat. I smothered a smile and watched over my shoulder to make sure they didn’t lay a hand on him. When we arrived at the Cheoy Lee I went aboard first, offering no advice about how to back down the companionway to avoid banging your head on the hatch. I figured these thugs were on their own and only hoped that Peter would follow my example.

The boat was a mess, as usual. There were piles of clothes in the stateroom and dirty dishes in the sink. Loftus started in the stateroom, Stegbahn took the galley, and the two goons went to work in the main salon. I went with Loftus and asked Peter to keep an eye on the uniforms. I watched as each article of my clothing was examined and special attention was given to my dirty laundry. Loftus dug through all my drawers, but didn’t feel compelled to dump my clean clothes on the floor, for which I was grateful.

She removed the bedspread, blanket, and sheets from my queen size bunk and lifted the mattress. She felt inside the pillowcases and squeezed each pillow to make sure the feathers didn’t conceal anything lethal. When she was finished I remade the bed.

She checked my shower and medicine cabinet, but didn’t bother to unscrew the drain cover in the tub. When she was done with the head and the stateroom she aimed her flashlight into the lazarette, a small storage space under the companionway where I keep empty boxes, extension cords, old athletic shoes, and my vacuum cleaner. She poked around in the dusty mess but didn’t take the boxes out to see if anything was hidden in them. I had the impression Loftus was just going through the motions. I wasn’t sure how I should feel about that. She might be expressing confidence in my innocence, or she could simply be bored with her job.

The search of the boat took less than forty-five minutes, and when they were finished it was not noticeably changed. I didn’t point out the storage areas, which are built into each settee, so all they had to search were the visible cabinets and shelves, the hanging locker, and the refrigerator. I was actually proud of how few possessions I had for them to paw through. On the way out Loftus did a quick search of the pilothouse and picked up the machete I keep by the door. I felt compelled to explain its presence.

“If there’s an earthquake the concrete docks could collapse, taking the boats down with them. I would use the machete to cut the dock lines, so I could get my boat out of the slip before the docks go under.”

Loftus responded with a noncommittal, “Uh-huh,” as she tagged the machete and handed it to one of the uniforms. It was the only thing they took from the boat, and, once again, I had to
ask
for a receipt. Unbelievable.

At noon we all drove to the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. Peter and I went together in his car. As soon as we were alone I asked him why they hadn’t bothered with my computer. He explained that the search warrants had only allowed them to look for weapons. I thought about all my file folders being emptied and the resentment started to boil up again.

When we arrived at the Sheriff’s Department we were escorted into an interview room where Stegbahn and Loftus asked me a number of very personal questions, some of which had to do with my sex life. Peter listened as I responded. It made me feel safer having him there, but the whole experience was still humiliating. When I had answered all their questions the detectives asked us to wait in the windowless room. Fifty minutes later they trooped back in and I was informed that the DA intended to charge me with the murder of Margaret Sectio.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Peter put a hand on my arm and asked when the preliminary hearing would be and if I was being placed under arrest. That’s when I spotted Bill through the open door. He was standing in the hallway, talking heatedly with a gray-haired woman in a business suit. Loftus said the preliminary hearing had been scheduled for the following Tuesday, and that I was free to go.

Bill followed us out to the parking lot, saying he’d meet us at the marina. Peter drove me home and parked in the boat owners’ lot nearest my gate, shut off the engine, and turned to face me.

“Do you have any criminal history?” he asked.

“I got busted for shoplifting when I was fourteen.” I squirmed. “And when I was twenty-three I drank too much tequila one night and made the mistake of driving.”

“So you have a DUI on your record?”

“Yes.” Why did I feel so guilty? 

When Bill pulled into the lot, Peter and I got out of his car and I introduced them. They shook hands. Peter gave me his card and said he’d meet me at my office Tuesday morning so we could drive to the hearing together.

I impulsively hugged him, muttering, “Thank you,” into his shoulder.

I didn’t have the strength to face the office in its current condition, so Bill walked with me down to my boat. Once we were on board I looked up at him, hoping he would volunteer some explanation for what was happening. He returned my gaze, but said nothing.

I started the ball rolling. “Am I released into your custody?”

“Yes,” he said. “That means I’m responsible for you showing up in court on Tuesday. Try not to break any laws between now and then.”

“I’ll do my best, but I still don’t understand what could have happened to that knife. Did they check the drains in the pool?”

“They checked the drains. They shook the bushes. I even had one guy climb a tree to make sure it didn’t get stuck in some low hanging branches.”

“It doesn’t make sense. What about Maggie’s purse? She must have kept the knife in a sheath.”

“They found a leather sheath and they found a large, empty zip-lock bag, but that doesn’t prove she attacked you. There are currently two theories on the table. One is that you had sex with Maggie, and it was your first lesbian affair, so you freaked out and went a little nuts. The other is that you’re telling the truth about your client dropping off those videotapes at your office and that after you watched them you decided to take matters into your own hands and kill the bitch.”

Unfortunately, theory number two wasn’t that far from the truth.

“So what happens now?”

“A judge decides if the DA has a case against you. If so, then you go to trial.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “After all you’ve been through the last couple of days, you should talk to someone. There’s this shrink the department uses when there’s an officer-involved shooting. She specializes in post-traumatic stress disorder. Supposed to be pretty good. If you want, I can schedule an appointment for you.”