One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

“True, but being a bookie is,” she pointed out. “We never did learn how Danny planned to get around that one.”

“Maybe,” Richie suggested, “that's why he talked to his mistress about going to Aruba.”

“Anyway,” Shay interrupted. “Looking at this info, Pasternak didn't have a lot to offer the IRS.”

“Which means he could still be on the hook to them,” Richie said.

“Right,” Rebecca added. “And if Danny went ahead with his tell-all book, the main people who could be harmed by it were those who needed to keep their names clean. Men who didn't want the public to know they were involved in any gambling, let alone illegal gambling.”

Richie folded his arms and glared at the computer screen. “In other words, men like the city supervisor and the hot-shot lawyer.”

“And that would make Pasternak's book one big dud.” Rebecca scanned the names again. “The names he had aren't big enough for him to make money on. They might be of some interest locally. But even here, how many San Franciscans are going to spend their money to read that a city supervisor gambled? Who cares?”

“It makes me wonder,” Richie said, “if Danny didn't realize his best way to make money was the
threat
of the book, not the book itself.”

“Blackmail?” Rebecca asked.

“Exactly.”

Shay searched the drive for hidden and erased files, then made copies of everything. Giving a nod to Rebecca, she removed the drive and placed it back into the evidence bag, and then removed her gloves. “I'll give this to the CSI's computer experts in the morning,” she said. “I'll do it before Sutter learns I didn't turn in the disk today.”

“Good,” Richie said. “I don't want you to do anything that might jeopardize your job. Especially not now that I know how much it means to you.”

She just nodded, but couldn't help thinking of Lt. Eastwood's words to her earlier. Her job might already be in jeopardy.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Carolina Fontana,” Rebecca said, facing Pasternak's
goomar
the next morning in Homicide's interview room, “did you see Danny Pasternak on Saturday night?”

Instead of answering, Carolina said, “I didn't know you was a cop! I would have told you the truth, if I knew, but there was no reason why I should, right? I mean, why would a cop be with Richie? That don't make no sense!”

Rebecca hit the button to turn the recorder off, then backed it up to where the interview started. She thought Carolina would answer her questions without wandering into territory that Rebecca didn't want the entire homicide squad to know about. Clearly, she was wrong.

She restarted the tape, giving all the preliminary introductions once more. “Tell me about last Saturday night,” Rebecca said, trying another approach. “Did you see Danny Pasternak?”

She pursed her lips. “He told me not to tell anybody.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. But you really are a cop, right? I mean, since we're here and all, I guess this isn't another trick of Richie's right?”

Rebecca cringed. “This is no trick, Ms. Fontana. Please answer the question. Did you see Danny Saturday night?”

“I saw him, but he was nervous like. I never seen him so nervous. He kept saying, 'If anybody asks, Carolina, just say you don't know where I am, and you never seen me for a long time.' So that's what I did. I listened to him, like always.”

Rebecca asked the next question with abrupt coldness. “How long was he with you?”

Carolina sat up stiff and straight as she answered. “He stayed that night, and then he left the next day when Vito called and said Richie was looking for him. He said if Richie could find him, others could as well, and then he split.”

“Who was he afraid of?”

“I don't know.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don't know.”

“Did he say he'd return soon?”

“He didn't say nothing. He just split.” Carolina's voice grew higher and louder with each reply.

“Was he worried that Richie was looking for him?” Rebecca eyes drilled into her.

Carolina swallowed. “I don't think so.”

“Did he know Richie had been arrested for Meaghan Blakely's murder?”

“Maybe.” Carolina twisted her fingers.

Rebecca's voice grew louder, more demanding. “Did he tell you someone had been killed in his office Saturday night?”

“I don't remember.” Carolina's answer was whispered.

Rebecca leaned towards her. “Did he know about the murder?”

Carolina started to cry. “I don't remember! I don't know anything! How many times do I have to say it?”

“All right.” Rebecca sat back and waited until Carolina calmed down. “What time did Danny arrive at your home Saturday night?”

Carolina wiped her eyes. “What time? Hmm…I guess it was about one-thirty.”

“One-thirty? You mean, Sunday morning?”

“Yeah, I guess that would be. To me, it's all Saturday night.” When Carolina put down her Kleenex, half of one of her fake eyelashes had come unglued. It now pointed upward.

Rebecca did her best not to stare at the furry-looking thing. “Why did he arrive so late?”

“He works Saturday night so he can pick up bets for Sunday's races. During football season, that's the biggest time people place bets.” Then her eyes widened. “I mean, you know he was a bookie, right?”

“So I've heard.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess Richie would have told you.”

Rebecca couldn't help but grit her teeth as she said, “
Everyone
told me.”

“And we talked about it, didn't we?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for Carolina to remember that afternoon.

Carolina's eyebrows lifted. “And you two were so lovey-dovey”—Rebecca smacked the Off button on the recorder—“you wouldn't even let go of his hand. I remember now. That was so cute! That was why I never, ever would have dreamed you was a cop. Not with Richie!”

Rebecca stood. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Fontana. I'll show you the way to the elevator.”

She hurried Carolina out of the interview room to the elevator. She was tempted to say, “Don't call me, I'll call you,” but doubted Carolina would understand.

o0o

Sutter found Rebecca as she headed to the coroner's examination room, five minutes before the autopsy on Sherman Glickman was to begin. He told her he couldn't view it with her because he had to talk to 'some' people at the nightclub.

“Sure you do,” she said.

“I knew you'd understand, Rebecca.”

She did; he preferred to talk to nondescript people from the nightclub, people rather like imaginary friends, rather than to watch another autopsy. Not, she expected, that he would have much to offer if he did.

Sometimes she liked him even less than she liked Richie Amalfi.

At times, even she felt that watching an autopsy was overkill, so to speak, and was glad she had missed Pasternak's yesterday. There was nothing new. Two gunshots to the brain were the official cause of death.

This autopsy, however, was a different story.

First, the disgust factor loomed large. Watching a 'normal' autopsy was bad enough, but watching the coroner cut through charred, essentially cooked, skin was beyond nauseating. After her first burn victim autopsy, she couldn't eat barbecued ribs for over a year.

She had to know, however, if Glickman's death was caused by the fire, or if someone had helped him along beforehand.

She walked into the laboratory off the morgue just as Evelyn Ramirez was about to start cutting. Rebecca stared at the burned body on the table. “I thought this was Sherman Glickman's autopsy,” she said.

“That's the name I was given. Presumed victim, his apartment, probably his body.”

“Wait.” She stepped closer. The body on the table was downright skinny. “Sherman Glickman wasn't tall, but he was fairly chubby. Would being in the fire shrink his body?”

“The flesh hasn't decomposed very much. From what I can tell already, this man not only wasn't heavy, he was emaciated. Also, from nasal, cheekbone, and tooth structures, he may have been of African descent.”

Rebecca stared at her. “That's not Sherman Glickman.”

“It's not?”

“I've seen Glickman. I've talked to him. I wonder who this man is.”

“I'll know more in a couple of hours,” Ramirez said. “But even now, I can tell you, whoever he was, he didn't die in the fire. Judging from the condition of the skin, he was dead before the fire got him.”

Rebecca watched the rest of the autopsy with interest. The dead man's physical condition, state of his teeth, hair follicles, stomach contents, and so on, indicated he was very likely a homeless man who died on the street, was picked up, and tossed into the building before it was set on fire. Unfortunately, the city had so many homeless, a lot of them did die on the streets, especially in Glickman's neighborhood.

Knowing Glickman, he might have set this up himself— found a body, or someone near death, and somehow got him to his apartment, then torched the place with the body inside so he could run and the people after him would think he was dead.

But also, someone else could have snatched Glickman, and that person left the dead man behind as one big red herring to make everyone think Glickman died in the fire.

With the fire destroying the crime scene, it was impossible to know which had happened.

After the autopsy, Rebecca went to CSI. They had towed Meaghan Bishop's car to the Hall of Justice garage and had finished combing through it. They found a cell phone, downloaded its contents, and had transferred a copy of the information to Rebecca's computer.

When she returned to Homicide, she saved the information to a thumb drive of her own. She still didn't like the thought of turning over evidence to anyone outside the department, but then, she didn't like a lot of what was going on in this case.

As the day wore on, she couldn't rid herself of the image of Richie Amalfi sitting hungry in her apartment. She stopped at a KFC and bought a bucket of chicken with potato salad and biscuits on the side.

Only after she was half-way home did the irony strike her: a crispy corpse and now, crispy chicken. She suddenly lost her appetite.

o0o

Rebecca returned to her apartment to find not only Richie, but also Shay. She wondered why she bothered to lock the doors since it seemed anyone could waltz in whenever they felt like it. Richie was on the sofa and Shay sat at the kitchen table with Spike on his lap, giving Spike doggie treats, one after the other.

She handed him her thumb drive. “It has downloads from Meaghan Bishop's cell phone.”

For the first time ever, she saw Shay smile. He actually was startlingly handsome. He plugged in his computer.

“I've got other news as well,” Rebecca said as she put the chicken and side dishes on the coffee table with plates, utensils and napkins. “Sherman Glickman wasn't killed in the fire.” She told them about the autopsy. “So Glickman might have staged everything, or someone kidnapped him and made it look like he was dead.”

“No, he staged it,” Richie said.

“How do you know?”

“You found the thumb drive. If anyone got to him, they would have made him give it up. But they didn't. He left it, either hoping it would be destroyed, or more likely, since it was in ice, he planned for it to be found so whoever wanted it would stop looking for him. Which means, he thinks someone might have a way to get info on evidence the police have collected.”

“Which,” Rebecca said, “is usually all but impossible, but maybe not in this case considering the level of some of the men who could be worried about what's on that thumb drive.”

“Exactly,” Richie said.

Rebecca had to ponder this in more detail, but on the surface, at least, what he said made sense.

Richie grabbed a chicken leg. “So, if nobody killed Glickman, that could mean nobody's after me either. And that I don't have to hide here anymore.” He took a big bite.

“We don't know for sure what happened to Glickman,” Rebecca reminded him, putting some food onto her plate as hunger overcame squeamishness. “As for you, you're still wanted by the police. We probably would have released you by now for lack of evidence, but running away did you no favors.”

“Yeah, and you're the one in charge of my case,” Richie said, pointing a chicken leg at her.

Shay called out, “I've got news about Meaghan Bishop.”

“All right!” Richie grabbed a napkin, then he pulled out a chair and sat. “Join us, Rebecca.”

“She did get quite a few calls from wealthy, influential men, as well as from Pasternak,” Shay began after Rebecca slid a chair next to Richie and looked on. “But she also received a number of calls from burner phones.”

“I'm not surprised by the rich guys,” Richie said. “She knew how to pick up men. I had no idea she was anything other than an attractive woman I just happened to meet at the horse races. What an actress! She even got me to think she snubbed her friends just to be with me.”

“Who were her friends?” Rebecca asked.

“I don't know. I didn't meet them. Come to think of it, I couldn't quite tell who Meaghan talked about. She pointed to a group of women far from us, and said I was more interesting.”

“The male ego,” Rebecca murmured with a shake of the head.

He shrugged. “Anyway, we watched a few races together. I won more than I lost, and she called herself my lucky charm. That did it. She only left my side to get her jacket and tell her friends she had run into 'an old friend.' Hell, she may have attached herself to those gals to set up a good story—and, it worked. What a scam artist!” He grimaced at his ability to be so badly fooled.

“Whoever she was working with sent her to meet you,” Shay said. “Whether that was why she was killed, we don't know yet. I have a start, and I'll keep going, but now, I wonder if whoever was using these burner phones is the key to her murder.”

“I'll see what more I can find out,” Rebecca said as she stood. “I'll head back to Homicide.”

“I'm going out, too,” Richie said. “I've been cooped up so long I feel like the Birdman of Alcatraz. I'll get Vito to bring me more fresh clothes, and then I'll get out of here.”

“Be careful. This isn't over yet,” Shay said to his boss, surprising Rebecca that he would express such a human emotion.

o0o

Rebecca and Sutter were at their desks, discussing the material on Glickman's thumb drive when a call came in from Kiki Nuñez.

Her friend never called her at work. “Kiki?” she said.

“Becca, I don't want to worry you, but something's wrong. Your good-looking guy …”

Rebecca's breath caught. “What about him?”

“I was just walking out the door, I had a hot date, but I heard some strange shouts. It sounded bad, you know, so I peeked out at the alley. A black van had stopped in the middle of the street, blocking everything. I saw four Chinese guys beating up your friend and some older guy. Then they took your friend, shoved him in the van, and drove off.”