Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) (11 page)

“C’mon,” said Rafe. “We got to go. Dude will be waiting.”

Warrington stayed with the machine for another minute until he had achieved the next level of play. Then, he spun on his heel and headed for the door leaving Rafe to hurry after him.

Out on Telegraph Avenue, they saw the familiar black El Camino waiting at the curb under the street lights. The night was warm and the driver, a muscular Filipino man in his 30s, had his arm out the window and was slapping his hand against the door in time to the salsa music blaring out of the stereo. He kept up the beat, merely nodding a little harder when Rafe opened the passenger side and they climbed in.

They drove in silence down Telegraph across the Oakland border and turned left on Alcatraz. Then they turned right on Colby, kept on for another four blocks, and finally turned into the driveway of a modest bungalow with lime green aluminum siding.

The driver and Warrington got out of the El Camino and walked further down the driveway to the back of the house. The driver was wearing designer jeans, cowboy boots and a white Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt. Rafe stayed in the car as lookout, since his grandmother owned the bungalow and was the most likely person to turn up unexpectedly.

On the grass at the back of the house, raised on concrete blocks, sat the rusting body of a 1968 Mustang. It had originally been red, but was mostly primer gray now. A dirty blue plastic sheet covered part of the open passenger compartment, but the upholstery was rotten and there was more yellow foam stuffing showing than red vinyl.

Warrington and the driver walked to the back of the Mustang. Warrington pulled out a set of keys. He inserted one into the trunk lock. Before he turned it, he looked behind him to see if anyone - a curious neighbor, perhaps - was watching. The lock made a hollow metallic click and Warrington lifted the trunk open. Inside, sitting on a brown wool blanket, were three Meiji TechnoAmerica stereo microscopes. Their shiny chrome sparkled even inside the shadowy trunk, picking up the light of the stars overhead.

Warrington turned to the driver and smiled. The driver picked up two of the microscopes. Warrington took the third. They shut the trunk and took the instruments back to the El Camino. They set them down by the front bumper, away from the street traffic. The driver went to the back of his car and lifted out a large Igloo chest that he carried to the front. He pulled several thick towels out of the chest and wrapped each microscope carefully before placing it in the chest. He used the remaining towels for extra padding to prevent shifting inside the chest.

They got back into the El Camino. Before backing out of the driveway, the driver handed Warrington a wad of bills. Warrington flipped through them quickly, counted eight $50 bills and handed four of them to Rafe. Rafe started whistling an unrecognizable tune as he stuck the bills into his pants pocket.

They left Warrington at his house on McArthur Boulevard before continuing to People’s Park where Rafe wanted to be dropped. As Warrington climbed the stairs to the covered porch, he was thinking about the $200 in his pocket. It was chump change compared to the fifty grand he expected to get very soon. He could hear a television laugh track through the door to the yellow stucco house.

He had his hand on the doorknob when the cold metal silencer was pressed against the base of Warrington’s skull and three .22 slugs were pumped into his brain in rapid succession. He toppled forward and lay nearly invisible in the shadows of the porch.

•   •   •

THE THREE MEN sitting on the bench at the Run N’ Racquet were staring straight ahead. Sarah detected small movements of the head, little jerks and twitches that seemed to affect all three in unison.

She looked up and saw the two blonds in the glass-walled racquetball court who had captured the trio’s undivided attention. They took turns assaulting the small blue ball and then bouncing back to center court to await their next shot. It was the bouncing that was causing the spectators’ heads to jerk as if they were all attached to the same puppet string.

Sarah decided to try the one on the left, a tall fellow with unruly brown hair, wearing a tank top and shorts, and with two elastic braces on his knees.

“Excuse me. Excuse me.”

His head bobbed over toward Sarah.

“Excuse me. I’m trying to find someone here named Diana. I don’t know her last name. Do you know anyone by that name?”

His head continued to bob, moving back toward the direction of the racquetball court. It took a minute for Sarah to realize that the man’s nods in the direction of the two blonds were in response to her question.

“One of them?”

He smiled dreamily.

“The taller one? The shorter one?”

Another smile.

Sarah waited until after the pair had finished their game and showered before approaching the smaller of the two in the women’s locker room. She was stuffing her clothes into a pink and purple Reebok duffle bag.

“Excuse me,” said Sarah. “Were you a friend of Orson Adams?”

The attractive woman with long, blond hair had a quizzical look on her face. She had put on skin-tight jeans and a white stretchy top that showed both a lot of cleavage and that she didn’t have an ounce of excess fat. Sarah felt Diana give her a quick once over. Although Sarah considered herself fit and athletic, she had to resist the urge to throw her shoulders back and pull her stomach in just a little.

“I’m an old friend of Orson’s,” Sarah continued, giving Diana a sincere smile. “I heard he was dating someone from the club and I thought it might be you.”

“Yes, we were seeing each other,” said Diana in her French-accented English. “Until, of course, the accident.”

“Yes, the accident,” said Sarah. “You see, Orson told another friend about you. And, he said that he had been having trouble with someone, perhaps an old boyfriend?”

Diana nodded her head knowingly.

“Yes. Yes. A pig. He is a pig.” Diana jammed her athletic shoes into her bag for emphasis.

“Here. Let me walk you to your car while we talk about this,” said Sarah. She carried a smaller bag while Diana picked up the larger duffel and they left the locker room, walked through the lounge, and went out the door.

“Raymond,” said Diana, as they walked around the club to the parking lot in back. “His name is Raymond. We dated a short time. It was a mistake. When I started to see Orson he was…how do you say?…abscess?”

“
Ob
sess…I mean obsessed.”

“Yes. He called me many times at my home and say…said horrible things to me. He say, ‘That nigger. That nigger. I will kill that nigger.’ He say horrible things about sex…‘having sex with niggers.’“

Diana was standing beside her Lexus, fiddling in the duffel for her keys when a big man walked up behind her. Even wearing street clothes it was easy for Sarah to see that he was a weight lifter. He was good looking with black hair and a mustache. His chest was huge. Sarah saw acne on the sides of his neck and immediately thought of steroids. He put his hands on Diana’s arms.

Diana dropped her bag and spun out of his grasp. But, he grabbed her again, holding her face-to-face this time, and pushed her against the car.

“I’ve been waiting for you, you bitch!” he yelled at her. “You fucking cunt! Where are you getting it now that your nigger is dead, you goddamn slut!”

“Stop! Stop!” Diana screamed. “You are hurting me!”

Sarah could see that his fingers were digging deeply into Diana’s arms. Diana’s eyes were wide with terror. She looked at Sarah, silently asking for her help.

Sarah thought about running into the club for help. But, she didn’t want to leave Diana. The weight lifter looked enraged, totally beyond control. With one shove he could easily toss Diana against the car and break a few ribs or worse.

The crazed weight lifter wasn’t paying any attention to her. Sarah dropped the bag she had been carrying for Diana and moved behind the weight lifter who continued to yell profanities. She planted her sore left leg carefully and then launched her right, punting perfectly into his crotch.

The weight lifter froze for one second then grabbed himself as he began a slow, twisting collapse to the ground. Sarah tried to ignore the moans.

“Is this him? Is this Raymond?” she asked Diana, who was crying and massaging arms that were already showing bruises. Diana nodded. Raymond was still retching on the asphalt when Sarah retrieved her own car and followed Diana’s Lexus out of the Run N’ Racquet parking lot.

Chapter 14

THE LECTURE HALL was constructed like a Greek amphitheater with steep tiers rising from the blackboards in front to the doorways in the back. Each semicircular tier held long desks that were shaped to follow the curve of the tier.

When Lee arrived wearing jeans, a cable-knit sweater and a black peacoat, he slid into a seat in the top tier. Several students were gathered at the bottom, sprawled on chairs and desks. A young woman wearing tattered blue jeans stood at a podium, gently pounding her fist into a yellow legal pad in front of her as she concluded her argument.

“Liability based on market share is not an appropriate remedy in this case,” she said. “This is not a situation where several suppliers of an identical product have put them on the market, exposing the user to an identical risk of cancer. This is like the facts in Johnson versus Beck Construction where the court concluded that asbestos was not an undifferentiated product. It comes in insulation, paint, ceiling tiles. Each form, and even differences in how it is mined and processed, create different risks.

“Therefore, the court should require the plaintiff to identify the source of the tainted blood. Any other result will turn the traditional notion of liability on its head and open a Pandora’s box of uncertainty.”

When she finished, the other students clapped, hooted and stomped their feet.

After they had quieted down, Sarah, sitting directly in front of Lee, halfway between him and the law students, began her critique:

“That was good Emily. My main criticism is that all the numbers you presented were too confusing. Most lawyers are morons mathematically. You had good points there, I think, but you need a chart or, better yet, distill the numbers to just a few that tell the story. Also, when you are addressing the court, don’t say ‘you.’ It’s ‘your honor’ or ‘the Court.’ And finally, let’s leave Pandora and her box out of this since she isn’t a party.”

Then Sarah addressed all of the students.

“You all seem to be on track. Just keep practicing. Spend some time in front of the mirror. Remember, it’s just moot court. If you make a mistake, it’s not fatal. You won’t actually lose the case and no one can fire you. Good luck. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

The students gathered up their books, legal pads and backpacks and filed out of the hall. Sarah put her legal pad into her briefcase and turned to walk up the stairway to the back of the hall. She saw Lee above her at the top of the stairs and waved.

“Hi. You’re here.”

“I didn’t want to disturb Emily. She was pretty convincing. She had my vote anyway.”

Sarah walked up the stairs toward Lee. She was wearing a linen jacket, over a white blouse and brown slacks. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail in the back. She wore large silver earrings that nearly dangled far enough to brush against her jacket. They drew Lee’s attention to her strong jaw line and graceful neck.

They drove to Max’s Opera House, the nearest thing to a New York delicatessen in San Francisco for an early dinner. Sarah ordered a corned beef sandwich. Lee had chicken salad which turned out to be almost a whole chicken on top of a huge green salad.

Sarah pulled out a slip of paper and slid it across the table to Lee.

“Here’s the guy who was threatening Orson,” she said.

“Did you get this from the girlfriend?”

“Well, he and I had a run-in at the club,” said Sarah.

“You’re kidding. What was he like?”

“Big. Good looking. A bodybuilder,” said Sarah. “I think he’s on steroids, though. He went after the girl, Diana, when I was there. He grabbed her and started screaming at her. I thought he was going to hurt her.”

“Jesus. So, what happened?” said Lee.

“Well, like I said, I really thought he was going to hurt her. No one else was around. So…I…uh…kicked him.”

“You kicked him?” said Lee.

“Yeah. Between the legs.”

“Sarah. My god. What happened?”

Sarah opened a jar of Dijon mustard and began spreading it on her sandwich.

“I had to do something,” she continued. “It was very effective. Afterward, he wasn’t really in talking-to condition. So, we left.”

Lee looked at Sarah with an expression filled with surprise, amusement and imagined pain.

“Actually, it felt pretty good,” Sarah said as she got ready to take her first bite. “I kinda imagined right behind him all the jerks who ever groped me in a bar and a couple of ex-boyfriends.”

“Uhh…yeah,” said Lee. “Glad you got it out of your system. No, really. Good move. I’ll pass this along to Connors. We’ll let
her
talk to him. Without Warrington as a suspect, I expect she’ll want to run down any decent leads.”

The waitress came back and they both ordered coffee.

While they waited, Lee told Sarah about Gerald Fulmer, Warrington’s attorney, and his suspicion that Warrington’s legal bills had been paid by either the mysterious Futura Products, Inc. or the AgriGenics biotech company. He showed her the law firm’s bill that he had received in the mail.

“I can’t tell you that I see how everything fits together,” concluded Lee. “There are two things I find intriguing. The first is that there is a hell of a lot more to Warrington than meets the eye. The second is that someone, including whoever sent me the legal bill, is going out of their way to point the finger at Warrington.”

Sarah nodded her agreement but said nothing. Lee had said something that somehow seemed familiar to her, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She stirred her coffee absentmindedly while she tried to think of what had flashed in and out of her mind while he was talking.