Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

Yuri yelled back that he would never give up his child—that she had better not even think about keeping Nina from him if she knew what was good for her.

Karen said he’d take the child over her dead body, that she couldn’t trust him. He kept making promises, and he never kept any of them. She said she gave up everything for him, and she got no thanks for it.

The fourth houseboat they visited belonged to the man who found Karen’s body. He and his wife had heard the fight with Yuri, and much later heard strange sounds coming from the boat. They ignored them, but around one a.m., the wife woke her husband. She noticed the lights on throughout the houseboat, including the baby’s room. That never happened. She insisted her husband go over and check on Karen.

He found the door unlocked, and walked inside, then phoned the police.

“If Karen kicked Yuri out in the afternoon,” Rebecca said, “and later, when Karen was found, the child wasn’t with her, then Yuri must have come back and taken her. But it sounds as if Karen would never have let him do that if she were alive.”

“That’s what my wife and I are thinking,” the neighbor said. His wife quietly stood beside him and nodded. He glanced at her. “I hate to say it, but we’re thinking Yuri probably killed her and took Nina.”

“But at the same time,” the wife finally spoke up, “we also know he loved his family. They fought, but they loved each other. So it’s hard to believe he would have killed her.” The woman shuddered.

Rebecca had seen more than one supposedly loving couple end up with one killing the other. The one time she took a bullet she had been a patrol cop dealing with a domestic dispute. “Did you give this same information to the police?” she asked.

“Yes, to Detective Wong,” the husband said.

“Only Wong? Not Officer Grimes or the Marin County detective?”

“We only spoke with Detective Wong,” the wife said adamantly. “He’s going to be our police chief someday. Everyone knows the current chief plans to retire before the year ends.”

“So, you trust Wong to do a good job?” Rebecca asked.

“Of course. He’s been a part of Sausalito’s police force for twenty years. He’s especially popular since he ‘came out’ with his marriage. It was a very brave thing to do, even in our wonderfully open community.”

“
Well, I’m sure he’d be good at the job,” Rebecca said, while thinking he already seemed pompous enough. “By the way, do you know the owner of the houseboat Karen and Yuri lived in?”

It was the wife who answered. “He’s a nice Russian gentleman. I met him a couple of times.”

“Do you happen to have a phone number or address for him?” she asked.

“No. Sorry.”

Rebecca glanced at Richie, then turned back to the couple. “Well, that’s it for now. Thank you both very much. If you think of anything else, please call me.” She gave them her card

She and Richie were heading back to the BMW when the same weirdly dressed, pseudo-gypsy flower vendor as they saw on their first visit to Gate 6 stood near their car.

She held out a white carnation for Rebecca. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Rebecca took the flower. “What are you doing here?”

“Selling flowers. People love my flowers. And, what I see in their futures.”

“Did you know Karen Larkin?”

“The murdered woman,” the vendor said. “I often saw her with her baby. And now I see the loss in your eyes. A spirit hovers around you, an unhappy spirit—it’s all around this place. You should leave here. It is not good for you to come back to this place.”

“Are you here at night?” Rebecca asked. “Were you anywhere near on the night she was murdered?”

“No. I saw nothing,” the vendor said. “But I never spoke with her. You miss her, but you won’t find her here.”

Rebecca glowered, wondering if this was just a ploy to sell flowers, or something more. Maybe the woman would whip out a tarot deck, or even a Ouija board to conjure up spirits.

“And you, sir.” The vendor handed Richie a pink carnation. “Something to help heal your heart.”

Richie looked with confusion at the flower.

“Everything will change for you both.” The vendor now spoke in a weird, theatrical voice as if she were conducting a séance. “It’s coming soon. But not here. Go, and prepare yourselves.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Rebecca started to walk away.

“You must listen to my words. Remember them!” the woman called.

Rebecca’s phone began to buzz. It was the dispatcher. She was needed in the Mission district. Richie put a five dollar bill in the jar on the woman’s cart, and then hurried to catch up with Rebecca.

CHAPTER
12

“What are you planning to do?” Richie asked when they arrived back in San Francisco.

Rebecca pulled up alongside his Porsche. “Go to my crime scene,” she replied.

“I know, but afterward … Listen, don’t go doing anything about the Larkin case, okay? It’s too dangerous.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said. “Even by crazy gypsies selling flowers.”

“Promise?” Richie asked, getting out of the Beemer.

“Don’t worry. I’m on top of it.” His protectiveness was getting on her nerves.

“That’s the problem. Leave it to Shay, Rebecca.”

“Sure thing, boss.” With that, she drove off watching him stand there in her rearview mirror.

The crime scene was a hit and run. An old man had been jay-walking across Mission when he got nailed. There were security cameras and witnesses all over the place, including one kid who took a phone photo of the car leaving the scene. Sutter had been taking statements from witnesses and had already run the license plate. He was quite unhappy that he had been there a full thirty minutes before Rebecca arrived. Usually, the timing was the other way around, so she shouldn’t have felt guilty. But she did.

She ordered the data from several security cameras, along with confiscating the kid’s phone for CSI to download the photos. Sutter put out an APB for the car, a gray Lexus sedan, registered to Byron Yin Leong.

After that, all they could do was wait to see what the security cameras showed, and for Leong and his car to be found.

Back in Homicide, Rebecca phoned Officer Sherri Grimes, who was far more helpful than Detective Wong. “I’m wondering if you spoke to the houseboat’s owner?” Rebecca asked after preliminary chit-chat about the case.

“Yes. She was quite nice,” Grimes said. “But she didn’t know anything useful. It was just a case of one Russian immigrant helping another, as far as I can tell.”

“She?”

“Svetlana Boranova.”

“I thought the owner’s name was Shurik Charkov?”

“No, I’m pretty sure she said the houseboat was hers. She had a real thick Russian accent. But I know she said she handled the rental and dealt with the tenants. She knew Yuri and Karen.”

“I see. Where is she located?”

“In San Francisco. I didn’t get her exact address since after we talked, I realized she couldn’t help.”

“How did you find her?”

“Karen Larkin had the phone number written on a piece of paper on the refrigerator. It said Owner, plus a number.” She then gave Rebecca the number.

As soon as she hung up, Rebecca phoned
it. No one answered, and there was no voice mail. She had a contact at Pacific Bell and called him to see if he could help. It turned out to be a land line set up some eight years earlier. Rebecca asked for the address.

It bothered her that Grimes’ interview had been by phone. People were often a whole lot more forthcoming face-to-face, especially after seeing a badge.

She decided to pay Svetlana Boranova a little visit. By the time she traveled across the city, the woman might have returned home, or the neighbors might know something.

Dusk had settled over the city as she drove out Geary Street, past the Russian part of the R
ichmond district. More than once Rebecca had found it curious that the Russian community was in the “Richmond District,” while the part of San Francisco known as “Russian Hill” was mainly a Chinese and Italian neighborhood. She wondered if she would ever understand this city. She sometimes agreed with her mother who said she should move back to Idaho. It might not be perfect, but at least it was sane. Sort of.

Finally, she reached 40th Avenue. The houses in this area were fairly small, well maintained, and butted right against each other as was common in San Francisco. They were once simple middle-class homes, a garage on the ground floor, and a two- or three-bedroom place above. With the ever-rising prices in the city, the residences were now worth a small fortune.

She walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

A husky, overweight man, age 60 or so, with badly thinning gray-blond hair, answered the door.

“Is this Svetlana Boranova’s home?” she asked.

“Yes. But my wife
is not home now.”

Rebecca studied him a moment. “Are you by any chance Mr. Shurik Charkov?”

“That is me. What is it?” he asked.

She showed her badge and explained that she was looking into the murder of his tenant, Karen Larkin, and trying to track down Yuri Baranski.

“Ah, I see. Come in, come in,” Charkov said, opening the door wide. She followed him into the living room which was completely gaudy. The furniture looked like a fake version of what might be in Versailles, with gold paint on the wooden arms and backrest of the sofa and chairs, tables with marble tops and gold-painted legs, heavy drapes, plus lamps and figurines on every flat surface. “I am very sad to learn of young woman’s death.”

“A terrible thing,” Rebecca said.

“Please, sit.” He gestured towards the sofa. A tea service sat on a tray on the coffee table, along with a platter of round cookies with a thick icing.  “I was making tea. Will you do old man favor and join me?”

“You’re not old at all, but thank you,” Rebecca said, taking a seat on the sofa as he poured her tea.

“Try the
pryaniki
, please.
My wife made them. Excuse me. I must get another cup and saucer.” He left the room a moment. Rebecca sat nervously, one hand behind her, ready to grab her Glock if it became necessary. She had met a lot of Russian people when she worked out of the Richmond station, and not one had anything to do with the syndicate. But since Charkov rented to Baranski, who did, she had to be wary. He soon returned, a smile on his face and a cup and saucer in hand. He sat on a chair near her.

As he made his tea adding milk and sugar, Rebecca
noticed that most of the pinky finger on his right hand was missing. She took one of the cookies and bit into it. The taste was a rich blend of cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg. “Delicious,” she said.

“Good, good!” He also sat, sipped on his tea, and then put down the cup. “I am surprise to see you since police already contact us about Miss Larkin’s death.”

“We’re trying to locate Yuri Baranski and their child,” she explained. “That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping you can help us.”

“Me? No, I have no idea,” he said. “Although I cannot blame him for leaving houseboat, after such terrible thing happen there. I won’t be able to rent it any more to Russian. Too many believe in ghost.” He winked.

She smiled at that. “Did you know the family well?”

“A little, since Yuri is from Ukraine, like me.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“None at all.”

“Do you know other Ukrainians he might be friends with?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Do you think he took the child with him?” she asked.

“Of course.” Charkov looked as if the question was absurd. “He would never leave her to others. Yuri is good lad, good father.”

She said nothing as he loudly slurped the tea. He then continued, “I worry about child. She is two years old, I think. Very pretty. She was reason I let them live in houseboat even though rents have gone so high in Sausalito. I was afraid she might have to live somewhere not safe.”

“I was wondering how they could afford such a place,” Rebecca admitted.

“What can I say?” he asked with a smile. “This country is good to me. I try to help others.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Yuri had anything to do with Karen’s death?” she asked.

“Yuri? No, no. Never. They were very much in love. I think he saw what happen and took his daughter and run away. Maybe back to Ukraine.”

“I heard he
and Karen fought quite a bit,” Rebecca said.

“What couple in love does not fight when they are young? Later they can grow into boring old couple, but when young, they have fire, passion. Their fights, they mean nothing.”

“I heard Yuri may have worked at the Golden Gate Garage. Do you know it?

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Did you ever hear if Yuri or Karen was threatened by anyone?”

“I fear you waste your time with me. But I like you,” he said to Rebecca, even as his eyes seemed to harden. “If I find out anything you should know, I will call you.”