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

Rebecca could sympathize with the officer. Especially at the start of a case, even the deceased’s best friends often developed amnesia. “Okay,” she said, wrote down the address, and then hung up.

“She died?” Richie asked.

Rebecca nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Were you very close?”

She thought back to the time she and Karen first met. “Yes, we were. We were hired for the same training class. Part of a push to hire women. I was twenty-four, Karen twenty-three at the time. The police academy was fun, thanks to her. She grew up in the city, so she knew a lot about the places we were sent, the people.” She shook her head as long-dead memories washed over her. “I don’t think I could have made it without her. Then, we ended up together at the Richmond Station.”

“Did she get promoted out like you did?”

“No. Karen liked the idea, but the paperwork put her off.” Rebecca pointed to the folders on her desk. “You can see why. Anyway, after I left patrol and came over to the Inspections Bureau, first to Property Crimes, we drifted apart.” She paused, remembering. “Later, someone told me she quit. I ran into her only once after that. It was a short conversation. She said police work had gotten to her, and she wanted to do other things with her life. But I can’t say I believed her. Something seemed off, and the conversation was constrained, almost tense.”

“I see,” he said softly.

“But she was still my friend,” she said, almost defiantly.

“I know,” he murmured.

“Excuse me.” She picked up the receiver on her desk phone as she thought of old friends at the Richmond station, people who knew Karen well. “I’ve got to make some phone calls.”

o0o

Richie got up from the chair to give her some privacy. He realized that Sutter, at some point, had left the room. He and Rebecca were alone.

He went over to the window, and finally let out the breath he seemed to have been holding since he first heard a police woman had been shot. 

He looked out. The Hall of Justice was far from the touristy parts of the city with their beautiful views, restaurants, and fun places to shop. Here, the weight of a city whose budget had been stretched to the breaking point, a city that could barely care for its homeless, or fix potholes, let alone sweep the streets, was in full, sad display.

He turned his back to the window and leaned against it as he watched Rebecca talk on the phone. At times like this, when she was in full scowl-on-her-face, tough-cop mode that shut him out as completely as if a jail door stood between them, he wondered what possessed him that he found himself wanting to be around her. She was the type of woman a guy could get serious about, and he’d given up on serious relationships four years ago. But here he was, facing her again.

He kept trying to meet someone who would help him forget “Inspector Mayfield” as she used to insist he call her. And he met plenty of women. Gorgeous women. Wealthy women. Women interested in him for who he was and for all he had accomplished in his life. But they didn’t make him feel alive the way one ferocious scowl did from Rebecca—or make him feel as elated as when she deigned to smile at him.

She put down the phone and faced him. Her voice shook as she struggled with her emotions. “I talke
d to Karen’s old boss, Chief Reiner at the Richmond precinct. He said the Sausalito Police just contacted him. They told him very little, and he thinks they don’t yet have any leads on the killer. All he knows is that Karen was living in Sausalito with a boyfriend.”

Bill Sutter walked back in, carrying a cup of coffee and a carton of fat-free plain cottage cheese. Richie shuddered at the sight of it, then returned to Rebecca’s desk and sat.

Rebecca faced Sutter. “Did you know Officer Karen Larkin from the Richmond station?”

“No.”

“She was killed.”

He grimaced. “Sorry to hear it.”
Richie had been told that, as Sutter reached retirement age, he developed a phobia about dying on the job. Now, he opened a folder and hunkered down with it as if trying to bury himself in his paperwork, probably in an attempt to push Rebecca’s words from his mind.

Rebecca stared at the phone.

Normally, if Richie saw someone looking so sad after hearing a friend passed away, he’d do something, like give her a hug. Not the Inspector. He knew he’d be hurt—911 bad—if he tried it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “You need time away from your desk. Time to think about and mourn your friend.”

She stood and put on her black leather jacket. “I’m going to Sausalito. I’ll tell them what I know about Karen, and ask what they know about her murder.” She called out to her partner. “I’m taking off, Bill. See you Monday.”

Sutter’s eyebrows rose as he watched her and Richie leave together.

As they waited for the elevator, Richie said, “I’m going with you. I’ll drive.”

She looked as if she was about to argue, but then sadness
filled her eyes and she bowed her head a moment. Finally, she nodded. Even tough cops, he realized, sometimes didn’t want to be alone.

CHAPTER 2

Marin County was a green, sunny place, with Mt. Tamalpais dominating the center, the Pacific Ocean on the western edge, and San Francisco Bay to the east. It contained some of the most expensive real estate in the country. Sausalito, the first town after the bridge, was a small, charming tourist destination with bayside waterfront restaurants and shops, surrounded by wildly overpriced homes.

Sausalito’s Gate 5 Road was located along an inlet called Richardson Bay. It was created as fill by the U.S. Navy during World War II to build tanker and oiler ships after demand exceeded what could be produced at other ports. Ironically after that start, during the 1960’s it became a counter-culture haven. Beside it, Gate 6 Road was smaller and quieter.
Docks lined with houseboats had been built off the main roadway.

Rebecca could scarcely believe her eyes as she got out of Richie’s Porsche. Some of the houseboats were beautiful, well kept up, with flower pots and planters lining their docks. Others looked like heaps of rubble that would crumble in a strong wind. All-in-all, it felt more like a dysfunctional Disneyland than a community where real people lived, and where her friend had died.

Karen’s houseboat looked as if it would sink like a stone if it ever ventured out on the bay.

Officer Sherri Grimes, short, white, and baby-faced, met Rebecca and Richie, handed them both gloves, and invited them inside. She appeared nervous and overwhelmed. Rebecca wondered if her most taxing duty before this had been to give tourists directions to the Sausalito ferry.

“Stay outside,” Rebecca said to Richie. She didn’t want him accidentally contaminating the crime scene even if Officer Grimes didn’t seem to care about it. She also asked for booties for her shoes.

Grimes had to be a rookie, Rebecca thought, for allowing outsiders to enter a crime scene. She wasn’t about to object, but she wondered why anyone so green had been left in charge.

Rebecca stepped into the main room. The first thing she saw was a marker in the middle of the floor where Karen had been found, and dried blood around it. Her stomach clenched. She had seen hundreds of crime scenes, but this one hit her hard.

The walls were filled with photos of Karen with a baby. Rebecca had no idea her
old friend had given birth. In the most recent photos, the girl looked about two years old. Karen hadn’t changed much at all. She still wore her dark blonde hair in a pixie cut. On the job, she would comb it back in what was an almost manly style, but when she dressed up, she would form it into bangs and fringes, and would also wear big, dangling, colorful earrings. She wasn’t a great beauty, but she had strong features and a friendly, pleasant demeanor.

Rebecca continued to study the photographs. Several were of a young man Rebecca had met years ago. He had a wide, square-shaped face, and broad shoulders. His hair was brown, straight, and even though he was young, it was already thinning.

She remembered joining Karen for drinks one evening after their shifts ended, and he came by to pick up Karen for a dinner-and-movie date. Karen had met him only a week or two earlier, but she was already half in love. As Rebecca recalled, he was a college student from Russia or somewhere near there.

Karen only mentioned him a couple of times after that and then stopped. Rebecca assumed the relationship had ended. Obviously, she had been wrong.

“Do you know his name?” Rebecca asked, pointing at the man in the photo.

“Yuri Baranski. The neighbors say he lived here with her.”

Friends shouldn’t be part of a homicide investigation, Rebecca thought, but coming here, seeing photos of Karen, of her child, made her want to know, more than ever, why Karen had been killed, and to be sure someone paid for the murder.

Grimes took out a notebook and pen, and then asked Rebecca to tell her all she knew about Karen Larkin. Rebecca gave all the information she could, but as she did, she walked through the houseboat, with Grimes following behind. Off of the small, square main room were a galley kitchen and two bedrooms. The smaller one contained a baby’s crib. Up a narrow staircase she found the only special area in the houseboat—a tiny roof deck and sitting room with windows on all four sides. Throughout the houseboat, the furniture was uniformly worn and shabby.

“Do you have a time of death?” Rebecca asked. She stood on the outside deck facing Grimes.

“The Marin County coroner estimates between nine and eleven last night,” Grimes said.

“I heard she was shot,” Rebecca said.

“Three shots struck, close range.” Grimes swallowed hard. “Probably with a silencer since no one heard any gunfire.”

Rebecca nodded. This houseboat had thin walls, and the neighbors were nearby. A silencer usually meant premeditation, and three shots … someone wanted to be sure Karen died.

They went back downstairs.

“How was she dressed?” Rebecca asked, in the main room once more. “Bed clothes, street clothes?”

“Actually, she was dressed quite nicely. Black sheath, high heels.”

Rebecca looked at the photos again. “Have you questioned that man—Yuri Baranski?”

Grimes shook her head. “We can’t find him. The child is also missing.”

Not good, Rebecca thought, immediately putting him in the prime suspect category. She asked Grimes to send her photos of Karen, Yuri, and the baby, and said she would like to help in the search for Yuri Baranski.

Grimes agreed. She also said the baby’s name was Nina, and that Karen and the baby were receiving welfare and food stamps.

“Do you have Karen’s cell phone?” she asked.

“Yes, but there’s nothing on it.” Grimes showed her an old Nokia. “It was plugged in, but covered with other stuff, as if
pretty much forgotten. I nearly jumped out of my skin when it started to ring with your call. A newer cell phone, however, isn’t anywhere in the house, but then, neither is a land line. If a person can have a land-line on a houseboat, that is.” She looked around wide-eyed, as if fearful the place might suddenly sink.

“Any leads at all?” Rebecca asked.

“Since the boyfriend is missing, and we suspect he took the child, he’s our main suspect. We also found some stolen jewelry under her mattress. We’ve had a number of jewelry thefts around here recently, as well as in Tiburon, and even Belvedere,” Grimes said, naming two of the most affluent towns in the country, both located on San Francisco Bay north of Sausalito. “The jewels that were found matched the description of those taken from the latest heist. We called the owner and she positively identified them.”

“You think Karen was involved with jewel thieves?” Rebecca could scarcely believe anyone would consider such a thing.

“We suspect the boyfriend was involved, and that the victim found out he was a thief and that’s why he killed her. At least, that’s Detective Wong’s theory. He’s the one in charge of the case, Detective Larry Wong.”

“Where is he?”

“Out somewhere investigating, I think.”

Rebecca nodded. “Does
Detective Wong have any evidence that the boyfriend was a jewel thief?”

“Only that the jewels are here. I mean, the victim was on welfare. It’s easy to imagine the boyfriend stealing jewels to get some money,” Grimes said with a grimace.

Rebecca thanked Grimes for working on solving her friend’s murder and then she left the houseboat and joined Richie.

As she and Richie walked back to his Porsche, she eyed the neighboring houseboats. She would love to question the residents about the night Karen was killed, but knew the Sausalito PD would be unhappy about that. Maybe
she’d talk to them later, after she caught up with the detective in charge and explained that she had been trained in homicide investigations.

Near the car, Rebecca saw a woman standing by a cart filled with cut flowers. The woman looked like a cross between a gypsy and an old-time hippie whose time had long passed. A floral scarf completely covered her hair and formed a knot behind one ear. She wore a long multi-colored skirt and a purple caftan top with a dark red sash at the waist. Many rows of silver jewelry were around her neck, and each finger had a silver ring. The only thing out of sync with the look were over-sized, dark sunglasses.