Capital Crimes (4 page)

6

W
hen the woman stepped outside of the silver Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, both Barnes and Amanda took note of how dignified she looked. Head held high, shoulders back, thin as paper in a black suit, white silk blouse, seamed stockings and orthopedic pumps straining to be fashionable. Atop her gray coif was a black pillbox hat fronted by a small veil. A uniformed chauffeur held her arm and propelled her forward. Taking her other arm was a rawboned, stoop-shouldered man of medium height and weight. His tightly waved hair was equal parts sand and salt but his handlebar mustache was completely white.

The Donnie Newell that Barnes remembered was a skinny blond kid, skateboarding up and down the basketball courts, getting in everyone’s way. Neighborhood boys used to call him “Surfer Joe,” a ludicrous moniker because Sacramento was hot and dry and hours from the ocean. In a snapshot of time, Donnie had turned middle-aged.

So what did that say about Barnes?

He glanced at Amanda. The woman was married to a gazillionaire and was pushing forty but she was beautiful, bright, funny and could’ve passed for a grad student. If you scratched the designer duds.

Born under a lucky star. He harbored a pang of envy then his eyes went back to Lucille Grayson’s withdrawn face, staring out at nothing with vacant eyes.

Both kids gone. Hell on earth, what a jerk he was for being petty.

On the other side of the crime-scene tape, the captain was still answering press questions. Good; it kept the focus away from Lucille.

Amanda saw him studying the old woman. “As you remember her?”

“She looks older but not that much older. I think women of that generation dressed dowdier—or maybe I should say age appropriate. Man, I’d like to have a nickel for every fifty-plus woman I see walking around in a miniskirt.” Barnes raised his eyebrows. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Amanda tolerated the borderline-letch dialogue. Everyone had to deal with sorrow in their own way.

The two detectives began walking toward Lucille, but before they could formally introduce themselves, Ruben Morantz emerged from the crowd and intercepted, offering the frail woman his hand and a round of sympathy.

Maybe some of it was heartfelt, Barnes allowed. The mayor of Berkeley had known Davida Grayson for years and had worked with her on various committees. Though they had had their conflicts, they had also shared victories. Morantz was slight and mild-looking with a narrow torso and sloping shoulders. Innocuous on first impression, but the restless brown eyes, dazzling white smile, and perpetual tan were pure politician.

Hizzoner wore a long black coat over a white shirt, gold tie and tan slacks. Pointy toes of lizard-skin cowboy boots poked under the break of his pants. While he and Lucille chatted, Barnes managed to grab Donnie Newell’s attention. Donnie excused himself and walked over.

“Lookin’ good, Willie. I think the climate agrees with you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“A little thicker in the gut. A little grayer in the head.”

“That’s how it goes.” Barnes made introductions and then looked back at the old woman. “Poor Lucille. I don’t know how she’s standing on two feet.”

“She’s tough but how much can even a tough woman take, losing two children?”

The mayor led Lucille away from the crowd, and back to the limo, which the two of them entered.

Amanda regarded Newell. “How well do you know Mrs. Grayson?”

“Davida used to have me look in on her once in a while.” Newell smiled at Amanda. “Guess I should bring you up to speed. Davida and I were an item in high school. She came out her senior year, but I suspected something wasn’t right long before. She liked to…well, experiment is the best way I can say it. I didn’t care. I had more fun with that girl. She was a pistol, she and her best friend, Jane Meyerhoff—can’t tell you her latest married name. Don’t reckon if I ever knew it, she’s had so many. I heard the last one ended really messy.” Newell turned to Barnes. “Janey lives here now, doesn’t she?”

Barnes nodded. He knew all about Janey because he’d picked her up at a bar and they’d dated a few times. Janey wasn’t so much a pistol as a machine gun. “Bring the file, Donnie?”

Newell held up a manila envelope. “Been looking into the Nutterly brothers. Far as I can tell, these two boys are a step below Neanderthal, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. Stupid and mean is a dangerous combination, right? Still, I don’t think they’d act without receiving orders from someone else.”

“And who might the order-giver be?” Barnes asked.

“The head of the White Tower Radicals is a guy named Marshall Bledsoe who lives in Idaho.”

“I know Bledsoe,” Barnes said. “When I was in Sacramento he was rumored to be the main architect of the synagogue bombings. That’s twenty years ago. He was a madman then, I don’t see him getting sane magically. But from bombs to eggs?”

“Unless that was a ruse,” Newell said.

Barnes ran with the idea. “Davida’s thinking that whoever’s after her is gunning for her in the capital. Then they get her in the safety of her own office.”

“Along those lines, the threatening letter was sent to her in Sacramento.”

“What threatening letter?” Amanda asked and Barnes realized he’d forgotten to tell her.

Newell opened up the envelope and showed them a copy. Magazine letters of all shapes and colors cut and pasted to form an ominous message.

IMMORALITY LEADS TO DEATH
!

It seemed like a silly prank, the kind of thing Amanda might have laughed off as some nutcase gone awry with a scissors and stack of
People
magazines. “Any idea of the authorship?”

“No prints or fibers or saliva. It was dropped off in a taped envelope with no return address. No stamp or cancellation marks, either. Someone dropped it in her mail slot in Sacramento. That narrows it down to about a million people. I wanted to pursue it, but Davida nixed questioning her colleagues. She was trying to woo a couple of detractors, hoping to sway them to see the light and didn’t want the police turning them hostile. So we dropped it.” Newell grimaced. “In light of what happened, big mistake.”

Barnes asked, “Were you thinking the White Tower was behind it?”

“At that point I didn’t because they hadn’t bothered her yet.”

“Bledsoe’s still in Idaho?”

Newell nodded. “It would be nice if he stepped over the border. He’s got some outstanding traffic warrants here in California.”

Something was tickling Barnes’s brain as he watched as Hizzoner and Lucille Grayson emerge from the back of the limo. The old woman remained erect and dry-eyed. Soon the shock would lift and grief would engulf her. He needed to talk to her while she could still talk.

“Where’s Mrs. Grayson going, Donnie?”

“To see her lawyer. Final arrangements.”

Amanda said, “Would you mind introducing her to us…or rather me? You people already know each other.”

“It’s been awhile,” Barnes said. Then he remembered what was nagging at his brain. “Doesn’t Marshall Bledsoe’s mother live in LA?”

Newell shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“I think she does. San Fernando Valley as I recall. Now Thanksgiving is, what…a week away? I wonder if Marshall will be paying Mom a visit.” Barnes smiled. “If he has warrants, we have probable cause.”

“I’ll have to coordinate with LAPD,” Amanda said. “In the meantime, let’s talk to Lucille Grayson, then I want to poke around the capital. I know some politically connected people so maybe I won’t be as threatening as Don.”

“Plus, you’re a lot prettier and tons more charming,” Newell said.

Amanda’s smile started off frosted but thawed in a nanosecond. “People may like me, but no one doesn’t
love
my husband’s money.”

“Willie Barnes.” Lucille eyed him head to toe. “You grew up and you got old.”

Barnes winked. “That about sums it up, Mrs. Grayson.”

The old woman sighed. “I never did get a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your brother, Jack.”

“You sent me a lovely sympathy card, ma’am.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. I appreciated it and wrote you back.”

“Well, then…now I’m telling you in person how sorry I was.”

“Mrs. Grayson, I am so sorry about Davida. She was a fine woman and a real asset to this community. She was loved, respected and admired. It is a profound loss for everyone, but my heart goes out to you. I’m truly sorry.”

Lucille nodded. “Thank you, Will.”

“This is my partner, Detective Isis, ma’am.” Barnes watched Lucille give Amanda a polite nod.

Amanda said, “Solving this isn’t only our top priority, it’s Berkeley’s top priority.”

The old woman nodded and turned back to Barnes. “What do you think about the mayor, Willie?”

Thrown by the question, Barnes formulated his answer as quickly as he could. “He’s very concerned, ma’am.”

“Concerned for Davida or concerned for the town’s image?” When Barnes didn’t answer, she said, “I have an appointment with my lawyer in a half hour. If you need to reach me, I’ll be at the club for the next couple of days.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grayson, I appreciate your cooperation. Could you spare a few minutes for a couple of questions?”

The old woman didn’t agree but she didn’t walk away. Amanda went first. “Did Davida express any concerns for her safety after the recent incident in the capital?”

“I was much more concerned than Davida.” Lucille raked nails down her cheek, creating temporary stigmata. “My daughter was fearless.” She looked at Newell for confirmation. “You remember those Nazis, don’t you, Willie?”

“I don’t know the Nutterly brothers, but I sure as hell remember Marshall Bledsoe. Donnie tells me he moved to Idaho.”

“But he’s still got followers in Sacramento. And I see him around from time to time.”

Newell said, “Do you, ma’am? When was the last time?”

The old woman’s eyes clouded. “I’d say…last year…maybe it was longer, but I’m sure he goes back and forth.”

Amanda said, “Next time you see him, Mrs. Grayson, give us a call right away. He has outstanding traffic warrants in the state of California so we can arrest him.”

“That’s all you’ve got on him?” Lucille said. “Traffic warrants?”

“It’s enough to bring him in. Especially if you think he had something to do with Davida’s death.”

“I’d certainly look at him first. Also that Modell man. He used to send her the nastiest mail.”

“Harry Modell,” Barnes said. Seeing Amanda’s inquisitive look, he added, “Families Under God, I’ll fill you in.”

Newell said, “She never mentioned any hate mail from him.”

“Davida thought he was a crackpot,” Lucille said. “She thought the letters were funny although I failed to see any humor in them.”

“She showed you the letters?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, she did. I kept a few of them. I thought she should send them to the police, but she refused and she forbade me to do it. Said it was a waste of their valuable time.”

“You wouldn’t still have those letters, would you?” Amanda asked.

“Of course, I have them. In my files at home. I wanted to keep them…just in case.” Without warning, the old woman’s eyes watered. She unfolded a silk handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

Amanda said, “Who else should we be looking at, Mrs. Grayson?”

“Oh…I don’t know.”

“What about her partner, Minette?”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“How’d they get along, for starts?”

“I’ll give you my observations, but I’m warning you, they’re colored. I don’t like the girl.”

“Why not?” Barnes said.

“I think she’s a mooch, an attention seeker, and a drunk. When Davida first introduced us, it was hate at first sight. But I could tell Davida was smitten. The girl was a gorgeous thing about five years ago. In that showgirl way. Now the bourbon’s caught up with her.” Lucille lowered her voice. “My daughter never said a word about their relationship—good or bad. But lately, I could tell there were problems.”

“How so?” Amanda asked.

“During our lunches and dinners, the girl was constantly calling…interrupting. I could tell that Davy was not happy. She’d get this tight look around her eyes and whisper something like, ‘
Can we talk about this later
?’ Not a single meal passed without intrusion.” A wistful sigh. “And I saw Davy so seldom.”

“But you never heard Davida complain about Minette?”

“Only to say that the girl didn’t like her keeping such long hours. Probably the only thing the girl and I ever agreed on.” Lucille peered into Amanda’s eyes. “Now, I’m
not
saying that the girl had anything to do with Davida’s death. But I am saying that there was a reason that Davida spent so much time away.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Davida was seeing someone else?” Amanda asked.

Lucille shrugged. “Well, let me put it to you this way. Her father never placed a premium on fidelity. If that was the only bad trait that Davy inherited from him, she did quite well.”

7

T
here were numerous cafés in downtown Berkeley, but for some reason Barnes always went to Melanie’s—a little hole-in-the-wall that served a mean bran and raisin muffin and a decent cup of no-frills coffee. Of late, Barnes was adding milk to the froufrou level because his stomach rebelled when he drank too much black. Melanie’s was about half a storefront wide, and when the place got crowded, he had to walk through the door sideways.

Laura Novacente was sitting at what used to be their favorite corner table, her long gray hair tied up in a knot. When he sat down opposite her, she slid the cappuccino in front of him. “Hey there. How’s it going?”

“You’re looking good. I like that red dress on you. Brings out your coloring.”

“The tape recorder is going, Smooth-guy.” Laura pointed to a small lump under a napkin.

Barnes smiled. “It was a compliment. If I get slapped with sexual harassment you’re going to be hearing from my attorney for entrapment.”

“What entrapment?”

“The red dress. It brings out your coloring.”

Laura laughed. “Is your attorney cute?”

“She’s very cute.”

They drank coffee for several moments. Laura said, “Time for business: do you have something I can print?”

“All business?”

“I don’t waste the paper’s money on flirting.”

“How about this,” said Barnes. We are ‘still at an initial inquiry stage, exploring all open avenues.’”

Laura got that I’m-hungry-and-grumpy look. “You can do better, Will.”

Barnes reached over, uncovered the tape recorder, switched it off, and looked her in the eye. “I’ve got about five minutes before someone realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be. In short, we got plenty of suspects, but no good ones.”

“What about her partner, Minette?”

“What about her?”

“I heard there was trouble in paradise.”

“Like what?”

“Just that. Rumors.”

“Thanks, I’ll look into it.”

“C’mon, Willie. I promise I won’t print anything. Just give me an idea of what you’re thinking.”

“Your promises aren’t worth much, Laura.”

She showed teeth. “Neither are yours, darling, but let’s not hold it against either one of us.”

“Okay…” He leaned over the table, so close he could smell her perfume. “We’re working on Minette’s alibi. She claims she was with a friend part of the night, but not the entire night.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“She’s not too forthcoming on that. We’re looking into it. Any suggestions?”

“I hear Minette was in and out of a series of relationships before she settled down with Davida. She’s pissed off a lot of people. She also drinks.”

Willie nodded.

“That doesn’t surprise you.”

“Davida’s mother called Minette a drunk. Think she’s cheating on Davida?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Laura took a sip of her café mocha. “I gave you something, so how about a little reciprocity?”

“Davida had lots of enemies in the capital.”

“And the sky’s blue, so what? Everyone knows the capital runs on bile but how many politicians are mowed down with a twelve-gauge shotgun?”

“Who told you about the weapon?”

“Word gets around.” Laura ran a finger across her lips.

Barnes stared at her.

She said, “Loose lips at the crime scene—your own people.”

“Great. Anything else I should know about?”

“Don’t be sulky, Will, it’s how I make my living. How about giving me something that every other reporter doesn’t have?”

With her tentacles, maybe she’d learn something and trade it back to him. “We’re investigating some hate mail.”

“From…”

“You can use the hate-mail part, but not the name. Agreed?”

“Absolutely.”

“I mean it, Laura.”

“So do I. Who’s the hate-mailer?”

“Some whack job named Harry Modell, executive director of Families Under God. Ever hear of them?”

“I have. Modell sent her nasty stuff, huh?”

“According to Lucille Grayson. The old woman still has the letters. Plus—and you can print this—rumor has it that Ray and Brent Nutterly from the White Tower Radicals are going to be charged with the egging incident. Police have eyewitnesses, including several who recorded the whole incident on their phone videos. You want more information, talk to Detective Don Newell, Sac PD.”

“That’s good, Will, I can run with that. Thanks so much.”

Touching his hand.

He said, “Speaking of running, I’d better get back.”

“The White Tower boys…,” Laura said. “They’re into survivalism.”

“And a shotgun’s a hunting weapon. Unfortunately, the Nutterly brothers were behind bars last night, so it wasn’t them.” Barnes stood up. “I took a chance meeting you like this, Laura.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Dinner sometime?”

Her smile was wistful. “I wish you had asked me two weeks ago.”

Seeing someone. Barnes working his smile hard. “Good for you.”

Her cheeks were flushed. She touched her hair. “It probably won’t work out, but what the hell, Willie. Live dangerously.”

Since Lucille Grayson was staying in Berkeley for the night, Don Newell and Amanda Isis took the train to Sacramento together, leaving Barnes behind with the nasty job of sorting through thousands of Davida’s computer files, decoded easily by Max Flint.

Seated in a comfortable chair, rocked by Amtrak’s wheels, the Sacramento detective was fighting the urge to sleep. He glanced at his seatmate. A few calls had filled in her history. A Google gazillionaire. And definitely someone with clout. By the time they stepped onto the train, she had appointments with three different state reps.

Now she was napping, pretty face all peaceful and unlined.

Newell forced his eyes open. Lucille Grayson had chosen to remain in Berkeley until the body was released, and entrusted him with a key to her house and directions where to look for Harry Modell’s hate letters. Newell had called up his partner, Banks Henderson, and told him to meet him there at the old lady’s place with an SPD video cam and a civilian witness. He didn’t want to be accused of planting anything.

He sneaked a sidelong glance at Amanda. Good-looking woman—great-looking really, with that soft skin—kind of a fifties-movie-star glamour.

Maybe she knew she was being watched because she woke up and got back to work on her Starbucks. Without looking at Newell, she began writing furiously in her pad.

“Inspiration?” Newell wasn’t so much curious as he was trying to stay awake. Making conversation with a pretty woman was a bonus.

Amanda looked up. “Just writing down any possible questions I can think of for the pols.”

“C’mon,” he said. “What’s the likelihood that it’s a politician?”

“Low, I grant you. But so many of these people attract hangers-on and whackos. It’d be stupid not to ask them, right?” She gave Newell a hard look.

He said nothing.

“Is there a problem,” she said, “my operating in your territory?”

“Not mine at all. Capital police territory, we just cover the real people.” Newell’s smile didn’t get Amanda’s lips curving. “No, no problem. Even if it was my turf. I was just thinking out loud. Truth is, I have seen plenty of those yokels and no matter how they undermine each other on one bill, next day they’ve got their arms around each other on another one. Take Davida. She’s worked on several projects with Eileen Ferunzio and at that time, they were the best of friends.”

“You kept in contact with Davida.”

“We’d run into each other now and then. Like I said, work brings me to the cap. I used to see Eileen and Davida eating lunch together all the time.” Newell shrugged. “Not so much lately.”

“Any occasional lunches between you and Davida?”

Newell’s smile was easy, but cold. “Oh, I see where this is going. Let me get it on the table: we were just friends…not even close friends. My wife didn’t like her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Jill’s just that way. She met the woman and took an instant dislike to her. Every time Davida called I knew it was her, by the look on Jill’s face.”

“Why’d Davida call you?”

“I was her contact in the police department, she was my contact in the halls of government. Mutually beneficial relationship, but nothing more. The woman was gay, Amanda. That means she don’t like men.”

“Some gays have relationships with the opposite sex.”

“Well, if she was doing a guy, I didn’t know about it. Why would I? We didn’t work like that.”

Amanda nodded. “You don’t mind my asking you these questions, do you, Don?”

“Not at all,” he said glibly. “It’s good for me. Gives me empathy for what it’s like on the other side of the table.”