Dead in the Water (9 page)

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13

The hospital was on
the same side of town as AT&T Park. It wouldn’t take me too long to get there and meet up with Justin. A few innings of baseball should keep my mind off my car. There was nothing random about what happened. The message was clearer each time I thought about it. Cease and desist. My inquisitiveness into the Waddell death and Jackie’s accident was considered ugly meddling by someone.

I walked past the Giants Dugout store toward McCovey Cove. The game against the LA Dodgers was already in the third inning. I didn’t see Justin so I inched my way forward into the crowd until I was standing against the fence.

The big hot-headed right fielder, Eddie Martinez, was only 25 yards in front of me. If the Giants are in the field, and Eddie misses a ball, the crowd at the Port Walk can be vocal. At the beginning of his career with the Giants, Martinez was known to end an inning with his face pressed against the fence, shouting insults right back. But that ‘I’m going to kick your ass’ attitude had mellowed with time on the field. Today, the Port Walk crowd applauded him after he made a dive to catch a fly ball.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. “You made it.”

I turned around. There was Justin.

“Have you been standing there long?” I asked.

“Just walked over. Glad you could spare some time.”

I reluctantly moved away from the front of the crowd and the game. I followed Justin over to the railing overlooking McCovey Cove. There were at least 15 kayakers and paddleboarders drifting around in the cove, waiting patiently for a ball to be launched out of the ballpark into the water.

“Party in the Cove,” said Justin, staring at the enthusiastic fans on the Bay.

“Well, I needed a little R&R.” Then I told him about my car.

“That’s too bad. Any idea who did it?”

“Not a clue. But I think it’s a way of telling me to back off.”

“Back off from what?” Justin asked.

“I don’t know if you heard. Remember the woman that was hanging on Mike Menton’s arm after the pier swim?”

“Jackie? Yeah. Why?”

“Well, she had an automobile accident on the way home. She drove off a cliff on Highway 1.”

“No. Really? I didn’t know. How is she doing?”

“Not so good. I just stopped by to visit her and drop off some flowers from the office. She’s connected to all sorts of tubes and machines. She will be out of the water for a long time.”

“Too bad.”

“You know, I don’t think it was an accident.”

A roar went up from inside the ballpark. It took a minute or two until it quieted down. So we stood there, awkwardly and waited.

“Sure it was. What else could it be?” said Justin.

“This is going to sound strange. I want to show you something.”

We walked over to a bench by the Marina entrance to the ballpark and sat down. I pulled out my pack of 3 x 5 cards.

“What are those?” Justin asked.

“Remember, two weeks ago when your pal Dick Waddell died? Well, I think his death and Jackie’s accident are related. And I think the brick through my car window is part of the same story. Look, I put everything about the events on these cards.”

I spread the cards out on the bench. There was a card for Waddell, one for Jackie, one for Mike Menton, one for his darling daughter, Daisy, one for the brother-in-law, Spencer and his wife, Pamela.

“Spencer? You know Spencer?” He picked up each card and read them. “I don’t get it. What’s this supposed to prove?”

“From what I can tell, the one common denominator is Mike Menton.”

“Mike? You think he’s connected with Dick’s death, that he keyed your car, and somehow made Jackie crash at the Cove? What do you think he did… tamper with her brakes or something like that?”

“Granted, it sounds farfetched. He seems to be the connecting link. But that doesn’t make him anything more than that…just a link.”

“If you’re looking for people who knew both of them, there are plenty of those. Me, for instance, and the whole open water swim community for starters.”

“Maybe someone has a grudge against open water swimmers and wants to get rid of them or some of them. Maybe, he or she, doesn’t want me asking questions.”

Justin just stared at me in disbelief.

“Why? What’s the reasoning? That makes no sense at all.”

“I need to talk to Mike Menton. One conversation, that’s all it would take. I’d get a sense of who he is and his involvement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty good at reading people, but he won’t talk to me. You saw what happened at the swim. Maybe I should talk to Waddell’s sister? Maybe she can tell me something about what was going on in his life.”

“Pamela? I knew her back in high school, too. Look, she just suffered a tremendous loss. This would upset her even more. Besides, I told you all about Dick last weekend.”

“You said you two hadn’t been in touch very much since he moved here. Maybe Pamela can help me figure this out.”

“Well, Pamela won’t be able to help you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She…Look. You’re trying to put two and two together and get four. But there is no two and two. There’s no nothing. Take your cards,” and he picked them up and handed them to me. “Now put them away or better yet, walk over to the railing and toss them into McCovey Cove.”

I gave the cards one last look and put them back into my bag.

“You’re not going to throw them away, are you?”

I shook my head. “If these accidents are connected, I’m going to find out. One brick is not going to stop me.”

“I have an idea. To help calm that overactive mind of yours, how about coming to a baseball game on Saturday with me? I have field club level seats behind home plate. We’ll be on TV.”

As he said that, my conspiracy theory and bull dog determination evaporated like bay fog on a sunny day. I had been asked on a date. A real date. And to a baseball game to boot. I hadn’t been asked out by anyone since before I was married, 10 years ago. You bet I was going to go.

“Sure. After what happened to my car, I need to look forward to something. Who do they play?”

“Would you say no if you didn’t like the team?”

“Well, some teams are better than others.”

“That’s not quite the response I was looking for.”

“Sorry. I’d love to go to a game with you no matter who they are playing. But I hope it’s a good team.”

I looked at my watch. “I need to get back to work. My lunch hour has been stretched a little too far.”

As we started to walk toward King Street, a roar went up from inside the ballpark. We both looked up at the same time. Over the top of the right field brick wall flew a small white baseball, sailing toward San Francisco Bay. Inside the ballpark huge fountains of mist shot into the air and the deep rumble of fog horns blasted to celebrate the home run.

Looking like a comet speeding toward earth, the baseball landed with a splash in McCovey Cove and all the kayakers and board paddlers frantically stroked toward it. One guy in a wetsuit dove off his paddleboard and reached the ball first. He was quickly followed by a kayaker who managed to run him over, pushing him underwater. But the swimmer bobbed up on the other side of the boat, raised his hand in the air, clutching the baseball in a victory salute. A cheer went up from the makeshift flotilla in McCovey Cove.

“That’s where your cards belong,” said Justin.

“They’re staying right where they are,” I said.

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14

As soon as I
walked back in the office, Bill tossed me a set of car keys.

“You have a ride home. That doctor friend of yours from SF Memorial dropped off these. Guess his dad and uncle own a body shop in Pleasanton. They picked up your car and took it with them. Oh, this car he left you…he said it’s yellow.”

“Thanks. Can’t wait to see what it is. Dr. T is an old school car fanatic, so are the men in his family. I can guarantee you that this will be a very hot car.”

“Why don’t you go home? It’s quiet right now and I’m here for the rest of the day.”

That’s all it took. I headed for the door.

The round key ring had the license plate number written on a circular white tab. I walked up and down the rows of cars in the large outdoor parking lot in Fort Mason comparing plate numbers. I checked out about 50 cars parked in front of my building. No luck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright yellow vehicle parked close to the lot entrance.

“Oh no, this can’t be it.” I walked over and compared plates. I would be driving home in a completely restored 1978 Checker Cab, bright yellow, with trademark checkerboard black trim. It even had its original Checker top light on the roof.

I climbed into the big boxy car and ran my hand along the brown supple leather. The dashboard was flat, perfectly vertical. The back seat with its two jump seats was spacious.

“I could fit 12 people in here.”

This would be a very interesting ride home.

Terrel was on the phone with his father discussing cars when I walked in the house.

“No, Pop. I don’t want those wheels. Just tell me the best place to buy tires for the Charger up here in Marin County? (Pause) Yes, she’s here. She just walked through the door. I’m sure she loves the car.”

I rolled my eyes and Terrel smiled.

“I’ll tell her. Now, please answer the question. Where do I go for the tires, Pop? The tires. Remember, the tires. Petaluma Swap meet? Yes, finally. Thank you.”

Terrel clicked off the phone. “Talking to my father is exhausting. So what do you think? Great ride, isn’t it? It’s Pop’s pride and joy. He just said that if you pick up any fares, you need to split with him.”

“Not so funny,” I said. “Two guys tried to get in the cab when I stopped for a red light on Lombard. They finally went away when I said I was off duty.”

“Okay, you’re set. Question for you. Have you learned anything more about the swimmer that might have had a heart attack a week ago?”

“Besides that he died? Well, I found some capsules in his swimbag, so I suggested to his sister they have them tested. I was even going to volunteer your help.”

“Have they done an autopsy?”

“His sister has requested one. Why?”

“The accident victim, the woman who drove off a cliff south of Half Moon Bay.”

“Jackie Gibson?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Her preliminary tox screen came back. Let’s just say it isn’t what I expected.”

“She tested positive for some type of drug, didn’t she?”

“Do you think this has anything to do with the Waddell death?” asked Lena, walking into the room.

“Couldn’t tell you without more information. Right now, the only connection is that they were both swimmers and they knew each other.”

“Well, I think they are related and I am sure that the brick through my car window was a warning. And somehow Mike Menton is involved. I came by to see you today. Well, actually, it wasn’t you. Our office gave flowers to Jackie. I…uh…had a chance to look at her test results. They had been left on the computer screen by her bed.”

Terrel shook his head. “That’s not supposed to happen. Go ahead. What else?”

I pulled out the envelope with the results I jotted down. Terrel looked at it.

“This tells the story of a woman whose judgment was impaired because of something she ingested. She shouldn’t have been driving. You know the old, ‘don’t operate heavy machinery’ on the medication warning labels. Her car didn’t malfunction. She did. Jackie had a very bad reaction to something, probably drugs. Her whole nervous system went haywire. My guess is that this is what caused her to have the accident.”

“Could it have been some form of performance enhancing drugs, steroids?”

“I could get in trouble for talking about this—privacy laws and all—but she tested positive for a crystalline tropane alkaloid.”

“A what?”

“She tested positive for cocaine, or at a bare minimum, a substance made primarily of cocaine. This is a very powerful stimulant of the nervous system. If you’re an athlete, you’re going to feel in the zone, like you can conquer anything. It’s possible that this is HT2, the drug that Kapoor talked about the other day.”

I sat back and looked at T.

“Cocaine?”

“Yes,” said Terrel. “I’m afraid so. There’s more. It looks like the cocaine was cut with some sort of amphetamine, probably meth.”

Lena had gone back into the kitchen and came back in with a handful of grapes. She threw one at me and one at T.

“What are you two deep in discussion about now?”

“Jackie’s accident might not have been so much of an accident.”

Lena was interested.

“Terrel thinks she might have had a bad reaction to a drug.”

“One of your designer street drugs, right?” Lena said.

“Unfortunately, yes. One that was made up of cocaine and meth,” he said.

“I don’t believe it. I flat out don’t believe it. From what I heard, Jackie was a femme fatale, not a junkie,” Lena said. “She didn’t care if she finished in the top five or the top 50. She used those open water swims as a trolling ground for men. So why would she take any drugs at all? Didn’t we have this same conversation about Dick Waddell a few weekends ago?”

“That was only speculation. At the time, I didn’t think that Waddell’s’ death was anything more than cardiac arrest. This isn’t speculation, I’m afraid. I have the test results, and now so does your sister.”