Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (18 page)

When the room stopped spinning I slowly sat up, lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply.

“Did they find a case file with my name on it in his desk?”

“No. Nothing in the office with your name on it, except that message you left on his machine.”

“So I’m a suspect?”

“A person of interest, yes. You should probably give the Sheriff’s Department a call before they come looking for you. Ask for Detective Dietrich.”

“He was killed because of me, wasn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. There’s no evidence to indicate that.”

“Yes, there is. He had a file on me. When I was in his office I started reading the labels on his file folders and he grabbed one and locked it in his desk, in the lap drawer. If they didn’t find that file, the odds are he was killed by someone who didn’t want me to find out they had hired him. What about his computer? Has anyone gone through his computer files?”

“Not yet.”

“Jesus. You know any good bodyguards?”

“If you’re serious, I could recommend a couple of people.”

“Why don’t you give me their names and numbers?”

He wrote down three names and phone numbers, saying all of them were police officers who did some moonlighting as bouncers or bodyguards.

“I gotta get back to the station,” he said, reluctantly. “Can we have dinner tomorrow night instead of tonight?”

“Sure. Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll meet you here.” He started toward the door.

“Bill…do you mind if I call you Bill?”

He turned back to me. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean no.”

“Thanks for telling me in person.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Chapter 25

I
put out my cigarette, took a deep breath, and called the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. I asked for Detective Dietrich and was promptly connected.

“Dietrich.” It was a woman’s voice.

“Is this Detective Dietrich?” I asked.

“Yeah. Can I help you?”

“This is Nicoli Hunter.”

She was silent for a moment, and then said, “The Nicoli Hunter who left a voice-mail message for Ralph Hearn yesterday?”

“That’s me. I just spoke with Detective Anderson here in Redwood City. He suggested I give you a call.”

“Would you be willing to come in so I can ask you a few questions?”

“I’d really rather answer them over the phone, if you don’t mind.”

She thought about that. “I’d prefer to discuss this matter in person, Ms. Hunter. And the sooner the better.”

I couldn’t really blame her. In her place, I’d want to watch my suspect’s reactions too.

“Of course. I can be there in fifteen minutes. Will that work for you?”

“Yeah. That’ll work. You know how to get here?”

“I think so. Are you in the County Center building?”

“Yep. See you in fifteen.”

She hung up without another word.

County Center is off Middlefield Road in Redwood City. Not all that far from the marina. I could be there in five minutes, but needed the extra time to make photocopies of my receipts from my lunch with Betsy and my bar and restaurant surveys from last night, in case Dietrich needed to be convinced of my whereabouts.

I stuffed the photocopies in my purse, locked the office, and trudged out to the parking lot feeling guilty for my small role in Hearn’s death. I never should have told him I was investigating a homicide. I’d been too eager to badger the name of his client out of him. I really hate feeling guilty. Hearn was a low life, but he didn’t deserve to die.

I pulled into the County Center lot, collected my purse, and locked the 2002. Just because there were a lot of cops around didn’t mean my sweet little ride would be safe.

In the lobby I used an internal phone to dial Dietrich’s extension. She said she’d be right out, and I shuddered with anticipation. I’d never been a murder suspect before, or even a person of interest.

Dietrich marched into the lobby only seconds after I’d hung up the counter phone. She was about five-three and a hundred and twenty pounds of muscle dressed in khakis and a navy polo shirt. Her short dark curls framed an oval face unadorned by make-up. She looked about my age, but the wrinkles between her eyebrows had been deepened by years of frowning. In her line of work, that made perfect sense.

She held out her hand as she approached, “Ms. Hunter. Thank you for coming in.”

“Not a problem.” I took the proffered hand and she briefly crushed my fingers.

“Follow me, please.”

Dietrich escorted me through a series of corridors and into a small interrogation room. When she’d closed the door and flipped a counter switch, she said, almost as an afterthought, “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”

Clearly the recording had already begun.

“Not at all.”

Dietrich announced her name and mine and the time and date, then wasted no time getting down to business.

“Your voicemail message to Mr. Hearn yesterday was a little cryptic. What did you mean when you said he had until noon,” she glanced at some notes in front of her, “and then you planned to make good on your threat?”

“He’d been hired to follow me,” I said. “I assume you know I’m also a PI?”

“Anderson told me.”

I described the attempted assault at the
Fanny Pack,
and repeated the story of my encounter with Hearn in his office, including my threat to reveal his incompetence to my primary suspects, and to go to the newspapers and radio stations.

She listened without comment until I had finished, then said, “Let me get this straight. When you said he had until noon, all you meant was that if you didn’t hear from him who his client was by noon yesterday, you would tell some people that you knew he had been following you, and then go to the press and tell them he had attempted to assault you?”

“That’s right.”

“And did you do those things?”

“Yes. Well, I didn’t go to the press, but I called several people and told them I’d spotted him following me.”

“Who, exactly?”

“Laura Howard’s parents, her half-brother Rod, and her former fiancé, Charles Spencer.”

She asked me for their phone numbers and addresses, and I gave them to her.

“Can you tell me where you were between five and ten p.m. last night?”

“I was doing bar and restaurant surveys for two of my regular clients. I brought photocopies of my receipts.” I pulled the pages out of my bag and passed them across the table to her. “So the coroner has determined time of death?”

Dietrich gave me a guarded look, set the receipts aside, and nodded somewhat curtly.

“That’s all for now,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions. Please remain available.”

“Is that another way of saying don’t leave town?”

Dietrich was not amused. I made sure she had my office and home phone numbers, and she walked me back out to the lobby.

I lit a cigarette as soon as I’d locked myself in my car. I felt as though someone had run a thousand volts through my adrenal glands. My hands were shaking and my skin was clammy. Hearn had been murdered because he could point the finger at Laura’s killer. I was certain of that. Maybe he’d even tried to blackmail the person who’d hired him.

When I got back to my office I pulled the flash drive out of my purse, popped it into the computer, and added the details and timing of Hearn’s murder to the file.

When the mail carrier stomped into the office I almost had a heart attack. I gave her my outgoing mail and accepted the small stack she had for me. When she left, I locked the door behind her and looked through the mail. There was a payment from Kate Howard. I noted the amount and slipped it into my wallet.

I checked the magazine in the Glock and took a spare mag out of my gun drawer, making sure it was also fully loaded. I toyed with the idea of having an alarm installed and decided to price them. For the first time since I’d rented the office I felt exposed and vulnerable, being surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and glass doors.

Since I wasn’t having dinner with Anderson, I could take care of my regular clients. I checked the schedule and grabbed some forms, then locked up the office.

I wanted to change clothes before going out, so I headed down the companionway to the docks. Elizabeth was out on her steps talking to K.C. She watched me for a minute and then said, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you having dinner with Detective Hottie tonight?”

“We’re having dinner tomorrow night instead. You know that PI from San Mateo I told you about? The one who tried to mug us at the
Fanny Pack
?”

“Of course.”

“Well, he’s dead.”

“Oh,” she said. “Your hair looks great.”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“I heard you. What’s your point?”

“He was murdered, and the case file on me was taken from his office.”

“Did he have a computer?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“I don’t know yet. The police have to check the files.”

“How was he killed?” she asked.

“He was strangled with fishing wire.”

“Gross. You think he was killed because you talked to him?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I’m thinking about getting an alarm for the office. Maybe hiring a bodyguard. I’m carrying the Glock,” I patted my purse, “and I’m hoping to get a good night’s sleep.”

“You must be getting close.”

I nodded. “I just wish I knew what I was getting close to.”

“Have you eaten today?” Elizabeth has a way of simplifying things. “I have low fat lasagna.”

“That sounds great, but I have to get some bar and restaurant surveys done. You wanna come?”

“Absolutely. As long as you don’t keep me out too late.”

We had drinks in three different bars, nibbled at dinner in two restaurants, and talked more about the investigation. I told Elizabeth I was taking the pictures of Charles and Fred to Kurt the hairdresser and Betsy the librarian the next day, and that I was having dinner with Fred on Friday. She approved of Bill, even though they hadn’t met, but asked what I hoped to gain by having dinner with Fred again.

“I don’t know. More insight into his character, I guess. Maybe a chance to search his car.”

We arrived back at the marina at half past ten and even before we got out of the car we heard D’Artagnon barking. If he sees, hears, or smells anyone he doesn’t recognize, he sounds an alarm that can be heard throughout the marina. Thinking of Ralph Hearn’s death, I wondered who was on the docks that didn’t belong there. I was glad I’d locked my pilothouse before going out. I don’t normally lock the boat, but I’d been feeling paranoid since the attempted mugging.

I walked with Elizabeth to her trawler and thanked her for coming out with me. On the way to my boat I stopped to scratch behind D’Artagnon’s ears and asked him what he’d been barking at. He responded by leaning his forehead up against mine. D’Artagnon does this a lot. It’s an expression of affection, like a canine hug, and it always touches my heart.

Chapter 26

D
’Artagnon started barking again at 2:40 Thursday morning. His tone was so outraged that I briefly considered going outside to see what was bothering him, but I was too tired to get out of bed and after a few minutes he stopped. I drifted back to sleep and dreamed I was being stalked by a faceless man with a hatchet.

I slept until 7:00 and woke up feeling anxious, still caught in the nightmare. I rolled out of bed, showered on board, and lingered over coffee and low fat lactose free yogurt while I watched the morning news. The murder of Ralph Hearn was a featured story.

At 9:00 I walked up to the office to check my e-mail and phone messages before going to the Mane Line to show Kurt the pictures of Charles and Fred. As I inserted my key in the lock the door swung open. I sucked in a breath and drew the Glock from my purse holster, dropping my bag on the ground.

All my senses went on high alert. I felt goose bumps erupt on my arms and neck. I knew I’d locked the office last night. My heart beat like a jackhammer as I stepped over the threshold, and my vision seemed to expand, taking in everything at once. The notepad on my desk was slightly askew. My swivel chair had been moved away from the desk. I always push the chair up against the desk before leaving to conceal the Ruger holstered under the lap drawer. The color printer near my wall safe had been moved a few inches to the left and the framed photo that covers the safe was slightly crooked.

I checked under the desk for my Ruger. It was still there.

At first glance nothing appeared to be missing. I walked slowly through the office. The computer, the printers, the fax machine, the microwave, the TV, and the VCR/DVD player were all in place. I reached the hallway and saw that the bathroom door was closed. I never close the bathroom door. It’s a tiny room and I get a little claustrophobic in there, so I lock my front door to insure privacy, rather than closing the door when I’m in the bathroom. Fortunately, the bathroom door faces the hallway and is not visible from the front of my office. My claustrophobia stems from childhood punishments; being locked in my bedroom.

I held the Glock in my right hand, took a deep breath, and flung the bathroom door open, crouching to make less of a target. The door slammed back against the wall and I could see in an instant that the room was empty, but there was no doubt someone had been in my space. The marina complex employs a janitorial service, but they only clean the public restrooms and the hallways. They don’t even have keys to the offices.

I walked back to the front door, retrieved my purse, and locked the door.

There was a message on my machine from Bill, asking me to give him a call when I got in. He’d called at 2:20 a.m. That was odd. I knew I’d given him my home number.

I booted up the computer and checked the file on Laura. All my files are password protected, but I checked the properties anyway. It hadn’t been opened since I’d saved it the day before. I unlocked the Pendaflex drawer and took out the folder on Laura’s case. It was just a bunch of notes, some pictures, Laura’s AMEX statements, the phone bill, the printed pages I’d photographed of the murder book, and the CIS reports.

Something felt funny to me. Handling the folder, I got goose bumps on my arms again. It’s easy to pick the lock on a desk drawer. Maybe the intruder had left his scent on the paper. Pheromones are subtle, yet they influence our every response to each other.

I picked up the phone, put it down again, and took out my cell. I called Bill Anderson and told him the office had been broken into.

“Have you got your door locked now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Keep it locked. I’ll be right over.”

“Can you bring a fingerprinting kit with you?”

“Sure, but stay put, and don’t open the door for anyone until I get there.”

While I was waiting for him to arrive I paced behind my desk, smoked a cigarette, and tried not to touch anything. I let my mind drift over the events of the past few days, trying to remember everything that had happened; lunch with Betsy from the library, my visit with Kurt at the Mane Line, the second trip to Derrick’s office, the phone call with Fred Wulf, the confrontation with Charles Spencer, Ralph Hearn’s death, my interview with Detective Dietrich, and my growing attraction to Bill.

I decided it was probably safe to handle the coffee pot.

When Bill arrived I noticed dark circles under his eyes and offered him a cup.

“Please,” he said, glancing dubiously at the Glock positioned on my desk blotter.

“Black?”

“Yeah, black is good.”

I poured us both coffee and as he tasted his a vague smile crossed his face. I buy good coffee. It’s one of my indulgences. I sat down behind my desk.

“Nikki, there’s been another murder,” Bill said.

My heart started pounding again. I tried to set down my cup, but my hand was shaking badly and I splashed some coffee on the desk blotter.

“Oh God,” I croaked. “Please tell me it wasn’t Kurt.”

Bill stared at me. I felt my eyes heat up and tried not to cry.

“You knew him?” he asked.

I sat there fighting the tears, unable to speak. The guilt was overwhelming. Eventually I collected myself enough to respond. “I told you he cut my hair yesterday,” I said, absentmindedly touching my head. “I was going back today to show him pictures of Fred Wulf and Charles Spencer. He said Andrew McConnell had been dating a man, and he could identify him. Someone must still be tailing me, but I swear I haven’t noticed anyone since Sunday night.” I took a breath. “How was he killed?”

“You don’t want to know. Is there more coffee?”

“You’re going to tell me. I have a right to know. And you’d better get someone over to the library to keep an eye on Betsy at the reference desk.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I talked to her too. Weren’t you listening yesterday? She worked with Barbara Herbert. I took her to lunch. I was going to see her later today with the same pictures. She probably won’t be able to ID the guy Barbara was with. She only saw him once, across a dark parking lot. But if I’m being followed, anyone I’ve questioned is at risk.”

He handed me his empty cup and took out his cell phone.

I refilled his cup while he called the precinct and arranged for someone to keep an eye on Betsy. When he hung up I looked at him expectantly.

“It’s ugly,” he said.

I sat back down, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Apparently Kurt was drinking at the I-Ching bar last night. Toxicology says someone slipped him some triazolam. It’s a tranquillizer, also known as Halcion.”

“I know what Halcion is. They’ve already done the autopsy?”

“Yeah.”

I remembered the Guinness I’d spilled on Fred at
The Wall
and got a queasy feeling in my stomach.

“He was drinking Jack Daniel’s, according to the bartender,” Bill continued. His voice was dispassionate, and he was watching my face, gauging my reaction. “His body was found in the alley behind the bar by a homeless couple. It’s the same alley where Barbara Herbert was killed. Something had been driven through his left eye and into his brain. Probably an ice pick. He’d also been raped, uh, sodomized.”

I was wrong. I wasn’t ready to hear this at all. I got up and ran for the bathroom. When I finished vomiting coffee and yogurt into the toilet, I brushed my teeth and rinsed with Listerine. I returned to my desk and lit a fresh cigarette.

“You said he’d been raped. How do they know it was forced?”

“Trauma to the surrounding tissue. Trojan Supra condom, again.”

“Kurt was a big guy.”

“He apparently had enough of the drug in him to make him passive, plus his blood alcohol level was extremely high.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s all my fault.”

“We don’t know for sure that there’s a connection.”

“Oh,
please
. Kurt described the man Andrew was dating to me. He said he was very GQ and full of himself. That sounds like Fred Wulf. Have they found a file on me in Hearn’s computer?”

“No, but he didn’t use his computer much. All of his current case files were handwritten.”

“Can you post a surveillance team outside Wulf’s house, and one outside Charles Spencer’s? And Derrick Howard should be watched too.” Might as well cover all my suspects at the RCPD’s expense while I was at it. Rod Howard lived in San Francisco. I wondered if Bill could have someone watch him too. My head was spinning. I took a deep breath.

“We’ve been watching Fred Wulf and both Derrick and Rod Howard,” Bill said. “Apparently Fred and Derrick stayed home last night.”

“There’s a side entrance to Wulf’s garage.”

He frowned at me and checked his notebook. “His lights were on until midnight, then they went out one room at a time. His Jag was parked in the driveway all night.”

“He could be using automatic timers on the lights and maybe he rented or borrowed another car, or slipped out the side door and took a cab. Hell, he could have walked to Redwood City. It’s only a couple of miles. What about Derrick?”

“He and his wife were visible through the front window until ten-fifteen, then the living room lights were turned off and lights in an upstairs bedroom toward the back of the house went on. The upstairs lights went out at ten-thirty.”

“And his car was in the garage all night?”

“The garage doors were closed all night. Rod Howard went out, but didn’t leave San Francisco.”

“You’re probably going to be too busy for dinner tonight.”

“I’ve gotta eat,” he said. “I just won’t have as much time as I would have liked.” He stood and walked around the desk. When I got up he wrapped his arms around me. “Don’t take it personally, Nikki. It’s not about you. I’ll see you at eight.” And he kissed me on the forehead.

I was speechless. There was some profound chemistry here and it had been a long time since I’d experienced profound chemistry. Then I remembered Kurt and plopped back into my chair.

“Lock the door behind me,” Bill said, as he exited. He stood outside the office until I got up and threw the deadbolt latch.

After he left I sat at my desk for several minutes feeling dazed. Then I added Kurt’s death to the growing file on Laura Howard. It was obvious to me that all the murders, starting with Laura’s, had been committed by the same monster. I read through the file again, wondering about the people I’d met since taking this case. In reality, any one of them could be the killer.

It struck me that Bill and I had both forgotten to do anything about the fingerprints in my office. Oh well. If it was the killer who broke in, there probably wouldn’t be any prints.

After typing up the previous night’s reports, I secured the Glock in my purse holster and drove to the library.