The Return of the Fallen Angels Book Club (A Hollis Morgan Mystery 3) (18 page)

H
ollis sat in her car in front of the Patterson house and looked pensively at the large residence, with its family stories and secrets. The fog was slowly beginning to burn away on the East Bay side but San Francisco was still fogged in.

She jumped at the tap on her car window.

“Morning, Hollis.” Shelby smiled. “Thanks for meeting us here. Dad brought me. He got one of those throw-away cameras so he can take pictures.”

Darol stood at the foot of the front steps looking at Hollis as if pleading for her not to bring up the events of the past few days. Then he turned away and took a picture of the house.

Hollis knew that she would never understand the ins and outs of this father-stepdaughter relationship. Its only consistency was its inconsistency. Shelby had agreed not to press charges against Darol but wasn’t convinced that Sonny and Joy should not be held accountable.

Hollis got out and locked the car. “Good morning,” she said. “Hello, Darol. We need to get going, Shelby. I know you have a plane to catch.”

Shelby moved up the steps and opened the door.

Darol walked up to Hollis. “Er … ah, I’m sorry for all the mess my kids created. I didn’t know … I mean I didn’t think they would ….” He licked his lips. “I’ve done some real stupid things out of desperation—the real estate offer, I mean. She told me you talked her into giving me the opportunity to rent the house. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hollis shrugged. “I’m glad it turned out to be okay.”

They went through the house, room by room. It didn’t take long. Darol took pictures, some with Shelby standing next to some memento, but most without her.

“Dad, look … there’s a shed in the back. I forgot it was there.” Shelby stood, looking out the kitchen window. “Let’s go outside.”

Hollis followed behind the two of them. She had never really looked at the yard either. The gardener had cleared the overgrowth and trimmed the grass. The grass was brown and patchy but clipped and presentable. A small shed stood in the far corner of the yard.

“This used to be my mother’s garden room,” Darol said.

Hollis heard Shelby gasp when she entered.

“Oh wow, this is cool. Dad, look at this,” Shelby said in amazement.

But Darol was already looking. The medium-sized room was filled with pictures and posters of him playing sports, receiving trophies, and posing with classmates. There was a tall shelf of toys and a stack of child-drawn pictures. Another held record albums, tape cassettes, and CDs. Against the wall was a coat rack containing a few clothes covered in plastic to keep the dust off. It was a shrine of pride built by a mother for her son. Hollis walked around to look at each mini exhibit.

Peering around the room, Darol was silent. Shelby snapped his picture.

“Dad, look at this! Did you play the saxophone?”

He nodded, but said nothing as he picked up what looked to be a class ring.

Hollis observed him moving slowly around the shed. His eyes traveled around the table tops, taking everything in, over and over.

Soon Shelby, noticing his silence, quieted.

“Dad, you okay?” She came and took his arm. “Grandmother must have loved you a lot to turn this into a space …. It’s almost a museum, really, dedicated to you. All these … things … all these things that belonged to you when you were growing up.” She pointed around the room. “While you’re renting, you should take them out of here. I don’t think we should leave them behind for strangers to throw away.” She gently ran her fingers over a clay jar.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his expression solemn.

Finally he glanced at Shelby and nodded agreement. Then he gave Hollis a long look, tears brimming in his eyes, and walked heavily back into the light of day.

From her car, Hollis watched father and daughter embrace each other for a long moment. With irritation, she blinked away a tear attempting to form in her own eye, and as she watched them drive away, she knew one chapter was ending and another beginning.

T
he Fallen Angels sat restlessly around the library conference table.

“First Jeffrey and now his son—both gone in less than six weeks,” Gene said. “Hollis, what’s your read on why Todd was killed?”

She shrugged. “Probably for the usual reason; he knew too much. Or he stumbled onto somebody’s secret.”

Miller paused with a crane. “You think Frances killed him?”

“I don’t know.” Hollis frowned in concentration. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t strike me as someone who likes to get her hands dirty, but she’s involved somehow.”

“Well, does anybody have any ideas about what we’re going to do about Jeffrey’s killer?” Rena asked. “Where do we go from here?”

Richard sucked on a tooth. “Maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Maybe Jeffrey was killed by someone we haven’t thought of—someone who didn’t mean to kill him.” He raised his hand to forestall the coming protests from his fellow Angels. “I know it was premeditated, but maybe it had nothing to do with the trust, and nothing to do with his caseload.”

“Where are you going with this?” Gene asked with a hint of irritation.

“For instance,” Richard said, “what if Jeffrey had a mistress?”

“Jeffrey?” Miller said shaking his head.

“There’s no way.” Rena gave him a high sign. “Not Jeffrey. He never struck me as someone who even cared about a personal life.”

Hollis said with a raised voice, “And yet he married twice, raised two sons and lived a very real family life.”

“Do you know that or are you just making it up?” Gene asked. “I mean about the family life. Neither of his two sons appear to be particularly warm, and while I don’t know what his first wife was like, Frances doesn’t come off as being particularly affectionate either.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Maybe he went elsewhere for companionship,” said Richard.

“So, are we saying that his mistress killed him because they had a falling out or because he wouldn’t leave Frances for her?” Miller finished another crane and added it to a small stack.

“Exactly,” Richard said.

Hollis stood. “I think we’re getting way off track. Let’s just look at what we do know. Jeffrey is murdered. Brian hires us to check out Frances and the trust. A trust I shouldn’t need to remind you does not rival the Rockefellers’; in fact just the opposite. Frances, while clearly able to hold back any feelings of grief, appears to have spent all of five minutes mourning the loss of her husband. She has moved on with her life with amazing speed to partner in a casino. Then the police arrest Brian, who seems convinced that he’s not going to jail even though there are no other real suspects.” She walked from one end of the table to the other and back again. “And that’s another interesting point—why aren’t there other suspects?”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Jeffrey may have had a mistress.” Richard responded.

“I’m sorry Richard, but I just don’t get that feeling,” Rena said. She sat back down and slapped the table. “I just had an idea. Suppose Frances owed money to her gambling buddies and they took it out on Jeffrey as a warning.”

“That wasn’t just a warning; that was the end,” Gene said.

Hollis nodded. “I know, but maybe things got out of hand. And here’s where I agree with Rena: they didn’t mean to kill Jeffrey but maybe things escalated.”

“Hollis, not that I doubt your deductive skills, but wouldn’t the police have found something that points to a gang or mob hit?” Gene said. “And Rena, don’t correct me. I know your contacts aren’t necessarily the mob.”

“Not necessarily,” Richard said under his breath so that only Hollis could hear.

Rena added, “And you’d think a mob hit would not be a messy stomach wound; it would be a head shot.”

Gene raised his eyebrows. “Good point.”

Miller pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Do the police have any clues about Todd’s killer?”

Hollis started to shake her head, but then shrugged. “Maybe … I don’t know. I promised not to interfere in police business, remember?” Her thoughts drifted back to that day in the restaurant. “Todd and I were talking and then he was gone. I still can’t believe it, and I still can’t figure out how the killer knew we would be there.”

“But you yourself said you were able to help the police identify the potential killer,” Gene said. “I think they owe you some information sharing.”

Hollis sat down again and picked up her pen. “If we step back and put Richard’s premise of a mistress on hold … let’s suppose whoever killed Jeffrey also killed Todd. Messy or not, maybe Jeffrey’s messy killing couldn’t be helped.”

“So now the finger points to Frances,” Richard said. “She definitely had motive, means, and—who knows?—opportunity. Jeffrey, and now Todd.” He shook his head. “Seems a bit too much, but from what you’ve told us about her, I agree with you. My gut tells me she’s just greedy, not homicidal.”

“If all this is correct, wouldn’t that put Brian in line for being knocked off?” Rena asked. “I would think that if Frances wants the trust processed as quickly as possible, he’s the only one left in her way.” She gestured a time-out with her hands. “I know, Hollis, it’s not big enough to fight over, but it sure holds a fascination for a lot of people. And Brian wants to make sure Frances isn’t up to something. Well, wouldn’t Brian be a problem?”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Hollis said, “because Frances has use of all the proceeds for the term of her life; then the remainder passes to Brian. Brian was no threat to Frances.”

“What about the divorce?” Gene asked.

“What about it?” Hollis said.

“Well, she was leaving him anyway.” Gene held his pen as a pointer for an unseen board. “Did she agree to come up with the money for the casino before or after she filed for divorce—and more interestingly, before or after Jeffrey was killed?”

Hollis bit her lip and stared at him. “Gene, you’re a genius.” She turned to Rena. “Will you take me to your connections? I’d like to talk to them directly. I can’t think of all my questions ahead of time.”

Rena gave a small laugh. “My ‘connections’? You make it sound like my connections are the criminal underground. It’s just my cousin Nate. His business card says ‘financial consultant,’ but the family knows he’s a bookie—a bookie, not a gangster.”

“Okay then, can you set up a meeting with Nate?” Hollis asked. “Can you make it happen this evening or maybe first thing in the morning? The trust hearing is next Thursday.”

Rena had slipped out of the Fallen Angels meeting, called her cousin, and asked him to meet them right afterward. Nate Gabriel’s office was located at the back of one of the oldest and most popular barber shops in East Oakland.

As backroom offices went, Nate’s was clean, orderly, and filled with enough electronics to make any Silicon Valley techie proud. He looked to be in his forties—he was starting to bald and beginning to show a bulging middle. Like so many in Rena’s family, he had a smooth
café au lait
complexion. However, he had the build and stature of a linebacker.

Rena and Hollis entered the office from the rear of the building. Hollis wasn’t clear if that was to shelter her from the eyes of the customers or the other way around. Nate and Rena exchanged hugs, and Hollis shook Nate’s outstretched hand. The man towered over them both.

“Miss Morgan, good to meet you. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

Hollis smiled. “Please call me Hollis. And no, thank you, I’m fine.”

“Hollis drinks tea, Nate,” Rena said. “Do you have any tea?”

He gave a small chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I drink tea too.” He opened a small cabinet behind the desk. “Oolong, green, white, or jasmine?”

Hollis smiled broadly and shook her head. “I hate to say no to a fellow tea drinker, but really, nothing for me.”

He motioned for them to sit and then took the seat behind his massive desk. “Well then, what can I do for you two?” He looked from Rena to Hollis and back to Rena.

“I’ll start and let Hollis finish up,” Rena said. “You remember I told you about my ex-parole officer and how he was murdered. You helped me get some information on Frances Wallace, and it helped us narrow down what she might be up to, but we still haven’t been able to figure out exactly what she’s got going on.”

Rena and Hollis had just enough space between two computer monitors for them to see Nate’s pensive look.

“What can I tell you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Hollis. “Frances is game enough to play with the big boys. I didn’t really know her until Rena asked me to look into her gambling habit, and she has a nice one. But she keeps it together. I would say she’s more of an investor than a player. She doesn’t play against the house; she wants to
be
the house.”

Hollis leaned forward. “But where does she get her money?”

Nate shrugged. “Remember, I said she ‘wants’ to be the house. Frances doesn’t have any long money, but she’s hanging out with people who do.” He started to rock back and forth in his office chair. “You want my opinion? These people are tolerating her for now because it’s not costing them. Frances is like an intern. She wants to learn and she has good organizational skills that are always needed in our business. And more importantly—”

Just then his cellphone trilled one of the latest pop hits.

Nate looked down at the caller. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

They got up. He motioned for them to stay.

Rena and Hollis sat with their hands in their laps and pretended not to listen. They didn’t have to pretend long. The conversation on Nate’s end consisted of one word, “No.” He clicked off.

“Now, where was I?” he asked.

Hollis smiled. “You were talking about Frances’ aspirations and administrative abilities. But I have a different question. Could these business people get anxious enough to kill if they thought someone was standing in the way of Frances coming up with her share?”

Nate pursed his lips and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he did speak, he spoke as if he thought Hollis could be wearing a wire. “I don’t know anybody who does hits.” He turned to Rena. “And I don’t know much more than what I’ve already told you.”

Hollis sensed his sudden reticence. “Nate, did Rena ever tell you how we met?” Hollis smiled.

“Er … no. She told me you were a lawyer. Why?”

Rena rubbed her mouth with her fingers in a vain attempt to hide her smile.

Hollis said, “I’ve served time. Rena and I shared that ex-parole officer she mentioned. And believe me, I know about the business.”

“Well, well.” Nate tilted his head and peered at her with a new speculation. “Okay then, we understand each other and the circumstances we’re dealing with.”

Rena leaned in. “Nate, if there was any question about Hollis, I wouldn’t have brought her to see you.”

He shrugged.

Hollis held her hand out. “Hey, I trust very few people, so I understand. Would it be possible for you to find out when Frances actually got involved with the casino deal in Nevada? We could use an actual date, or at least the week she started showing real interest.”

He nodded. “Hmmm, sure, I can try to find out.” He leaned forward. “But I can tell you that the deal is legit. I know some of the people involved and they are on the up and up. Despite what you read in the papers, these are solid businessmen who can’t afford to be on the wrong side of the law.”

He looked at Rena. “Check back with me in the morning, that is, if you don’t hear from me tonight.”

Hollis looked over at John. His slight snore made her smile. He’d surprised her by coming home early from his training; she had only beaten him home by minutes. Dinner was her favorite takeout Chinese chicken salad. They both were tired and had almost fallen asleep at the table.

She touched his bare shoulder with her finger as if to make sure he was really there. He shifted slightly, but the snoring continued. She lay back and smiled. It felt good to have him in her bed, and she looked forward to their weekend together. She was glad their relationship wasn’t defined by artificial conversation and could handle the intimacy of silence. She wanted to wake him and give him a big hug. She wondered if they lived together if it would be this comfortable, this much love every day. But no, she knew better. She’d been married before, in love before, betrayed before.

She couldn’t sleep. Reaching for her robe and slippers, she slipped out of bed and went into the kitchen. She punched numbers into the phone.

“Hollis, what’s wrong? Why are you calling me so late? It’s after midnight.” Stephanie’s voice sounded sleepy and mildly irritated.

“I need your help.” Hollis walked around her kitchen pulling out two leftover chicken wings from the refrigerator.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because John is upstairs and he probably wouldn’t …. I don’t want him to know what I’m up to.”

She yawned. “What are you up to?”

“First thing in the morning, can you find out what Mosley has on Brian Wallace?” Hollis crossed her fingers.

Stephanie howled, “Oh, no. How am I supposed to do that? This is an active investigation. I’m in the Forensics Division, not Operations.”