Too Many Cooks (24 page)

Angie sat quietly on a
metal chair and watched the proceedings. Yosh had been right behind Paavo and Henry, so he could help Paavo deal with the crime unit, the paramedics, the patrol officers who came to take Dustman in and book him, and Angie.

Paavo, always the consummate professional, had left her pretty much on her own once he saw she was all right. He had worked with the other officers, talked to Henry and the engineer, calmed Lacy, and made sure he read Dustman every right he had coming. No way was Paavo going to let this guy walk on some technicality.

At a point where the others quieted down a bit, Paavo walked over to Angie and held out his hand. She took it, and he led her into the corridor, backing her against a wall, his large frame shielding her from the curious stares of anyone who might wander into the hallway. His hands traced over her arms and shoulders. “You're so pale,” he said.

“I'm okay,” she answered softly. “I thought he was a friend, though. It's hard….” She bowed her head, unable to say more.

His fingers lightly stroked her cheek as his thumb outlined her brow, her chin; then, tipping her head upward, he lowered his mouth to hers in a light kiss.

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He held her close, until some warmth once again flowed through her veins and the shivering she hadn't even been aware of ceased. When she felt strong again, she straightened and pulled back from him, knowing he still had a lot of work to do.

He stepped back, seemingly ready to go inside, but then, surprising even himself, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a long heart-stopping kiss. She held him tight, kissing him back, loving him with all her heart.

A slight cough, then another, caused him to look up. Yosh stood in the corridor. “The paramedics are ready to take Henry, Lacy, and the engineer to the hospital. How about I go with them to get Lacy's and the engineer's statements?”

Paavo stepped away from Angie, trying unsuccessfully to appear nonchalant. “Sure. I'll deal with Dustman and get Angie's statement.”

Yosh nodded. “Seem to be doing that already,” he murmured, then he turned and headed back inside.

Paavo adjusted his tie and led Angie, who couldn't help but smile, back into the radio station.

As the officers hauled Dustman away, Angie told Paavo all that had happened and all that had been said.

She insisted on going down to Homicide with Paavo when his work was completed at the studio. The way her adrenaline was pumping, sitting quietly at home was the last thing she wanted to do. She might even think of something more to tell him.

Instead, she spent two hours sitting alone in the reception area. Finally she walked over to Yoshiwara's desk.

Yosh glanced at her. “I guess Paavo will be through interrogating Dustman sometime soon. I'll sure be interested in hearing why Dustman killed all those people.”

“Me, too.” Angie sighed. “I can only think of one reason, and it goes back to the first speech he made at Karl's funeral.”

“Oh? What's that?”

“Well, Mark kept talking about the restaurant as if it had been
theirs
—his and Karl's. And he said he'd been the one who talked Karl into coming to San Francisco in the first place.”

“So?”

“Well, Wielund's was on the verge of being number one in the city, a world-class restaurant. But everyone knows that to be a world-class restaurant, you absolutely must have a world-class chef. It's ironic, but quite often the cook who brings a restaurant up to a certain level of prominence isn't the one who continues to run it. Instead, as it nears the top, its owner looks for someone with a big reputation to give it a final boost. Karl knew this. So did Mark. I'd never actually heard that Karl was looking for a new chef, but with the money he was getting from Lacy, he would have been able to afford one of the best.”

“Interesting.”

“If Mark heard anything about Karl planning to throw him over for another chef, well—”

“Eileen Powell!” Yosh cried.

“What do you mean?”

“She'd gone to Paris. What better place to look for a new chef?” He raised his eyebrows in satisfaction.

“That's right.” A thought struck Angie. “I wonder if Eileen didn't suspect something like this, and that's why she got away from all these people.”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” Yosh said. “But now I have a question for you. Whatever made you tackle Dustman like you did?”

A shudder went through her. She remembered seeing Dustman pull the trigger and hit Henry; she remembered Paavo's wince as Henry's head banged into his shoulder, and how Dustman shifted his gun toward Paavo. She fought the dryness in her mouth as she looked up at Yosh. “I've seen Paavo shot once,” she said softly. “I wasn't about to chance seeing it again.”

Yosh nodded approvingly. “Got it.”

She ran her fingers over the side of her hair, pushing it back behind her ears. “I wonder why Paavo's taking so long?”

“I don't know. It can't be much longer. I expect he'll be back any minute.”

“Okay.”

“Why don't you go home, Angie? I can have him call you.”

She thought of how strained their relationship had been lately, until he showed her, at the radio station, that he still cared. She didn't want him to lose that feeling. “I'll wait a little while longer.”

She wandered over to Paavo's desk and sat in his chair.

“Sitting here, I can see what it's like working in Homicide. Maybe it'll help me understand him a little, right?”

Yosh smiled. “I think you understand him a lot better than you realize, Angie. Better than he realizes, too.”

Angie looked at the papers on his desk. Most were carefully placed in manila folders. A glance at Yosh's desk told her that not all detectives did that. Yosh's desk looked like a blizzard had struck it. She should have known Paavo was a neatness fanatic, organized and orderly. Maybe that was why she drove him so crazy.

She thumbed through the carefully labeled and alphabetized folders on the stand-up rack at the side of his desk: DANNING, GREUBER, KLAW, MARCUCCIO, WIELUND. Klaw? The others were all murder victims. But Klaw was still alive. She pulled the folder out of the rack.

“That's confidential, Angie,” Yosh said. “Not for the public. Sorry.”

“Oh, of course.” She pushed the folder aside, away from her, and folded her hands, waiting.

About ten minutes later, Yosh turned to her once more. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Love some.”

He went out to the coffee machine. Quickly, she slid her fingers inside the folder, grabbed the top pages, and pulled them out. Riffling through them, she came across a history of Klaw's prior arrests. She slid the other sheets back into the folder and placed
the history—a rap sheet, she thought it was called—on top of the folder. She folded her hands again.

Yosh came back into the squad room. Jumping up from Paavo's desk, she hurried over and took the coffee he'd bought for her. Thanking him, she returned to Paavo's desk. After a few sips of dirty dishwater posing as coffee, and a few smiles at Yoshiwara, she put the coffee down again, sidled a bit closer to the rap sheet, and, not touching it, began to read.

Klaw had been given only one conviction—heroin possession—with a suspended sentence if he'd enter a methadone program. She glanced over the page until her eye caught a name, then a date, twenty years earlier.

Axel Klaw, who at the time was still using his real name of Alexander Clausen, had been questioned concerning the death by heroin overdose of nineteen-year-old Jessica Smith. Angie stopped reading and shut her eyes briefly, her heart pounding. Then she read on.

Clausen, age twenty-five, was suspected of being a dealer, of introducing young people to drugs. But the police couldn't find anyone willing to testify against him. Clausen had been seen with Smith at local bars throughout the evening. Smith's family, a stepfather and young brother, swore she'd never used drugs before. She was found by her brother in Clausen's apartment. For lack of evidence, no charges were brought against Clausen. A reference was made to Jessica Smith's own file, where more detail of the investigation into her death could be found.

Angie carefully slid the rap sheet back in the file, then sat unmoving for a moment. Finally she picked up the coffee, leaned back in her chair, and then spun
it around so that she could stare out the window, lost in thought.

“Well, well, why do we have the honor of
her
presence?”

Angie looked up to see Inspector Luis Calderon talking to Yoshiwara. Yosh cast a reassuring glance at Angie before answering. “She's waiting for Paavo. I think he's wrapping up some interviews.”

Calderon grinned. “She's gonna have a long wait. I passed him driving down the street as I headed back here. He turned onto the Bay Bridge.”

Angie frowned. The Bay Bridge led to Berkeley—and Axel Klaw. She jumped to her feet. “Yosh, will you come with me? I think I know where he's gone.”

Astonished, Calderon yelled, “You can't let her drag you around, man. You got work to do. Paavo's a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“She's not dragging anyone anywhere, Luis. She did a damn fine job today for all of us. I think you owe her an apology. And I think you owe Paavo one as well.”

Angie wasn't about to wait. The thought of Paavo going off alone to face Klaw made her nerve endings do handsprings. Grabbing her purse, she ran to the elevator and pushed the down button again and again. Before the elevator arrived, Yosh was at her side.

Paavo sat in Axel Klaw's
office with Lieutenant Bert Janosky of the Berkeley Police Department. Klaw sat behind an enormous polished mahogany desk, a poster-size black-and-white photo of a woman's naked torso on the wall behind him. The walls of the office were painted black, and the upholstered furniture was red leather.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Klaw.” Lieutenant Janosky stood. “Since you know nothing about Karl Wielund or Mark Dustman or the other men he killed, I don't think it'll be necessary for you to come to the station at this time.”

Klaw beamed as he too stood. “My pleasure. I always cooperate with the police.”

Janosky looked at Paavo, who remained seated. “Shall we go, Inspector Smith?”

“You go ahead. I'd like to talk to
Mister
Klaw about something.”

“What's this?” Klaw demanded. “Haven't I cooperated enough?”

“This isn't your jurisdiction, Smith,” Janosky warned.

Paavo smiled coldly. “Let's just say I might be here as a customer.”

Janosky's mouth dropped open.

“Fine.” Klaw held out his hand to the lieutenant. “Janosky, it's been a pleasure, as always.”

They shook hands. “Remember, Klaw, keep your nose clean.” As he stepped toward the door, he gave Paavo a last glance. “You too, Smith.”

Paavo just nodded, and in a moment Janosky was gone.

Klaw eased himself back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head as he regarded Paavo. “You wanted to talk. I'm waiting.”

“I wanted to talk about Alex Clausen.”

Klaw stiffened and smiled mirthlessly. “I don't.”

“I want to talk about a string of murders Clausen was involved in. Starting with Jessica Smith and ending with Sheila Danning.”

Klaw blinked; then recognition filled his eyes. “Smith. A common name. Most Smiths aren't even related.”

“But some are.”

Klaw studied Paavo. “So that's it. The little brother grows up to become a hotshot cop, to right the injustices of the world.”

“That's it.”

Klaw held his hands out, palms up. “I don't know anything about anything. I'm clean. You can check.”

“And I've got Lacy LaTour, who I'm sure will be quite willing to say otherwise.”

“I don't think so.”

“She knew Sheila Danning. She knew where Sheila was and what she was doing the night she was murdered. That case is still alive and well—especially now that we know where to look. Somehow, Homicide thought Danning was a sweet young thing from Tacoma, struggling on a cocktail waitress's salary in the big city. How they ever got that idea, I don't know. I wonder if her so-called parents even
were
the real parents. Homicide went up one blind alley and down another with that case three months ago. But we're back on track now, and that track leads straight to you.”

Klaw removed his hands from the desktop and placed them in his lap. “You're just bluffing, Smith. You don't have anything on me, and you won't get anything.”

“You never know.”

“You don't know Lacy—or me.”

Something about the look in Klaw's eyes, the tightening of his jaw, warned Paavo. He pulled out his gun. “Don't try it, Klaw.”

Klaw's eyebrows lifted, then a malevolent grin spread over his face. “How'd you know I had it?” Klaw slowly lifted the gun he'd been concealing under his desk. It was pointed at Paavo. “Drop it, Smith.” His tone was icy. “Then leave. You shoot, and my boys will make sure you don't get out of here alive.”

The door swung open. “Mr. Klaw.” Dwayne from the front counter burst into the room. “These people insist—”

Paavo didn't turn to see who'd entered. He knew
the minute he took his eyes off Klaw he would be a dead man.

“Holy Christ!” The voice sounded like Yoshiwara's.

Klaw's eyes met Paavo's, and he slowly put down his gun on the desk, then pushed it forward, out of easy reach. Cautiously, Paavo placed his own gun on the desk. Then Klaw turned to the people who had burst in, and Paavo, for the first time, glanced their way. Dwayne still held the doorknob, his mouth agape. Yosh had his hand on his holster, and behind him, Angie was trying to look around his bulk.

Klaw smiled at their audience. “We were just showing off our revolvers. No need to look so startled, folks. No danger.”

Paavo stood, placed his gun in his holster, and walked toward the door. “You haven't seen the last of me, Klaw. I'll be talking to Lacy as soon as I can.”

“By the way, Mr. Klaw.” Dwayne looked from Paavo to Klaw, then at his watch. “About a half hour ago there was a most unfortunate happening.” He paused to be sure he had everyone's full attention. “Mrs. LaTour had a heart attack in the hospital. Didn't even have time to call for help. Seems she just stopped breathing.”

“What?” Yosh gasped. “Impossible.” They had driven over in Angie's car, not Yosh's with his police radio.

Angie didn't take her eyes off Paavo's closed, set face. She had never seen his eyes so devoid of emotion.

Klaw chuckled. “If Dwayne says so, it must be true.”

Dwayne folded his arms. “It's true. Believe me.”

Klaw laughed long and hard.

“Enjoy this now, Klaw,” Paavo said in a quiet voice that was more frightening than if he had shouted in fury. “Just remember the old saying about the one who laughs last.” He left, not before seeing the fear behind Klaw's bravado, but even that gave him no satisfaction.

Angie stayed behind, staring at Klaw, not wanting to believe Lacy was dead. But the longer she stared, the more certain she became that it was true—and that it wasn't her heart that made her stop breathing. Lacy had chosen to work with this man; she'd died by him as well.

Angie's frown deepened. “You know what else, Klaw?”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“I plan to be your worst nightmare.”

Klaw threw back his head and laughed harder than ever.

 

Angie had to run to keep up with Paavo as he marched toward his car. Yosh hurried along behind her. Paavo reached the car and unlocked it.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her hands on the door, as she gasped to catch her breath.

“Who me? I'm just great! How the hell do I look? And what business is it of yours anyway?” he bit out savagely.

She stepped back, stricken.

“Damn it, Angie, when the hell are you going to learn to keep out of police business? You've got no
right to go running around to places like this, with me or Yosh or anyone else. Is that clear? Can you understand me?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing! You don't belong. Keep the hell away from me and my job!” Paavo got in his car, slammed the door shut, and drove off.

They stared after him until finally Angie went to her own car, Yosh close behind her, his face grave and concerned. She drove without speaking while Yosh prattled on about the case.

Angie wasn't able to think about it. She was still trying to get over the shock of seeing Paavo and Klaw pointing guns at each other. Ready to shoot. Ready to die. She'd thought her heart would stop. How could Paavo show such careless disregard for his own life? Damn him, why was he that way?

Angie dropped Yosh off at the Hall of Justice. No sense going upstairs. Paavo wouldn't want to see her now.

She drove back to her apartment.

Alone, seated on the Hepplewhite chair, she sipped hot tea. The “classic” pornographic movies she'd purchased sat atop her VCR. Picking them up, she took them into the kitchen and put them in a brown paper bag.

“Mrs. Calamatti, are you down there?” she called into the garbage chute.

No answer. Even Mrs. Calamatti had abandoned her. “Look out below!” she called and dropped the movies. That was the best place for them. She felt all right throwing them out because Mrs. Calamatti didn't own a VCR.

Angie curled up in front of her bay windows. In the night darkness, the beacon from Alcatraz rotated, illuminating the bay every five seconds. At least some things never changed.

But she had. Her radio job was gone, and Paavo had withdrawn even further from her life. At one time, she'd wished he'd give up being a cop. But that was childish, she realized. He'd never give it up, not even for her, and especially not when he was so close to getting the man responsible for his sister's death.

Paavo had always been there when she needed him, but other than that he was never there for
her
—never there to simply “be” together. He couldn't accept what she had to offer, and he couldn't, or wouldn't, let them have the togetherness she needed.

Angie leaned forward, holding her head, her elbows on her knees. She hadn't truly understood, before encountering Axel Klaw, just how ugly Paavo's world could be. While she recognized the greed that could corrupt a basically good man like Karl Wielund, the mistaken pride that would allow Lacy LaTour to be used by a man like Klaw and then blackmailed, and even the wrongheaded ambition of a man like Mark Dustman, she'd never before encountered, face to face, anyone with the complete lack of morals of the degenerate creature known as Axel Klaw.

And as much as Klaw held his gun emotionlessly on Paavo, so too had Paavo held his gun on Klaw. She covered her eyes, trying not to see the horror of that scene. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get it out of her mind.

Her father wanted her and Paavo to separate. So
did her sisters. So did Calderon, and possibly Yoshiwara as well. Maybe all those people did know what was best, what was right. Suddenly, she felt too tired to fight them any longer, too tired to go on caring so much. Paavo had told her once that he loved her. Once, and then never again. She'd lived off that one time for months. Now it was no longer enough.

The Alcatraz beacon shimmered and grew misty through her tears.