Dinner And A Murder: The 3rd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (14 page)

I turned my back to him, watching for Sydney and anyone he might have with him. When I heard a soft
snick
I turned and saw that Jack had opened the padlock and was removing it from the overhead door. He placed it on the ground and then very slowly began raising the door. This was an agonizing process. Even when opened an inch at a time the door still made a ratcheting sound.

When the bottom of the door was two feet from the ground, Jack slipped underneath it and into the locker. I stayed outside for a full minute. When I felt confident that no one had heard anything, I rolled under the door and joined him.

“We don’t have much time,” he said.

There was a vehicle in the locker under a canvas car-cover, but it was too small to be a Hummer. Jack held his flashlight on the canvas and lifted a front corner. It was a red and white vintage Corvette.

“
Shit
,” I hissed.

I turned on my own flashlight and started looking around the locker, hoping to find some other clue that would either vindicate or incriminate Boscalo. There was nothing.

“We have to go,” Jack whispered. “If she heard the door opening she may have called the police by now.”

That got my attention. We both slipped back under the door. Jack closed it as quietly as possible and replaced the padlock. We sprinted to the fence where we’d stowed my towel. Jack flipped it onto the barbed wire and adrenaline carried me up and over. Once safely outside I turned to watch as he vaulted himself up, clinging to the fence long enough to pluck the towel off the wire before dropping gracefully to the ground. An Irish Baryshnikov.

We bolted to the street where my Bimmer was parked. In the car, Jack removed his watch cap and quickly used it to wipe most of the greasepaint from his face. I used the towel, feeling the terrycloth stick to my skin. I started the car and drove away at the speed limit. As we turned from Delaware onto Concar we saw a police cruiser silently speeding south, its lights flashing.  

“How much are you going to tell Elizabeth?” I asked.

Jack was quiet for a moment. I assumed he was thinking about the question.

“I’ll have to tell her everything,” he finally said. “She’s smarter than I am. If I leave something out she’ll know, and then she’ll never trust me again. I can’t afford to have that happen, since I plan to spend the rest of my life with the woman.”

I felt the breath catch in my throat. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

“Have you picked out the ring?” I asked.

“It’s being sized. Her hands are small.”

I felt heat behind my eyes and bit my lower lip, trying to keep the emotion in check. Jack turned to look at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Men.
“Nothing,” I croaked.

“Do you want me to drive?”

I blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, you idiot. I’m just happy for you, and for Elizabeth.”

Even though I don’t believe there will be a ‘happily ever after’ for me, I still get emotional about anything that resembles a declaration of love between other people. I always cry at weddings. I know, I’m a dichotomy—tough yet sensitive.

We made the drive to Hillsborough without saying another word. Jack used a remote to open the gate, and I parked in front of his house. We sat in the car for a few silent moments before I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you, Jack.”

“My pleasure. You can call me any time. I like to keep my hand in.”

I drove back to the marina thinking about relationships and commitment.

When I arrived home, Bill was on the settee in the main salon with Buddy draped across his lap, his hand resting on the dog’s head. I kissed Bill on the lips and Buddy on the nose.

Bill examined the remaining grease paint at my hairline and on my hands, and a smirk formed on his handsome face. “Do I want to know?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said. “I need a shower. Join me?”

Chapter 21

T
iming was everything, the killer told himself. He shouldn’t have rushed the skateboard operation, but it was better this way. He was glad the attempt with the bomb had failed, because today would be the perfect day. It wasn’t about the sequence of events. It was about the right date for the right mission.

He took out a steel bastard file and began sharpening the broadhead tip of an arrow.

Chapter 22

O
n Saturday morning Bill was up before dawn and went to the station to work on his sex offender homicide, saying he’d be back in a couple of hours if that was okay with me. It was.

After he left I called Paul at home.

“Marks residence,” Quinn answered.

“You sound tired,” I said.

“I wouldn’t sound tired if people didn’t call and wake me up.”

“Sleeping on the job, eh?”

“Fuck you, Hunter. I can’t be awake twenty-four hours a day. What do you want?”

“I want to know if Paul’s okay and if anything suspicious happened last night or this morning.”

“He’s fine. We haven’t seen the Hummer again. That doesn’t mean the subject isn’t out there watching. Probably driving a different car now, since he’s been spotted.”

“Please tell Paul that I called, and I’d like to hear his voice. Have they increased security at the airport?”

“They have a couple of guards stationed in the employee parking lot, and one at each building entrance.”

“Better than nothing,” I said. “Thanks, Quinn. I’ll talk to you later.”

She humphed and hung up the phone.

I walked Buddy down to the point where the marina parking lot meets the water, and we watched the sunrise. It was a cool, clear morning.

After our walk we unlocked the office and I called Sam to tell him what Jack and I had found in Boscalo’s locker. He was understandably disappointed.

Then I pulled out the background reports on our three subjects. The first time I’d gone over them I had focused on any criminal activity. I needed to take a closer look. Maybe I was missing something.

I started with Wallace’s background, reading every word this time. When I’d finished I opened my computer file on Paul’s case and looked up the dates the three controllers had been killed. James Flannery had been blown-up on September 19th, Shirley Jensen had drowned on September 24th, Gordon Mayes had driven his SUV off an overpass on October 9th, and someone had attempted to kill Paul yesterday, on October 16th. None of these dates matched any significant dates in Wallace’s background.

“Damn,” I said. Buddy looked up at me, his ears pinned back. “Sorry,” I said.

I used the bathroom, refilled my coffee mug, and sat down with Boscalo’s background report. By 11:30 I knew everything there was to know about Wallace and Boscalo, and I was getting a headache.

I walked Buddy around the marina grounds and then down to the boat. Bill was back, sitting in the pilothouse playing his acoustic guitar. Buddy leaped from the dock steps onto the deck and pranced into the pilothouse where he planted himself on Bill’s feet. Laughing, Bill set his guitar aside and ruffled the pup’s ears as he looked up at me.

“You look tired, babe,” he said.

“I didn’t sleep well last night and I just read two lengthy background reports.”

“Find anything?”

“Not yet. I think I’ll take a power nap before my lunch with Cher.”

I stumbled down the companionway, went into the stateroom and stripped off my shirt and jeans. When I turned around both males were standing in the doorway watching me.

“What?” I said, climbing into bed.

“You want some company?” Bill asked.

“Okay,” I said, “but make it fast, I really need a nap.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Bill said, smiling.

At 12:30 I hopped into the shower feeling totally revived.

I fluffed up my curls and dressed in jeans and a quarter-zip sweatshirt. I pulled on my leather jacket, and walked Buddy over to Elizabeth’s boat before going up to the restaurant. Bill had offered to stay with him, but I wanted Buddy to get used to Elizabeth too. He needed to understand that he had an extended family.

When we arrived at Elizabeth’s trawler the door was open and the TV was tuned to one of those entertainment magazine shows. Elizabeth likes to keep track of what the stars are doing. I led Buddy up her dock steps and knocked. Elizabeth was at the sink with her back to us. When she turned around she was holding a jumbo-size doggie dish full of water.

“Hi, honey!” she exclaimed.

“Did you go shopping just for Buddy?”

“I did, and I had a wonderful time.”

I looked around the boat, searching for K.C., but didn’t see him anywhere.

“He went for a walk after breakfast,” she said. “He’s always home in time for dinner though.”

“I don’t know how Buddy is with cats yet.”

“He’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said. She set down the dish and gave Buddy a hug. “Won’t you sweetums?”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Take your time,” Elizabeth said.

I stepped outside wondering if Buddy would try to come with me. As I walked up the ramp I turned and saw him standing in the doorway. Elizabeth was holding onto his leash. His brow was furrowed, but he was wagging his tail. Elizabeth said something to him and he looked up at her as I stepped through the gate. Maybe I was the one with separation anxiety.

Chapter 23

I
had five minutes before I was due at The Diving Pelican so I stopped by the office. I still needed to read through Fragoso’s background, and the tension had quadrupled since the attempt on Paul’s life yesterday. The document was fifteen pages long so I stapled the pages together, grabbed a highlighter pen, and stuffed everything into my purse.

As I locked the office I glanced over at Elizabeth’s trawler. The door was closed. I wondered if she and Buddy had gone for a walk, or if she’d had to close the door to keep him from following me.

Cher was seated at an outside table when I arrived at The Pelican.

“We have to order inside,” I said, giving her a hug.

We tilted our chairs against the table to reserve it.

A few years ago when the restaurant which formerly occupied this space went belly-up, Bennett Zepeda, who is another boat dweller, quit his job and opened The Diving Pelican. It’s not extremely well known outside of the boating community, but it should be.

Cher scrutinized the chalkboard menu listing the day’s specials and selected a salad of fresh greens, Gouda cheese, walnuts, and mango. I ordered the meatloaf. I needed comfort food. We carried our beverages out to the table and sat facing the water.

“That’s my boat,” I said, pointing out the
Turning Point
.

Cher looked at the boat and smiled. “You were always so adventurous.”

“I don’t remember you backing away from any challenges.”

“That’s because I was with you. You made me feel like anything was possible.”

“What are you talking about? We were teenagers, cutting class, sneaking smokes, and rolling up our skirts. How could I make you feel like anything was possible?”

“I don’t know, but you did. I’m always afraid, Nikki. I didn’t identify the feeling until I started therapy, but it’s been there for as long as I can remember.”

I looked at her, digesting this information.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

“I think that’s why I married Hal,” she went on. “He’s a big, strong man, and he made me feel safe when we first met.”

“What about now?” I asked, feeling slightly awkward about prying into the personal life of a woman I hadn’t spent time with in almost twenty years.

“Now I think I want a divorce,” she said. “But I’m afraid to be alone.”

“What are you afraid will happen?” I asked.

“That’s a good question. My shrink asked me that.”

“And what did you tell him … her?”

“Her. Amber Tofford. She’s wonderful. I told her that I was afraid of being lonely, and afraid I wouldn’t be able to support myself. I never have, you know.”

“How long have you and Hal been married?”

“Since college.”

“That’s a long time. If you divorce him won’t you retain some of the assets the two of you have accumulated? I’m guessing, based on the size of that rock on your left hand, that half your joint assets would set you up for the rest of your life, providing you’re frugal.”

Our lunch was served and Cher placed a napkin on her lap, looking pensive. She took a bite of her salad and rolled her eyes. “This is incredible.”

“Everything here is good. You didn’t sign a pre-nup did you?” I asked, bringing her back to point.

Her mouth was full, but she shook her head.

“How much money do you have in checking, savings, stock, and property? How well off are you?”

“Why are you asking me these things?”

“I’m trying to identify whether or not you have a valid reason to be afraid.”

“Oh,” she said. “I guess on paper we’re worth about four million.”

“Okay, so after you pay the attorneys you’ll have at least a million-five each, which you can convert into liquid assets if necessary.”

“I guess. I haven’t really thought it through. I haven’t wanted to, but talking to you about this is making it real for me. Maybe that’s good.”

“It is.” I squeezed her hand and offered an encouraging smile. “Okay, so you don’t need to worry about money, and your fear of being alone is something you can work on with your therapist. You might learn to enjoy the independence, but if you
want
another relationship I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding a flock of willing suitors.”

“If I divorce Hal for irreconcilable differences, will I still get half the money?”

“I think so. California is a community property state. Do you know any good divorce lawyers? Any friends recently divorced?”

“No.”

“I’ve been divorced three times, but I handled each of them myself. I’ll call my cousin Aaron and ask him for a referral.”

“I thought you hated your cousin.”

“Not so much anymore. Besides I don’t have to like him to get you a referral.”

My cousin Aaron was an asshole when we were kids. Now he’s a criminal defense attorney. Go figure.

We ate our lunch and talked about what had been going on in our lives since high school. I told Cher the details of my three divorces. Her eyes widened when I told her my second marriage had been to a friend who wanted to immigrate. She was appropriately sympathetic when I told her that my most recent marriage had ended because I hadn’t wanted children, and she laughed when I told her that Drew, my ex, now had triplets.

“Serves him right,” she said.

“Do you have any kids?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” she looked wistful. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be a good mother. Because I’m so screwed up, you know?”

“As far as I can tell, you’ve only improved with age,” I said. “The fact that you’ve stayed married to a man you don’t love is a choice I might not have made, but it doesn’t mean you’re screwed up.”

Cher put down her fork and reached for my hand. “You always say the right thing. Thank you for having lunch with me.”

“Honey, I
wanted
to have lunch with you. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you until I saw you again.” I squeezed her hand and saw tears form in her eyes. She asked me where the ladies’ room was and excused herself.

I’d lost my appetite. I sat there wondering what had occurred in Cher’s childhood that made her feel like she had no choices. Then I remembered Fragoso’s background report was in my purse. I pulled out the sheaf of paper and scanned the first three pages, which were the criminal background I’d already read, then I turned to page four and read the significant dates.

Fragoso’s wife, Mindy, had been born on October 9th and his daughter, Samantha, had been born on September 19th.
Holy shit!
Those were two of the dates when air traffic controllers had been killed. I was sure of it.

The date of death for Fragoso’s wife and daughter was mentioned in the report—August 16th. Someone had tried to kill Paul yesterday, on October 16th, exactly two months after the plane crash. I kept reading and saw that Chuck and Mindy had been married ten years ago on October 17th.
Today
was October 17th.

“Oh my God!” I said aloud, and a dozen heads swiveled in my direction. I stuffed the report back into my purse and ran for the ladies’ room. Cher was coming out the door as I approached.

“I have to go,” I said hastily.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s this case I’m working on. I just figured it out. I’ll call you later and explain. I’m sorry to rush off.”

I kissed her on the cheek and sprinted across the complex, reaching for my cell phone as I ran. I called Sam, slowing down long enough to select the right number.

“Pettigrew,” he answered on the first ring.

“It’s Fragoso!” I shouted into the phone.

“Nicoli? Are you all right?”

“I took a closer look at the background report on Fragoso. The dates match.” I was unlocking my office door and breathing hard. “I have to double check the file, but listen to this. Today is his wedding anniversary! He’s going to kill someone today. Hang on.”

I was at my desk. Grateful I’d left the computer on, I quickly opened the report I’d typed after having lunch with Paul. Gordon Mayes – October 9th. James Flannery – September 19th. Shirley Jensen – September 24th, I didn’t have a match for that date in the background report, but I was sure it would be something significant to Fragoso. Maybe a first date with his wife, or the date he’d proposed. I was certain Paul’s name would end up next to October 17th if I didn’t do something fast.

“Nicoli? Are you still there?”

“Yes. I have to warn Paul.”

“Take a breath. There’s no point calling the police because they won’t do anything until a crime has been committed. We’re going to have to keep track of Fragoso ourselves. I’ll call Best Buy to see if he’s working today. If he isn’t, I’ll call his apartment manager and ask him to check his apartment and the garage. You call Paul and his bodyguard and fill them in, then call me back on my cell.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Sam.”

I frantically dialed Paul’s home number.

“Marks residence.”

“Quinn, it’s Nikki. The killer is Chuck Fragoso. Mid-thirties, six-one, dark brown hair, mustache and goatee. Lost his family in a plane crash in August. Two of the controllers were killed on his wife and daughter’s birthdays. Yesterday was the two-month anniversary of the crash that killed them, and today is their wedding anniversary. Can I talk to Paul?”

“Hang on.”

Quinn put the phone down and I heard her call out. When I didn’t hear a response from Paul the adrenaline pumping through my system kicked up a notch. Almost a minute passed before she came back on the line.

“He’s not here. He was in the kitchen making sandwiches. I went to take a leak and when I came out the phone was ringing.”

She sounded perfectly calm, but I knew the apprehension she was feeling.

“Look outside,” I said. “Find out if the neighbors saw anything. I’m going to read the rest of this background report and then I’ll call you back.”

“Sounds good.”

We ended the call and I quickly read about Fragoso’s childhood. He’d been raised in South San Francisco, like me. Lower-middle-class family. Good grades in school. A couple of trips to juvenile hall for smoking pot when he was a teenager. His daughter had gone to McKinley Elementary in Burlingame. I looked up the address online and printed the page. Mindy and Samantha were buried at the Skyline Memorial Cemetery. Maybe he’d want to kill Paul where they could watch. I made a note and kept reading. Mindy and Chuck had been married in Central Park, in San Mateo, at 2:00 p.m., on October 17th. It’s amazing the detail you can get in background reports. I looked at my watch. It was 1:35. There was a rose garden in the park, with a gazebo. Lots of couples got married there. My gut told me that was where I’d find them. I dialed Sam’s cell.

“Pettigrew.”

“Paul’s gone. Fragoso took him while Quinn was in the bathroom. There are three possibilities,” I said. “I assume Fragoso’s not at home or at work?”

“Correct.”

“Okay. His kid went to McKinley Elementary in Burlingame.” I read him the address. “You go there and search the school. Their graves are at Skyline Memorial. I’ll send Quinn there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“They were married at Central Park in San Mateo at 2:00 pm, which is too close for comfort. I’m going there, to the rose garden.”

“Call me when you get there.”

“Sure.”

We hung up and I took the Glock out of my purse holster, checking to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. Then I grabbed an extra magazine from the gun drawer, locked the office, and ran to the parking lot.

When I was on the road I called Quinn back and told her about the cemetery. I also told her that Sam was going to the school and I was going to the park.

“You think they’ll be at the park, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. They might be at the cemetery.”

“You think they’re at the park.”

“Just go to the cemetery, Quinn. And be careful!”

“I’ll go to the cemetery. But if you get yourself killed I’ll tell everybody you were a fucking cowboy.”

“
Fine!
”

I disconnected and drove at the speed of light toward San Mateo. It’s about thirteen miles from the marina. I cranked the Bimmer up to 110 and hoped like hell there weren’t any Highway Patrol officers on the freeway.

I pulled off 101 at 3rd Avenue West and slowed enough to stay alive on the city streets. At the first red light I checked my watch. It was 1:45. I could almost hear the clock ticking down the minutes Paul had left to live.

When the light turned green I floored the 2002, weaving around other motorists, eliciting angry honks and gestures. I arrived at Fifth and Laurel and turned left, pulled into a no-parking zone, and slammed out of the car with only my keys and the Glock stowed in my jacket pockets.

I ran full out toward the rose garden. There was a Japanese family taking pictures of each other in the gazebo. I slowed to a walk, not wanting Fragoso to notice me if he was in the area. When I reached the gazebo I stopped and scanned the surrounding area, turning in a slow circle, taking everything in. There were tourists and locals walking the paths. That was good for me—they offered cover—but dangerous for them.

As I pivoted to my left I spotted Paul and my heart stopped. He was seated at the base of an oak tree about ten yards away from me. His face was ashen and Fragoso was standing next to him, one hand behind his back and the other on Paul’s shoulder. I grasped the situation instantly. Fragoso had threatened to kill innocent bystanders if Paul didn’t cooperate. I knew Paul would willingly give his life to save a total stranger. That’s the kind of guy he is.

Fragoso was probably waiting until the gazebo was unoccupied so he could kill Paul at the exact location where he and Mindy had been married. The fact that he was doing this in a public place meant Fragoso no longer cared about getting caught, which made him infinitely more dangerous.