Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (13 page)

MAC AND MAYES MADE
their way up one flight of stairs to Paul Osher’s apartment. They had requested another meeting to confirm his relationship with Sheyla Samonte. Lawyer Woodson greeted them at the door and led them into the living room. Paul Osher was ensconced with the morning newspaper in a brown leather easy chair, wearing only a pair of red silk pajama shorts barely covered by a flannel blue robe. Osher’s flabby body, which featured a single ab only because it had to, had more miles on it than the Space Shuttle.

Mayes led off by asking about Misha, the couple’s missing dog. Osher claimed he didn’t know where the dog was, nor did he care. As far as he was concerned, the dog belonged to his wife.

“I hated that rat,” proclaimed Osher. “Michelle’s the one who wanted a dog. She thought getting her picture taken while walking Misha through the neighborhood would make her look more…I don’t know…maternal. We couldn’t have kids, so that mutt was her substitute. What does that four-figure fur ball have to do with the case anyway?”

“We don’t know, Mr. Osher,” answered Mac, who wondered why, after Grisham’s revelation about Michelle Osher being adopted, the couple didn’t consider adoption as well. “But every piece of the puzzle always fits somewhere.”

Osher rose up and fetched yet another cigar, this time an H. Upmann Magnum 46 “That’s wonderful, Inspector Fleet. Maybe the dog murdered my wife. Now can we get this over with, please? My favorite caddy is waiting for me to tee off at the San Francisco Golf Club.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Osher,” continued Mac. “Where is your maid, Maria Madrigal?”

“You mean my former maid. She packed up all her crap and took off yesterday. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned. And I can testify she told us she had a green card, if anyone gives a damn.”

“We don’t care about that,” retorted Mac. “What we do care about, Mr. Osher, is if she knew something you didn’t want us to know.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Lawyer Woodson decided to earn his fee by venturing into the void. “What are you implying, Inspector?”

“Nothing,” replied Mac, staring directly at Paul Osher. Osher stared back, blowing smoke into the air. Like two kids engaged in a schoolyard stare-down contest, neither one would back down. Mac finally had to lower his eyes to check his notepad. He may have lost this battle, but he was about to win the war.

“Mr. Osher, there is one last topic we need to discuss. Your phone records point to a woman you’ve been calling quite a bit… uh…wait, here it is…Sheyla Samonte. Can you explain this, sir?”

Osher gave a long pull on his cigar. “No, Inspector. I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t,” countered Mac. “Let’s say we cut to the chase, Mr. Osher. By this time tomorrow we’ll have records of any text messages you sent to her as well. So do yourself a favor and stop bullshitting us.”

Osher heaved a heavy sigh and threw an anxious look toward Lawyer Woodson, who nodded his head. The detectives had uncovered a piece of the puzzle Osher hadn’t wanted them to find. “I’m not thrilled to admit this, but my lawyer says I should be completely honest with you. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“A great policy to live by, Mr. Osher,” responded Mac. “And thank you for such good advice, Mr. Woodworth.”

“It’s Woodson,” snapped the uber-expensive attorney.

“Of course it is.”

Osher cleared his throat and took a quick puff. “Yes, I’ve been uh…. been involved… with Sheyla Samonte for a long time now. But let’s face it. I’m not the first man to have a relationship outside his marriage. It’s one of the perks of being rich.”

“Did she know you were married?” asked Mayes.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” needled Osher, chafing at Mayes question. “Of course she knew. Women like Sheyla prefer to date men who are married.”

“Do you provide for her?” continued Mayes.

“You mean do I pay for her to be my girlfriend? She lives in one of my apartment buildings, for God’s sake. What do you think?”

“What about the daily ATM transactions?” asked Mac. “Is that her meal money?”

“It is if she’s having champagne and caviar every day.” Osher stood up and started pacing around the room. “I’m not sure what she uses the money for, and frankly I don’t care. Just so long as she’s available when I want to see her, and smart enough to leave when I don’t.”

Osher also confessed to taking Sheyla Samonte with him to such exotic ports of call as Maui and Cabo San Lucas, and countless trips to Las Vegas. Besides first class airfare and four-star accommodations, Osher would also give Sheyla his black American Express card so she could shop ‘til she dropped.

“Did you make her any promises, Mr. Osher, like you would divorce your wife and marry her?” asked Mayes.

“Of course not. Women like Sheyla know who they are and what they want. Once a mistress gets married, she knows there’s another job opening.”

Osher walked over and gazed out toward Alcatraz Island. His eyes began to take on a dream-like quality. “You know, if you ever saw her, you would wish you were me.”

“Is that right, Mr. Osher?” challenged Mac. “Enlighten me as to why I’d want to be like you.”

Osher ignored the sarcasm. “Because she’s gorgeous as hell, that’s why. She’s the most exciting woman I’ve ever met. I get a woody just thinking about her.”

Osher may have had money, but as far as Mac was concerned, he was broke when it came to class. It was time to lay his cards on the table. Mac walked over to the window and spoke in a near whisper.

“Well, Mr. Osher, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. We’ve already been in contact with Miss Samonte, and you’re right, she is beautiful. We got her address from your phone records, and I’ve been to her apartment. I’ve also seen where she works when she’s not working on you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want the press to find out that when your mistress isn’t employed as your personal piece of arm candy, she’s a “gender illusionist” at
Pearls of Asia
.”

Osher’s face turned whiter than the walls in his living room. The secret he hoped to keep buried forever had just been unearthed. The world learning he had a mistress didn’t bother him, whereas the world learning she was a pre-operative transsexual scared him to death. Osher wanted to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come out. “So you know?” he finally uttered.

“Know what, Mr. Osher?”

“You know she’s a little…different.”

“We know that she works at a restaurant called
Pearls of Asia
if that’s what you mean.”

“Then you know what I’m trying to say.” Osher began to shake and needed to sit down. Lawyer Woodson went to the liquor cabinet and opened a bottle of scotch. Even at a thousand bucks an hour, what his client needed at that moment was a bartender more than a lawyer.

“Do you think she would have any reason to kill your wife?” asked Mayes

“None, whatsoever. Sheyla’s on the gravy train, for Christ’s sake. She’s living a fantasy life. Why would she risk giving it up? She had nothing to gain by killing Michelle.”

Mac checked his watch. It was 12:30, and they needed to go. They were scheduled to meet Sheyla in thirty minutes.

As Mac and Mayes headed for the door, a visibly upset Paul Osher rose from his chair to cut them off. “Detectives, please, please. Do me this one favor. Try to keep our little secret out of the press. Information like this could be devastating. It could ruin me. I beg you.”

Paul Osher wasn’t the first suspect Mac had put the squeeze on. But Osher was so stressed out, Mac could actually hear him sweat.

“MAYES HERE. YES….YES
…alright Captain. We’ll be right there.”

“What’s going on?” Mac asked as The Sub approached the Embarcadero.

“A freighter from the Philippines arrived at the Port of Oakland Friday night. During inspection by customs agents, a box containing a dozen Balisong switchblades was found. Longley wants us to drive to Oakland and find out as much as we can about the shipment. We won’t find our murder weapon, but we may find out who’s dealing the contraband. We can’t begin to connect the dots until we have dots to connect. Not to mention Longley needs to see some progress on this case. Stone’s all over his ass. I told him we’d get there ASAP.”

Mac sat in silence while navigating The Sub. They were just minutes away from the Oakland-San Francisco Bay Bridge. Once they got on the lower deck of the aging double-decker span, their fate for the rest of the day would be sealed.

“What about our meeting with Sheyla?”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Sunday, September 14, 2008 - 1:00 pm

“A memorial service will be held on Tuesday afternoon, September 16
^th
, at the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament in Sacramento, CA, Michelle Osher’s hometown. Thousands are expected to attend, and celebrities, politicians, and fans flying in from all over the world are scrambling to find hotel rooms.”

PEOPLE

M
AC’S STOMACH WAS PERFORMING
maneuvers worthy of a kamikaze pilot. It was already 1:15 p.m., and Sheyla Samonte was nowhere in sight. His badly-in-need-of-resoling black Florsheims had already paced a dozen laps around the elegant atrium of the Rincon Center, it’s massive skylight roof signaling the retirement of the morning fog. Hundreds of hungry diners waited in line to spend a week’s wages at Yank Sing, famous for having the best dim sum in San Francisco. Carts loaded with bronze-skinned Peking Duck, lamb dumplings, and flying fish eggs maneuvered through the aisles of white-clothed tables, many topped off with bottles of premium champagne. Mac always wanted to try the place. He just couldn’t afford it.

His cell phone bleated. The Voice was calling. “Hello, handsome. How are you?”

“‘Where are you?’ is more appropriate,” answered Mac, not even trying to hide his frustration. “You better not be standing me up, Miss Samonte. Otherwise, I will have you arrested.”

“Calm down, cutie. I’m just running a little late. You’ll learn I operate on Filipina time. Is your partner there with you?”

“No. He got called away. It’s just me and five hundred other people waiting in line for an egg roll. How soon can you be here?”

The atrium’s waterfall masked the seconds of silence. “Tell you what, Inspector. I’ve got another place in mind. You’re just a few minutes from my place. Why don’t you come pick me up? I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes. Don’t make me wait.” Then she hung up.

Two and a half minutes later, The Sub was moored in front of Sheyla’s apartment in South Beach. While waiting in the lobby, Mac could feel his breathing pick up, and his right hand started to reach for the handcuffs dangling from his back pocket. His frustration had reached a boiling point. If Sheyla Samonte didn’t show up in thirty seconds, he was going upstairs to arrest her.

At the last possible moment, the elevator doors parted. What Mac saw next was a jaw-dropping vision straight from the pages of Vogue. It was Sheyla, wearing an off-the-shoulder white linen sundress, which she had correctly decided looked better without a bra. Her white Chanel watch and matching handbag worked well with her gold hoop earrings. Strands of long, silky brown hair framed a pair of Gucci sunglasses. The smile on her face signaled to Mac that she was very excited to see him.