The Return of the Fallen Angels Book Club (A Hollis Morgan Mystery 3) (16 page)

T
odd got up and headed toward the rear of the café, asking for directions to the restroom along the way. He walked out of the restaurant’s rear kitchen door into a graveled alleyway. Busy checking messages on his cellphone, he was only vaguely aware of a man talking into a cellphone and headed in his direction from the end of the street. Nor did he notice the second figure approaching from the exit door he’d just come through.

He clicked his phone and groaned. The text confirmation he wanted so badly hadn’t come through. He was forced to leave a message. He scrolled down his contacts list to find the land-line number. No answer there either. He slid the phone back into his pants pocket and shook off the feeling of unease. This plan had to go through. If things worked out he was going to have his own car soon.

The first blow was a quick karate chop to the base of his head, and before he could slide down to the street, he was lifted by the second man, who stuffed his mouth with a dirty rag. They dragged him into a side alley between the buildings.

He had been beaten up before, in prison. Back then it had been a noisy business, lots of yelling, swearing and jeering. This was different. The two men were silent, never saying a word as they kicked him several times in the groin and threw repeated punches to his liver and kidneys. Tears poured from his eyes. They stomped his legs and arms, breaking bones as if they were twigs for a fire. He could hear his own terrified screams, of course, but even they were muffled. The blows to his head came last, but they were welcome, because that’s when he knew his torment was almost over.

H
ollis ordered another cup of tea and looked at the time. Todd had been gone for almost twenty minutes. If it wasn’t for the fact that she needed to know what he knew about the trust, she would have just left a note telling him they should meet another day. She called the waitress over.

“Have you seen my friend?” she asked. “He’s supposed to be making a call in the back.”

“Yeah, I did at first but then when I came back for an order he was gone. I think he went out into the alley.”

Her heartbeat began to thrash in her ears.

“Which is the way to your rear exit?”

She pointed. “Just follow the doorways on the right.”

Hollis left her jacket on the back of the chair and took her purse with her. She pushed down on the metal bar across the exit door, which opened up onto a row of garbage bins behind a row of businesses. She peeked tentatively out into the alley.

“Todd?” she called out.

She thought she heard a rustle of clothing or maybe just footsteps.

“Todd, are you out here?”

She bent down and moved a broken crate over to keep the door propped open. The noise from the restaurant was somewhat reassuring as she took small steps into the center of the alley. The smell was terrible. There was someone going through a bin at the end of the street with a cart full of plastic bottles. Across the way, a homeless man had parked his grocery basket next to another bin and was sorting through cartons of food and boxes. Neither was paying her any attention. She walked a little ways farther down the alley.

“Todd?”

“He’s over there.” The homeless man—without looking at her or pausing in his search—motioned with his head toward a darkened doorway about fifteen feet away. It was blocked by cardboard containers.

Hollis nodded a thank you and moved gingerly over to the boxes. She kicked one aside, too repulsed by the smell to use her hands. The largest box barely covered the extended bloody leg. She was mesmerized with horror. But she couldn’t stop herself—even though she knew she should run away. She kicked away the remaining boxes to reveal Todd’s tortured body, and that’s when she heard herself scream.

Hollis’ cry brought no one and only caused the alley’s homeless visitors to vanish without a trace. She stumbled back into the café and yelled for help even as she was pushing 911 on her phone. The cooks and staff ran out and saw the mangled body and one worker lost his lunch.

She sat in the corner of the café in one of the larger booths. One of the servers brought her a cup of hot tea, and she sipped it absently. The patrons hung back, except for a middle-aged man who identified himself as a school security guard. He asked that everyone stay put until the police came. Most people listened to him, but in the chaos Hollis noticed that the dining area had a few empty tables where diners had been before.

Todd.

Within minutes the sound of sirens cut through the air, bringing a rush of paramedics that burst through the door and headed for the rear of the deli. A customer kept the door open for the equipment and stretcher. There weren’t many customers, but the few tables in the way were moved over.

She had no interest in seeing what was happening in the alley. The paramedics had not returned with Todd and were likely waiting for the police forensics team. Then her attention was caught by another set of sirens and the entrance of Detective Mosley and two uniformed officers. One officer stood at the door. Mosley, without looking in her direction, moved quickly to the back along with the other officer.

Hollis slipped down in her seat. She pushed her tea away and waited. Fortunately she didn’t have to wait long.

An officer carrying a small notepad came out and spoke to the group. “May I have your attention? There’s been a homicide here. We’re going to have to question each of you before you can leave.” He looked down at the pad. “Does anyone here know a Todd Wallace?”

Heaving a long sigh, Hollis raised her hand.

She was directed to wait in the employee break room. From there she could see customers and employees going in and coming out of the manager’s office, which evidently Mosley had commandeered as his interview room. In thirty minutes, the deli had emptied of everyone except the day manager and the forensic team processing the crime scene.

“Ms. Morgan, you do get around,” Mosley said, flipping through his notes. “What are your dealings with Todd Wallace?”

“It’s the same trust, Detective. The one associated with the Jeffrey Wallace murder. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill Todd.”

“Why were you meeting with him?”

“He asked me to meet him here. He said he had something to tell me about the trust.” Hollis took a few deep breaths before she added, “But he never got the chance to tell me. What happened? How was he killed?”

“He was beaten to death.”

Hollis grimaced.

“Sorry.” Mosley looked at her. “Tell me about this trust. What’s in it? Why is it a big deal? How does it work?”

“Like any other trust.” Hollis shrugged. “Families don’t want to have their estate gutted by taxes or lengthy public probate court and fees, so they create a document describing how assets upon the person’s death will automatically be distributed to a family member, or whoever, for their lifetime; then whatever assets remain are transferred upon their death immediately to other beneficiaries.”

“Was he in the trust?”

“No, that’s just it,” Hollis said. “Jeffrey left Todd his own inheritance outside the trust.”

Mosley stroked his chin, seeming to ponder this information. “So, who gets Todd’s estate?”

Hollis paused. “I don’t know off the top of my head. It depends on if he left a will or he could even have had his own trust, but I doubt it.”

“How large is Todd’s inheritance?”

He’s looking for a motive.

“Maybe ten to fifteen grand,” Hollis said. “Not enough to kill over. I guess he could have other assets I don’t know about.”

Mosley snorted. “Fifteen grand is a lot, if you’re desperate. I’ve seen people killed for a whole lot less. But this is a little different.”

“Why?”

“This murder occurred during the light of day, in a public place, and was a pretty brutal beating …. It is not a random killing. The killer knew he would be here with you and waited for the opportunity to take out Mr. Wallace. And one thing’s for sure: he was a professional.”

Hollis shivered under her coat.

“Ms. Morgan, did you notice the other customers when you came in? What I’m getting at is, did anyone leave after Todd
Wallace went to make his call? Can you remember the people who were here? The server is too upset to help us right now.”

Hollis tried to remember. “Is it a closed alley?”

“Yeah, but a few of the businesses are operating. We’re checking to see if someone disappeared into one of the other buildings. Some exits were blocked with boxed canned goods—a health violation that will be dealt with later.” Mosley’s expression was grim. “Ironically, I wouldn’t be surprised if the killer was counting on going out the back way but was thwarted by the code violations.”

“I don’t remember anyone specifically. I had to look around to locate Todd.” Hollis tried to think. “There were four tables with customers. The one by the window had four women. The others were just customers by themselves. One man sat in the middle of the room. The other was a table over from Todd and I … there was a table with one woman. Oh, wait, five tables, and there was a couple sitting at the table close to the kitchen.” Hollis closed her eyes, visualizing the room. “Yes, I think that’s it.”

“Nine customers.” Mosley shook his head. “But there were only eight when we got here.” He looked at her with sympathy. “Ms. Morgan, I have to ask you to come with me to the station.”

Hollis nodded numbly.

She’d seen the killer.

H
ollis waited in the police interview room for the forensic artist to arrive from downtown Oakland.

She called George, who was still in LA, and explained what had happened. Then she called John.

“You okay?” he asked. “Does Mosley have any crime scene clues?”

“If he did, it’s not likely he would share them with me.”

John paused. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“Ah … let me guess. Would it be, let the police do their job?”

“Hollis, promise me,” he said. “This is murder, and from what you tell me, it sounds like a pro kill. I’m going to ask Mosley to give you protection.”

“Oh no.” Hollis was glad John couldn’t see her evasiveness. “Now wait a minute, other people were there who didn’t know they saw the killer. Anyone could identify him or her.”

“But you’re the only one who knew the victim.”

The police artist was a twenty-something intern who was studying on his own time at the San Francisco Art Academy, surprisingly clean-cut and free of tattoos for his age. He was evidently seeking a public sector career. Mosley had asked each customer to provide a description. After two hours of recounting every person she could remember from the deli, Hollis was drained.

“Don’t force it. The computer is going to do the hard work,” he said. “It’s great you’ve got a talent for observation. We’ve gone through your first impressions. Go back and think about what they were doing, their mannerisms. Maybe you could hear their tone of voice. You’d be surprised at how much personal traits contribute to our visual output.”

Hollis nodded. “Are you doing this with everyone who was there?”

“Yes, not just me. Two other artists have been brought in. But you got the best.” He winked.

Hollis gave him a weak smile.

An hour later Hollis looked over the nine sketches scattered across the conference table. Some were partials—just hair and eyes, or in one case only the back of the head of a woman sitting in the corner. There were two full portraits—one of the man facing her reading the paper, and another of a woman. By recalling her laugh, Hollis noted her wide mouth and single dimple.

“How are we doing?” Mosley came into the room.

The artist nodded. “We’re done here. She did good.” He packed up his laptop, paper, and pencils. “Let me know when you want to meet to compare mine with the others.”

Mosley commented to Hollis, “This is just routine. With computer software, we can do this in minutes instead of days. Don’t go far. I want to get this guy today.” He sat down across from Hollis. “Ms. Morgan—”

“Please, call me Hollis.” She was tired and approaching irritated.

Mosley gave her an acknowledging smile. “Talk to me about Todd Wallace. If he wasn’t in the trust and he was being taken care of by his father in his will, why were you talking to him? Why did you get involved?”

“I was ‘involved,’ ” Hollis made air quotes, “because I’m a co-executor, and when you arrested Brian, he wanted me to … to wrap things up. My only connection with Todd Wallace was to verify that he knew the value of the first editions he’d inherited and was giving back.”

“Did he change his mind?”

“No. That’s why I was a little surprised to hear he wanted to meet with me.”

“He said he wanted to tell you something was wrong with the trust?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Hollis took a breath. “He didn’t say anything was
wrong
, only that he wanted to talk to me about the trust.”

Mosley nodded but didn’t say anything. Hollis waited him out.

Finally he said, “So under normal circumstances, who would get the first editions?”

“Well, without a will saying otherwise, they would go to his spouse, then children, then parents, then siblings, then a whole line of relations before the law says it lands with the state of California.”

“Did he leave a will?”

“I have no idea,” Hollis said. “Look, I’m really tired. Can I leave now? I’d like to go home. You can reach me there.”

“Sure, sure. You’ve had a rough day.” Mosley pushed back his chair and stood. “But I would appreciate it if you kept me informed of anything you think of later that could be of help. I may need to speak with you again.”

Hollis nodded. “Did you learn anything from Frances and Brian?”

He wagged his index finger at her. “You’re to keep us informed, Ms. Morgan. Not the other way around.”

Hollis sought relaxation, sinking into a tub full of bath salts. A glass of Pinot Noir stood within reach on the floor and the bathroom light was dimmed to low. She closed her eyes and breathed in the lavender fragrance. Her brain felt like oatmeal, even as her thoughts shuffled through clues to the Wallace riddle as if trying to make sense of a partial deck of cards. Brian had not returned her call, but had instead left a message on her work phone saying that he and Frances were talking through Todd’s funeral arrangements. He went on to say that the police hadn’t released the body and that he would call her tomorrow.

Well, it appeared he and Frances could work together on something.

She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes. In moments the deli appeared in her head like a YouTube video. She scanned the visual for faces but nothing specific came through. She opened her eyes. Her cellphone was ringing. She reached for her phone, perched on the edge of the vanity.

“It’s me. I hear splashing,” John said. “You in the tub?”

A smile crept onto her face. “In all my glory.” She paused. “How was your day?”

“It’s interesting. I’m learning.” He cleared his throat. “Are you nervous about being alone?”

Hollis sniffed. “No, not at all, but I’m really tired. It’s another ten days to the probate hearing. If I sound like I’m dragging … it’s because I am.”

“Oh.” He fell silent. “Okay, I’ll say goodnight and see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Hollis said. “I love you.”

She’d thought about telling him everything that happened, but he’d only worry. And he was in training. What could he do?

Out of the tub and dressed for bed, she poured herself another glass of wine.

Her home phone rang.

“Ms. Morgan?” Mosley’s voice sounded like it was next door. “Sorry to disturb you at home so late, but we’re going to need you to come down to the station first thing in the morning.”

Hollis groaned. “Detective, I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you. I’ve sat down with your artist; I’ve emptied my head of any possible leads. Please, I’ve got to get back to work and my life.”

“Yeah, well it’s about those sketches you came up with today.”

“What about them?”

“When we compared them to the ones provided by the other customers, you’re the only one who remembered Man Number Nine.”

Hollis turned on the lights in the firm’s lobby, but not before taking a moment to appreciate the sun’s rays rising from behind the Oakland Hills and spreading its yellow glow over the silver-blue water of the Bay. She gave a nod to Mother Nature and went down the hallway to her office. She’d come in early before leaving for the police station to find her inbox filled with files tagged with yellow sticky notes from George.

Nothing she couldn’t handle, if she could just spend some solid time at work.

There was a small stack of phone messages. Avoiding the temptation of interruptions, she continued to forward her phone to the receptionist desk. Most of the calls she’d already answered; however, a note from Tiffany caught her attention.

“Shelby Patterson came by. Please contact her as soon as you can.” There was a number and a small postscript: “What happened to her head?”

So Shelby was in the Bay Area … but she would have to wait until later this morning. Hollis picked up the file with the least amount of research and completed George’s assignment with ease. She put it in his inbox. It felt good to actually finish something. She glanced at the clock; it was time to go ID a guy.

Mosley wasn’t alone. Two other detectives whose names Hollis didn’t catch sat at the table with fixed fake smiles. One was a middle-aged woman, who stared at Hollis with a combination of curiosity and condescension, and a male who didn’t look up from his cellphone at all. Tea and water were offered; she declined both.

The sketches hung around the room like a rogue’s gallery. Except for one, which only depicted the back of a head, they looked out into the room in silent protest.

“Ms. Morgan, again, thank you for taking the time to come in. I know this is not convenient, but we need your help. We need you to remember as much as you can while the details are still fresh in your mind.” Mosley walked around the room until he stood next to the first sketch. “What we’d like you to do is describe the circumstances under which each person was engaged—when and where you saw them.”

Hollis realized the sooner she gave them what they wanted, the sooner she could go back to her life. “I understand. For instance, take sketch number one; he was sitting toward the middle of the room. I only remember his eyes and red hair because he was reading the
New York Times
. I remember wondering if he got the paper that morning from the East Coast. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and I couldn’t see the rest of his face.” She looked at the faces around the table. “Is that what you mean?”

They all scribbled notes on a pad.

Mosley smiled. “That’s it exactly. Only one other customer remembered a man reading a paper, but he couldn’t remember the color of his hair or the name of the paper.”

He moved to the next sketch.

Hollis stood and walked over to the wall.

“This one and the next three were all sitting together. I couldn’t see the face of the blonde with highlights, but the rest looked to me pretty much like you have them here.” She pointed to one. “She was bragging about meeting a new guy who’s a pilot. The conversation sounded pretty real to me.”

Mosley nodded. “Yeah, they’re the only ones everyone in the deli agreed on.”

Hollis moved to the next sketch.

“This guy was with her.” She pointed to two sketches, separated by a third.

Mosley unpinned one from the wall and put them next to each other.

“To me, they seemed fine. Just a couple meeting for lunch—no, make that coffee. They didn’t have any plates of food in front of them.” Hollis thought back to the day before. “He was wearing some kind of gray security uniform.” She looked up. “He was the one who took over the … the scene, and told us he worked security for a school. We all listened to him.” She frowned. “At least I didn’t notice anyone taking off.”

The three exchanged glances.

“What about his companion?”

“She was dressed casually in pants and a floral top. She had these really fancy nails, and she carried a large tote. At one point she took out lipstick and started to apply it.” Hollis looked around the room. “Anyway, the server brought their bill and they were getting ready to leave when I went looking for Todd Wallace.”

She moved to the next sketch.

Hollis frowned. “He was sitting at the table next to us. He was eating a hamburger and working his iPhone at the same time. He got up to get some napkins. Tall, about one-seventy to one-eighty pounds. He wore dark sunglasses the whole time. He was dressed like he worked in an office. I never heard him talk on the phone, but he did do some texting.”

Mosley pointed to the sketch. “That works out. All the women could describe him, but none of the men.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you remember if he showed any interest in you and Todd? Did he stay in his seat when Todd went to the bathroom?”

Hollis closed her eyes and tried to picture the deli. “I don’t know. I don’t remember him getting up at all.” She opened her eyes. “I do think he was one of the men who moved the tables back for the paramedics.”

Mosley looked pointedly at the others.

He turned to Hollis and pointed to the last sketch. “What can you tell us about this man?”

Hollis squinted at the paper. “I remember him the least. He held open the door for the paramedics bringing in the stretcher. I think he was sitting across from the couple. He was medium build, brown eyes and hair, wore cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. He helped push the tables back, too.”

Mosley said, “Excuse us a moment.” He huddled with the other two.

Hollis sat and waited. Who were these detectives?

“Ms. Morgan,” Mosley began, “this is important. No one but you could give a solid description of the last two men. Do you think you might recognize them in a lineup?”

Hollis shrugged. “Maybe. I could try.”

When Hollis got back to the office, she was energized. The police would find Todd’s killer, and if her hunch was right, Jeffrey’s killer as well. If she could just get a little more information from Mosley …. She had a feeling that since she had proved to be helpful, he might return the favor and give the Fallen Angels the peace of mind they needed.

She picked up the phone and punched in Shelby Patterson’s number.