The Clockwork Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  “No.” Rhiannon’s breathing was growing ragged and she took the hand that Ash was offering. “I pushed on the door and begged for him to open it, but he told me that by coming there, I’d proven that his mother was right. I was nothing but a filthy whore . . . and . . . that . . . I should be turning tricks with the . . . other hookers.”

  “And so you left?”

  I thought the young woman was going to dissolve into another crying spasm, but she held her chin up. “Not before I told him that he was a revolting little mama’s boy who had certain physical shortcomings and that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him.”

  “Good for you. Did you say anything else?”

  “No.” She looked away.

  “What about screaming at the top of your lungs that Kyle was going to pay in blood? Do you remember that? Our witness sure does.”

  Rhiannon bit her lip. “I was upset and acting like an idiot.”

  “I understand, but what exactly did you mean by that expression?”

  “Nothing. How was I going to hurt him?”

  “You own a gun.”

  “Which is over one hundred and fifty miles from here. I was just venting . . . making empty threats.”

  “Yet you felt guilty enough about those supposedly meaningless words to lie to us.”

  “It isn’t guilt. I’m mortified. Do you know how ashamed I am of how I behaved there?”

  “Of what you did outside the room or in?” I gave her a bland smile.

  “I never went into that room and I didn’t kill anybody.” Rhiannon enunciated each word carefully.

  “Okay, so at some point you left. Where did you go?”

  “I walked back to my car and drove here.”

  “And Kyle hasn’t tried to contact you again?”

  “He’d better not even think of it. As far as I’m concerned, I hope he gets sent to prison,” said Rhiannon.

  We all looked toward the front door as it opened and Aafedt came inside. The grim-faced detective had a black peacoat draped over his left arm and held up a stainless-steel revolver in his gloved right hand. Two things occurred to me simultaneously. The first was that we were looking at the murder weapon. And secondly, that Rhiannon had missed her true vocation. She should have been an actress. We’d been duped with a few tears and a sad story. Ash understood, too. She let go of the young woman’s hand and stood up.

  Aafedt tilted the gun slightly. “I found this wrapped in an oily rag and hidden beneath the spare tire.”

  “Taurus?” Gregg asked.

  “I’ve already checked the serial number. It’s the one she bought and it looks as if it’s been fired recently,” said Aafedt.

  All eyes were on Rhiannon, who sputtered, “I don’t know how that got there!”

  “Stick with that story. The jury will love it,” Aafedt said.

  “The last time I saw that gun, it was at the cabin.” Rhiannon stood up. “You have to believe me.”

  Gregg said, “Actually, no, I don’t. Lady, I’m done listening to your three-hankie saga of betrayal. How about the truth now?”

  “I’ve told you the truth, and if you have any other questions, you can contact my lawyer. I’m not saying another word, because you’re trying to frame me.” Rhiannon pointed at the door. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

  Seventeen

  If this were the universe inhabited by television cops, Rhiannon would have been in handcuffs faster than you could say, “Book her, Danno. Murder one.” But this was the real world and we had no choice but to leave.

  While it was extremely suspicious that the likely murder weapon and dark coat were found hidden in her car, and that Rhiannon had admitted to being at the Paladin Motel in the same general time frame as the murder, those facts simply weren’t sufficient to establish the probable cause to take her into custody for homicide. Furthermore, she was in her home and we hadn’t come there as a consequence of hot pursuit. That meant Gregg would need an arrest warrant to remove Rhiannon from the house. It’s all a bit more complex than how the TV cops handle things.

  Gregg paused at the door. “We’re going, but keep one thing in mind: you had your chance to tell the truth and cushion your fall, but you blew it.”

  “I’m calling my lawyer right now.” Rhiannon went over to the breakfast bar and grabbed her cell phone.

  Aafedt said, “Once you’re done talking to your lawyer, you might want to call a rent-a-car company. We’re seizing your Acura as evidence and towing it up to the crime lab in San Francisco.”

  “You can’t do that!” The young woman was outraged.

  “Wrong, and I’d love it if you’d come out and try to stop us.” Aafedt gave her a sharklike smile.

  Gregg was the last one through the front door and he pulled it shut behind us. Outside, the afternoon sun was low in the sky and resting just above the Santa Cruz Mountains. It was still warm, but there was a refreshing coastal breeze that smelled of the ocean. We gathered in a group on the driveway next to the Acura.

  “Where did you find the coat?” Gregg asked.

  “Wadded up in a ball in the trunk. No sign of the ski mask yet,” said Aafedt. Then he glanced toward the house and laughed nervously. “You know, we probably shouldn’t be standing out here in the open, just in case she has another gun. We’re sitting ducks.”

  Meanwhile, I’d recovered from the surprise of Aafedt finding the gun and now realized that something just wasn’t adding up. I said, “She didn’t kill Uhlander.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe her story?” asked Aafedt.

  “Most of it. I don’t believe the part about not vandalizing his apartment, but I think she was telling the truth when she said that Kyle never let her into the room. Our witness statement from Kimberly corroborates that.”

  “Only to a certain point,” said Gregg. “You said that Kimberly started talking to a john right about the same time Rhiannon supposedly left. Kimberly could have been so focused on turning a trick that she missed Rhiannon being let into the room.”

  “It’s possible, but why?” I asked.

  “Maybe she threatened to call the cops or drop a dime to Lycaon.”

  “And with Bronsey and the money arriving in less than a half hour, Kyle can’t let her throw a monkey wrench in the works,” Gregg said thoughtfully.

  They were building a scenario that certainly tallied with the known facts, but I wasn’t convinced. I said, “Okay, let’s say she went into the room. What then?”

  “That’s easy,” said Aafedt. “I’ll bet the little weasel did some fast talking and offered her a fifty-fifty split on the money being paid for the bear.”

  “And Rhiannon figured two hundred thousand dollars would go a long way toward mending her broken heart,” Gregg said with a bitter chuckle.

  “I’m sorry, Gregg, but I have to disagree,” said Ash. “That girl is in love with Kyle and my guess is that she’d have been insulted by an offer of money.”

  “And how do you explain the robbery?” I asked. “One minute she’s screaming about killing him and the next they’re working hand-in-glove to pull off an ambush? That doesn’t compute, Will Robinson.”

  “And why would she have had two coats?” Ash quietly asked.

  My wife had once more identified a significant incongruity. I swiveled to face her. “Say that again.”

  “Rhiannon was wearing a brown leather jacket, so where did that one come from?” Ash pointed at the coat draped over Aafedt’s arm.

  Aafedt looked pensive. “I see what you’re saying. Kyle must have already had this coat in his room.”

  Ash continued to press the point. “Which means that Kyle also supplied the ski mask.”

  “Not necessarily,” Aafedt objected. “Maybe her original plan was to kill Kyle and she was going to wear it as a disguise.”

  “But forgot to put it on?”

  “And it didn’t occur to her that wearing a ski mask on a Saturday night in late summer might attract someone’s attenti
on and that they’d call the cops?” I added in an incredulous tone.

  Aafedt sighed. “You’re right, that doesn’t make any sense. Kyle had to have supplied the mask and the coat.”

  “Which could also mean that Rhiannon was his partner all along,” Gregg said. “For all we know, the two of them choreographed that melodramatic scene at the motel to give her an alibi.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “This thing is making about as much sense as the idea of Britney Spears writing a self-help book.”

  We walked across the street and Gregg popped the trunk of the Impala. Aafedt slipped the revolver into an oversized evidence envelope and crammed the coat into a large paper sack. Meanwhile, I was still cobbling together my own version of the murder.

  I said, “Okay, try this scenario. Could it be possible that Kyle lured Rhiannon down to the Paladin Motel, knowing she’d blow a head gasket and attract attention to herself?”

  “What are you saying?” asked Gregg.

  “What if it was Kyle’s intention all along to frame Rhiannon for the murder? He had to make sure that she was seen at the motel—”

  “And what better way to do that than to pretend to offer Rhiannon a reconciliation and then refuse to let her in the room and call her vile names?” Ash took over the narrative.

  “He is the same guy who Bronsey claims hired him to gain an advantage by having his own mother terrorized and robbed,” I said.

  Gregg rubbed his chin. “So, you think Kyle may have planted the coat and gun in her trunk?”

  “Yep. This is such a first-class quality frame-job, the son of a bitch should be working at a freaking art gallery. If you can humor me for a second, I’d like to take a quick look at the revolver,” I said, putting my cane down in the trunk so that both my hands would be free.

  “Sure.” Aafedt tossed me some latex gloves.

  “Gregg, can I borrow your little Maglite?”

  He handed me the flashlight and I slipped the revolver from the envelope. I held the gun up by the trigger guard and shined the flashlight’s beam at an oblique angle, which is the best method for illuminating latent fingerprints.

  Gregg noticed my subsequent frown. “What?”

  After another couple of seconds of searching, I turned the light off and handed it back to Gregg. “Maybe the crime lab guys will find some latents on the gun or ammunition, but it looks to me as if this thing has been very carefully wiped down with an oily rag.”

  Gregg understood what I meant and shook his head in bewilderment. “But why bother to do that and then hang on to the gun?”

  “Exactly. She’s had plenty of time to dispose of it.” Slipping the gun back into the evidence envelope, I said, “This thing should have been dumped in the bay last night.”

  Ash glanced back at the house. “And if Rhiannon knew the gun and coat were in her trunk, why did she give you permission to search the car? That’s just stupid.”

  “A college degree in computer science doesn’t necessarily mean she’s got common sense or street smarts,” Aafedt suggested halfheartedly. “And she’s a novice killer. She may have figured that she’d hidden the gun so well that we weren’t going to find it.”

  “In the trunk of her car?” I asked incredulously. “Doesn’t this impress you as being way too convenient?”

  “Yeah, but your hypothesis puts us back at square one.”

  “Not really. Back at the homicide bureau, you thought the gunman was the unidentified person who ran to the Dodge Avenger.” I recovered my cane and leaned on it to take some pressure off my left shin, which was beginning to ache. “You were probably right, and Rhiannon’s story actually supports that theory.”

  Gregg cocked his head. “Keep talking.”

  “If you were Lycaon security and you couldn’t track our wayward boy through GPS, how would you try to locate Kyle?”

  “I’d have surveillance teams following his girlfriend and mom.”

  “Which is what they did, and Rhiannon obligingly led Lycaon to Kyle.”

  Aafedt nodded and pushed the car trunk closed. “So, we’re back to our original theory that the Lycaon operative robbed Bronsey to teach the other company a lesson.”

  “Which still leaves us stalled, because you know those Lycaon rent-a-cops are going to stonewall us at the interview tomorrow,” Gregg said.

  “You might encourage them to cooperate if you threatened to close down the company’s operations for a few days,” I said in offhand voice.

  The trill of a cell phone interrupted the conversation. Ash pulled the device from her jacket pocket, squinted at the tiny screen, and said, “It’s Heather.”

  As Ash stepped over onto the parkway to take the call, Gregg said, “I’m dying to hear how we do that.”

  I said, “It’s simple. You’ve got video proof that a vehicle belonging to Lycaon was parked just down the block from the Paladin Motel contemporaneous to the crime, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You think the vehicle belongs to the security department, but for all you know, that Avenger might be the company president’s car.”

  “Yeah . . . ?”

  “So you would be well within your rights to request a search warrant for the entire Lycaon premises: workshops, parking lot, clean rooms, and even the CEO’s office. After all, you don’t know where the evidence is.”

  Aafedt laughed nastily, while Gregg gave me an unsavory smile and said, “Which would mean that we could completely empty the building and search wherever we wanted.”

  “Precisely. Plus, you’d have to keep all the employees out until you were finished with your search, to insure that no evidence was removed. If it was just you and Danny searching, why I’ll bet you could shut them down long enough to hurt them where they’ll really feel it.”

  “The pocketbook.”

  “Brad honey, can I interrupt for a second?” Ash called. “Heather and Colin want to know if we’d like to have dinner with them tonight at Fior d’Italia.”

  I glanced at Gregg. “Are we about done here?”

  “We’ll have to wait for the tow truck, but you can go.” Aafedt pulled his cell phone out and said, “Yeah, and I’d better get a tow en route out here and then call my wife to let her know that I’m going to be late for dinner again.”

  I said to Ash, “Tell them I’d love it and we’ll see them around seven-thirty.”

  Ash passed the information along and then said, “Heather also told me to tell you that it isn’t on Union Street anymore. It’s at the San Remo Hotel on Mason.”

  “Got it. Oh, and I expect our daughter to be fully dressed.”

  “I’ve already made that very clear,” my wife primly replied and then returned to her conversation with Heather.

  Gregg said, “Fior d’Italia? I’ve always loved that place. Have a good time, but don’t stay out too late.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you old guys need your sleep and you have to be at the Hall of Justice tomorrow morning by ten. I want you with us when we go down to talk to those sociopaths at Lycaon.” Gregg extended his right hand.

  As we shook hands, I said, “I’ll be there with bells on . . . although that’s probably a visual you didn’t need.”

  Ash and I were in the minivan and headed back to San Francisco a few minutes later. As we waited for the red light before turning onto Saratoga-Sunnyvale Road, I said, “Guess where I’m going to go while you’re exchanging teddy bear techniques with Lauren tomorrow.”

  “Lycaon?”

  “Yep. Gregg wants me to go down there with them. You aren’t interested in changing your plans and coming along, are you?”

  Ash patted me on the knee. “Heavens, no. I need some teddy bear time, because this whole investigation is like walking through a freshly fertilized field.”

  “Yeah, it has been a little squalid.”

  “And I don’t know how you could work homicide for as long as you did and not despise the human race.”

  “It’s onl
y because I had you in my life.”

  Fior d’Italia has been in business since 1886 and advertises itself as the oldest Italian restaurant in the United States. It might be, but that isn’t as important as the fact that they serve some of the most wonderful Northern Italian cuisine you’ll find this side of Tuscany. It being a Sunday night, North Beach wasn’t too crowded and I found a parking space near the restaurant. The restaurant’s new home was on the ground floor of the San Remo Hotel, a handsome three-storied Victorian-style building that was constructed in 1906 by a fellow named Amadeo Giannini. He’s better remembered now as the man who established a moderately successful financial institution known as Bank of America.

  Heather and Colin were already there and seated at one of the restaurant’s tables out on the brick sidewalk. They hadn’t seen us yet, so we paused for a second to watch them. Ash’s hand tightened around mine as Heather laughed at something funny Colin had just said and then rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Been there, done that,” I whispered. “Do you remember the first time we held hands, Ashleigh Remmelkemp?”

  “Of course. We were going into the old Torpedo Factory in Alexandria. You hated that artisan stuff,” she said with a tiny giggle.

  “Yeah, but I’ve absolutely loved every minute I’ve ever spent with you.” I lifted her hand to kiss it.

  “Now stop. You’re going to make me cry.”

  “And we can’t have that, because this is a celebration. Let’s go and get acquainted with our future son-in-law.”

  We began the festivities with a chilled bottle of Asti Spumante, an Italian sparkling wine that I believe tastes every bit as good as far more expensive champagne, which probably speaks volumes about my unrefined palate. I offered a toast to the young couple and Colin scored major points by thanking Ash for the genes that had made his future bride so beautiful. Dinner was excellent, as was the second bottle of Asti Spumante. By the time we’d finished and were standing in front of the restaurant, Ash had wrestled a promise from Heather and Colin that they would spend Christmas with us in the Shenandoah Valley.

  “That will allow plenty of time for your hair to get back to its original color,” said Ash.