by Nancy Skopin
When Buddy finally let Bill up I offered him a Guinness, and asked the obvious question. “Did I forget we had plans tonight?”
He took a long sip from the Stout bottle, then shook his head. “No plans. I got off work at a reasonable hour and was just hoping to catch you at home. Is that a problem?”
“No. Not a problem. Have you eaten? I was going to make a chicken salad.”
“That sound great,” he sighed. “I guess I should have called, instead of just coming over.”
I gave him a smile, but said nothing. We were both still feeling awkward. I did wish he had called instead of just dropping by. I had given him his own gate key only so I wouldn’t have to walk a hundred and twenty-five yards every time he came for a visit. Not so he could let himself in when I wasn’t around. If it happened again I’d have to establish some boundaries, but I decided not to press the point tonight.
Chapter 18
The killer was awakened by the sound of his daughter’s SpongeBob Squarepants alarm clock. He dressed quickly, grabbed a Rockstar energy drink out of the fridge and began to prepare for his next mission. This one was more important than any of the others. Today he would execute the supervisor.
He went to the garage and carefully duct taped an explosive device to his daughter’s skateboard. Last night he’d equipped the board with a remote control engine from a toy truck that had been one of her favorite playthings. He loved the poetic justice of using her toys to kill the individuals who were responsible for her death. It made him feel as though she was with him again. He believed she would approve of what he was doing and how he was doing it. Making things right. He’d used her rubber snake to kill Mayes, and her miniature Swiss Army knife to puncture Flannery’s gas line. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to think of something as clever with the Jensen woman and was reduced to using her blunt-tipped scissors to loosen the air hose.
He practiced maneuvering the skateboard around the garage using the remote. It was more difficult to steer with the extra weight, but he kept working at it. After an hour he was confident in his ability to control it and he placed the skateboard on the front passenger seat of his Hummer, bracing it with rolled towels so it would be secure while he drove. He set two remote control units on the console between the seats, one to drive the skateboard, and one to trigger the bomb.
He drove to the airport and parked outside the gated employee lot in the same spot he’d used while making his plans, and waited.
At 4:17 a.m. Paul Marks exited the building. The killer pointed his index finger at him, pulling an imaginary trigger and making a popping sound. Unaware of this scrutiny, Marks got into his BMW Z4 and started his engine. The killer started his at the same time. They made a caravan of two as he followed Marks onto Highway 101, and then onto 380, eventually merging onto Highway 280. They drove south on the nearly deserted freeway into the hills above San Mateo.
Marks took the Highway 92 exit and pulled off 92 at Alameda de las Pulgas. There was a traffic light at the intersection of Alameda and 92, and when he rolled to a stop at the red light the killer pulled in close behind him. He put the Hummer into park, opened his door, and set the skateboard on the asphalt. If the light lasted another minute he wouldn’t have to use the driving control at all. He could just back up to 92 and trigger the explosive charge. There were no other cars around. As he shifted the Hummer into reverse, the light changed.
Chapter 19
I got a funny feeling in my stomach as I unlocked the office door on Friday morning. My office has been broken into on occasion, so I’m naturally paranoid. The lock had been engaged, but I could feel something in the air, like an electrical charge left behind by someone who didn’t belong in my space. I left the door open behind me and removed the Glock from its holster under my lap drawer. Buddy didn’t seem startled by the gun, so I assumed he’d never heard one fired. I dropped his leash and told him to stay. Naturally he followed me everywhere I went. I walked into the kitchenette, then checked the closet and finally the bathroom. All were devoid of intruders. When I was satisfied that Buddy and I were alone in the office, I closed and locked the door.
The voicemail light was blinking, but I turned on the computer before pressing the play button. The message was from Paul and his voice sounded more strained than ever.
“You were right, Nikki,” he said without preamble. “Someone tried to blow me up this morning on my way home from work. I managed to get away, but I didn’t get his license plate number. Sorry. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m calling that bodyguard you recommended as soon as I hang up.”
I listened to the message a second time before looking up Paul’s home number on my smartphone. My hands were shaking as I hit the call icon. The phone rang twice and then was answered by a woman. It was a voice I recognized, and I relaxed as soon as I heard her whiskey tenor.
“Marks residence.”
“Lieutenant Quinn,” I said. “It’s Nikki Hunter. Remember me?”
“Anderson’s girlfriend, right?”
I cringed. There’s something about being called a ‘girlfriend’ that rubs me the wrong way.
“Right,” I said, between clenched teeth. “Is Paul okay?”
“He’s fine. Thanks for the referral.”
“What happened this morning?”
“Apparently someone followed him when he left work. He stopped at a traffic light and the other guy pulled right up to his bumper, opened his driver’s side door, and put something on the ground. Paul was watching in his rearview mirror. He’d noticed he was being followed. Anyway, the light changed and Paul took off like a bat out of hell.
“The guy followed him, but Paul managed to put some distance between them. He slowed at the next red light he came to and that’s when he spotted a skateboard speeding down the street behind him. It was unnerving, considering what’s been happening to his staff. When the skateboard was right behind him, Paul hit the gas and gunned it through the red light. As he was pulling away the fucking thing exploded. It was a big explosion too. I stopped to look at the crater on my way over here. He says it pushed his car hard enough for him to lose control. He almost hit the center island on Alameda. But he’s fine, and I’m here now.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said. “Can I talk to him?”
“He’s sleeping. I made him take a pill.”
“How late will you be with him tonight?”
“It’s my weekend, so I’m here till Sunday. I told him he shouldn’t go back to work until this thing is resolved, but he says he’s not hiding out at home. I’ll be going to work with him tonight.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. By the way, what’s your first name?”
“Marcia,” she said. “But everybody calls me Quinn.”
“Okay, Quinn. When he wakes up tell him I called. He can call my cell if he feels like talking.”
“What’s the number?”
I gave her my cell number and made sure she had my home and office numbers as well. When we hung up my hands were still shaking, but it was just the adrenalin. I knew Paul was as safe as he could be, now that Quinn was with him.
I started a pot of coffee, then called Sam, who answered after two rings, sounding cranky. I didn’t waste words.
“Someone tried to kill Paul Marks this morning on his way home from work. There was a car following him, and a bomb attached to a remote control skateboard. If Paul hadn’t been paying attention he’d be toast.”
“Was he injured?” Sam asked.
“No. Close call, though. He hired a bodyguard and she’s going to the airport with him tonight.”
“Did Paul see what kind of car was following him?”
I sat silently for a moment as the importance of what Sam was asking struck me like a physical blow. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll call you right back.”
<
br /> I redialed Paul’s home number. Quinn picked up after one ring.
“Marks residence,” she said.
“Hey, Quinn, it’s Nicoli again. I need to speak with Paul. It’s urgent. Can you wake him up for me, please?”
“Hang on,” she said, and dropped the phone with a painful clunk.
A moment passed before the extension was picked up. “Nikki?” Paul sounded groggy.
“Hi, Paul. How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” he said. “I hope you find this guy soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling. I need to know what kind of car he was driving.”
“Didn’t Quinn tell you?”
“No.”
“It was a Hummer. A black one. It looked new.”
“Did you see any part of the license plate number?”
“Too dark.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “Get some rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I hung up before Paul could ask any questions. There was no time. This was the lead we’d been hoping for.
I called Sam back. “New black Hummer,” I said.
Hummers were relatively rare. It should be easy to trace any black ones sold in the Bay Area in the last six months.
“Only one problem,” Sam interrupted my train of thought.
“What’s that?”
“Each of our subjects probably received a substantial settlement from the airline, and maybe from individual life insurance policies as well.”
“So?”
“So if you wanted a car that couldn’t be traced back to you, what would you do?”
“I suppose I’d pay cash, but the car still has to be registered with the DMV. You can’t register a car under an assumed name.”
“Nicoli,” he said, “this guy is killing people. Do you really think he’s going to worry about the DMV coming after him for not registering his new Hummer?”
“I see your point,” I said.
Sam thought for a moment. “We’ll each take half the list of surviving family members, starting with our top three candidates, and we’ll check out their garages.”
“I’ll start with Wallace and Fragoso,” I said.
“Okay.” I could tell he was trying to figure out why I’d opted not to go back to Boscalo’s neighborhood.
“They already know you at Fragoso’s apartment building,” I said.
“Fine,” said Sam.
“I don’t want to subject Buddy to another assault by those kids,” I added.
“Okay,” he said, but I could tell he was stifling a laugh.
Buddy and I took off a few minutes later. Our first stop was Fragoso’s apartment complex in San Carlos. There were no Hummers parked in the garage under his apartment building. Not really surprising, considering the average income of apartment dwellers in this section of San Carlos. I drove around the neighborhood in case the suspect vehicle was parked out in the open where no one would think to look for it. After about ten minutes I moved on.
I didn’t want to risk going back to Wallace’s home without making sure he was at his office, so I drove there first. I checked the parking lot behind the building, and did not see a Hummer. I parked in the Thai restaurant lot and walked Buddy across the street to the law office, flattening myself against the front of the building and peering in through the glass door to see if the overhead lights were on. I imagined what I must look like to passing motorists. Crazed female stalker with dog. The lights in the office were on, so we jogged back to my car and sped off to the Belmont Hills.
I parked on the street directly in front of Rebecca and David’s house. If Wallace came home while I was snooping around his garage I was screwed anyway, so there was no point in hiding my car. I hooked Buddy to his leash and we skulked down Wallace’s driveway to the two-car garage. Actually, I skulked, Buddy pranced.
There were no windows on the garage door, so we walked around to the side gate. Before attempting to unlatch the gate I looked for any wires that might indicate the presence of an alarm system. I didn’t see anything, so I reached over the top and felt around for a latch. I couldn’t find one and was considering climbing over the thing when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I leaped straight up in the air, spun around, and slammed myself back against the gate.
“Sorry,” said Rebecca. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The latch is on the bottom.”
While my heart pounded in my chest and I made an effort to catch my breath, Rebecca bent down, reached under the gate, and slid a bolt to the left, then pushed the gate open into the side yard. “Hi, puppy,” she said, scratching under Buddy’s chin.
He wagged his tail and grinned at her.
When I was calm enough to speak I said, “Thank you. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were Wallace.”
“Sorry,” she said again, giving me a brilliant smile that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all.
I scanned the neighborhood to see if anyone else was watching. Although there was no one on the sidewalk, I thought I saw a face quickly moving away from the window next door.
I led Buddy into the side yard and when I tried to close the gate behind us, Rebecca slipped through.
“You can’t be here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s illegal and dangerous, and I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.”
“I am the only person who is responsible for me,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
“Suit yourself.”
I tiptoed to the garage window and peered into the dark interior. There was a silver SUV in the slot closest to the window. I couldn’t see beyond it to the other side of the garage. Rebecca leaned over my shoulder, trying to see what I was looking at.
“Have you ever seen Wallace driving a Hummer?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Why? Did something happen?”
“I can’t tell you. Just let me know if you see him driving a black Hummer, okay?” I realized I sounded angry. “I didn’t mean to snap,” I said. “I just can’t get you involved.”
“I’m already involved. I live across the street. I’ve started closing the drapes so he can’t see in, but I can’t do that forever. When are you going to install the camera?”
“I’ll try to get over here on Monday.”
We walked around the back of the garage, hoping to find another window, but there wasn’t one. The opposite side of the garage was connected to the house. There might be a Hummer in there and I just couldn’t see it. We slipped out the gate and when I glanced at the window next door again, Gina Cirone was looking out. She waved at us. Rebecca waved back, a big smile on her face.
“Shit,” I muttered.
Gina dashed outside and met us at the end of Wallace’s driveway.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, as if talking quietly would make us all invisible.
“Can we go inside?” I asked, herding them toward Gina’s back door.
We gathered in the kitchen and I closed the door and the blinds facing Wallace’s house. After a moment’s consideration, I opened the blinds again. I wanted to know if he came home.
“Gina,” I began, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
Gina crossed herself, and then raised her right hand as though taking a Catholic pledge.
“You too, Rebecca,” I said.
Rebecca just stared at me.
“Okay. Sit down, both of you. I’m going to tell you what’s happening, but if you whisper one word of this to anyone, lives could be lost. Is that clear?”
They nodded solemnly and sat down. I had their attention. I just didn’t know if they could be trusted.
“Someone
has murdered three air traffic controllers and attempted to kill a fourth in the last two months. All of them worked the same shift at the same airport, and they were all on duty the morning Wallace’s wife and children were killed.”
Both women gasped and Gina clutched at her chest.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“My God,” she said. “I knew that man was evil.” She crossed herself again. “He didn’t even care about those children. They were just possessions to him.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I don’t have any evidence that Wallace is the killer. He just seems like the type of person who would seek revenge.”
They nodded again, but neither was making eye contact with me. I could see the wheels turning. They were picturing Wallace as a murderer.
“I need you to promise you’ll keep quiet about this and I need to know if you see Wallace going out late at night or very early in the morning, or if you see him driving a black Hummer. That’s all. Don’t follow him and don’t let him see you watching. Don’t take any chances.” They silently nodded again. “Say something.”
Rebecca protectively put her hand on Gina’s arm. “We’ll keep quiet,” she said. “And we’ll keep an eye on Wallace, discreetly.”
I gave Gina one of my business cards, writing my home and cell numbers on the back.