A Killing in China Basin

by Kirk Russell

  They had learned a fair amount about him in the last two days and Malloy was somewhat impressed. Stoltz had a gift and reputation for pattern recognition. Yesterday afternoon they watched him knock out a book of Sudoku puzzles over a latte at a Starbucks. Among his friends, and this guy did have friends – he wasn’t isolated even if he lived on the estate with mom – he was known as ‘The Engineer.’ Ordinary enough nickname and otherwise corny, but not so much since it came from guys who also spent their lives in front of a computer. Stoltz probably could have gone somewhere much bigger with his life if he hadn’t fucked up. He had a few strange habits but nothing too out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing like some of the people they watched.

  Outside of what they’d gotten from Homicide, the SID team had questioned a number of people on their own, including a goofball named Chulie who’d been Stoltz’s cellmate. Chulie remembered Stoltz wanting to even the score with SF Homicide, but he also wanted something in return for remembering.

  Malloy knew the mother lived with only a housekeeper who served as cook and caretaker. The mother was seventy-five but looked and sounded like a hardened sixty. Cosmetic surgeries had turned her face into a tanned ping-pong ball. Malloy watched her get in the car. Then Stoltz walked out of the house. He strode across the stone porch and down the steps with a light linen sport coat draped over one arm. He got in behind the driver, the whole move over in less than ten seconds.

  ‘Suspect is in the vehicle and the vehicle is moving.’

  SID leapfrogged the limo as it drove to SFO. When it pulled up to the domestic terminal they’d already had two officers stationed inside, who then watched them check into first class at the United counter. Malloy went through special security with another officer and saw them board. He’d bet a beer on Hawaii, based on the way Stoltz was dressed. He’d hoped for Hawaii. If it had been, he’d be getting on the same plane or the one after it.

  But it wasn’t Hawaii. It was LA, and LAPD would catch them on the other side, as Malloy and another officer followed on a later plane. The United supervisor they talked to was hesitant before divulging Mrs Stoltz’s itinerary. She showed an Irene and Cody Stoltz flying first class to LAX, and Irene Stoltz continuing on to Cabo San Lucas four days from now.

  ‘Do you show Cody Stoltz on the Cabo leg?’

  ‘No, sir, and I don’t show any return flights with him.’ She pivoted the screen so he could read, adding, ‘He must have other plans.’

  THIRTY

  Late in the afternoon, as he drove away from the homicide office, Raveneau called Celeste and said he was on his way, but running fifteen minutes late. He stopped to buy green papaya salad, stuffed crêpes, and two appetizers, one that was prawns in a hot sauce and the other a chicken deal tied up in rice paper. Then he drove up to Twin Peaks and met Celeste at her car. They walked up the trail with the food, a bottle of wine, and a blanket. The early evening carried a November chill, but sitting on the blanket and next to each other kept them warm. With the clear air the lights of the city below were very bright as dark came.

  ‘Sorry about the other night,’ Celeste said. ‘I guess I got jealous. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘Forget about it. How was Napa?’

  ‘Very beautiful. There was a low fog over the grapes that burned off with the first sunlight and the grass on the hills is the color of a lion now. What was your day like?’

  ‘Like sitting in a small room with fluorescent lights that flicker too much.’

  She laughed at that and at him. He liked that about her. There were good days and bad days and she didn’t walk around expecting them all to be good.

  ‘I heard something just before I came here that I can’t really talk about,’ he said. ‘But it’s got me disturbed.’

  ‘Great.’

  He took her hand and her fingers were cold now. It was just about time to fold the blanket up and get off the hill. Still, it was lucky to have this and better than sitting in a restaurant somewhere tonight. Celeste had her hair pulled back and a blue fleece coat zipped up under her neck. She was flying very early in the morning to a wine convention in Las Vegas and had to get home and pack tonight, so they left it that they’d try to get together as soon as she returned. He kissed her and when they parted they were like kids on a date or tourists winging a picnic in the city.

  The guy Celeste lived with for ten years and expected to marry had left her reeling. The hurt ran deep and made her a little insecure. It didn’t surprise him that she called him minutes after they said goodbye and asked, ‘Should I call you from Vegas?’

  ‘Or I’ll call you.’

  ‘Be safe. I just heard another news report.’

  Meaning she heard something about the homicide detail. The media was working it. He turned on the radio after hanging up, but didn’t hear anything new. When he got home Bates’s car was parked out front.

  ‘I would have called but I’m afraid they’re tapping my phones.’

  And this is how things can change; he let Bates walk into the warehouse in front of him. He didn’t want him behind him. Upstairs, he found a couple of beers in the refrigerator and made Bates dinner because he said he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Raveneau chopped an onion and broke a couple of eggs into a skillet and made a frittata.

  ‘Did they come talk to you today about me and Jacie and our life insurance?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Changing the policies was Jacie’s idea, not mine. She pestered me for a year but I wouldn’t call the broker, so she did it herself.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be doing their job if they didn’t look at everything.’

  Clearly, Bates didn’t believe that. He was quiet and then said, ‘These guys are after me. They’re building a case.’

  ‘They are looking at you.’

  ‘Did they say that?’

  ‘You already know it.’

  ‘What did they say to you?’

  Raveneau looked Bates in the eye. Whatever they’d told him, they’d already asked Bates, but he still wanted Bates to volunteer it.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘My girlfriend.’

  ‘How long have you had a girlfriend?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is they’re adding it up wrong. I went to LA and got them information. I put them on to guys who deal stolen vehicles long distance and sell them online. Now they’re setting me up with what I gave them. I figured out where the truck came from that was used to kill Jacie. I gave what I learned to those detectives and they’re trying to turn it against me. Setting me up for my sweet Jacie, that’s what they’re doing.’

  Sweat started on Bates’s forehead, a sheen wiped away with his hand. He stood. He moved to the slider and opened it so the cold air was on him, then sighed and said, ‘Jacie couldn’t have sex any more. She wasn’t physically able to. She had a woman problem that got worse and it just built up in me. I needed somebody to hold, but you know Jacie was my life, man. She was everything.’

  ‘What’s the name of the girl?’

  ‘Shaye Baylor.’

  ‘What’s she telling them?’

  ‘Do you hear what I’m telling you?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Raveneau flipped the frittata and slid it on to a plate. He got out a bottle of balsamic vinegar and popped the bread out of the toaster.

  ‘Eat. Pour a little of that vinegar over the eggs. It’ll make them taste better. How long have you been with Shaye?’

  The way Raveneau figured things, if this came back a lie it mattered. He watched Bates spill balsamic over the eggs.

  ‘It’s been going on about a year. I saw her last night but I could feel Jacie’s ghost in the room. I couldn’t see her but I could feel her, and I couldn’t make it happen with Shaye. Losing Jacie . . . it’s just a big hole in my heart that isn’t ever going to fill.

  ‘These detectives are asking around about me and Shaye. There’s a bar we go to. They’ve been in there asking questions
about me so they’re following me. They’re going to sweat her for whatever they want her to say.’

  ‘And you’re telling her to give them the truth.’

  ‘Of course, I am. Look, man, I haven’t been building a life with her. It’s both of us needing the same thing right now. She knew I’d never leave Jacie. She was cool with that and she doesn’t want an old man with health problems. But they’re going to read in it what they want. They’re like two bloodhounds on a scent. You know how it goes.’

  ‘Have you ever told this girlfriend that you’re going to be together with her, marry her, and take care of her, that you love her and someday you’re going to be together?’

  ‘Did they tell you that?’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘No, what I told you is what is, and I broke it off with her last night.’

  ‘Then as long as she’s straight with them, I don’t think you’ll have a problem there.’

  ‘Bullshit. I’ve got an insurance problem. They think I put Jacie up to doubling the policy.’

  Bates had eaten most of the eggs and finished the beer, but got up abruptly, went to the bathroom and threw up. Raveneau heard the toilet flush several times and slid the slider open as the smell of vomit spread into the room. When Bates came out, Raveneau handed him a glass of water and Bates asked, ‘Who killed her? Did Stoltz kill my Jacie?’

  ‘We had this conversation already, but now I’m going to give you some advice. Call the detectives and tell them you want to meet and bring a lawyer, but keep the lawyer quiet. Anything you’ve lied to them about, clear it up, and get it off the table. If you told them there was no girlfriend and they found out on their own, come clean.’

  Bates wasn’t here for advice. He was here for information and ready to leave now.

  ‘You’ve got to slow it down,’ Raveneau said as they rode the elevator down. ‘You need to sit down with them.’

  ‘Bullshit, I do. All they want to do is charge me.’

  Raveneau watched him get in his car. He was sure Bates had lied to the Oakland detectives about the girlfriend, and Bates was right, he didn’t have much time. The detectives were just days away from charging him.

  THIRTY-ONE

  When Raveneau met up with the China Basin realtor the braggadocio was gone, and listening to him, he got the feeling the owners of the building had come down hard on him. The Great Recession was yet to let up on real estate and Raveneau doubted the owners thought a homicide in their building was a selling point.

  ‘We’ve cleaned it up,’ the realtor said as if talking to a potential client. ‘Let me show you.’ Once inside, he toured Raveneau. ‘Look at this now. Imagine working here with that view of the bay. We’ve lowered the price, you know. Or maybe you don’t know that.’

  Raveneau didn’t know. He looked across the water at Yerba Buena/Treasure Island. Plans had floated to build a new community, put up skyscrapers, casinos, build a mini-Hong Kong, or alternately a green community. But you heard little of that any more. The architects he knew were all looking for work or getting by on a lot less, and that’s what it looked like ahead, and what he figured we’d all do. Do more with less.

  They had painted, re-carpeted, cleaned the windows, put in a new gate and exterior doors, added a video surveillance system, and gotten the power turned back on. The new video camera caught something last night the realtor thought they would want to see, so la Rosa was also on her way here.

  Raveneau looked through a window at the video camera sitting up on the edge of the roof parapet like a sea gull. He guessed that somehow it was cheaper to put it up there. It was and the realtor explained how.

  ‘There’s an unused vent pipe on the roof that they ran the wire down. When the building sells we’ll take the equipment with us. The monitor is in a broom closet down the hall here.’ As they reached the room where Jurika was killed, Raveneau stopped and looked in at the newly painted walls, beige carpet, and a ceiling light fixture with a price tag dangling off it.

  ‘We got it all,’ the realtor said. ‘You can’t tell anything happened here, can you?’

  He couldn’t. Raveneau followed him to the broom closet and watched the video. The system was a cheap one and the camera angle on the roof wasn’t good, but the van was Heilbron’s. He watched Heilbron walk up and try several keys in the gate lock.

  ‘Recognize him?’ the realtor asked.

  ‘Yeah, he’s someone we’ve questioned.’

  ‘What’s he want to get in here for?’

  ‘We’ll ask him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I’d like to get a copy of that tape if I can.’

  They watched as Heilbron walked back to his van and opened the rear doors. Getting to his toolboxes, Raveneau thought. Heilbron returned to the gate a few minutes later and the realtor exhaled loudly and said, ‘This city is nuts. I’ve got to get out of here.’

  Raveneau watched Heilbron open the gate. A few minutes later he was through the main door. A small side camera caught that.

  ‘Was your lock damaged?’

  ‘No. Can’t you arrest him anyway?’

  ‘We’d need better footage to prove it’s who I’m sure it is. Did he take anything?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. At least tell me why he wants to get in here. You must at least have an idea?’

  Raveneau turned to him. He saw the disbelief on the man’s face.

  ‘I don’t know why. I’m wondering the same thing myself.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  Stoltz walked slowly through the Getty Museum with his mother gripping his elbow and her perfume enveloping them. He hated the smell of it and this controlling act of hers.

  ‘I like this painting,’ she said, ‘but I’m sure you don’t.’

  She couldn’t be more right.

  ‘You’re upset, Cody. You’re worried about the police, aren’t you?’

  ‘The police have no one else, so in their knee-jerk way they’re focused on me. What am I supposed to do with that?’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything with it. Just let it be. The police aren’t stupid. They’re not the brightest men in the world, but they work through things eventually. All you have to do is wait until they figure out their mistake. They will.’

  She smiled her little girl smile, senility’s breathless first dance. Then she surprised him.

  ‘But I am disturbed by how quickly the police came to talk to you after that police inspector was killed. Why did they come to you so fast? Did you write more letters?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you had any contact with any of them?’

  ‘None.’

  They looked at more paintings then ate lunch at the museum. At the table she reached across and took his hand.

  ‘I want you to come to Mexico with me. If you’re out of the country and something happens again, they won’t look your way any more. That’ll end it. I’ll have Rosalie make you a plane reservation and you can continue on with me tomorrow.’

  ‘Because of work I can’t do that.’

  ‘What do you have to do that can’t wait?’

  ‘Without me, the project I’m on stalls.’

  ‘I really believe you should change your plans.’

  ‘I wish I could.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe that, and I’m going to say it again, I want you to come to Mexico.’

  ‘Like I said, I wish I could.’

  She stared and he looked for the waiter. Then he pulled out his phone and checked his email. He glanced up, smiled and said, ‘Next time, we’ll go together.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  By dawn the next morning Stoltz was two hundred miles north of Los Angeles sitting in a red plastic booth at a chain restaurant along I-5, waiting for the waitress to bring the crap he’d ordered. When she did, he took one look and shoved the plate away.

  ‘Sir, is there something wrong?’

  ‘Just with the food, but it’s not your fault. I should have known better. I�
�m ready for my check.’

  She huffed away and instead of his check she returned with a pimply little guy in a checkered shirt who looked like an unemployed jockey. He turned out to be the manager. The manager also wanted to know if there was a problem and Stoltz said, ‘The problem is you’re serving food out of your dumpster.’

  He started to get into a debate with the manager but ended it asking, ‘Didn’t they teach you the customer is always right?’ He slid out of the booth and dropped ten bucks on the table. When the manager started to say something more, Stoltz said, ‘Take my word for it, I’m the type to write a letter. So why don’t you just shut up?’

  When he got in the car he was shaking and unsure why he’d lost it in there. Three hours later and after two more stops, one for gas and one for a nap that he’d hoped would clear his head but left him feeling like he was jet-lagged, he deviated from his plan and took the cut-off for a state park, following a road rising toward dry hills and a reservoir. In this rural country a little state park wasn’t going to be crowded, and he needed to be somewhere he could sit and think because he was screwing up.

  He pulled in and parked next to a brown and white trailhead sign. Fifty yards to his left was a cinder block toilet structure for hiking types. Two other cars were in the lot, an old Subaru with a bike rack and a Chevy pickup. It felt safe enough and he locked his car and walked up a trail to a stand of pines, hoping the cool air and sunlight would help him calm down inside. He found a place to sit where he could still see his car, and then tried deep breathing. He lay on his back for a while thinking about everything that had happened in the last week and a half.

  Then, as he was close to leaving, another car drove into the lot, a late model, white four-door Buick with a trim gray-haired man getting out, a guy in his early sixties, who immediately looked through the windows of Stoltz’s rented Nissan. He got something out of his car, laid down on the pavement and reached under the Nissan. Stoltz moved around the back of a pine tree and watched the man dust himself off as he stood up, nothing in his hands any more. He got back in his car and pulled out. Like in a movie, like something you wouldn’t believe had happened unless you saw it.