by J. L. Abramo
“Be nice to know where the key came from,” Lopez said.
“Very nice,” Johnson agreed.
“Any ideas?”
“I’ll speak to the building doorman. Find out if there is a record of all keys issued, and if the duplication of keys is permitted,” Johnson suggested. “I understand you will be meeting with Mrs. Sandoval this evening.”
“I’m not looking forward to it.”
“You might ask her who, to her knowledge, may have had a key to the apartment—in addition to her and her husband.”
“I’m not certain that’s a good idea, at least not for the moment,” Lopez suggested. “Let me know what you learn from building security as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
Johnson started for the door.
“Rocky.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he said, turning back to Lopez.
“The envelope I removed from Sandoval’s apartment.”
“Yes.”
“I will explain as soon as I can.”
“It’s not idle curiosity, Laura. I’m only interested in your welfare.”
“I know that. I am asking you to trust me on this, give me a little time. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get back to you on the key,” Johnson said, and he left the office.
He walked back to his desk. He did trust Lopez. He was about to call Jake Diamond to cancel their meeting.
But he decided it could wait until after he talked with the security guard at Roberto Sandoval’s apartment building.
“Did you meet with Lopez?”
“Yes,” Weido reported.
“And?”
“She’s keeping me at arm’s length, has me on a rabbit hunt while she goes over Sandoval’s case files.”
“Who is the rabbit?”
“Some character named Walker.”
“Justin Walker?”
“That’s the one,” Marco said, wondering how the man knew. “Lucky guess?”
“Don’t be cute, Weido. If you find Walker, I want to be the first to know.”
“Sure. You’re the boss.”
“I am. Don’t forget it.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Weido said, disconnecting.
And fuck you, too.
Darlene Roman was tired of waiting for the phone to ring. She had managed to keep busy for a few hours, but she was out of ideas. If it had been the end of the month, she could at least have kept occupied trying to figure out how to come up with enough capital to cover Diamond Investigations’ operating expenses for another thirty days.
Darlene was itching to know what Jake had been up to all afternoon. She wondered where he had been when they talked on the phone earlier. Judging by the background noise, it could have been a rodeo. Jake said he would fill her in later that evening. She hoped he would do so without prompting because she damn well wasn’t going to plead with him to tell her.
She left the office at three-forty-five. She needed to get home with enough time to be ready for Jake at five-thirty.
Darlene scanned Frederick Street, up and down, before she went into the house. It was becoming a habit. She didn’t spot Megan Nicolace watching her enter, but the detective was there at her post in Buena Vista Park.
Nicolace had also been watching for Norman Hall.
Norman was conspicuous in his absence.
Darlene set her mind to deciding what to wear for dinner with Joe and Angela Vongoli.
And Jake.
Lopez picked up her telephone on the third ring.
“Lieutenant Lopez,” she said.
“Lieutenant, this is Juliana Lani.”
“Who?”
“We met yesterday. I’m Mr. Duffey’s Executive Assistant.”
Lopez had to give the girl some credit, Lani had lofty ambitions.
“If you are calling to see if I received the material you sent, I did. Thank you. I appreciate your timely attention to my request.”
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” Juliana said. “It’s something else. I can’t reach Mr. Duffey, he seems to have left for the day. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Please tell me what’s on your mind.”
“A man came into the office a short while ago asking questions. It was odd.”
“Go on.”
“He said he was scheduled to meet with Mr. Sandoval and another man, a man named Justin Walker, yesterday morning. He asked me for Walker’s address claiming that, in light of the circumstances necessitating the cancellation of the meeting, he needed to speak with Mr. Walker as soon as possible,” Lani said. “I asked him who he was. He was a very big man, kind of scary, really. He said he was with the SFPD.”
“Did you give the man an address?” Lopez asked, suddenly interested.
“I didn’t have an address and, I’m not sure why, I didn’t say so. Instead I asked him for identification.”
“And?”
“And he said forget about it and walked out.”
“He said forget about it?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. He made it sound like one word.”
“Can you describe him in more detail? He was a big man is a little vague.”
“I can do better than that. I took a photograph of him leaving the building.”
“You did?”
“Yes, from the office window with a telephoto lens. I think it’s a very good shot.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“I’ll download the photo and email it.”
“Great. And get a copy to building security in case he visits again.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Lopez cradled the receiver thinking Duffey may have accidentally hired an assistant who was more than just another pretty face.
Kenny Gerard was not a happy camper.
James Bingham’s untimely death had knocked Kenny out of his prized day-shift position. Building management had acted swiftly to solve the logistical problem of a murdered doorman. They brought in an employee from one of their other buildings who had seniority over Kenny. The new man had insisted on the day-shift and Gerard was forced to move to the swing-shift.
If Kenny was a glass half-full kind of guy, he might have been thankful he didn’t land on the graveyard-shift. But here he was at four in the afternoon on a Friday, stuck inside the building until midnight, when he could have been at home getting prepared for a night on the town. Instead, he would have to look on as tenants left him stranded in the lobby as they began their personal quests for a memorable weekend.
When Police Sergeant Johnson marched in at half-past four with a list of questions about building security and apartment keys—Gerard was not in the mood for chit-chat. And if he had to be interviewed by the police again, he would have preferred shooting the breeze with the red-headed lieutenant.
In any event, Kenny decided cooperation would be the most expedient method of getting it out of the way.
To his credit, Gerard was well versed on the subject.
“Despite recent events, Sergeant Johnson, be assured the privacy and security of our tenants is a priority,” Kenny said. “No one is allowed to pass this post unannounced.”
Unless they kill the doorman, Johnson said to himself.
“Access to the apartments is strictly controlled,” Gerard continued. “Each occupant is issued one key and one key only.”
“So the Sandovals would have had only two keys.”
“That is correct, Sergeant. They are laser keys, cut on a laser cutting machine. They cannot be duplicated at the local hardware store. They are also transponder keys, or electronic chip keys, equipped with a code that is recognized by the door lock specifically programmed to the key,” Kenny reported. “The technology was originally developed for automobile ignitions, to help prevent car theft.”
Gerard was on a roll, and Johnson didn’t want to
get in his way. So he did what good detectives do, he prodded just enough to keep Kenny going.
“I assume the door locks when it closes,” Johnson said.
“Yes.”
“And if a tenant is locked out, forgets or loses the key?”
“The tenant would need to call the security company, need to provide a password or social security number, and wait for a representative of the company to arrive and open the apartment door. There are no copies or pass keys on the premises.”
“Have there been any cases of lost keys recently?”
“None that I am aware of, Sergeant, though you might check with the security company. Sleep Sound Systems,” Kenny said. “There is a five hundred dollar fee for key replacement, an incentive for residents to keep track of their keys. Are you suggesting Roberto Sandoval’s killer somehow got hold of a key to his apartment?”
“From what you have told me,” said Johnson, classifying information, “it seems very unlikely.”
“Well, then, you are looking for Houdini, or someone who Mr. Sandoval opened the door for.”
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Gerard,” Johnson said, turning to leave.
“You’re welcome,” Kenny said.
He resisted saying, if there is anything else, I’ll be here until fucking midnight.
Weido was getting nowhere using unconventional methods, so he finally called the D.A.’s office. Juliana Lani answered.
“I’m looking for an address for a man who was scheduled to meet with Mr. Sandoval yesterday. Justin Walker.”
“I’m sorry, Detective,” Lani said. “I don’t have an address, but it’s funny you should ask.”
“How’s that?”
“Hold on, please, I have another call coming in. I’ll be right back,” Lani said, and took the other call. “District Attorney’s Office.”
“Juliana. Sorry I’ve been out of touch all afternoon. I had a late lunch meeting that wouldn’t end. I won’t be back in the office today. Just checking in to see if anything important turned up.”
“I’m not sure if it’s important or not, Mr. Duffey,” she said.
“Well, then it probably isn’t. I’m sure it can wait until morning.”
“I have Detective Weido on the other line. Would you like to speak with him?”
“Sure. Put him through,” Duffey said.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective,” she said, going back to Weido. The line was dead.
Marco’s patience was short. He had decided fuck this.
“Mr. Duffey, Detective Weido disconnected.”
“That’s alright, I’ll call him later. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Have a good evening, Mr. Duffey.”
“You do the same, Juliana,” Duffey said, imagining for a moment the two of them having a good evening together.
It was just after five when Johnson reported back to Lopez in her office. He filled her in on all he had learned from the doorman at Roberto Sandoval’s building concerning security.
“We have to assume there was another key floating around,” Johnson said. “Sandoval used his key to get in that night, the key was found in the apartment. Sandoval’s wife was in Italy. The key found in the Cadillac had to be a third copy. I will call the security company in the morning to see if anyone has any idea how that might be possible.”
“Good.”
“It’s the shoe that really bothers me,” Johnson said.
“Oh?”
“If Sandoval’s killer lets the door shut and lock after him, it could be awhile before the body is discovered. Why does he prop the door open?”
“He wants the body found sooner?”
“What’s the hurry?”
“A good question,” Lopez said.
“It’s lucky for Mrs. Sandoval she didn’t arrive home in time to find the body herself.”
“I don’t know that lucky is the right word for it,” Lopez said, “but speaking of the wife.”
“Yes?”
“I need a favor.”
“Okay.”
“I’m meeting her at the Medical Examiner’s office at seven for an official identification. I would like you to be there with me, if you are not in a rush to get anywhere.”
“Amy is in Philadelphia. There is nowhere I need to be,” Johnson said. “May I ask why you want company?”
“You know what it’s like when a family member is shown the body of a murder victim, you have been there as many times as I have. I would prefer not being there alone.”
“Sure,” Johnson said. “I’ll meet you there at six-forty-five.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
The sergeant returned to his desk puzzling over a key, a shoe and a letter-sized white envelope.
Darlene Roman was ready to go when Jake Diamond pulled up to her house in his 1963 Chevrolet Impala convertible at five-thirty.
“Do we need to bring anything?” she asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Strictly forbidden,” Jake answered. “Joey assured me Angela would be insulted. She would consider it an implication she didn’t have everything covered.”
“Jake, don’t you think it is a little unusual to attend a dinner party where bringing something for the host and hostess is considered poor etiquette?” Darlene said, understanding that asking him for an opinion about etiquette was like asking Emily Post for Joe Montana’s lifetime passing percentage.
“Not at all. It’s an Italian thing. Would you like to know what I was up to this afternoon?”
“Sure, why not,” Darlene said, feigning indifference.
So he began filling her in on Ray Boyle, Bobo Bigelow and Carmine Cicero.
A wave of jealously ran through Norman Hall as he watched Darlene climb into Jake Diamond’s car. He decided he would be changing his plans for the evening.
Detective Nicolace also watched the Impala pull away.
She spent another hour in and around Buena Vista Park.
Megan carried a large drawing tablet—she had been an art student in college, before deciding to go into law enforcement. She settled on a bench and chose something to sketch, while she kept an eye on Darlene’s house and an eye out for Norman Hall.
Finally, she circled around to the alley behind the house, passed through the gate and across the small yard, and entered the house through the back door with the key Darlene had given to her. Nicolace had asked Darlene to leave the house as she normally would when going out for the evening.
The kitchen, the first room off the rear door, was lit. There was also a table lamp lit in the living room up front. The rest of the house would be dark.
Nicolace helped herself to a cup of coffee from a fresh pot Darlene had been kind enough to brew before leaving.
Megan carried the coffee into the living room and dropped onto an armchair beside the small lamp-lit table for what she expected would be long, tedious stake-out. She saw a copy of Runner’s World on the table, set down the coffee, picked up the magazine, and began leafing through its pages.
It served to pass the time, but she didn’t really get it.
Marco Weido had no trouble spotting the woman at the airport. He had seen her more than once before and been taken by her movie star good looks. Weido took her suitcase and he led her to his car. She sat silently in the passenger seat during the trip to the Hall of Justice downtown.
“Would you escort me in,” she asked when they arrived.
“Of course,” he answered.
They found Medical Examiner Dr. Steve Altman, Lieutenant Lopez and Sergeant Johnson waiting.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lopez addressed the woman.
“Thank you,” Theresa Sandoval said. “Can I see my husband?”
“Certainly,” Lopez said. “Please follow Dr. Altman and Sergeant Johnson. I will be right behind you.”
The three walked off, Lopez turned to Weido.
“I’m surprised again to see you, Detective,” she
said.
“Duffey asked me to pick her up and bring her here.”
“Any luck on Walker?”
“None. I found an address through Motor Vehicles, but there was no one there. I’ll stay on it.”
“Take the night off, pick it up in the morning,” Lopez suggested.
“Sure, I’ll keep in touch,” Weido said, and headed out.
Lopez went to join the others, they were already through with the identification.
Theresa Sandoval was signing papers that would release her husband’s body to a funeral home to prepare for a wake and the subsequent burial.
“When can I return to the apartment?” Mrs. Sandoval asked.
“Whenever you feel ready,” Lopez said. “We can take you to a hotel if you feel you need to wait awhile.”
“Please do. I’ll need to deal with getting a key in the morning.”
“A key?” Lopez said.
“I misplaced my keys,” Sandoval explained, “hopefully in my hotel room in Milan. In any event, building security will need to be called to let me in and arrange for a replacement.”
“Sergeant, would you please take Mrs. Sandoval to the Downtown Hilton. Mr. Duffey reserved a room.”
“Sure. Please come with me, ma’am,” he said, taking her suitcase.
“And, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Would you please meet me back at my office afterward.”
“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Well?”
“Walker showed at his apartment, apparently to pick up a few things. He ran in, and then out again five minutes later with a suitcase. I followed him to a motel near the airport. He must have had travel plans.”
“And?”
“Walker won’t be going anywhere.”
“Good. We have another problem.”
“Run it by me.”
Back at her desk at Vallejo Street, Lopez found a message from Ray Boyle asking that she give him a call in Los Angeles.
“Ray,” she said when he answered. “How are things in the sunny south?”