She walked toward me and held out a hand. “Hello. I’m Lana, the Assistant Editor. I understand you were asking for Brooke Ramer?” She hesitated. “Oh, we’ve met, haven’t we?”
Then I made the connection. I remembered her from Geneva’s wedding. She was the tall redhead in the green clingy dress Matt had stalked around the dance floor.
I laughed. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first either. I’m Julia. Julia Bonatti.”
“You were wearing mauve, weren’t you?”
“Not my favorite, I’m afraid.”
“Nor mine.” She laughed in return and sat next to me on the banquette.
“I just stopped in to see Brooke … if she’s here.” I lowered my voice, aware that the receptionist was watching us closely. “Geneva asked me to talk to her about some of her sister’s things.”
“I’m sorry, you just missed her. She’s gone for the day. Anything I can help you with?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t willing to display the bracelet to anyone outside of the family. “No. Thanks. It’s not urgent. It can wait actually. I’ll see her very soon. I’m sorry if I interrupted you. I was nearby and I thought I might catch her.”
“No problem. It’s been pretty hectic, and I for one will be glad when she’s back on a regular schedule. Can I offer you some coffee? Or wine perhaps?
“I’m fine, really.”
Lana stood and picked up a glossy magazine from a stack at the reception desk. “Well, in that case, please take this with my compliments. It’s the current issue, just about to hit the stands.”
“Thank you.” Was she trying to give me fashion hints?
She leaned closer in a conspiratorial attitude. “This is so terrible, isn’t it? How is the family doing? I talked to Brooke this morning very briefly, but I didn’t want to pry.”
“As well as they can under the circumstances.”
“From the way Brooke has always spoken, I gather they’re very close.”
“Yes. Very.”
“We’re so upset and sad here. I just wish there was something I could do for her.” Lana followed me to the elevator bank. I pressed the down button on the gray concrete wall. The elevator doors slid open and I stepped inside. Lana held up a hand in goodbye as the doors slid shut.
I sat in the car and mulled over the real estate information I’d gleaned from Sam’s office. I have to admit to a certain naïveté about finances. I’ve never owned real estate and can barely balance my checkbook every month, but I knew one person who could enlighten me. I rummaged in my purse for my phone book and dialed Adele’s number. She’d just been to see me, so I was hoping she wouldn’t mind my call. She answered right away.
“Julia! Of course. What do you need?”
“I’d like to pick your brain.”
She laughed. “Such as it is these days.”
“I’m sure it’s quite sharp. I can’t really explain why right now, but can you tell me what you know about money laundering? How it works?”
“Oh! Well … I’ve certainly never been involved in anything like that, but I do know generally how it’s done. Do you know it was perfectly legal until 1986? After that, the laws were changed, primarily to track drug sales.” Adele paused. “You see, the problem with illegal activities that bring in cash is how to funnel that cash into legitimate areas without arousing suspicion. Sometimes bank accounts, legitimate ones, are opened in various names, or sometimes with stolen identification. Smaller amounts are deposited, never over ten thousand dollars, of course. That way it isn’t questioned by bank officials or reported to the government. After the funds sit unused for maybe six months, they’re considered ‘seasoned.’ Then, those same funds are used to purchase expensive items, like boats, real estate, what have you. After the dust settles, the real estate is sold or transferred back to the person who provided the cash, or another middleman, usually with a fee being paid to the person who did all the legwork.”
“So real estate is used in that way?”
“Oh yes. Big-ticket items are the best. Some countries have bank secrecy laws, like the Bahamas or Bahrain or Hong Kong, to name a few. And then there are countries with alternative banking systems, trust-based systems that leave no paper trail and operate outside of government control. One is the fie chen system in China, and I’ve heard about one in India and Pakistan, but I can’t think of the names of them just now. And then, sometimes shell corporations are set up …”
My head was starting to spin. “Thanks, Adele, I just wanted to run something by you. I really appreciate the information. Someday soon I’ll explain why I’m asking.”
“Well if you suspect your identification has been stolen, you should notify all appropriate consumer agencies. I can give you a list if you like.”
“Thanks, but no, that’s not it. We’ll talk soon. Thanks again.”
I hung up. Having money, legit or not, sounded like more of a headache than not having any at all. I thought about Dan’s reference to Andy’s real estate activities. What had he meant when he said “under the table”? Had Moira been a willing partner? Or had she discovered that her identity was being used in this way and threatened to blow the whistle? We’d all assumed that her and Andy’s arguments were based on Andy’s jealousy, but perhaps jealousy had nothing at all to do with it.
twenty-three
The shopping bag in my trunk was calling to me. It’s amazing how easily I manage to forget unwelcome chores. I dialed Celia’s number in an effort to get that errand taken care of.
“Celia, it’s Julia.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been too busy to go through your things!” she exclaimed.
I bit my tongue. This woman could infuriate me in a nanosecond. “Not at all. I called to tell you I did find a few things of Michael’s, some clothing and books. I can drop them off this afternoon, if you’ll be home.”
“This is very inconvenient. I’m on my way to a doctor’s appointment.”
“Well, I could leave the bag on your front doorstep.”
“That won’t do. Call me tomorrow.” She hung up. Maddening. Was she playing a deliberate control game? Her doorway was very sheltered. Surely no one would climb the steps to steal a paper bag. Bottom line was, I just didn’t want to have to think about Celia one more day.
I debated what I could do next. I still hadn’t found the owner of the bracelet. I’d talked to Rita, Moira’s coworker; her ex-boyfriend Steve; and Andy. But none of my efforts explained why I’d been attacked or who had stolen Moira’s notebook from her apartment that night. Other than my suspicion—call it more than a suspicion—that Andy was keeping himself busy laundering money for someone, and had probably used Moira’s name to do so, there was really no further information I could give to Geneva. And I was fairly certain the police still had no idea who’d killed Moira.
There was only one person I hadn’t talked to yet.
Macao was at Pier 3 at the Embarcadero. I knew it was a jazz club at night, but I wondered if it offered lunches. And if so, maybe Moira’s friendly bartender would be on duty.
I spotted the place immediately when I reached the Embarcadero. It was a renovated one-story building on the water side, with a long awning extending from the front entry to the edge of the sidewalk. A sign above the roof proclaimed its name in the same Art Deco lettering as on the matchbook I’d found in Moira’s apartment. The valet kiosk was unattended and there were no signs of activity at the front door. I drove past, and half a block away pulled over to the curb at a meter. I didn’t know what I was looking for, or what I might find, but in the best of all possible worlds, I might locate the man Andy was jealous of.
The entryway was paved in stone, with a wide pathway outlined in glass block. A sense of vertigo suddenly washed over me and I wasn’t sure why. I looked down. Under the glass, there was movement. I gasped as a large fish swam by in an
underground pool. Unnerving. Like discovering a spider under your skirt. I followed the pathway and peered through the glass front doors. A sign at the entryway told me Macao was open for lunch, but closed from three to seven o’clock. No one was in sight. I tried the door handle. Unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside. I called out but no one answered.
Inside, ceramic urns held potted palms. A long mahogany bar ran the length of the spacious room. The plate-glass windows were covered with shutters and bamboo fans hung from the ceiling. The interior suggested French villas of the Dien Bien Phu era. The main room was deserted. I walked to the end of the bar and saw a padded swinging door marked Employees Only in small lettering. I pushed through and entered an anteroom leading to an industrial kitchen area. Three Asian women were pushing mops around the floor but didn’t immediately notice me.
“Hello. Can you help me?” I said. The three looked up, stood stock still, and didn’t answer.
After a moment, one of the women turned to the other two and spoke in an Asian language that didn’t sound like Chinese. Vietnamese? She indicated with her hands that I should wait where I was. She left the kitchen in a hurry, propping her mop at the counter. I smiled at the other two, but they continued to stare at me with stony expressions. After a few minutes, when no one returned, I became impatient. I headed for the door that the first woman had exited through and found myself in a hallway. The two women behind me whispered to each other and returned to mopping the floor.
The hallway I’d entered led in one direction to an open door that faced a small pier and the water of the Bay. In the other direction, the corridor made a sharp right turn. I headed that way. An engine from an outboard motor coughed and came to life. If anyone questioned my presence, I’d say I’d lost … what? … a wallet … no. Some item of clothing. A scarf. I mentally rehearsed my excuse. I’d lost a scarf and thought I might have left it here. Rounding the corner, I pushed open the first door on the left and stepped into a large room that appeared to be an unused kitchen facility. A long counter in the center topped stainless steel cabinets almost four feet high. A huge cooktop was built into the wall. Otherwise, the room was empty.
I heard a man’s demanding voice and a woman’s higher-pitched response. They weren’t speaking English. The footsteps stopped in the hallway, outside the door. Panicked and not wanting to be caught snooping, I ducked behind the counter, between it and the cooking range. The door opened. The man was barking orders. I pulled open the door of one of the stainless steel cabinets and crawled inside. The cabinet opened to the opposite side too, and that door was cracked open slightly. If I stayed crouched down, I had a slit through which I could view the empty side of the room.
I heard the squeaking of wheels from a large dolly. The man with the harsh voice was giving more orders. Another man in work clothes entered, pulling a flatbed carrier behind him loaded with wooden crates. Next, two more men entered, and following them, a huge man in a black suit, over six feet tall and built like a refrigerator. He was the one giving orders. The workers immediately started stacking the crates at the other end of the room. They pulled each crate off the carrier and placed them three high.
As the men lifted the last crate from the dolly, it slipped out of their hands and crashed to the floor. The wooden top came loose and several packages fell to the floor. One of the men swore. Each package was a rectangle, tightly wrapped in plastic. I sucked in my breath. Somehow I doubted they held noodles. I didn’t want to be caught snooping now. If this was what I thought it was, I didn’t know what these people would do if they found me here.
The workers pushed the damaged crate against the wall and replaced the plastic bundles, laying the broken lid on top. Refrigerator Man stood in the doorway until the men finished their work and left. He took a last look around, then turned and slammed the door shut behind him. I waited until I heard their voices move further away. The outboard motor revved again and then silence. Was it safe to crawl out of my hiding place? I let perhaps fifteen minutes go by before my heart returned to its regular rhythm. Finally, I crawled out of the cabinet and tiptoed to the door. I couldn’t hear a thing. The door was steel and the doorknob had a serious lock. I reached for it and very carefully tried to turn it. It didn’t move. I was trapped.
twenty-four
I felt panic rise in my chest and did my best to quell it. I looked around. A small amount of daylight filtered in through dusty windows near the ceiling. Bars covered the windows. There were no other doors. I was good and trapped and couldn’t imagine how I could get out other than banging on the door and screaming for help. That is if anyone could hear me. And for obvious reasons that was something I really didn’t want to do. Would anyone come back to this room? Today? Tonight? Tomorrow? I felt sweat break out on my forehead. I took a deep breath to stay calm.
I pressed my ear to the door and prayed I wasn’t locked into long-term storage. I examined the rest of the room for ventilator shafts, or hatches that might lead into another unused kitchen. But the door was the only way out. Surely sooner or later, someone would open it.
I moved over to the wooden crates. The cover that the workmen had dropped wasn’t tightly secured. I lifted it and saw layer upon layer of the rectangular packages secured in plastic coverings. Each package was marked with an insignia like an elongated spider. I dropped my purse on the floor and dug out my makeup case. Rummaging around, I found an eyebrow tweezer. I pulled my address book out of my purse and ripped out a blank page. Slipping off my jacket, I used it to pick up one of the bundles, fearful of leaving fingerprints on the plastic. With my tweezers I punctured a tiny hole in one corner of the package and wiggled it until a very small amount of white substance sprinkled onto the paper. Then I very carefully turned the edges of the paper in and wrapped it up, being careful not to spill any. I tucked the paper packet into my makeup case, along with the eyebrow tweezers, and replaced the rectangular brick in the crate. I made sure not to touch anything else. If I ever escaped from this storeroom, I wanted to be able to prove what I saw.
As I turned away, I spotted a workman’s glove lying on the floor next to the one of the crates. One of the men must have dropped it and forgotten to take it with him. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor. I waited. Far away, I thought I heard voices, but no one was approaching. Even if I banged on the door it was possible no one would hear me. And if I did, how could I explain what I was doing there? I didn’t dare. Not after seeing those crates. I took a deep breath, wishing I could put myself into some sort of altered state. I tried several times, but each time I managed to relax, my heart would once again start pounding against my rib cage. I couldn’t afford to panic.
I decided it was safer to return to the stainless steel cabinet. In case someone did return, I didn’t want to be discovered. I just wanted to escape. I pushed the thought out of my mind that it could be days before someone opened that door. I crawled back into the huge cabinet, leaving the door open a crack. The angle of the sunlight slanting in through the barred windows had shifted. How much time had elapsed? I checked my cell phone. Only forty-five minutes. It felt like three hours. I tried deep breathing again to quell the panic. I could call someone to let them know where I was, just in case something happened to me. Who could I call? And what good would that do? I could call 911 and tell the police I was being held captive. That was if worse came to worst. I thought of my friend Don Forrester. He was nearby, at the Chronicle—the newspaper’s star researcher who had access to all kinds of information, most of it not in print. I wasn’t sure how he’d get through the restaurant and find this door, but the thought of calling him cheered me. That would be my last resort, I decided. I didn’t want to put anyone else in potential danger if there was another way.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I heard were voices. Two men. I woke with a start. The room was pitch black. The sun had set but a tiny amount of light from the street was visible. I squeezed my eyes shut, try
ing to adjust to the darkened room. The men were in the hallway. They were approaching the door. Half crawling, I pushed open the cabinet door and scrambled across the floor in the general direction of the door to the corridor. My foot had fallen asleep. Limping, I forced myself to move, ignoring the pins and needles. I hoped I was close to my mark. My eyes had adjusted somewhat and I was able to make out the outline of the door. It opened into the room, that much I was sure of.
I reached the door and felt along the edge with my fingers. The voices were louder now. I felt the hinges. I heard a metallic sound as a key was inserted into the lock. I pressed myself against the wall so I would be behind the door when it opened. It was my only chance.
I pressed my right foot against the floor, willing it to come back to life. If I had a chance to escape, I’d have to be able to move quickly.
The door opened. Two men stood inches away from me on the threshold. One sounded as if he was chastising the other. The second man replied in a higher pitched tone, as if explaining himself or making an excuse. Suddenly the room was flooded with light from overhead neon racks. I squinted to protect my eyes. One of the men made a final remark and walked away. The second man came into the room. I could hear his footsteps. He cursed softly and moved slowly around the crates. I took a chance and peeked out from behind the door. He made an exclamation under his breath and stooped to pick something up from the floor. It must be the heavy glove he’d left behind.
Now was my chance. I prayed my feet could move fast enough. Before he straightened, I slipped around the edge of the door and in a flash ran down the corridor. At the bend, I turned and kept running. The hallway was empty. As I passed the first kitchen I heard several people talking at once and smelled something delicious, but I didn’t dare head out that way. The restaurant must have opened by now. Even if the front doors were unlocked, I didn’t want to alert anyone to my presence. I headed straight for the end of the corridor where the door led to the small pier. I pushed it open, stepped outside and quickly closed it behind me. I leaned against the wall of the building, praying I hadn’t been spotted. My heart was thudding and adrenaline was coursing through my veins. Fear was causing me to hyperventilate.
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