Murder A La Carte

by Nancy Skopin

  This kind of pleasantry is imperative with Ilsa Richter. If I were to call and just ask for Jack, she would feel slighted. After a brief discussion of her husband Joachim’s health, she asked if I wanted to speak with Mister Jack.

  “If he’s available.”

  Moments later Jack picked up an extension. “What’s up, Nikki?”

  “I need a babysitter,” I began. “Elizabeth and I are staking out the police department this afternoon and I can’t bring Buddy. He’s not good at hiding.”

  “No kidding. I’d be happy to sit with the boy. K.C. can hang out with Ilsa in the cottage.”

  “Thank you, Jack. I’ll drop him off at 3:00.”

  It’s great to have friends you can depend on.

  I put a fresh battery into my Cyber-shot mini camera, then typed up the dinner and bar surveys from the night before.

  I was done by 11:30 and Buddy was prodding my leg with his nose, so I figured it was time for a walk. We strolled out to the point and watched the mallards frolic in the channel. Perhaps frolic is the wrong word. The mallards were mating. Mating is quite a production for ducks, and they aren’t gentle about it. The male mounts the female from behind, grabbing onto the back of her neck, almost drowning her and pulling out clumps of feathers. There’s a lot of quacking and squawking and thrashing about in the water. Buddy was fascinated.

  We walked down to the boat and had kibble and yogurt for lunch. While we were eating I thought about J.V. Trusty and wondered how his physical had gone yesterday. Today they would be checking out his house. I made a mental note to call him and ask how the process was coming along.

  At 2:40 I collected Buddy’s favorite tennis ball and his stuffed dragon and chauffeured him to Jack’s estate in Hillsborough. Buddy loves Jack. I watched the two of them playing fetch in the side yard while Joachim buzzed the gate closed behind me.

  Elizabeth was waiting for me when I arrived back at the marina. We ditched our purses in the office and grabbed my cameras. I carried the Nikon with a telephoto lens and handed her the Cyber-shot. We walked the short distance from the marina to the police department. As we approached the front of the building we skirted the parking area and ducked behind a large cluster of blooming bottlebrush. Not a good time to have pollen allergies. We positioned ourselves so that we had a view of the gate to the secure lot, focused our cameras, and waited.

  Several cars drove out of the lot, but we ignored them. At 3:55 a black Celica pulled up to the gate. We started shooting pictures of the license plate as the driver’s side window powered down. The engine shut off and a slender arm reached out the window. I noted a feminine profile beneath a large pair of sunglasses and felt a chill that was not provoked by the cool weather. The woman held a fob attached to her key ring up to the scanner and the security gate rolled open. I zoomed in on her face with my Nikon, snapping a few pictures before she started her engine, raised the window, and drove through the gate.

  We stayed in place for another thirty minutes, taking photos of other cars and drivers, but the only other women to arrive were dressed in uniform. The driver of the Celica had to be Nina.

  The sun was low in the sky when we arrived back at the marina. We retrieved our purses from the office and I followed Elizabeth’s VW Beetle to Highway 101. When we arrived at the Hillsborough estate the gates swung open before she keyed in the security code and Jack and Buddy came out to greet us.

  Watching the two of them with Buddy I wondered how long after the wedding Elizabeth and Jack planned to wait before having children. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything, but I could see the writing on the wall. They’d make great parents, which is uncommon enough, but their love for each other would be passed on to the lucky offspring, and that was priceless.

  I collected my dog and his toys, turning down the offer of dinner reluctantly. Buddy and I drove to the 1-Hour Photo in Redwood City and I dropped off the film from my Nikon. Then we went back to the office to check out the pictures Elizabeth had taken with the Cyber-shot.

  The first picture of the license plate was fuzzy, but when I enlarged the second one I could make out the letters and numbers. I picked up the phone and called Michael Burke.

  I got his voicemail and had started to leave a message for my reclusive friend when he picked up.

  “Hello, Nikki.”

  “Screening your calls?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Your number is unlisted. Who could be calling?”

  “You never know.”

  “I need a favor. Can you run a license plate through the DMV database and get me a name and driver’s license number?”

  “You know I never do anything illegal. Hold on a sec, there’s someone at the door.”

  I heard the phone rattle around some before Michael came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Just hooking up the encryption device. What’s the plate number?”

  I read him the number from the photograph. “Will you call me when you have the info?”

  “You can hold if you’re in a hurry.”

  “Jeez, is it that easy?”

  “Only if you’re gifted. Hang on.”

  He put the phone on speaker and I heard rapid-fire keystrokes. Just for fun, I timed him. It took less than two minutes.

  “Nina Jezek,” he said. He spelled the last name and read me her home address and driver’s license number.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “Are you coming to the Bay Area any time soon? I’d like to buy you dinner.”

  “I might be in town next month. I have to present a security analysis to a board of directors in San Jose. Important people like to see your face when you give them bad news.”

  “Do you know the date?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks, Michael. You’re the best.”

  I asked him to e-mail me a scan of Nina’s driver’s license. My e-mail pinged as I was hanging up the phone.

  I enlarged the picture of her driver’s license and sent it to the color printer. Then I e-mailed CIS, requesting a complete background report on Nina. I walked to the printer and picked up the page. Nina was thirty years old, five-eight and a hundred and twenty-seven pounds, with short brown hair and blue eyes. She didn’t look like a killer. She looked intelligent, and pretty in a subdued way. Maybe Bill was right.

  I printed four more copies, which I would distribute among my friends who were helping me shadow potential victims.

  I needed to meet Nina and shake her hand. My intuition kicks in when I make physical contact with a subject. Plus I can tell a lot about someone by observing eye contact and body language, things you can’t see in a photograph.

  I typed and printed my notes from the conversation with Michael, (not mentioning his name), and tucked them, along with the photos of Nina, into Scott’s file, which I locked in my Pendaflex drawer. I tried calling J.V. Trusty before leaving the office, but I got his voicemail.

  Buddy and I drove back to the 1-Hour Photo and picked up my prints. I looked at them in the car. The pictures were clear, but they were profile shots and didn’t show her eyes because of the sunglasses. I stuffed them in my purse before driving home. I didn’t know if Bill would be dropping by tonight, and I didn’t want him to see them. There was no point upsetting him until I knew something for sure.

  That night I surveyed a couple of restaurants and a bar, but I couldn’t keep my mind on the job. I kept trying to think of a way to meet Nina.

  Buddy and I got home a little after 10:00. I called Bill and asked when the next RCPD picnic was going to be.

  “I never go to those,” he said.

  “I think we should go this year. I’d like to meet the other detectives.”

  “You just want
to meet Nina. Leave it alone, Nikki. I told you, she’s not the one.”

  “People are rarely who they appear to be.”

  After a moment of silence he said, “You’re not going to let this go are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine. I’ll see if I can arrange a tour of the department for you. I’ll introduce you to all the detectives, the administrators, and the dispatchers, then I’ll take you to records and introduce you to Nina. But you have to promise me that after you meet her you’ll leave her alone.”

  “What if we hit it off and she wants to be friends?”

  “Damn it Nikki!”

  “Okay, okay. I promise.” Of course he couldn’t see that I had my fingers crossed.

  Chapter 27

  When my Dream Machine went off on Friday morning I hit the snooze button and tried to go back to sleep, but now Buddy was awake and needed a walk. I dressed in sweats and started the coffee, then walked him around the grounds. When we got back to the boat I poured him some kibble, and guzzled the coffee.

  We drove to the gym and I got in a quick workout, but managed to make it back to the boat in time to call Bill before he left for work.

  “Can you set up the department tour for this afternoon?” I asked hopefully.

  “Maybe. Depends on what happens today.”

  “Will you try?”

  “I’ll try,” he sighed.

  I showered and dressed, then Buddy and I walked up to the office. J.V. called my cell as I was unlocking the door.

  “How did the physical go?” I asked.

  “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  “And the home study interview?”

  “Passed with flying colors.”

  “Excellent. What’s the next step?”

  “Now they interview Scott to make sure he wants to live with me. If that goes well he moves in with me for a trial period. I can hardly wait!”

  I was reminded once again of the positive aspects of this very disconcerting case.

  We ended the call and I turned on the computer. I typed up my surveys from the previous night while I was waiting for Jim Sutherland and Jack McGuire to arrive. I had my reports and invoices completed by 10:00. Jim arrived at 10:02. Perfect timing.

  Over coffee I told him about Nina Jezek and handed him an enlarged copy of her driver’s license photo.

  “She’s pretty,” he said. “Doesn’t look like a killer, but you can’t tell much from a picture.”

  “I might get a chance to meet her this afternoon,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “Bill’s giving me a tour of the RCPD.”

  “What does he think about Nina?”

  “He says there’s no way.”

  “How well does he know her?”

  “Not well. She works nights. He’s only met her a couple of times.”

  “So, he could be wrong.”

  “It happens. I got this feeling when I took her picture yesterday. Like something was crawling up the back of my neck.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah. If I get the same feeling when I meet her, we’ll need to shift our surveillance from the sex offenders to Nina.”

  “What hours does she work?”

  “Four to midnight.”

  “I’ll try free up some time for you, if it comes to that.”

  Jack joined us at 10:15. I gave him a copy of Nina’s photo and filled him in on what I knew about her.

  Jack would follow Vasey today, Jim would tail Morales, and I’d take Adamson. That way we were each shadowing someone who’d never seen us before. I gave them copies of the subject’s files and told Jack that Vasey was driving a yellow and black pickup.

  We walked out to the parking lot together. Jim followed me to Morales’s address on Kramer Lane. I left him there and cruised around the corner to 5th, where Adamson lived. I pulled out his file and checked the photo. Gabriel Adamson was Caucasian, forty-six years old, five-ten, and a hundred and seventy pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. He had a scruffy beard and mustache in the mug shot.

  We were getting a late start today. I hoped Adamson wasn’t already out stalking children. While I was waiting for some indication that he was home I glanced at Nina’s photo again. I wanted to be sure I would recognize her if she jumped out of the bushes with a garlic-coated knife.

  At 12:35 the drapes in Adamson’s bungalow parted and I saw him for the first time. Dressed in a ratty pair of gray sweats and a wife-beater tee shirt, he scratched himself and yawned, then strolled away from the window. I got out my binoculars and tried to see inside the cottage, but the reflection from the sun on the window made it difficult.

  I scanned the neighborhood while I waited for Adamson to come outside. I hoped Jim and Jack were having better luck.

  At 1:10 I called Bill. He said we were on for the tour. He would meet me in the lobby at 3:45. Nina came to work at 4:00, but we would be going to the records department last. I hoped our visit wouldn’t make her suspicious.

  I felt a little rush of adrenaline. I can size most people up within five minutes and, given the opportunity to shake hands with the subject, I’m right ninety-nine percent of the time. Of course the one percent that I’m wrong almost got me killed last summer, but it’s still only one percent.

  At 1:35 I hooked Buddy to his leash and walked him around the neighborhood. He watered some trees and bushes, then had a drink from a bottle of water I’d brought along. I was just putting Buddy back in the car when Adamson’s door opened. I pretended to be looking for my keys while watching him out of the corner of my eye. He locked the bungalow behind him and took off walking toward El Camino Real. I remembered Jack saying he’d taken the bus to Sequoia Station on Wednesday. I got in the car and waited to see which way he turned on El Camino. He went north. I drove to the corner and watched.

  Adamson walked a block and a half and sat down at a bus stop. Tailing someone on a bus is a huge pain in the ass. You have to stay close to the bus, breathing the noxious exhaust fumes, and waiting for the subject to get off at every stop. I hoped he’d go to the Barnes & Noble again. That was only about six blocks and maybe three bus stops away.

  Adamson boarded a northbound bus and I let a couple of cars get between us before following. No sense breathing any more fumes than I had to. When the bus stopped I pulled to the curb and watched passengers disembark. Adamson was still onboard. The bus made it through the light before the traffic had cleared enough for me to merge, so I got stuck. I grabbed my binoculars and watched two women get off at the next stop. The light turned green and I managed to catch up just before Sequoia Station.

  I pulled to the curb in a no parking zone and hoped this would be Adamson’s destination. Luck was with me. He got off the bus, and I pulled into the Sequoia Station parking lot. When I turned to see if he was headed for the Barnes & Noble, Adamson was nowhere in sight. I roared back out to the street just in time to see him make a right off El Camino onto James Avenue. The only thing down James was the Caltrain station. Crap! He was taking the train.

  I made the right on James and passed Adamson, parked, and got out of the car. I jogged to the platform and watched as he put money into a vending machine. He retrieved his purchase and sat down on a bench to wait. I hustled over to the vending machine. It was a ticketing machine. No way to tell where he was going. I could wait and see which direction the train went, but trying to follow someone on a train is ridiculous, unless you’re on the train with them. I wasn’t willing to leave Buddy alone in the car that long.

  I waited until Adamson boarded the northbound train, noting that no one who looked like Nina Jezek had followed him.

  Buddy and I drove back to the marina and took a long walk before going to The Diving Pelican for lunch. I ordered the Gorgonzola Salad and fed him hal
f of the cheese and some of the lettuce. He also drank two glasses of ice water. By the time we were finished eating it was time for me to meet Bill.

  Buddy and I pulled into the parking area in front of the police station at 3:42. I rolled down the windows enough for the breeze to blow through, cranked open the sunroof, and locked the car behind me, promising I’d be back pretty soon. Buddy gave me a look that never fails to make me feel guilty.

  When I entered the lobby I spotted L Ketteridge behind the desk leading to administration. L is a petite and jovial blonde woman in her early fifties. We met the first time I had occasion to visit the Redwood City Police Department, which was also the day I met Bill. Apparently all administrative employees at the RCPD wear nametags with their first initial and last name, so I still only knew Ms. Ketteridge as L.

  “Could you let Detective Anderson know I’m here?” I asked, handing her my business card.

  “I know who you are, honey. How’s everything going? You two getting along okay?”

  Apparently L knew a great deal more about me than I knew about her.

  “Great,” I said. “He’s giving me a tour of the station today.”

  “Well, it’s about time. Everyone wants to meet the woman who finally got Bill Anderson to settle down.”

  I flushed with embarrassment, not knowing how to respond.

  “I’ll tell him you’re here.” She winked at me and picked up the phone, dialing an extension and murmuring something I couldn’t hear into the receiver with a smirk on her angelic face.

  A minute later Bill strode into the lobby. He smiled when he saw me, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes and I knew why. I was pushing the boundaries of our budding relationship, treading into hallowed territory. Although Nina wasn’t technically a cop, she was an employee of the RCPD and, therefore, family. For that reason alone I hoped I was wrong about her.