Murder A La Carte

by Nancy Skopin

  “So this is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I need some time to think.”

  I was absolutely not begging him to stay. I’d been through a lot tonight, and the man in my life should want to comfort me.

  “J.V. is still at your house, you know. His flight leaves early tomorrow morning.”

  “I can sleep on the couch.” His eyes softened a little. “I’ll call you,” he said.

  I grabbed Buddy’s collar to keep him from following Bill and stepped back into the galley. Bill struggled to fit through the hatch with all of his luggage. He closed the hatch behind him and I heard him move out of the pilothouse, then felt the boat sway as he stepped onto the dock.

  I fought the urge to go after him. I didn’t know what I would say. “I’m sorry”? But I wasn’t sorry. I had done what needed to be done. Of course, I was sorry about all the lying and promise breaking, but he knew that, right? I’d told him I hated lying to him.

  I collapsed onto the galley settee and let the tears come.

  Chapter 40

  Buddy slept on the bed that night. Okay, Buddy sleeps on the bed every night. I didn’t get any rest, but his proximity was comforting.

  At 9:00 a.m. I threw back the covers and sat up. Buddy gazed at me, his tail thumping, and leaned in close enough to lick my nose. I figured that was puppy-speak for “I need a walk.”

  I pulled on my sweats and picked up his leash. That elicited a happy chuff before he climbed the steps and opened the hatch. I followed him up into the pilothouse. When we stepped onto the dock I hooked the leash to his collar before we started walking.

  After making the rounds of all Buddy’s favorite trees and shrubs we walked back down to the boat and I started a pot of coffee. I showered while the coffee was brewing. When I was dry and dressed I poured a mug and turned on the news.

  CNN had a breaking story about a man who had been killed in the Woodside Hills over the weekend. His housekeeper had found him when she arrived for work this morning. I glanced at the screen and recognized the house on Ranch Road. It was the house I’d followed Nina to on Friday night.

  I reluctantly picked up the phone and called Bill. I dialed his office number, hoping I’d get voicemail because I wasn’t ready for any fresh pain, but he picked up.

  “I assume you’ve heard about the murder in the Woodside Hills?” I began.

  “Giordano? Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Why?”

  “I followed Nina to that house on Friday night. Jim Sutherland can corroborate. He relieved me at two a.m., and he was there when she came out of the house.” Silence. I waited a beat. “Bill?”

  “Yeah. I’m taking notes.”

  “Has Nina been picked up yet?”

  “Not that I know of. Los Altos PD has an APB out on her. She wasn’t at her house by the time they got there.”

  “You want me to come in and make a statement?”

  “Woodside Hills is handled by the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. Let me give them a call and get back to you.”

  “Okay.”

  He hung up without another word. Even though he hadn’t said anything unkind, I felt stung by the hang up and by his tone of voice.

  I called Jim to let him know about Giordano. He turned on the TV in his office and watched the news story as we spoke.

  “This is good,” he said. “Now they can get her for at least two homicides.”

  “If they can catch her.”

  After talking to Jim, I called Elizabeth. I filled her in on what was happening with Nina and then I told her Bill had gone home angry last night.

  “Oh, honey. Are you okay?”

  “No. I could use a visit. You feel like coming over for dinner?”

  “I think I can work that into my schedule. What should I bring?”

  “Bring the wine. I’ll make a kitchen sink salad.”

  “Yum. See you at six.”

  Feeling relieved that someone still loved me, I finished my coffee and ate some yogurt while making a shopping list. Kitchen sink salad is my own recipe and includes organic lettuce, cashews, sunflower seeds, grated mozzarella, diced chicken, avocado, mushrooms, cucumber, radishes, artichoke hearts, hearts of palm, and the dressing of your choice. I like shitake mushroom vinaigrette but Buddy prefers ranch.

  I was just tucking the list into my purse when J.V. called.

  “I hate to say I told you so,” he began.

  “Hi, J.V. How was your flight?”

  “Uneventful, which is how I like it. That man of yours was mighty pissed when he got home last night.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You should have told him sooner.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He loves you, you know. Men don’t get that angry with women they don’t care about.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “It’s not too late to fix this, Nicoli. But you may need to apologize.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that.”

  “Thanks for calling, J.V.”

  “Uh huh.” And he hung up.

  I hate being told what to do.

  That afternoon I took Buddy to two restaurants and a bar, leaving him in the car of course, but treating him to leftover poached salmon and sirloin burger. When I was done with the surveys I went to the Whole Foods grocery on Jefferson and picked up a bag of Buddy’s organic kibble along with the monster salad ingredients.

  Bill called my cell while I was shopping and gave me the names of the detectives handling the Giordano investigation for the Sheriff’s department. I said I would call them when I got home and promised to convey the contact information to Jim Sutherland.

  After unloading the groceries, I called Jim and gave him the detectives’ names and phone numbers. I called the Sheriff’s Department and got voicemail for Detective Harding. I left a message stating who I was and why I was calling, leaving all three of my numbers. Then I set to work creating a culinary masterpiece. The salad bowl weighed at least five pounds by the time I was finished. I squirted some lemon juice on the avocados so they wouldn’t brown, covered the bowl with Saran wrap, and muscled it into the fridge.

  Elizabeth knocked on one of the port lights a few minutes after six and Buddy responded with a big-dog bark before he realized it was one of his favorite people who had startled him.

  Elizabeth had brought two bottles of 2005 Aldo Conterno Barolo Bussia Soprano. I foresaw a headache in my future. She set the wine on my galley counter and turned to look at me.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” she sighed.

  She wrapped her arms around me and I felt a tear slide down my face. “Oh, crap,” I muttered.

  Elizabeth uncorked one of the bottles and I produced a pair of Plexiglas wine goblets. They weren’t elegant, but glassware doesn’t survive long on a sailboat.

  “To new beginnings,” she toasted.

  I took a sip of the wine. It was extraordinary. I’m not a connoisseur, but the fragrance reminded me of plums and currants, and there was a wonderful coffee-like aftertaste.

  I served up the salad and Elizabeth groaned appreciatively when she took her first bite.

  “Has Jack said anything to you about being his best man?” she asked after swallowing.

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s probably waiting for the right moment. You know how important timing is to Jack. Why don’t you come over to his house for dinner on Friday?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “So what’s happening with Nina?”

  “Did Lily tell you she slashed one of the van’s tires last night?”

  “She called me this morning.”

  “As far as I know Nina hasn’t been apprehended yet. You know
that house in the hills I tailed her to on Friday night?”

  “Yes. Jack and I followed her home from there, remember?”

  “That’s right. Well, the guy who lived there was found dead this morning.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “You know about the dead guy in Atherton, and the one in Noe Valley, right?”

  “Lily told me.”

  “So, by my count, she’s killed nine people, that we know of.”

  “Have you said anything to Scott?”

  “No. I think I’ll wait until she’s in custody.”

  “What if she isn’t arrested? What if she’s arrested but not convicted?”

  “I’m not thinking that far ahead.” Okay, I was thinking that far ahead, but I couldn’t protect Scott from all the injustice in the world. If Nina was arrested and not convicted, J.V. would have be the one to help him deal with it.

  We’d finished most of the salad and all of one bottle of wine when Elizabeth said, “What are you going to do about Bill?”

  I uncorked the second bottle and poured.

  “I’m going to apologize, if he gives me a chance.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed. You love him, don’t you?”

  “I guess I do. I’ve had this big empty place in the center of my chest since he left last night. I honestly don’t know how I could have done anything differently, but I think I need to apologize for lying to him.”

  “Good for you. When?”

  “I don’t know. He needs some time to cool off.”

  “If you wait, you might lose your nerve.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to do it over the phone and I can’t invite him over when he’s this pissed off.”

  “Why don’t you just show up at his house?”

  “Without an invitation?”

  “Absolutely. And bring a gift.”

  “What kind of a gift?”

  “I don’t know. What does he like?”

  “He likes guns and guitars. Maybe I’ll buy him some of those fancy guitar strings he uses. I think they’re called Elixir. But, what if he doesn’t invite me in?”

  “You can give him the strings and apologize on the front porch. Either way you’ve done what you set out to do.”

  “Elizabeth, I’m scared,” I whispered.

  “I know honey. Love is the most frightening thing in the world for a control freak.”

  “Excuse me? I am not a control freak.”

  “Whatever you say. Have some more wine.”

  We finished the second bottle, and after Elizabeth left I took two buffered aspirin in anticipation of the hangover to come.

  Chapter 41

  After slashing the van’s tire Nina had driven to SFO, parked her car in the long-term lot, and switched license plates with an older model Volvo.

  She’d hiked to the international terminal, located a ladies’ restroom, and waited.

  A little after 4:00 a.m., when restroom traffic was light, a woman Nina’s approximate height and weight entered. There was no one else in the room at that time, so she stunned the woman with her taser and dragged her, and her carry-on bag, into the handicapped stall.

  Nina rifled the woman’s purse, locating her passport, driver’s license, and boarding pass. She checked the photos and thought the resemblance was close enough. The woman had long hair, but her features were nondescript, as were Nina’s. She removed the woman’s diamond wedding set and put it on her left hand, hoping there wasn’t a husband waiting outside.

  She gagged the woman with the scarf she had been wearing and tied her hands and feet with pantyhose she found in the bag, then dumped out the suitcase and emptied the contents of her duffle into the elegant carry-on. She stuffed her own purse into the suitcase and draped the woman’s Armani bag over her shoulder. At the last minute she remembered the rigorous security checkpoints and removed the switchblade and taser from her pockets, gave the woman a second jolt with the taser, and reluctantly buried her weapons in the trash.

  Chapter 42

  On Tuesday I woke with the anticipated headache. I took two more aspirin and started the coffee brewing before climbing into the shower. Between the aspirin and the hot water I began to feel almost human, but opted to skip the gym in favor of a big breakfast. I scrambled three eggs and threw in some precooked turkey sausage, which I shared with Buddy.

  After breakfast we took a walk around the marina and then opened the office.

  I had a voicemail message from Detective Harding asking me to call him back and schedule an interview. There was also a message from J.V. asking how I was doing today and what was happening with Nina.

  I called J.V. first.

  “Trusty and Associates.”

  “Hi, J.V.”

  “Hello, young lady. What’s happening with our case?”

  “Still no arrest, as far as I know.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “What’s on your calendar this week?”

  “Scott has his interview tomorrow. He’s nervous.”

  “I think he has a problem with authority figures.”

  “Poor kid. I told him to be himself and tell the truth and everything would be fine, but I guess I’m a little nervous too.”

  “There’s no reason in the world they wouldn’t let you adopt him, J.V. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Scott.”

  “Thank you, Nicoli. That means a lot to me. Listen, I’ve been thinking about your fee.”

  “What fee?”

  “For Scott’s case.”

  “That’s already been paid. Scott gave me some change when we signed the contract.”

  “I know you have expenses. And what about all your friends who’ve been helping out?”

  “They don’t expect anything.”

  “I’d like to pay you your normal rate for your time and theirs.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Damn it, I know it’s not necessary. That’s the whole point!”

  “Don’t get excited. Why don’t we compromise? I’ll work up a bill for half my usual rate.”

  “I guess that’d be okay. What’s happening with you and Bill?”

  “I’m going over to his house tonight to apologize.”

  “Good luck, kiddo. Keep me posted if anything changes.”

  “I will.”

  I called Harding next and made an appointment for 1:30 that afternoon.

  After typing and e-mailing reports on all my recent surveys, Buddy and I drove to Gryphon Stringed Instruments in Palo Alto, and I purchased two sets of Elixir guitar strings. They didn’t gift wrap, so we stopped at the CVS Pharmacy at Sequoia Station for a gift box, wrapping paper, and ribbon.

  Back at the office I carefully wrapped the package, feeling apprehensive about showing up unannounced to make my apology.

  At 1:15 Buddy and I drove to the San Mateo County Sheriff’s office, which is conveniently located at the Government Center in Redwood City. It’s convenient because it’s only about a mile from the marina. I found a parking space under a tree. Even though the weather was cool, the sun was out and I didn’t want Buddy to roast.

  I opened the sunroof, rolled up the windows enough so Buddy couldn’t escape, and locked the car doors. I took my Ruger and the defense spray out of my purse and locked them in the trunk. I marched up to the security guards and presented my purse, which went through the scanner. I removed the miniature defense spray canister from my keychain and handed it over.

  Once I’d passed through security I stepped into the lobby and asked the deputy at the front desk to let Detective Harding know I was waiting. He made a call and then directed me to the third floor where I repeated this process with a uniformed receptionist. She told me to have a seat
.

  I paced around the reception area until Harding came out to get me, which was approximately seven minutes and forty-one seconds after I arrived, but who’s counting. He was about five-nine and stocky, with dark hair receding toward the center of his scalp, a mustache that needed to be trimmed, and brown eyes that matched his name. He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of brown, synthetic fiber slacks. He did not offer to shake my hand.

  Harding escorted me into the detective bureau and walked me to his cube, rather than to an interview room, which I took as a good sign. He sat down behind his desk and pointed to the visitor’s chair. I planted myself in the chair and waited some more while he dug through the files on his desk. When he found the folder he was looking for he opened it, took out some pieces of note paper, read them, then put them back in the folder and closed it.

  He finally looked at me. “I understand you have a statement to make regarding Giordano’s killing.”

  “How much did Detective Anderson already tell you?” I asked, not wishing to spend any more time with Harding than necessary.

  “Why don’t you assume he hasn’t told me anything and start from the beginning?”

  I stifled a sigh. “I was hired to investigate the murder of Gloria Freedman. That investigation connected to several sex registrant killings, the commonality being the weapon and the fact that it was coated with garlic. It occurred to me that the killer must have unlimited access to the sex registrant database, among other things, and that led me to suspect the killer worked for the county.”

  Harding’s eyes narrowed when I said that, but I forged on.

  “I asked Detective Anderson to take me on a tour of the RCPD at a time when swing shift employees would be working, because all of the killings at that point had taken place during the day, many of them on weekdays. Among the employees he introduced me to was Nina Jezek, the swing shift data entry clerk in records. This next part might be hard for you to understand, but when I shook Jezek’s hand I got a feeling similar to an electric shock. There’s no other way to describe it. Based on that feeling I decided to tail her for a couple of days. I asked some friends to help me out. That’s how Jim Sutherland got involved. Have you spoken with him yet?”