by Joanne Pence
As she reached for her phone to call Richie, she looked up.
Richie strode into Homicide. He didn’t look at anyone but her, his face more angry and stricken than Rebecca had ever seen it. She stood.
A lull spread over the bureau, as if not only Rebecca, but also Inspectors Luis Calderon and Bo Benson, the secretary, Elizabeth, and even Lt. Eastwood, seemed to stop what they were doing and watch.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Terrible. Let’s go.”
“I can’t just—”
“You’ve got to. Take your gun.”
“Don’t worry about being on-call, Rebecca,” Bo Benson told her. “Go.”
She looked at him, and then Richie. Nodding thanks to Bo, she grabbed her jacket, badge and firearm and hurried after Richie to the elevator. She could hear Calderon’s long, low whistle as she went.
Waiting for the elevator, Richie paced back and forth, his hand rubbing the back of his head.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I’m worried about my mother and maybe her friend Geri.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Your boy, Lucian, is involved.”
She couldn’t imagine ... “Lucian? Are you sure?”
The elevator bonged, and she had to wait until they were in the parking lot and on the way to his Porsche before he answered.
“I’m not sure of anything, only that I got a phone call. I saw it was from Carmela and so I answered. I said hello, but no one spoke. Then I heard someone say ‘Stop her, goddammit.’ She yelled, ‘Lucian, no,’ and then the phone went dead.”
“My God!”
“Tell me about it.” He smacked the roof of his beloved Porsche with his fist. “If that bastard hurts her, I’ll kill him. I swear it.”
“Don’t worry. Carmela will be fine. She’s too tough for anything to hurt her. But if she’s in danger, I’ve got to call it in.”
“No!”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
They both got into the car and he pealed out of the lot. “My mother’s a saint. A saint, I swear it. She’d do anything for me.”
“I know.” It was amazing, Rebecca thought, with all the ‘saints’ hanging around Richie that he was so devilish. She didn’t know what to make of any of this. “Richie, look, let me call some guys on the force. They’ll help us.”
“I said no.”
“This is crazy!” She insisted. “That phone call sounded like a kidnapping! If so, we’ll need help finding her. And once we do, we’ll need back-up.”
“Too much could go wrong. We can handle it.”
“You’re being foolish, and stubborn! Let me call—”
“I said forget it.”
He made no sense to her. “Where are we going?”
His jaw was so tight she didn’t know how he could speak. “To meet Shay. He’s trying to find Carmela right now. I called Geri, no answer. I got hold of her daughter-in-law who lives next door to her. She thought Geri was with Carmela. But no one knows where either woman is.”
“Is Shay tracking her cell phone?”
“No. I tried calling her back, but the call didn’t go through. I suspect they trashed the SIM card.”
“Then how … Wait. Don’t tell me you put a tracker on your own mother. You didn’t.”
“Only in the lining of her favorite wallet. And on her rosary—a tiny one that goes behind the Virgin where the three strands of beads meet.” He sped up as the light turned yellow, and was in the intersection as it switched to red. “She never goes anywhere without taking at least one of them or her cell phone with her. Hopefully, that son of a bitch didn’t take them away from her.”
“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing? Were you afraid, because of your business—”
“Stop with the business cracks, already,” he yelled as he pulled into a parking space—a red zone. “It’s rarely dangerous. Most of the time. No, it was because I kept reading about old people wandering off and how the family doesn’t recognize the symptoms until it’s too late. She seems fine to me, but I’m family.”
“She is fine, believe me.” She patted his shoulder seeing he was beyond distraught. “And she’s not old. When she finds out, you are so dead.”
“I know. That’s why I can’t tell her.”
“Although, she might forgive you once she realizes the tracker was used to find her more quickly than the police might have done.”
“I doubt it,” he said, opening the car door to get out.
She nodded as she did the same. “You’re right.”
o0o
Richie led Rebecca to a Starbuck’s barely a half mile from the Hall of Justice. Shay sat at a back table with his laptop set up.
Shay immediately told Richie he’d found a faint signal from Carmela’s tracker, but it seemed to be coming from out in the Pacific. “This makes no sense,” Shay said. “Unless Lucian already killed Carmela and Geri and dumped them and their belongings into the ocean.”
“I know you’re a heartless bastard,” Richie said through gritted teeth, “but you ever again even think something like that about my mother, let alone say it, you are dead meat.”
Shay held up both hands. “Just being real.”
“Exactly where is the signal coming from?” Rebecca asked.
“A little south of Half Moon Bay.” Shay pointed to the screen.
“I may know where Lucian is,” Rebecca said. “It might look like it’s in the ocean, but that’s because there’s a small peninsula out there. It has no roads, no people—nothing has ever been built on it because it’s been privately owned for over a century. A bit inland, there’s a house said to be haunted. Geller was developing a TV special about it.”
Richie frowned. “Why bring Carmela and Geri there?”
Rebecca shook her head, as bewildered as he was.
Shay gave Richie a micro-tablet that included the app tracking his mother’s GPS signal. “You can use this to help when you’re down there. It should be accurate within a hundred-fifty feet or so.”
Richie nodded. “You keep searching. Keep trying to tap into Lucian’s cell phone, or Geri Vaccarino’s, and anyone else who might be involved in this mess. My phone is synced to yours, so if this is a kidnapping, and they call me, you’ll know about it. Vito should be here soon. Then you and Vito know what to do. Rebecca and I will head for Half Moon Bay after a quick stop to switch to her SUV.”
“My car?” Rebecca said. “Why? Yours will be much better on those winding roads of Highway One.”
“Yeah, but we’ll put that siren thing on your roof and blow through stop signs and everything else.”
Rebecca stepped closer to Shay. “Tell him we need to bring in law enforcement. I have a contact in the FBI who, frankly, owes both of us. We can get his help, I’m sure. This is serious. What if you’re wrong, Shay? We need to find out exactly what happened.”
Shay looked from her to Richie, then back to his computer. He made no reply.
Rebecca straightened, scarcely believing his rebuff.
Just then, Vito entered the coffee shop.
“Hey, Inspector,” he said. “Glad to see you back again. Thanks for your help the other night.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You were there, too?”
“Who you think drove the Mercedes?” His grin widened. “I left those feds in the dust. It was great.”
“Enough, Vito,” Richie warned.
Vito’s eyes widened, then he clamped his mouth shut and sat down across from Shay.
“Let’s go,” Richie said to Rebecca.
She looked from Shay, to Vito, to Richie. She didn’t agree with what they were doing, but decided it was better to go along than to fight with them. Hopefully, she could stop things from spinning too far afield. And eventually, she would call in the authorities.
She gave Shay the thumb drive with the Sandorista financial information, quickly explaining what she needed. Then she turned to Richie. “Ready.”
&
nbsp; CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rebecca could only hope she was right that Lucian had gone to the Falls Meadow house in Half Moon Bay. She assumed Sandy hadn’t told his assistant that he once had brought her out there. Without knowing that, Lucian probably thought it was a perfect hide-out. Isolated, tree and shrub-covered, and the locals were afraid to get too close to it since it was said to be haunted.
Richie asked what she knew of the house in Half Moon Bay, so she gave a quick explanation of property’s layout, and that it was supposedly haunted by the ghost of Astrid Bruckmann.
“I hate ghosts,” was his only comment.
The gate was padlocked. It could mean no one was there, or that someone wanted to make it appear no one was there.
She got out and went through the tools she carried in the Explorer’s cargo space. Going to strange crime scenes meant a lot of forced entry tools were often needed. She pulled out a bolt cutter.
Richie took it and cut off the lock.
She drove down the path towards the house, and went to the same flat, gravel-filled parking area that Geller had used at the end of the dirt driveway. She saw no other car but the land around them was so filled with trees and overgrown brush, a car would be relatively easy to hide.
They got out of the SUV and looked up at the house atop a small bluff. They saw no lights, no movement, and the windows appeared to be covered with drapery.
“Where’s Lucian’s car?” Richie sounded exasperated and disappointed. “I wonder if we guessed wrong.”
“But the GPS tracker tells us they’re here somewhere,” she said, looking at the micro-tablet. “There are some twenty acres of land. It was once a dairy farm, so there are most likely other buildings on the property.”
They walked first to the edge of the hillside above the beach. From there, they could get a good sense of the area’s topography. The beach as well as the land around the house and parking area all appeared empty. Too empty.
“Something may have happened over there,” Richie said, looking southward. He headed that way.
“Where?”
“Look.” He pointed at the ground a bit in front of them. “A lot of the weeds have been smashed down and stalks broken as if something drove over them.” He followed the line of disturbed brush, to the top of a cliff, the beach far below.
A car lay at the foot of the cliff. The tide was in, and the front of the car and the entire passenger section were submerged. Only a little of the trunk showed when the tide went out.
“Aw, no,” Richie murmured and started searching for a way down. “I’ve got to get down there.”
“Wait.” Rebecca grabbed his arm. “There’s no way you or anyone else could climb down that.”
“I can’t just leave them.” He continued along the cliff’s rim, searching.
“Richie,” she said. “If anyone is still inside, it’s too late for them.”
He sucked in his breath. “Do you know what kind of car Lucian drove?”
She hesitated, then said, “A red Kia.”
“It’s red,” he said, his voice flat. “And small.”
The look he gave her was heartbreaking.
“We need to call for help,” she said.
He took out his cell phone. It showed no service.
He dropped his arms, shoulders sagged, head bent as he looked down at the water. He watched the waves rush in, cover the car, and then flow back out to sea. “My God.”
She put her arm around his back. “We don’t know that anyone is in there. Maybe Lucian was trying to hide the car. We just don’t know.”
His eyes were empty. “Or they’re all dead.”
“Until it’s proven otherwise, I believe they’re alive,” she whispered. “And so should you.”
She could feel a shudder go through his body, and turned him away from the ugliness below the cliff. She put her arms around him, her head against his, trying to give both comfort and strength.
“God, Rebecca,” he whispered as his arms tightened around her. “I can’t—”
“What a sweet scene.”
They broke away from each other, and turned towards the sound of the voice behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Coming out of the bushes was the older gray-haired man Richie had met when he went with Rebecca to interview the Sandoristas. “I had hoped you might kill yourselves on that cliff and save me the trouble, but no such luck.”
“Henry Highfield,” Rebecca said. “What’s going on?”
Richie could all but feel her trying to figure out a way to disarm the Sandorista. He wondered if the guy’s wife was nearby or if old Henry was going it alone out here.
“First, slowly put your gun on the ground and then kick it over to me.”
“I’m not giving you my weapon,” she said.
“You will unless you and your boyfriend want to get shot. And if Marta hears shots fired, she just might get nervous and shoot the old ladies in there with her.”
Richie silently thanked God that his mother wasn’t in the scrap heap now littering the ocean. He remained still, not daring to move in case it would cause Rebecca to act rather than to think through the best way to handle Highfield’s threats.
Rebecca slowly pulled her revolver from her waist holster, placed it on the ground, and kicked it towards Highfield. His eyes on her the entire time, he stooped to pick it up and put it in his jacket pocket.
“Good,” he said. “Now, get going. Maybe those two old bags will shut up and cooperate when they see you two—or know that if they don’t, they’ll have to watch you two get tortured, and maybe end up dead.”
Richie and Rebecca said nothing as Highfield directed them up to the old house. Richie was surprised that the inside was fully furnished, as if someone still lived there.
As he entered the dining room, the first thing he saw was his mother and Geri seated at a round table. Their frightened eyes and awkward posture told him they were being held with their hands tied behind their backs. Fury surged through him.
Marta also sat at the table, near the back wall. She stood as they entered.
He quickly studied the room—an oak table, chairs and sideboard, striped wallpaper, and over the windows lacy sheers with dark red drapery on each side. A sepia photograph in a wood frame over the sideboard showed an unsmiling family—a husband, wife, and young daughter. Richie guessed the woman was the one who supposedly now haunted the house.
“Madonna! Richie, why did you let him capture you?” Carmela asked.
Good. She’s not hurt. Relief surged through him. “Already with the criticism?” His throat felt thick as he spoke. “At least we found you.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Carmela frowned, but she couldn’t keep up the banter. Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish you hadn’t found me. I don’t want you hurt. These people, they’re crazy.”
He couldn’t bear seeing her this way. “It’ll be okay, Ma. I promise you.”
“Why are you doing all this?” Rebecca asked, looking from Henry to Marta who was again sitting. “Why did you snatch these women?”
“They figured it out,” he said simply.
“It was actually kind of funny,” Marta added. “Sandy, Lucian, and the entire San Francisco Police Department were all running around wondering what was going on, and two old broads from North Beach figured out what was really happening.”
“Who’s an old broad, you witch!” Carmela sneered at her.
“Is that true, Ma?” Richie asked, impressed.
“All we wanted was to get back Geri’s sister’s money,” Carmela said firmly. “First, we could see that Lucian couldn’t scam a flea. He was such a complete innocent he’d do whatever Sandy wanted without question. Or whatever he thought Sandy wanted.”
“I don’t get it,” Richie admitted.
Carmela and Geri smiled smugly at each other. Richie knew they were up to something. “Spirits of some of the women who spent most of their money on Sandy ca
me to us during the séances,” Carmela said. “We’re quite good at séances, by the way.”
“You are?”
“Oh yes. We have a gift.”
Geri nodded, and she took over their explanation. “Spirits came to us and said things that only someone who understood how the insurance scheme worked would understand. That was when we saw that Sandy had no part in it—he didn’t have a clue what the spirits were talking about, but Henry and Marta did.” She gave Henry and Marta a vicious glare.
Richie felt the Highfield’s tension rise with each word Geri spoke.
“The next thing we knew,” Carmela said, “poor Sandy was dead, and Lucian was hiding. We don’t know why he hid—probably grief, maybe fear. The boy was out there where the buses don’t run, you know. Apparently, he called his friends, Henry and Marta, thinking they would help him. They helped him all the way to this house, picking up Geri and me as they went.”
“It’s all their fault,” Marta said to Rebecca. “If they hadn’t stuck their noses in, Sandy and Lucian would both still be alive.”
“Lucian was in that car?” Richie said, looking a bit ill.
“He got in over his head,” Henry said. “Literally.”
“You two set up the fake ‘scholarship account’ didn’t you?” Rebecca said. “You had eight other women and men receiving payments they thought were from Sandy. I suspect that means you had life insurance policies on all of them. Policies on which you showed Lucian’s name, but when the insured died, you two got the money.”
Marta smiled. “The attorney I once worked for was great at estate planning, including insurance.” She sounded oddly proud of having learned how to con people.
“No one was hurt,” Henry said. “Those people were already close to death.”
“What made you so nervous,” Rebecca asked, “that you went after Sandy?”