Sativa Strain

by Alexi Venice

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vietti.”

  Cy looked up from his pasta bowl, and his eyes sparkled. “The pleasure’s all mine, young lady.”

  “Do you come here often?” Tommy asked.

  “Once in a while. My roommate and I rarely eat out because we’re trying to save money, but this place is a good value.”

  “You know my sister, Tina, owns it, right?” Tommy asked.

  “Get out! I had no idea,” Mel said. “That’s really cool.”

  “She’s in the kitchen now, but I’ll introduce you sometime.”

  “I’d like that. Well, it was good seeing you. I’ll let you return to your dinners.”

  As she sauntered off in the direction of her booth, Tommy couldn’t help but watch her tight jeans sway.

  “She’s too young for you,” Cy said, watching her as well.

  “You think?” Tommy returned to his chicken.

  “What would she want with a man who has a grey beard?” Cy asked, cutting his meatball in half.

  Tommy rubbed his chin. “I thought I just had some grey highlights. My beard isn’t grey.”

  “It’s grey.”

  “Well, she told me she liked it last week, so I’m keeping it.”

  “Aha. So, you’re growing the beard for some girl in her twenties?” Cy asked around his bite.

  “No and God no. She’s not in her twenties, Pops. She told me she’s 31.”

  “More than ten years younger than you are!”

  “So what?” Tommy asked. “That’s nothing.”

  Cy snorted.

  What is your problem tonight? Tommy wondered.

  ***

  After Tommy walked Cy back to his house, Tommy decided to drop in on the techies at the Hall of Justice. Although quiet, the sad, old building wasn’t deserted. The night crew picked up where the day shift left off, especially in Navarro’s department, where watching video and trolling through computer information was a laborious task that invited night owls.

  When Tommy ducked into Navarro’s suite, he was surprised to see Navarro at his desk. “Hey Tommy. What brings you in tonight?”

  “I wanted to see if you made any progress.”

  “I think we may have found a few things. Pull up a chair.”

  Tommy rolled up alongside Navarro.

  Navarro switched screens and brought up some black and white, grainy video. “This is the outdoor security cam from Goat Hill Pizza.”

  “Did you compare it to the photos of Carlos Montiago’s cars that I gave you?”

  “Yeah. And, our guys found a match. Check it out.” Navarro split the screen into two panels: Goat Hill’s security video on the left and a photo of the ivy green Mustang on the right. He paused the grainy video on an image of the front, right panel of the car and zoomed in. “There are three defining features of this car from this angle, aside from the body shape and wheel well.”

  “I think I know what you’re looking at, but go ahead,” Tommy said, squinting.

  “See where it says, ‘Mustang’ along the chrome at the bottom of the front panel, right behind the wheel?”

  “Yeah. I can’t quite make out the letters, but they match the number of letters in ‘Mustang,’” Tommy said.

  Navarro nodded and pointed to an emblem directly above the car’s name. “See this little rectangular emblem here?”

  “I do, but I can’t make it out worth shit. I don’t have my cheaters with me.”

  “They wouldn’t help. It’s not high resolution or in focus. Look at the third emblem in front of the tire, right behind the passenger headlight. This one is fairly distinctive, a square with a carrot arrow right below it, pointing downward.”

  “It isn’t really a square. It’s more of a horizontal rectangle rather than the vertical rectangle behind the wheel.”

  “Precisely. These are the signature symbols on the 1966 Mustang. Let’s zoom in on the photos you took of the car in the Montiago garage.”

  They looked at the right side of the screen. “It’s a perfect match,” Tommy said.

  “Damn near,” Navarro said. “Nothing is perfect unless you have a license plate or VIN, but we can definitely say the car in the video is strikingly similar to the 1966 Montiago Mustang.”

  “Can you enlarge the pics I took, so we can see the emblems?”

  “Sure. You were right, there’s the block lettering of ‘Mustang’ on the front panel. Above it, there’s the rectangular emblem of stripes with ‘289’ at the top and a chrome horse transecting it.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Tommy said. “What about the other emblem in front of the wheel?”

  “That just says ‘289’ with a carrot pointing down. See?” Navarro zoomed in.

  “Oh. It looked like more of a rectangle from a distance, but I see what you mean now,” Tommy said. “So, I can draw a preliminary conclusion that Carlos Montiago’s green 1966 Mustang was parked outside Goat Hill Pizza the night of the murder?”

  “Indeed,” Navarro said.

  “That ain’t good for Montiago,” Tommy said, scratching his beard.

  “When are you going to shave that thing off?” Navarro asked.

  “Maybe never. The women dig it.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “What else do you have for me?”

  Chapter 33

  Hall of Justice

  Navarro turned to his table and tapped one of the laptops that Tommy and Amanda had dropped off that morning. “I don’t know whose laptop this is, technically speaking, but I’m guessing it’s Carlos Montiago’s.”

  “Why?”

  “When we queried it, his name popped up as the owner.”

  “Interesting, because Kara gave it to us, representing it was ‘theirs’ as a couple.”

  “I’m not sure I believe her. Who has a ‘couples laptop?’ Maybe she just wanted you to see his laptop,” Navarro said. “Regardless, we made a forensic copy of the hard drive, and there were several videos on it. This one might interest you.” Navarro clicked on the forensic file and pulled up the video on his computer screen.

  The first image that came into view was Kara’s large bed in her apartment love nest. They watched in silence as Jared Carlisle came bolting into the frame—stark naked—and lay on the bed, splayed open like a dead crab. Kara came into view—in her dominatrix outfit—and methodically tied his hands to the bed posts.

  They were obviously talking, but there wasn’t any audio.

  When Kara dripped some melting ice over Jared’s chest, then ran the cube over his nipples, he freaked out against the satin ties binding him. He was clearly annoyed and yelling. Tommy had already heard Carlisle’s dialogue from his cell phone video of the incident. Kara immediately untied him and walked out of the frame. The video ended there.

  “Huh,” Tommy grunted. “This video is on Carlos Montiago’s laptop?”

  “Yep. There are a few other trysts with men, too, but since Carlisle was murdered, I thought you’d want to see this one.”

  “Are there more videos of her and Carlisle or just this one?”

  “Just this one.”

  “Curious.”

  “I thought so, too,” Navarro said. “Did she install a camera, so her husband could get his kicks watching her with other men? Or, did Carlos surreptitiously install the camera since it was on his computer?”

  “That doesn’t make sense since he can’t get a hard-on. He had his prostate removed quite a few years ago.”

  “He still might watch. Just because he can’t get a hard-on doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy being a voyeur.”

  “That doesn’t fit the personality of the man I met.” Tommy shook his head pensively. “Will you email that video clip to me?”

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “And, email the Goat Hill Mustang video too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Got anything else for me to look at?”

  “We’re still working on restoring Kar
a Montiago’s texts on her phone. We found some fragments, but we’re trying to recover all of them.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  Navarro pulled up the texts on his flat screen. “As you can see, there’s some dialogue the night of the murder between her and Vincent Voss.” He pointed at the screen.

  What time?

  8:30

  See you there.

  “They must be planning to meet at the Scarlet,” Tommy said. “Anything else?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call you if we get anything.”

  “Thanks. I think I have a disc from the Scarlet Huntington Hotel security cams in my office. I’m gonna watch that tonight. Maybe it will shed more light.”

  “If you want to go home, I can have one of my night-shift guys watch it. Just tell me who we’re looking for at the hotel.”

  Tommy stared at the wall for a second, thinking. Something wasn’t right. The video of Kara and Carlisle on Carlos’ computer didn’t make sense. “No. That’s fine. It shouldn’t take me very long. I just need to confirm Kara Montiago’s alibi that she was there with Vincent Voss. They each told us they got there about 8:30 pm and left around midnight. Should be a quick confirmation from the security cameras.”

  “Well, let me know if you need anything else from us.”

  “Thanks. Have a good night,” Tommy said as he rose and quickly left. He took the stairs, two at a time, to his office on the fifth floor. Unlike Navarro’s work space, Tommy’s suite was dark and vacated. The place was so quiet he could hear the pipes of the building jangling like a yawing ship. Probably leaking more sewage in the basement, he thought.

  He entered his office and found the disc that the cute manager at the Scarlet had given him. What was her name? He fumbled through the pile of crap on his conference table and found her card—Margaret Peng. That’s right. She preferred Molly. She was sort of into me. Maybe I should call her. She’s closer to my age than the young Melanie, but….

  Tommy shook off the thought of women and booted up his computer. He inserted the disc, and, as expected, he watched Kara Montiago and Vincent Voss meet in the lobby at 8:34 p.m., according to the time stamp on the video. They barely acknowledged each other. Kara hung back by the beverage service area while Vincent dealt with the front desk. After Vincent finished his business, he casually walked toward the elevator where Kara caught up to him. They disappeared onto the elevator. Right on cue.

  Tommy clicked on the next frame of the video, which was a camera angle of the hallway on the twelfth floor, where he watched Kara and Vincent walk arm-in-arm to the Passion Suite door at 8:41pm. Welcome to the red sex room.

  He hit fast forward and continued watching the twelfth-floor hallway for several minutes, waiting to confirm the time of their departure. Kara said they left around midnight. The floor was vacant. Not a soul came or went. Close to 11 p.m., however, a man entered the frame and scurried in a fast-forward-jerky motion down the hall to the Passion Suite. He knocked on the door and handed something to someone who opened the door. The door closed, and the newcomer turned and left. Whoa. Who’s this?

  Tommy rewound the video to where the man first entered the view, his back to the camera, and played it at regular speed. The man wore a ballcap and dark windbreaker, and his face wasn’t visible as he walked away from the camera. He had a confident, ex-jock walk about him. He knocked on the Passion Suite door and removed something from his jacket pocket. A female hand, presumably Kara’s, emerged around the half-open door and the man dropped something small into her palm. Drugs? Her Sativa?

  The man turned and retraced his steps down the hallway, the front of his body now facing the camera. As he drew closer to the camera, he tipped up his chin, the bill of the cap allowing a clear view of his face right before he turned the corner toward the elevator. It was as if the man wanted to be seen on the security cam hidden in the fake tree, because he stared right into it.

  Tommy froze, dread filling his chest. What? He replayed the man’s walk down the hall to where he glanced up, staring right into the screen at Tommy. Tommy paused the video. No. Fucking. Way. He replayed and replayed and replayed the video to make absolutely, positively sure he saw who he thought he saw. I can’t believe this. Tommy stared in disbelief as he watched the video several more times. He rolled the why question around in his head. Are you aligned with Carlos or Kara, or both?

  His adrenaline pumping, Tommy stopped the video of the twelfth floor and went back to the video of the lobby. He wanted to see if he could pick up the man entering the hotel. Sure as shit. Tommy saw the man enter the lobby and walk directly to the elevator bank about 30 seconds before he appeared on the video on the twelfth floor.

  Unfuckingbelievable.

  His mind spinning, Tommy wanted to disprove what he deduced from the video clip. He madly searched his emails to see if the lab results on the saliva and fingerprints were back yet. He found a recent email buried among the thousand in his inbox. The lab indicated that the saliva suspended in the beeswax and avocado oil of the red Stila lipstick on the cigarette butt in Carlisle’s driveway didn’t match the DNA sample of Kara Montiago. It did, however, match the DNA sample Tommy had provided from the used Kleenex of Carlos Montiago.

  If it was Carlos’ saliva, not Kara’s, was Carlos really trying to frame her? Wouldn’t he know that we’d look at the DNA of a cigarette butt? I have to believe he’s smarter than that. If he went to the trouble of putting lipstick on the cigarette, he’d know that we’d discover his saliva on it, wouldn’t he?

  The lab also compared the fingerprints of Carlos Montiago that Tommy had lifted from the conference table to the fingerprints that Tommy’s forensic team had taken from the glassware in Kara’s love nest apartment. They matched. Carlos was in Kara’s apartment. Is that when he installed the video to spy on her? Or, is there another explanation?

  I need a cigarette. Tommy rubbed his hands through his hair and removed the disc from his computer. On his way out, he dropped the disc off in Navarro’s office for safekeeping because he didn’t want it to get lost in the mess in his office. While there, he asked the guys to verify the times on the video and make a forensic copy. He gave them the times where the people were in the video and asked them to email those clips to him.

  He exited the sarcophagus into the cool night air, the portentous call of a foghorn in the distance. He lit up before he got in his cruiser, inhaling deeply as he closed the door. He drove out of the parking lot, not knowing exactly where he was headed, but it felt good to be moving and smoking. He slid into the rhythm of traffic and drove down Bryant Street toward North Beach. He automatically turned left on Third Street, and his car steered itself toward Columbus Avenue, his usual route home.

  His mind rolled over the video scenes, denying what he had clearly seen, trying to piece together the story. Tommy found himself parking on his street without remembering getting there.

  He walked briskly down the hill to his favorite neighborhood bar, The Saloon, one of the oldest bars in San Francisco. The Saloon boasted nightly music, and tonight was no exception. When he entered, he vaguely registered a combo on the small stage, one guy playing saxophone, one guy playing base, and a woman playing keyboard. They weren’t very good, but they were part of the culture.

  Tommy occupied a stool at the end of the bar—under the flat screen TV—and nodded at Joe, the owner.

  “Anchor Steam?” Joe asked.

  “Yep. With a bourbon chaser,” Tommy said.

  “Have a preference?” Joe asked.

  “Nope. Anything from Kentucky is fine.”

  The corner of Joe’s mouth tilted up, and he served Tommy a shot with a bottle of Anchor Steam. Tommy quickly tossed back the brown liquid and followed it with his favorite beer. They both soothed the back of his throat where the Marlboro Light had left a chalky aftertaste. The only problem was that the elixir couldn’t chase away the pit in his stomach and the sadness in his heart.

  Why? He thought. How could you be so fucking
stupid?

  He ordered another bourbon and chased it with his beer, trying to obscure the clear images of the man who had visited Kara at the Passion Suite.

  He briefly thought about calling Amanda, but figured she was up to her eyeballs in domestic bliss with Jen and Kristin. My Kristin. I miss you, baby. I wish I could drive over and give you a kiss goodnight.

  He looked at his cell phone. It was already 10:30. Too late to pull a surprise visit. God, he missed her. He wished they all still lived together in his house. Well, fuck that. I’m moving to Jen’s neighborhood as soon as this case is wrapped up. This case. Fuck. No one will be left standing when this case is wrapped up.

  Chapter 34

  Sunset District

  Amanda stood in the orange glow of the street lamp, perched on Jen’s second-floor balcony. Sleep evaded her as her mind burned overtime considering the specter of Ryan’s involvement in the toxic Montiago murder scheme.

  The rhythmic crashing of the nearby waves on Ocean Beach, the organic smell of the earth from the light rain, and the shadowy shapes of the flora and fauna below soothed her soul. The only ingredient missing was the fragrant eucalyptus tree, of which there were none close by. She used to sit on her patio in Sea Cliff for hours breathing in its scent while she prepared her cases for trial. She made a mental note to talk to Jack about replicating her current patio at her new house, complete with a propane firepit and all the greenery they could squeeze in. Can we plant some juvenile eucalyptus trees? Are they fast or slow growing?

  She had finally caught up with Jack and Chloe after dinner, and they had told her that they, not Amanda, were moving her household contents to her new place. They had assumed Amanda was busy and would never get around to orchestrating the move, so they had taken it upon themselves to do it for her.

  While intrusive, Amanda agreed that their plan was brilliant. If left to her, the move could take weeks, if not months, to complete. All this chaos in her personal life, however, undermined her sense of order, heightening her need to escape, then control, then escape if she couldn’t control. Even though her parents were working with, not against her, Amanda had to fight the inevitable anxiety produced by change. Relax and let go.