Sativa Strain

by Alexi Venice

  “That’s why there isn’t any video footage from Carlisle’s security cameras,” Tommy said. “Kara would’ve known how they worked and erased them. After all, her company tech team set up the system.”

  “What about eye-witnesses? Did you ever talk to the guy who rents the lower level of Carlisle’s house?”

  “He’s on my list. We got so involved with the Montiago’s that he wasn’t a priority.” Tommy pulled his flip notebook from his pocket and thumbed through the pages. “Here he is. Tim Gallagher. Works at Anchor Steam Brewery. I’m gonna find him this morning.”

  “What do we do about Ryan?”

  “Nothing. We let him think he got away with it. He and Kara aren’t going anywhere. They’re waiting for us to arrest Carlos.”

  Amanda scratched her head and shook out her hair. “Here’s a piece that doesn’t fit. Why did Carlos pretend like he was going to kill himself to get admitted to the Psych Unit?”

  “I thought about that over my bourbon last night,” Tommy said. “The best motive I can deduce is that he viewed it as a safe place to hide from Kara, and possibly Ryan. If you need to hide from the police, the Psych Unit is a great place. On the other hand, he could have legitimately wanted to kill himself. Remember, he just learned recently that Lindsay is Ryan’s daughter.”

  “Right. I’ll think about it some more,” she said. “Let’s keep this between us for now. We need some evidence tying Ryan to the murder scene—like his prints on the iron skillet or a clear shot of him driving the Mustang over there—if he’s our number one suspect, that is.”

  “I’m sure he wore gloves when he entered Carlisle’s house. I’d love to get his prints on the Mustang, but he’s too smart for that.”

  “He wasn’t too smart for the Scarlet Hotel security camera. He looked right at it!”

  “Yeah, but it’s concealed in that fake tree. I only noticed it because Molly pointed it out to us. If he was rattled after killing Carlisle, then he might not have been as observant as he usually is.”

  “I’m not conceding that he accidentally looked directly into it. What if he wanted us to see him on video?”

  He grunted. “I doubt that. Killer’s make mistakes. That’s how we catch them. I think he made a legitimate mistake. Looking into the camera probably wasn’t his only one.”

  “What about traffic cams and city cams?” she asked. “Maybe we can catch a good photo of Ryan on one of those.”

  “I already have Navarro working on it. I didn’t tell him to look for Ryan. I just said to look for the Mustang during that time frame on a course from the Scarlet to Carlisle’s house and back.”

  “You’ll get something. Whether we see Ryan driving the car is a different story. Maybe even a long shot. I’d rather have DNA of him at the scene or on Carlisle’s body.”

  “I agree. I asked Link and Kleini to go back to Carlisle’s house this afternoon.”

  “Why not this morning?”

  “They’re doing something else for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, I’ve waited too long to talk to Gallagher. I’m off to Anchor Steam Brewery.”

  “Do that, and I’ll think some more.”

  He nodded but didn’t get up. Despite his energetic analysis, he didn’t seem to have the enthusiasm to actionalize it.

  Amanda felt for him. The enormity of what they faced was both personal and professional. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I want to believe that Ryan didn’t do this, and there’s a rational explanation for his visit to Kara at the Scarlet. Maybe we can exonerate him.”

  “Like, maybe Kara and Carlos are framing Ryan for this thing? I’m grasping at straws to believe it wasn’t Ryan who killed Carlisle, but that video is pretty damning.”

  “Let’s keep digging. What about the Mustang? Shouldn’t we grab it and dust it for prints?”

  “If we confiscate it and tow it away, both Kara and Ryan will be onto us. Instead, I sent Frank, Link and Kleini down to the Montiago mansion to return Kara’s cell phone to her. While Frank is chatting her up, Link and Kleini are going to dust the Mustang and take samples of everything in it, looking for Ryan’s DNA.”

  “Smooth,” she said.

  “Not my first rodeo.” He stood and grabbed his cup of coffee and bag of croissants. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  As he walked by, Amanda squeezed his arm, offering her support.

  Chapter 36

  Anchor Steam Brewery

  Tommy parked on the sunny hill by Anchor Steam and entered the dated, but well-maintained brewery. He was met by a friendly receptionist who delighted in dealing with the public for tours.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  He removed his bifold and showed her his badge and ID. “I’m here to talk to one of your employees about a homicide. Can you get your manager, please?”

  “Yes sir.” She quickly picked up the phone and called someone named “Fritz” down to the front desk.

  A few minutes later, a tall, disheveled young man came bounding down the wide stairway to meet Tommy.

  “I’m Fritz Maytag,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Detective Vietti, SFPD.” Tommy shook Fritz’s hand and showed him his badge. “I’d like to speak to one of your employees.”

  “What for?”

  “I can’t tell you, but I’m investigating a homicide.”

  “Is it about the murder of Tim’s landlord?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes. Can you get him for me, please?”

  “He told us all about it. Would you like visit with him on the floor?” Fritz asked.

  “Sure.”

  Fritz led Tommy up to the second floor where they quickly walked through a small office area then pushed through a glass door to the brewery. They entered an immaculate space with large, copper vats spanning two stories in height. A burly, bearded man, who Tommy assumed was Tim, was pouring something into the hatch at the top of the vat. The sounds of the active brewery were very loud, so Fritz walked up to Tim and signaled he needed to talk to him. Tim glanced over and saw Tommy then carefully closed the lid and latched it. He wiped his hands on a white towel that was hanging from his jean’s pocket and came over.

  “I’m Detective Tommy Vietti. I’d like to talk to you about the homicide of Jared Carlisle, your landlord.”

  “I’ve been waiting for someone to contact me. Took a few more days than I thought it would,” Tim said.

  “Sorry about that. We’ve been busy,” Tommy said. “What time do you usually get home from work, Mr. Gallagher?”

  “Call me Tim. It depends on what shift I’m working. The night Jared was murdered, I got home a little after 11 p.m.”

  Tommy looked at Fritz, the manager, who was listening intently. “Mr. Maytag, would you mind giving us a minute alone?”

  “Sure, as long as Tim is comfortable with that,” Fritz said.

  “Yeah. No sweat,” Tim said.

  Tommy waited until Fritz was out of earshot. “Did you notice anything that might help us figure out who killed Carlisle?”

  “Not at all. Everything was quiet and seemed normal when I got home.”

  “Did you see anyone coming or going?” Tommy asked.

  “No. I went straight into my apartment on the lower level, turned on the TV, ate some leftover pizza and went to bed about an hour later.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anyone visit Jared in the last couple of weeks?”

  “No. We didn’t cross paths much because our work schedules didn’t mesh.”

  “Did you ever see anyone coming or going?”

  “Sure. I saw people come and go on the weekends, but no one stands out in my mind.”

  “Did you ever see this person visit?” Tommy removed his cell phone and showed Tim a photo of Kara Montiago.

  “Her? Hell no. Isn’t she running for President?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I never saw her there.” Tim ran his fing
ers through the scruffy ends of his beard. “Seriously, man?”

  “Seriously. How about this guy?” Tommy pulled up a photo of Carlos.

  “No. I feel like I should know who he is, but I never saw him at Jared’s.”

  “Okay. How about this guy?” Tommy pulled up a photo of Ryan on his cell.

  “Nope. Definitely don’t recognize that guy.”

  Tommy dropped his cell back in his pocket. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with Mr. Carlisle lately? Any changes in his routine or behavior?”

  “Nothing except he gave me notice that he was going to terminate our lease in three months because he was coming into some money and didn’t need to rent out the lower level any longer.”

  “Oh really? Tell me about that.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. He just told me I should start looking for a new place, and he gave me a termination letter.”

  “Did he say where the money came from?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Did he say how much?”

  “No. He just said he was coming into some money, so it was nothing personal. He offered to serve as a reference if I needed one for a new landlord.”

  “Interesting. Have you found a new place?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t been back since he was murdered. The place gives me the creeps.”

  “Understandable,” Tommy said. He scratched his chin, benchmarking the thickness of his own beard against that of the younger man standing before him. “About this promise of money–did Mr. Carlisle make any large purchases that you noticed?”

  “Yeah. He bought a new car a couple of weeks ago. A Tesla Roadster. Sweet ride.”

  “Oh really? Where does he keep that? We didn’t see it in the garage.”

  “Usually on the street. It was there when I left for work last week.”

  “What color?”

  “Metallic blue.”

  “Thanks.” Tommy made a note in his flip notebook. “Anything else you can think of that might be helpful?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Call me if you do. Here’s my card. My cell is on there.”

  “Okay, man. Do you think I’m in any danger?”

  “Absolutely not,” Tommy said.

  “Good to know this doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Not that I can see.”

  They shook hands and Tommy said he could show himself out.

  Rather than return directly to the Hall of Justice, Tommy drove past the ugly, grey building to a Target store on Mission Street. Usually, he’d do anything to avoid going into the overstocked nightmare, but, as a father, he found himself increasingly relying on its supplies to run his household. He could get everything he needed in one fell swoop, making it an efficient stop.

  He grabbed a cart and picked up a few household items: pull-ups for Kristin, dish soap, laundry soap, garbage bags, and some scrub brushes for the kitchen sink. Finally, he focused on a variety of pots and pans, studying the iron skillets, until he saw the ten-inch size. He picked it up and wielded it like a weapon, checking out how he would hit someone with it. Amanda was right, he needed to flex his forearm to steady the pan and direct it with enough force to whack a person as tall as Carlisle.

  In the tight confines of Carlisle’s small kitchen, a guy wouldn’t have much room to wind up into a full swing. The killer would need to pull the skillet back behind his own head, like throwing a baseball, then follow through in a strong forward motion, hitting an unsuspecting Carlisle. The force needed to crack Carlisle’s occiput—the thickest part of his skull—would’ve been substantial, delivered by a grown man, not a woman of Kara’s strength or stature. Tommy set the skillet in his cart and picked up a few more items.

  Back at the Hall of Justice, he remained in his car while he removed the sticker from the skillet, then carefully wrapped the pan in his SFPD windbreaker. He casually carried the bundle under his arm straight to Navarro’s office. As soon as he entered, he tipped up his chin and inclined his head, indicating to Navarro that he wanted to see him alone in his conference room.

  Navarro followed him. “Need me?”

  “Yeah. Close the door, will you?” Tommy unwrapped the skillet.

  “Why do you have a skillet?” Navarro asked.

  “Just bought it at Target. Coincidentally, Jared Carlisle was killed with an iron skillet just like this.”

  “Where’s that one?”

  “In my secret Evidence Room in my suite of offices,” Tommy said.

  “What are you going to do with this one?”

  “We’re gonna put a GPS tracker on it, and I’m going to log it into the main Evidence Room. Then we’re gonna watch if anyone steals it and track him.”

  Navarro picked up the skillet. “There isn’t a place where we can hide a tracker on this. It would be visible on the bottom.”

  “I was thinking you could stick one in this grove on the underside of the handle. Here.”

  Navarro inspected it. “I might be able to wedge one in there.” He left the room and returned with a small tracker, about the size of a dime. He applied some glue and wedged it into the grove on the underside of the handle. “How’s that?”

  Tommy picked up the skillet. “Great. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Navarro said. “If you bring it to the Evidence Room right now, we can watch on video where the officer stores it. That way, we can keep an eye on it.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Does it matter that it’s new? Won’t that be a tipoff that it’s a plant?” Navarro asked.

  “Nah. The inside mole won’t have that level of detail, and by the time he delivers it to the killer, it will be too late,” Tommy said.

  “It’s worth a try,” Navarro shrugged.

  Tommy placed the skillet in an evidence bag and wrote on the front, “Jared Carlisle Investigation – Skillet from kitchen.” He backdated it to the day of the murder. He brought the bagged skillet to the Evidence Room and asked the officer in charge to log and store it.

  When Tommy returned to his office suite, he unlocked the door to his private Evidence Room and confirmed that the real skillet was still there. He also confirmed that the red light was blinking and live on the security camera in the upper corner of the room before closing the door.

  Once he was at his desk, he turned his attention to his emails, looking for one in particular—the autopsy report on Carlisle. Tommy read Steve Strumboldt’s report, which confirmed that the blow to Carlisle’s head had killed him. No drugs on board. Nothing else askew. No signs of a struggle. No bruising. No skin under his fingernails. Tommy wasn’t surprised.

  He sent Steve an email. I’m going to send you some new DNA samples. I want you to crosscheck Carlisle’s body for any presence on it. Focus on his right hand as the result of a handshake.

  He also emailed the forensics lab that had Carlisle’s clothes with the same message. He didn’t expect Ryan’s DNA on Carlisle’s clothes, but he’d been surprised before.

  Now I need some DNA samples from Ryan as well as his fingerprints. Guess I’ll have to pay him a visit.

  He refocused on his inbox and another email caught his eye. It was from Sam Westby, Kara Montiago’s attentive assistant. Tommy had given her the assignment to send him a list of everything she’d bought for Kara in the last few weeks. Sam indicated in her email that she had attached a list. Tommy opened and read it.

  As Sam had foreshadowed, much of it was personal—greeting cards, allergy medication, chewing gum, condoms, tampons, hair spray, Stila lipstick, several takeout coffees from various locales, food items, burner phones (preceding the date on which Tommy, Frank and Amanda met with her at her mansion and confiscated her phone) and jump drives.

  Tommy stared at the mundane nature of the list. Nothing incriminating. However, Kara bought the burner phones before we confiscated her cell, which further indicates she expected us to take her phone. The jump drives, while common, were interesting. Was she copyi
ng everything on their laptops before she turned them over? Did she copy the sex videos of herself and transfer them to Carlos’ laptop to make it look like he was snooping on her? I need a search warrant for these jump drives.

  His mind was traveling in too many directions. Nothing seemed to take shape, so he decided to let the information ferment. He printed off two copies of the list—one for himself and another for Amanda.

  He tucked hers in his pocket and walked over to the DA’s Office. Her door was open, so he cleared his throat and walked in.

  She looked up. “Hey, Tommy.”

  “Hey. Is now a good time?”

  “Yes. What’s new?”

  “I interviewed Tim Gallagher, Carlisle’s tenant.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “He told me that Carlisle expected to come into some money a few weeks ago, so Carlisle gave Gallagher notice that he was terminating the lease.”

  “So, he was expecting a big payday form someone. Either he was blackmailing Kara or being paid to smear her. We need to find the money trail.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Gallagher also told me that Carlisle just bought a new car. A Tesla Roadster.”

  “Expensive,” she said.

  “No shit. I have to go find that thing and dust it for prints.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I’m still pissed. I’ve been working it over and over in my mind to come up with an innocent explanation for you-know-who’s involvement, but I can’t think of anything.”

  She felt a sadness creeping into her heart. “Me, too. I’m in a state of shock. I mean, do you even think he’s capable of murder?”

  “People are capable of all sorts of shit when they get squeezed. I just don’t know why he and Kara felt they had to go this far. Do they really think her campaign is going to survive this scandal?”

  “Is his moral compass that broken? He’d kill for a lover he supposedly hasn’t been with for years? What about Rebecca and the kids?”

  “I know….”

  Chapter 37