“Does she have long red hair?”
“No.”
“Wearing a blue cowgirl outfit?”
“No. You think this might be your lady in blue from Redding?”
I answered his question with a question. “So no Read-Out chip implant?”
“Not that we know of. The medical examiner didn’t mention finding it and he knows what to look for.” He searched my face for any revelations on my part. “Why should she have an implant? Does she have something to do with Read-Out that I don’t know about?”
I shrugged.
“Don’t give me that shrug. What are you keeping from me? Five people are dead. If you know something, you should tell me.”
“Frank, one of Collier’s chips is here. That’s what this locator says.“ I pulled the remote-like gizmo out of my pocket. “That means Ty Deavers has something to do with this, even if he was out of the country at the time. Let’s go in and see if we can find what’s in there.”
“I thought you already knew what you were looking for. The prototype.”
“Then let’s go find it.”
Frank made a snatch at the remote. I whipped it out of his reach.
“No, no. This is mine.”
“Stop playing around, Lee. This is serious.”
“If you want to use it without handing me an injunction, you’ll have to let me go in with you.”
I walked around him and toward Ty Deavers’ house. When he didn’t follow, I turned back to him.
“Coming, Frank?”
He hesitated then followed, muttering as he walked. “Sometimes I think your father let you get away with too much.”
“Funny, Mom says the same thing. So Deavers’ van is in his garage? I thought it was stolen.”
“Yes, but it’s miraculously reappeared and is being impounded as we speak.”
“Mind if I look inside it? I won’t touch anything, I promise.”
“No, you can’t. Besides, I’ve already looked inside.”
“You have?” I stopped and turned back to him. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
He continued walking and passed me, but said no more. After a beat I called out.
“Okay, you win, Frank.”
My voice made him stop, turn, and face me. I tossed the gizmo to him. He caught it without taking his eyes off me. I smiled in what I hoped was a winning manner. Actually, it was mostly an idiot grin, all teeth, little substance.
“If I show you how to use the remote, will you tell me what you found inside the van? Please?”
He let a trace of a smile cross his lips. “All right. It contains a strange looking kitchen cabinet; I think it’s your chip tester, and cardboard boxes. I opened up one of the boxes and the chips you’ve been looking for are there. Once Evidence checks them out, I’ll return the lot to Read-Out. Satisfied?”
“That means D. I. won’t get sued for fifteen million dollars or be badmouthed throughout the Bay Area.”
My voice shook. I hadn’t realized until that moment how frazzled I’d been over the loss of the tester and chips. Not to mention the impact its loss would have had on D. I.’s reputation.
“Lee honey, I would have told you that whether or not you gave me the remote control. But it’s better you did. You should have as little to do with this as possible.”
“But I’m the reason you’re here in the first place. I let you know what was going on.”
“And I’ll convey your part in it to Read-Out’s CFO when we return the stolen materials.”
I thought for a moment. “I guess that does free me up to find D. H. Collier’s killer.”
“Good God.” He shook his head. “Don’t you ever quit?”
“No,” I replied. “If the prototype is inside, who will you return that to?”
“Rameen Patel has filed a missing report on it, so it’s officially Read-Out’s property.”
“Officially, it’s not. He didn’t pay Collier for it yet. It belongs to the estate.”
“Then I’ll ask him for a bill of sale. We’ll see where it goes from there.”
He gave me a grin, not idiotic like mine, but warm and friendly. We both relaxed a little. I started to say something. He stuck out a hand to stop me, so I kept my mouth shut and let him speak.
“And don’t worry. I’ll tell whoever it belongs to your part in the recovery of it.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that, Frank. But thanks. I’m wondering if the prototype is here, after all. I think whoever killed Collier – or is that whomever?” I interrupted myself and looked at Frank.
“Don’t get stuck on those kinds of things; this isn’t an English test. Go on, Lee. I want to hear what’s going on in that furtive thing you call a mind.”
“No, on second thought, I think I’ll keep thinking about this. A lot of the puzzle is still missing.”
I turned to walk back to my car. He shouted after me.
“I don’t have to tell you this is not a parlor game.”
I waved over my shoulder still walking straight ahead. “And I don’t have to tell you this is not over yet.”
Perhaps the strongest thread that runs through the Valley's
past and present is the drive to 'play' with novel technology,
which, when bolstered by an advanced engineering degree
and channeled by astute management, has done much to create
the industrial powerhouse we see in the Valley today.
Timothy J. Sturgeon
Chapter Twenty-six
I opened the car door to get in just as my phone rang. I looked at the incoming call and though I didn’t recognize the number, it had a D.C. area code.
“Hello?”
“Miss Alvarez, this is Vice Admiral Saks.”
I sucked in air, so noisy and quick, my chest hurt from the effort. “What’s happened? Is Gurn --”
“Easy, Miss Alvarez. Lt. Commander Hanson is just fine.”
“He is? You’re sure?”
“Yes. He’s delayed, that’s all. He asked me to call you as a favor; he didn’t want you to worry. I don’t ordinarily do this sort of thing, far from it, but I understand you two are getting married upon his return. And he once helped my son with a problem.” His gruff voice softened on the last sentence then picked up the same formal, no nonsense tone again. “He’ll be a day later than expected. Goodbye, Miss Alvarez. Try not to worry,” he added, disconnecting before I could respond.
“Goodbye,” I said to dead air. “And I’ll try not to worry.” I put my head down on the steering wheel. “I can’t take much more. Too much is going on. And I never have a minute to just sit and think.”
As if to make sure I knew that, my phone rang again. I looked at the number. Other than the 415 area code, I was clueless. I answered, anyway, instead of letting it go into voicemail. It was that kind of day.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Alvarez?” The voice sounded musical and vaguely familiar. “This is Sharise. I understand you’re looking for me. At least, that’s what my daughter said before she hung up on me.”
“I am hoping to converse with you, yes. And call me Lee. You know D. H. Collier is dead, right?”
“It’s been all over the news and in the German papers, even if Skye hadn’t screamed over the phone repeatedly of how I was responsible.”
“And are you?”
A lilting laughter filled the airwaves. “Now how could I be? I just flew back from my European tour.”
“When did you get in, Sharise?”
“We cleared customs about five hours ago. I’m home now.”
“Is your manager with you?”
“Ty? I last saw him at the airport. One of his friends has a gig there for the holidays. Ty likes to play the drums, so he was sitting in when I left.”
“SFO, right?”
“Why all the questions about Ty, Ms. Alvarez…ah…Ms. Lee?”
“Just Lee.”
“Of course. I thought, Lee, I was the one you
wanted to talk to.”
“I’m hoping you and I can meet soon.”
“That sounds lovely. How about now?”
I looked at my watch. Three-thirty. If I didn’t show up for the final fitting, I would be one dead bride, courtesy of my mother.
“How about six?”
“Any time you say. Do you know where I live?”
“2752 Mar East Street, Tiburon.”
“Very good. Oh, and Lee, my daughter is a bit of a drama queen. I hope you haven’t taken any of her accusations seriously.”
A melodic laughter filled the airwaves again. I hate callous, insensitive people, even if they are world famous rock musicians. My voice was even colder than I meant it to be.
“Her father is dead. Dramatics work very well in times like these.”
“As you say; my apologies. Six o’clock then, Lee.”
“Six it is, Sharise. And thanks.”
She didn’t reply and we disconnected. Before I called Frank to tell him of Ty Deavers possibly being at the airport, I unlocked the glove compartment to make sure my Beretta Tomcat was there and fully loaded. It was.
Silicon Valley is completely different:
people here really live on the edge.
Linus Torvalds
Chapter Twenty-seven
The fitting at Angela’s Fitting Room went fast. I was in no mood to admire my reflection while spinning around with acres of silk velvet twirling at my feet. Thank God Mom wasn’t there or I might have twirled my brains out, just to keep her happy. The upshot was the wedding dress had to be taken in again. The key to losing weight is having your fiancé on a secret mission, people dying left and right, and running around looking for a killer. But I don’t think Weight Watchers would approve of the method.
While at Angie’s I received a text from my mother, telling me to wait for her. Love her though I do, that info hurried my departure. I leapt into my car around four-fifteen, leaving Angie holding the gown and the proverbial bag. Let her deal with a mad-as-a-hornet mother; we were paying her enough.
Accompanied by steady rain and the dinging of incoming messages, I was still on 101 at six-ten, barely having reached South San Francisco. Tiburon is nearly fifty miles from Palo Alto, and I’d hoped to make it in an easy hour and forty-five minutes. But between the heavy rain and Bay Area rush hour traffic, it may as well have been five thousand miles away.
In the interim, Frank kept me updated. No prototype chip. The gizmo directed them to an empty black ring box sitting on the floor of the garage, but nothing inside. Bummer.
Ty Deavers had been found banging on drums at the San Francisco Airport and having a fine time. His passport read today’s date for entry into the good ol’ U.S. of A. Furthermore, about twenty witnesses said he never left the bandstand once he got off the plane from Germany, collected his luggage, and cleared customs. Another bummer.
Deavers had no idea why there should be a dead woman in his house, who she was, or why his van – which was reported stolen by his housekeeper three days before – was found back in his garage. Frank was still working on the identity of the woman. Not to repeat myself, but I was so bummed.
I hit speed dial. Frank answered before it rang once. It was like he was on speed pickup.
“Good timing for your call. I’ve got an update. Rameen Patel has been arrested for Collier’s murder.”
“What?” I nearly drove off the road in shock. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. Broas has something. Just what, he’s not sharing. But it has to do with Patel’s past.”
I thought about what Richard just told me about Patel’s juvenile record. And then there was the tense relationship between him and Collier. Secrets everywhere, but did any of them lead to murder?
“And what about the other deaths, Frank? Does Chief Broas think Patel did those?”
“He’s not saying, Lee, and it’s not in my jurisdiction. But the woman’s death is, and we think we know who she is.”
“Really, who?”
“Sharise’s stand-in and Ty Deavers girlfriend, June Mitchell. Her fingerprints aren’t on file, but she fits the description; five foot six, brunette, mid to late twenties. She flew back to the states a couple of days ago. Her landlady says she hasn’t seen her since last night.”
“No pictures of her?”
“Not that we can find.”
“A girl in show business, Frank? No headshots? No selfies? What are the odds?”
“Before she met Sharise, she worked in a drugstore. That’s where the singer found her and offered her the job as her stand-in. Only time she’s been on camera that we know of is in costume as Sharise’s stand in. Deavers gave us a picture of June from his phone, but it’s out of focus; hard to see her features.”
“Where is Deavers now?”
“At the morgue, identifying or not identifying the body. I’ll know any minute. He’s cooperating, for all the good it’s doing us. We can’t get him on a thing yet. But he knows something. I don’t know what it is, but he’s terrified.”
“Frank, one thing about being stuck in traffic is that in between swearing my head off and giving rude drivers the finger, I’ve had time to think.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. And I don’t care for the finger idea, either.”
“You need to get another warrant, hire yourself an arborist expert in deadly tropical trees, and give Collier’s private, two-acre rainforest a going over. I’ll bet you a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes you’re going to find a borrachero scopolamine tree, even if it’s not on Collier’s inventory.”
“I don’t know who this Louboutin is, but I’m getting all too familiar with the borrachero trees. You really think one of those trees is there?”
“Yeah, I do. The answer to all of this is that one of those trees is here in the Bay Area, hidden in plain sight. Hijo de perro!” A car cut me off, almost forcing me into the next lane. My tires slid against the wet pavement for a moment then straightened out. Meanwhile, Frank was yelling.
“Hey, watch your language. I know what that means in English.”
“You should be here on 101 arresting some of these reckless drivers. Where’s a cop when you need one?”
“Avoiding you.”
“Ha ha. And check on the employees. You might find somebody very unlikely working in that compound.”
“I’ve already done that. But I will try to find that tree. I’ll set it up for tomorrow. It’s pitch black outside now.”
“And raining. Here’s a thought, you might want to send a couple of officers to the Collier Compound. Get someone to stay with Skye Collier and Katie Hall tonight. I’d feel better if someone’s with them.”
He paused. I could hear his hesitation over the phone. ”What’s going on you’re not telling me?”
“Let’s just err on the side of precaution. We don’t know everything there is to know yet.”
“That’s for sure. I’ve got a better idea. I’ll take them into protective custody. Put them up in a hotel, incommunicado. A possibility of one of those trees being on the premises gives me enough reason, at least for twenty-four hours.”
“Have to hang up, Frank. I need to call a lady about why I’m late.”
“What are you late for? Where are you going?”
“Can’t hear you, Frank. Every other word is cutting out.” I disconnected. Gawd, I love these cell phones.
Sharise answered on the eighth ring, just when I thought it would go into her voicemail.
“Yes?” Her voice still sounded musical but on the bored side.
“Sharise, it’s me, Lee Alvarez. I’ve hit a little traffic – actually a lot – and I’m still on the south side of San Francisco. Sorry. If it’s too late, maybe we can make it tomorrow. I’m sure you’re dealing with jetlag.”
“No, I’m fine, Lee. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”
“And I, you.”
“I tell you what, Lee. Why don’t we meet at a little restaurant I know in San Fra
ncisco? Split the difference? There’s a place on Post called The Oceania. Ever heard of it?”
“I’ve been in a couple of times for drinks.”
“I’ll call and make a reservation for seven-thirty for two. They know me there.”
“Glad you don’t mind braving the rain. By the way, do you have any pictures of your stand-in, June Mitchell?”
“June? I think I have one either on my phone or my IPad that we took at a party in the south of France. Why?”
“Could you bring it along? I’d like to see what she looks like.”
There was a pause. “I’ll look for it.”
“Thanks. See you at seven-thirty.”
I disconnected, stared out at the pouring rain, and the bumper to bumper cars. This was going to be a most interesting night.
Something new will always be the source
of growth in Silicon Valley.
Steve Jurvetson
Chapter Twenty-eight
I arrived at The Oceania Restaurant around seven-twenty. I opted to leave the car with the curb valet service even though it cost twenty dollars plus tip. Rain, wind, and chilly though it was, there was a festive air in the City. Holiday lights were everywhere, sparkling in the heavy downpour.
A soggy Santa tried to stay dry under a nearby building’s overhang, while ringing his bell for donations. Wrapping my coat about me, I slung the tote bag over my shoulder, popped up my umbrella, and hurried to him. I dropped a twenty into the bucket. If I had that much to spend on valet parking, I had it for charity, as well.
Santa gave me a surprised but pleased look and renewed his vigor with the bell. He was a small man, not quite as tall as me. His hands were red and chapped from the weather. The one holding the bell was white at the knuckles. I pulled off my lined black leather gloves.
“Hey, Santa, you look like you could use these.”
I proffered them to him and watched his face light up. He had very twinkling blue eyes. No wonder he was picked for a Santa.
“Lady, I sure could. It’s freezing out here.”
“Then here you go.” I dropped them into his outstretched hand. He laughed a phlegmy laugh and I smelled a bit of holiday cheer on his breath.
The CEO Came DOA (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 5) Page 19