“I just…” I began protesting, then shut up. If I had called O’Connor and told him Gilberto was at Rosa’s, they would have picked him up and he wouldn’t be fighting for his life right now at S.F. General. Of course, I’d probably be dead meat by now, but I didn’t want to dwell on that.
I held up my hand like the good Girl Scout I used to be. “No more secrets, I promise.”
“Now tell me what happened from the moment you left the station until the cruisers got to your motel room.”
“As I said on the phone, I completely spaced out touching bases with you after I made my statement. I drove down Lombard and stopped at the first motel with a vacancy sign. I checked in, showered, ate, and realized I was about three blocks from Drew’s place. I walked over there, talked to her, and left. When I got back I realized I hadn’t called you, and well, you know the rest.”
“This the rich girlfriend? I questioned her a couple of days ago. Very cool customer. She claims Brent wasn’t at her house the night of Carlos’ murder. Said she and Vamos were together at her house until around three, finalizing the schedule for the charity gig. Coroner says Perez was killed about two in the morning, although he’s willing to stretch it an hour either way if I press him. That lets them off the hook for now.”
I was a little surprised. I never saw Drew and Juan particularly chummy.
“Christ, this case is just a series of dead ends.” O’Connor sighed and rubbed his neck. “Just curious, but what’s she doing working in the restaurant? From her address and the furniture in her place, I bet she could buy American Fare and not even have it make a dent in her bank account.”
“You’re right, she comes from money, but she likes the restaurant scene. She has to do something with her time. Plus she’s a celebrity junkie. She waited on Robert Redford last week and nearly raised an eyebrow she was so excited.”
“Did you tell her about Brent?”
“No, she didn’t know. She was all dolled up in a six-hundred-dollar pair of lounging pajamas, obviously waiting for Brent. The perfume was laid on pretty thick. It was kind of creepy knowing she was going to be stood up. I asked her if Brent had told her anything about the scam he was running. She got really pissed off at me because she was out of the loop, for once. She basically threw me out of her house.”
“I gotta talk to her. She knows about Brent by now, it’s all over the media. Bigger than when Masa got his. You should demand hazard pay the way chefs are getting bumped off in this city. I’ll ask her if she saw anything when you left. I’ll bring up the scam and get my own take on it.”
“I seriously doubt whether she saw anyone follow me. She slammed the door behind me so hard it felt like an aftershock from the Loma Prieta earthquake.”
“Well, I need to question her again. You know, Mary, maybe it’s not a scam. Maybe Brent’s been blackmailing her. She’s the only person in this picture who has big money.”
I couldn’t picture Drew, the ice queen, capitulating to a blackmailer’s demands.
“Mmm, that’s pretty far-fetched. Besides, you never saw them together. Brent was always terrified he wasn’t cool enough for her. He was like a nervous puppy around her. I half expected him to pee on her shoes every now and then. That doesn’t fit with him blackmailing her. Besides, with her money she could hire an assassin to get rid of some petty blackmailer.”
O’Connor stood up and shoved his chair under the table. “Maybe that’s exactly what she did. Chung’s subpoenaing their bank records to make sure. It’s either sex or money. I’ll go to her place after I talk to Perez. He’s my only lead right now. After I talk to that Summers woman, I’ll meet you at your mother’s house and we’ll brainstorm this afternoon. I want to know how the restaurant works, the laundry delivery system, produce, meat, and dairy deliveries, the wine shipments, how you decide which wine to order, that sort of thing.”
He crunched his neck to one side. “My neck is killing me. Must have slept wrong. Moira’s left you a pair of sweats in the bathroom you can borrow. You jump in the shower and call me the minute you get to your mother’s. Here’s the number again.” He handed me yet another business card. “In fact, I want to talk to your mother to make sure you’re actually there.”
“Oh, come on,” I protested. “What are we? Ten years old?”
O’Connor put both hands on the kitchen table and leaned toward me. His face was four inches away from mine. I smelled coffee and milk on his breath. My spine began tingling; the current ran down my legs and left my toes numb.
“Look, Ryan. What makes you think that what happened to Brent couldn’t happen to you? Your track record stinks. You almost got killed last night. Do you want your mother to read about your bloody body being found in some no-name motel on Lombard?”
I wrapped my arms around myself and looked away from his face.
“Of course not.”
“And by the way, I called your mother early this morning to let her know where you were so she wouldn’t see the papers and go crazy with worry.”
Gallons of guilt washed over me. Someone gets killed in your bed, you should tell your mother right away.
He pointed a menacing finger at me.
“You have an hour and a half to get to your mother’s house. That’ll give you plenty of time to take a quick shower and drive across the bridge. If I haven’t heard from you by noon,” this was accompanied by more vigorous finger-pointing, “I’m going to put out an APB on you.”
He cleared our coffee cups from the table and started to leave out the side door to the garage.
“Hey,” I called, and he turned around to face me.
“What now?”
“My mom, thanks for calling her,” I said to the table.
“No problem. Before you take your shower, check out our bedroom. You can’t even find the bed for all the frou-frou shit everywhere. Every morning when I wake up, I thank the Virgin Mary I haven’t choked to death on my pillow.” Then he left.
I should’ve had an espresso I still felt groggy, like I had mashed potatoes for brains. Searching through the cupboards, I found some sort of flakes reportedly healthy for your innards, but lathered with sugar to make it palatable to kids. All that sugar made me feel a hell of a lot better.
Chapter 16
I showered, dressed, and made good time across the bridge. So good, in fact, I decided to peek in on Teri Baxter. She lives pretty close to my mom. I’d check and see if she had contacted the police yet. What harm could five minutes do?
There were plenty of parking spaces in the lot in front of her apartment. Getting out of my car, I heard someone’s stereo cranked up to the max. As I got closer, I realized it was her stereo and her door was slightly ajar.
I knocked and yelled her name. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time, yelled her name, still no answer. I wasn’t surprised. The windows were practically shaking in their frames, the music was so loud. I gingerly pushed the door forward and inched my head around the doorframe.
Shards of broken glass and dishes littered the cheap carpet. All of her gay Italian ceramics and Venetian goblets were smashed to bits. Giant gouges pockmarked the walls from the impact of the plates and glasses.
I stood there in shock for God knows how long, just panning around the room at the total destruction. The sixth time around, I noticed the bathroom door was shut tight. I tiptoed through the mess, turned off the stereo, and tried the door. Locked. I thought I could hear faint whimpering.
“Teri, are you in there? It’s Mary, Mary Ryan from the restaurant,” I yelled through the door.
Immediately, Teri started sobbing hysterically “Have they gone? Are they still there?”
“Teri, it’s all right. I’m here. No one’s here but me. Come out now.”
I heard her fumble with the knob, but she was so shaky she couldn’t get the door open.
“Listen to me, wash your face and sit down for a few minutes to get your breath. When you’ve cal
med down, try the door again.”
More hysterics for a while, then the sobbing gradually subsided. Like a mantra, I kept saying through the door, everything is okay, I’m here, calm down. Finally she stopped crying and I heard her turn on the taps.
While she was washing up, I got a garbage bag from the kitchen. The glass had shattered into millions of tiny pieces, but that Italian ceramic is strong stuff and broke into large chunks I could pick up with my hands.
I’d picked up about half of it when the door opened. She stood in the doorframe, still afraid to come into the room. As her eyes catalogued the complete destruction of all her lovely glasses and plates, she started crying again, that silent, you-don’t-even-know-the-tears-are-streaming-down-your face kind of grief. I dropped the garbage bag.
I grabbed Teri by the shoulders and tried to make eye contact with her.
“Teri, look at me.”
She shrank away from my voice and tucked her head into the crook of her shoulder.
“We need to leave. Okay?” I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her head for a couple of minutes. Then I stepped back, cupped her chin, and with the gentlest of gestures brought her face-to-face with me. “Okay?” I repeated. Finally, her eyes met mine and there was the barest nod of the head.
“We’re getting out of here. My mother lives close by; she’s a nurse. She’ll check you out to make sure you’re all right.”
Teri looked at me blankly. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me or not.
“Teri, where’s your purse?” I demanded.
Her eyes sort of flickered toward the television. I grabbed her purse and slung it over my arm.
“We’re leaving now,” I said firmly. Still no response. I took that as a yes. I put my arm around her and hustled her out of the apartment and into my car. She was on autopilot. I buckled her seat belt for her.
“Teri, I’m going to lock up your apartment. I’ll be back in five seconds.” Her hand halfheartedly rose up to stop me from leaving her.
I ran back to her place and tried to lock the door. The lock was damaged. I pulled the door shut, hoping she had renter’s insurance. Hightailing it back to the car, I ran every stop sign between Teri’s apartment and my mother’s house. I made it in a record three minutes.
Once my stepfather ascertained we were alive with no broken bones, he retreated to the back room and the radio set and my mom took over.
My mom is the greatest. She took one look at Teri and immediately smothered her with hugs and smiles, no questions asked. Ten minutes later, a mug of hot, sweet tea had restored Teri to the human world. She still wasn’t talking, but her eyes had lost that dead look. I made my phone call to O’Connor.
He sounded relieved, unaware there had been a little change in the program.
“So, Ryan, you made it to your mother’s house in one piece. I was just about to call and read you the riot act again for not calling me. Did you get a look at all the lace and stenciling crap…”
“Look, O’Connor,” I interrupted. “I happened to pass by Teri Baxter’s place on my way to my mom’s and thought I’d check up on her. When I got there her door was open, and her apartment was trashed. She’d locked herself in the bathroom. I still haven’t gotten a word out of her, but she’s all right.”
The professional in him took over. Curt and brusque, he started asking questions that sounded like orders. Are you currently at your mother’s house? What’s Teri Baxter’s address? Did you see anyone in or around the apartment? At what time did you arrive at Ms. Baxter’s apartment? Did Ms. Baxter sustain any injuries? Have you sustained any injuries? Once he had ascertained that neither Teri nor I was hurt, he told me to sit tight.
“I’m calling the Kensington police and asking them to station two men at your mother’s house. Wait for me. Keep your butts inside. Don’t open the door to anyone except the cops. No one. Don’t even call anyone. Is that clear?” He didn’t bother to get my answer. “I’m going over to Ms. Baxter’s place right now. I’ll be up to question her once the forensics crew gets there.” He hung up.
True to O’Connor’s word, five minutes later, a squad car from the local police department pulled into the driveway, with two very serious-looking cops in the front seat. We got a controlled wave, nothing else. My mom, Teri, and I went back to sit at the kitchen table, waiting for O’Connor.
My mother and I gossiped about the family, chitchatted about this and that, while the color returned to Teri’s face. Teri didn’t say anything; she just sat there with a big steaming mug of tea my mother buys directly from Ireland. It’s so strong you can stand a fork in it. You have to put tons of sugar and milk in it to make it palatable, but once doctored up…aah. The acrid taste of the tea bounces off the sugar. Nectar.
O’Connor came by about an hour and a half later. Teri was in my old bedroom, fast asleep. Despite all the caffeine, she had asked to lie down for a few minutes and before we knew it, snores and snorts were coming from the bedroom.
My mother and O’Connor have a playful, flirtatious relationship. They liked each other on sight, Black Irish to Black Irish, and have met at various functions. It always irritates the shit out of me, this fun banter they toss back and forth. Whenever I made noises about what a political and social pig he was, my mother would laugh and say he and I weren’t that far apart, we just liked to fight with each other. Today, thank God, they dispensed with their usual slightly bawdy humor.
Once he ascertained that Teri was peacefully asleep, he positioned himself at the kitchen table with the laptop and began to grill me about my movements since I left his house. After picking my brains for forty-five minutes, he asked my mother to wake up Teri. It was time to hear the first half of the story.
Shuffling into the kitchen like she was a hundred years old, Teri slowly eased herself into a chair. Sleep had done her few favors; her face was splotchy and swollen, and her hair hung in disheveled clumps like limp carrots. She’d slept in her clothes last night and the nap had piled new wrinkles on top of old ones. But when she finally came face to face with O’Connor she looked calm and when she spoke she was coherent.
It was clear from her demeanor that she didn’t have a clue about Brent’s death. “I’ve been avoiding the police ’cause I didn’t want to answer any questions about Brent. I’m sorry, Inspector O’Connor.” She looked up at O’Connor with the innocence of a five-year-old. “I wanted to talk with him and let him know that I had screwed up, you know, talked to Mary about what he’d told me. I bet he’s going to be real mad at me,” she said wistfully.
Now that she had gotten started, she couldn’t stop.
“I didn’t even go to Carlos’ funeral, which made me sad ’cause I really liked him, but I was afraid the police would be there and I hadn’t been able to reach Brent. I even called him twice at home, which was so scary because I’m really afraid of his wife, but he wasn’t there. I just stayed in my place watching movies with the headphones on, not making a peep. I was afraid to even flush the toilet. I wanted to talk to Brent before I talked to the police.” She thrust her chin at O’Connor in a small show of defiance. “I just kept quiet. Until this morning.”
“Tell me everything you can remember, Ms. Baxter. What your attackers looked like, the color of their hair, eyes, height, weight. Any little detail is important,” O’Connor reminded her.
“It was about eight this morning. I’d fallen asleep watching videos and I was still in my clothes. I heard the buzzer, then someone yelled, ‘Police, open up. We know you’re in there.’ I figured this time I was really going to have to talk to you guys. I went over to the door and looked out the peephole.” She stopped talking and began biting her nails.
“What did you see?” prompted O’Connor.
“Two men with stockings over their faces,” she whispered.
“Were they tall, short? Describe them to me.”
“The peephole makes everyone look squat and far away. All I can tell you is that they were
about the same size.”
“What did you do?” O’Connor asked gently.
“When I didn’t respond, they began forcing the door open.” Teri started crying. “I…I ran into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest knife I have and locked myself in the bathroom just in time. I heard them enter the apartment. Then they turned up the stereo and starting smashing all my plates and glasses.” She was sobbing now, her violent crying filling up the small breakfast nook.
O’Connor let her cry for a couple of minutes, then said to me quietly, “Get her some water.”
I got up, gave her a big hug, filled up a tumbler with water, and handed it to her.
She drank it slowly. When she had finished it, she looked exhausted but calm.
“I’m okay, now, thanks.” She gave me a tiny smile. “Once they had smashed all my stuff, they turned off the stereo for a second to scream at me some more and then they turned it back on and left. I was too terrified to leave the bathroom. I thought they might come back. I stayed in there until Mary arrived.”
O’Connor adopted the tone he usually reserves for small children. “So, Ms. Baxter, what exactly did they say to you?”
“Well….” She was whispering again. We all leaned toward her to hear what she was saying. “They said not to say anything to the police or they would kill me next time.”
We almost missed the last bit because her lips barely moved.
“Any other threats? What did they say exactly?” he probed.
She closed her eyes. “They told me, ‘Keep your fucking mouth shut or you’ll end up in a laundry bag, too’ and ‘If you don’t shut the fuck up, your funeral will be next Monday.’”
O’Connor glanced down at his notes and frowned. “Okay, let’s see. You can’t tell me how tall they were. Did you recognize them?”
Teri opened her eyes, all iris from fear. My mother took hold of one of her hands, and Teri grasped tightly.
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