Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  “You don’t think?” Kaye said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

  “Those agents don’t work for me, and I won’t ask if you have a valid warrant, or even probable cause.”

  “Really, Kai? That’s what you’re giving me? Bureau bullshit? Thanks, Agent Iwamura. See you around.”

  As Kaye reached out to hang up the phone, he heard Iwamura say, “Ben, wait!”

  “What?”

  “Look,” Iwamura said, his voice much quieter than before. “All I can tell you is that after we talked about Valle delle Viti I took it to the boss. Turns out we’re already up on it, and have been for a while.”

  “That doesn’t help me, or Auggie McMaster.”

  “I understand that. But believe me when I tell you there’s no way the Bureau will move on Maisano now. Our entire investigation would be blown and lives would be at risk.”

  “Lives are already at risk, Kai.”

  Iwamura was silent again for two beats, then said, “Bureau lives, Ben.”

  “You’ve got somebody on the inside.”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  It was Kaye’s turn to go quiet. This time, Iwamura didn’t try to keep him from hanging up.

  ***

  Kaye stewed about his conversation with Iwamura for almost fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what to do. There was zero chance he could get on his bike, ride to Valle delle Viti and simply knock and ask for Auggie McMaster.

  He needed to somehow get inside, get to Renzo Maisano.

  An inspiration struck, and he smiled as he got up and headed for Thompson’s office.

  He knew how he could get inside.

  After all, he’d already all but been invited.

  Thompson, who was on the phone, saw him coming and waved him in. Kaye sat and waited.

  “Okay, Detective,” the Captain said when he hung up, “what can I do for you?”

  “I need to go back to Santa Barbara on the Geller case, and I need some help.”

  “Help? How so?”

  “Lister.”

  Thompson was immediately skeptical. “You’re asking for a partner? Okay, what’s really going on?”

  Kaye laid it all out. That he’d connected Avi Geller and Nicole Ingram’s murders to both Black Scimitar and a possible organized crime and racketeering operation being run out of the Valle delle Viti resort.

  “So how is someplace in another county our problem? Why not just call the locals?”

  Kaye hesitated. He didn’t want to make his problems the LAPD’s problems, but he knew his chances of rescuing Auggie were slim to none if he didn’t have help.

  “A friend of mine up there has been missing for almost a week,” Kaye said. “I think the Black Scimitar people took her to get to me. I need help finding and getting her back, and the local PD is literally owned by the bad guys. They’ll kill her as soon as the phone rings.”

  “Hmm,” Thompson said. “I see your point. But why Lister?”

  “These people know me. I’ve had two run-ins with them already. They don’t know Lister.”

  “How long?” Thompson asked.

  “She should be on her way home later tonight.”

  “With you and your friend, right?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  The Captain leaned back and tented his fingers under his chin, weighing Kaye’s request against all the things he knew could go wrong with it.

  “Detective, I’m sorry, but I need more than your gut feeling to involve another department detective in this, especially since there’s an official record of your friend’s arrest. If something goes south and you or Lister get hurt, or have to hurt somebody else, we’re all in the crapper. I can’t risk that.”

  “But, Captain, I’m telling –”

  “I know what you’re telling me, Detective. I need more before I can put Lister at risk. Sorry.”

  On his way back to his desk, an angry Kaye was suddenly struck by an idea, then beat himself up for not thinking of it sooner.

  Two minutes later he was on the phone with the Santa Barbara County jail.

  “This is Detective Kaye at the LAPD.” He gave his badge and callback number. “I heard from a source that you might have somebody I’m looking for in custody, and thought I’d call and check.”

  “What’s the name?” the deputy on the other end asked.

  “Augustina McMaster. White female, early thirties, tall, dark hair and eyes. Ink from left shoulder to left elbow. My source says she got popped up there last week for heroin possession with intent. It’s a pretty unusual name, so I’m hoping it’s the same woman I’m after.”

  “Hang on.”

  Kaye waited about two minutes before the deputy came back on.

  “Detective Kaye, we had her, but, sorry, she bonded out last Friday.”

  “Well, crap, I guess I’ll have to keep looking,” Kaye said, then paused for effect before asking, “Hey, could you do me a favor?”

  “Depends.”

  “Is there a chance you can e-mail me her mug shot? I can verify it’s the same woman, and see if she’s done anything major to change her appearance. The picture I have is pretty old.”

  “I guess I can do that,” the deputy said. “What’s your e-mail address?”

  Kaye gave the deputy his department address and said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem Detective. It’s on its way. Good hunting.”

  Seconds later the e-mail dropped into Kaye’s inbox. He opened it, contained his rage as his heart rate soared, sent it to the printer, grabbed the copy and headed back to Thompson’s office. He walked in without knocking and dropped the photo on the Captain’s desk.

  “Kaye, what the hell? What is this?”

  “That, Captain, is Auggie McMaster’s booking photo from the Santa Barbara County jail. They just sent it to me. One problem. That’s not Auggie McMaster.”

  “What?” Thompson said, snatching the photo off his desk and studying it.

  “I’m guessing that the Chumash Oaks PD arrested her, arraigned her, held her for twenty-four hours, then sent a ringer to County in her place. The next day somebody bonds out the ringer, and before the next court date the Chumash Oaks prosecutor drops the charges. All nice and clean, and they still have Auggie. Cap, I really need help.”

  Thompson’s gaze drifted past Kaye, then he looked his detective in the eye.

  “Well, Lister just came in. I still can’t officially endorse it, but if she’s willing to help I’ll try to cover your ass if something goes south. Let’s ask her.”

  Kaye went and got her.

  “What’s this about?” she asked as she sat down next to Kaye. “Did I screw up?”

  “No, you didn’t screw up,” Thompson told her, then looked as Kaye. “Go ahead.”

  Kaye spent ten minutes going over the situation again. Lister listened attentively, often nodding unconsciously.

  “You say you have a plan?” Lister asked when he was done.

  “I do,” Kaye said, and outlined it for her. “This isn’t technically our case, but –”

  “Shut up, Kaye,” she interrupted. “This woman is obviously important to you.” She looked at Thompson and said, “Put me in, coach.”

  The three of them spent fifteen minutes working out logistics and timing. Thompson, though, refused to let Lister drive an unmarked department vehicle.

  “No problem,” Lister said. “I’ll take my car.”

  “Okay, I think that’ll do it,” Kaye said, standing up. “Thanks Captain.” He turned to Lister. “I’ll see you later?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Kaye pulled the new pickup into the Auggie’s Wine’N’Diner parking lot just after 8:00 p:m.

  The La Vina di Augustina van, dustier than it had been on Saturday, was still parked in the same spot. A small silver sedan was parked two spaces away. Cheri, Auggie’s regular hostess, got out when she saw Kaye.

  “Thanks for meet
ing me,” Kaye said.

  “Hey, if it helps us find Auggie, I’m all in,” Cheri said.

  “Did you find the keys?”

  “I found the spare set in Auggie’s desk.”

  “But not the ones she regularly carried?” Kaye asked.

  “No,” Cheri replied, holding up a set of keys. “There’s no front door key on these.”

  Kaye took the keys and walked around the van. It was still somewhat light outside, but the back windows were too darkly tinted for him to see inside the cargo area. He walked to the front of the van and looked through all the windows, studying the passenger compartment and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  He pushed the unlock button on the key fob. The parking lights flashed, two electronic chimes sounded from somewhere deep in the van and the door locks clunked as they disengaged.

  “What are we looking for?” Cheri asked as Kaye opened the driver’s door.

  “Won’t know until we see it,” he replied. “Or don’t see it, I guess.”

  The van was nice, Kaye guessed probably the top-of-the-line trim package. Tan leather, heated power seats, power everything else, large video display and premium sound system.”

  It was also very clean.

  “I see something different already,” Cheri said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Auggie always has her favorite coffee travel cup in the van.”

  Kaye looked. No coffee cup in the cup holder.

  Kaye had to move the seat back to get behind the wheel, which, given that Auggie was almost as tall and long-legged as he was, seemed odd.

  He started with the glove box. A small flashlight, sunglasses – probably spares, he thought – a collapsible umbrella and several small packs of tissues rested atop a black leather case with a snap closure.

  He grabbed the case, opened it, and found all the van’s paperwork and manuals. The inside of the cover flap had clear plastic holders with business cards for the salesman, Auggie’s insurance agent and a roadside assistance membership card. He grabbed the papers from inside the case pocket and sorted through them.

  The MSRP sticker, tightly folded. Two years’ worth of Auto Club membership cards. Insurance ID cards for six month policies written by the same agent whose card was in the holder, also going back almost two years. And an expired registration.

  He checked the pocket again. It was empty. He sorted through the papers again, re-checking and comparing dates. No current registration.

  He checked above the sun visors. Nothing.

  He next checked the center console. Some CDs, more tissues, a phone charger, pocket knife, hair brush and a couple of loose pens and pencils.

  He slid out of the van and walked to the back. The stickers on the license plate were current. He opened the back doors and the interior dome light came on. There was nothing, not even a scrap of cardboard or piece of crumpled paper, in the cargo area.

  He went back to the driver’s seat and sat there, hands on the wheel, thinking and looking.

  “What’s wrong, Ben?” Cheri asked.

  “Was Auggie planning on getting rid of the van if her property purchase went through?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “It’s just really…clean,” he said. “I’ve only had my truck for a few days and it’s already got more stuff in it than Auggie has in here.”

  “She’s tidy,” Cheri said. “But I wouldn’t call her a neat freak.”

  Kaye nodded, then reached for the seat belt and pulled it out to fasten it. Even though he’d moved the seat back, he had to adjust the buckle position to click it closed. It suddenly occurred to him that Auggie might not have been the last person to drive the van.

  “What’s that?” Cheri asked, pointing at his chest.

  On the seat belt webbing, just above the center of Kaye’s chest, were two dark brown spots. One was tear-drop shaped, the other a broad smear.

  “Looks like blood,” Kaye said.

  Cheri gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God!”

  “It’s dried,” Kaye said. “Could’ve been here a long time.”

  “Still, that can’t be… I mean, it’s bad, right?”

  Kaye looked at her, but didn’t say anything, which answered the question.

  He reached to unbuckle the seat belt and fumbled with the unfamiliar placement. He looked down to find the release button and saw the edge of a piece of paper where it had fallen deep between the seat and center console.

  There was no chance he’d get his hand down there.

  “There’s a piece of paper down there,” he said as he slid out. “See if you can get your hand down there and grab it.”

  Cheri slid in and pushed her hand down, grabbing the steering wheel with her other hand and contorting her body while she fished for the paper.

  “Aha, got it!” she said triumphantly, straightening up with the paper trapped between two fingers.

  “What is it?”

  She looked at it for only a second and said, “Looks like the registration.”

  Kaye snatched it from her.

  She was right. And it was current.

  How did it get down there, he wondered. Why wouldn’t it be…?

  The answer hit him before he even finished asking himself the question.

  Because a police officer asked to see it.

  “Thanks for your help, Cheri. I’ll take it from here.”

  ***

  After Cheri left, Kaye called Lister from the truck.

  “You close?”

  “Five or ten minutes,” she replied. “Find anything in the van?”

  “Blood on the seatbelt.”

  Kaye ended the call.

  “Shit,” Lister muttered, pushing a little harder on the gas pedal. “Please don’t let goddamn Macky be back in town.”

  ***

  After Lister arrived at the diner, they spent time refining their strategy, devising cover stories and the appropriate responses to questions they both knew Lister would be asked.

  “I brought a wire,” Lister said. “Should I wear it?”

  “No. These people know me, but they don’t know you. If they find out you’re on the job and you’re wired, no telling what they might do. Besides, once I get my hands on one of them, your part in this is done and you’re out of here.”

  “Oh, c’mon Kaye. Don’t take the T-bird away. Let me have some fun.”

  “Just don’t get shot,” Kaye said. “Or tased.”

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Once it was full dark, Lister left first in Kaye’s truck. He followed in her Outback. At the traffic circle junction they went east on San Marcos Pass Road.

  Kaye had pulled the paper plate from the back of the truck and removed all the sale paperwork from the glove box. There was a manila envelope under the passenger floor mat with six thousand dollars cash inside, all twenties neatly rubber-banded into thin, tidy bundles.

  Kaye held back, letting Lister get about a half-mile ahead as they drove east through the Village of Chumash Oaks. Lister ignored the 25 mph signs and drove fifty.

  Kaye really wanted it to be Reid.

  Their first pass came up empty. Weeknight traffic was sparse and they only passed one on-coming car.

  They met at a historical marker turn-out two miles east of the Chumash Oaks city limits.

  “If there’s anybody taking care of business tonight,” Lister said as Kaye slid into the truck’s passenger seat, “I didn’t see them and I was well over the limit.”

  “I didn’t see a patrol unit, either,” Kaye said, chagrined. “Let’s give it thirty and try again.”

  Kaye fretted while Lister, ear buds in, listened to music and dozed.

  The second pass proved fruitful.

  Lister had barely passed the Chumash Oaks city limits when Kaye, about a half-mile behind, saw headlights come on in the trees up ahead and a vehicle head for the highway. As soon as it made the asphalt
and Kaye saw its taillights, emergency overheads lit up and it took off after Lister.

  Kaye backed off the gas and turned off the Outback’s headlights.

  That stretch of San Marcos Pass Road was almost straight, going through a shallow cut. Outside the fog line was about two feet of pavement before a crushed gravel shoulder. The graded and mowed ground then sloped slightly away for about another ten feet, giving Lister plenty of room to get off the road. The embankments, averaging maybe six feet high on the westbound side, sloped gently enough for native grass and scrub to grow, but were too steep to mow. Beyond the barbed wire right-of-way fence atop the embankments the trees were thick, looming in the darkness to form a false, mountainous horizon against the night sky.

  As Kaye closed the gap he hoped it wasn’t a K-9 unit making the stop. A dog would make it almost impossible for him to get close enough for his plan to work.

  He coasted to a stop, using the emergency brake handle on the console to avoid lighting up the brake lights, about a hundred feet behind the patrol car just in time to see the officer approach the truck.

  It was a Charger. Probably no dog, which meant that as long as he stayed behind the unit’s spotlights he would be virtually invisible to anyone standing in their glare.

  It was an advantage he could exploit.

  Kaye swore when it took him what felt like an eternity to figure out how to disable the Subaru’s dome lights, then quickly got out of the car, went to the base of the embankment and started moving cautiously forward.

  When he was about twenty feet from the patrol car he almost stumbled into a small bush that had rooted near the bottom of the embankment. It was out of reach of the maintenance crew’s mower deck, and not yet big enough to be deemed a hazard and cut down.

  But it was big enough to offer Kaye a degree of concealment in case of passing headlights.

  He crouched behind it and listened.

  “…license is the only paperwork you have?” he heard the officer ask.

  Adrenaline pumped into Kaye’s system.

  It was Reid.

  “Yes,” Lister replied. “I told you, it’s not my truck. I borrowed it to carry some stuff. My friend said the paper plate on the back was all I needed, just in case.”