“Yeah, tell that to our dead cop. You have to take this seriously, Ellen. There isn’t any room for error here. For some reason this guy is killing people who are connected to your sister. That shoeprint found under your window, well it matches a shoeprint left near Emerson’s body. It’s the same guy. He was trying to get to you, too.”
She dropped her hand from her hip and didn’t respond for a while.
Okay, Okay, I got the message. I’m in danger. And I know you’re trying to protect me. But soon you’ll get this guy and things will go back to normal, right? In the mean time, there’s an officer outside my door scaring off any prowlers. I’m safe. Nobody is going to sneak up on me. I’ll just stay here, run my business, and follow your rules until you get him.”
She set the stack of prints she was holding on the table.
“Well, that’s one of the reasons why I’m here. I’ve got authorization for an officer to be here during the day, but night time is going to be a problem. They’ll only park a car out front to make it look like someone is here.”
“You got to be kidding me. You come in here and scare the hell out of me about the big bad boogieman, but you’re only going to protect me during the day? What kind of a deal is that?”
Nick took a step towards her and evened out his voice.
“For now, that’s the best that can be done. They figure you have to be here during the day because of your business, but you can go someplace safe at night.”
“Like where? Where exactly can I go that’s safe? I don’t have any relatives, or friends that I know well enough to impose upon, so just where do you expect me to go?”
“How about a motel?”
“And who’s going to pay for it, huh? I’m just surviving here. To put out an additional eighty to a hundred dollars a day, well I just can’t afford it. That would mean, with meals, what, maybe another seven or eight hundred dollars a week.”
“All right, all right, take it easy, I’ll think of something, but you have to understand that you can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“I get that part, Mikolaj. You’ve already explained it. You don’t have to say it anymore. But where? Where am I going to stay if not here?”
“I don’t know right now.”
“Great.”
“Look, I said I’ll think of something. Just have your gear packed and ready to go by 1600.”
She held her hands out, palms up.
“Gear, 1600, is that cop talk the rest of us normal people are supposed to understand?”
“Sorry, I mean have a bag packed for overnight by 4 PM. I’ll figure out a place for you to stay.”
“Okay, but a shelter or one of those dumpy motels on First Street is out of the question.”
The two of them lapsed into silence again.
“You hungry?” she finally asked.
“Thanks, but there’re a couple of people I have to see. …Ah, hey, I almost forgot, your sister, she can be picked up when you’re ready. Ah, jeeze, sorry, that didn’t come out right. Sometimes I don’t …”
“That’s okay. It didn’t offend me. I guess I’ll call the mortuary. They said they’d take care of it. Thanks for telling me.”
Another uncomfortable silence passed between them. Nick was thinking he better get on with things; Westin would be waiting for him. But still he hesitated because it looked like Ellen had something on her mind.
“Ah, I’ve been thinking,” she said. “The service for Molly, well I’m just afraid nobody else will be there. She deserves something, though. People only know the bad about her. Somebody ought to be there to hear the good things, too. And, well, the thing is I also don’t want to go there alone. So, would you consider going with me? It shouldn’t take too long.”
He’d never been asked that before. It kind of took him by surprise. More of the victim’s blood on him, he thought. He’d never allowed himself to get this close before. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
“Sure, I guess so,” he said.
“Hey, if you don’t want to, I understand. She’s my sister. You didn’t even know her.”
“No, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’d be happy to go with you.” Happy, jeeze, what a stupid thing to say, he thought. It seemed like everything he said to her was either awkward or insensitive. “Maybe we should also go by her place. You know, there may be something of hers you’ll want to keep or bury with her. I’ll also take a look through the things of hers we have in evidence. Maybe we can come up with the names of some of her friends, too. We …you could contact them, see if they would come.”
Ellen was smiling, but it was through tears.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll see you around 4 PM.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
First impression: Peter Blaine was a Gold Double Eagle in a handful of pocket change.
He was flat bellied and tall, with mocha colored hair parted high left, and had a long straight nose. He was dressed in a light blue shirt with “PB” double scripted on the breast pocket and cream trousers with a crease that looked like it could draw blood. And he wore these clothes with the casual ease of someone well moneyed and used to fine things.
His office was large enough to have accommodated a dozen homicide investigators with file cabinets, coffee counter, and all. The walls were done up in a light green burlap with little brown flecks that matched perfectly with the oatmeal carpet which, in one corner, actually had a hole fashioned into it for practice putts.
After greeting Nick with an overdone handshake and a perfect set of whitecaps, he said, “I guess I don’t have to ask what this is all about, do I? It’s all just so hard to fathom.”
“Did you know Mr. St. Claire very well?” Nick asked.
“Hardly at all, really. I’ve seen him before, a couple years back at another conference, and read several articles about him, but never really had any one-on-one until the conference.” He then said, “Where are my manners Sergeant, please sit down. Can I get you some coffee?”
Nick shook his head and took one of the upholstered arm chairs positioned around a coffee table in one corner of the room. Blaine sat in its mate and threw one leg over the other.
“How is it that he came to be a guest speaker at your conference?” Nick asked.
“Well, I invited him. I thought he would be an interesting speaker because he’s made a lot of money in real estate and he’s, was, a rather flamboyant personality with those cowboy boots of his and the way he was always joking around.”
“When you invite someone like him to speak, do you pay him for coming?”
“Not in his case. He only required us to arrange things for him.”
“What does that mean, arrange things?”
“Oh, well, arrange for a car, a hanger for his jet, reserve a room, that sort of thing.”
“And did you do that, arrange things for him?”
“Of course.”
“Did you personally do that or did you have someone else do it for you?”
He smiled. “Oh no, I didn’t do it, didn’t make the calls that is. I had someone else do it for me.”
“And who would that be?” Nick asked.
“Our event planner, Roger Templeton. I think I may have had my assistant take care of reserving the room for Nolan, but the rest was pretty much left up to Roger.”
Nick decided to change the subject and come back to it when he showed Blaine the photos.
“Has Mr. St. Claire ever been in San Jose before, that you know of?”
“I have no idea. …Ah, I take that back. When we were talking on the phone he asked questions such as would he be able to land his jet at the airport, and is the airport close to town. That suggests he hadn’t been here before, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like a fair conclusion. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“That would have to be Tuesday night at our welcome dinner. I spoke with him several times during the course of the function; just casual conversation you
know, a little business maybe.”
“And after that, you never had any contact with him again?”
“Well, yes and no. He called and left a message for me Wednesday morning saying he would not be able to give his talk because he was sick. I returned his call and left a message expressing my disappointment. We never really directly communicated, but we left messages for each other.”
“Did you see him any time after Tuesday night?”
“No.”
“On Tuesday night, did he give you any indication what his plans were for the evening?”
“No, the only thing I remember him saying was that he was a little tired so he was going to leave as soon as the dinner was over. It ended about 7 PM, and I don’t think I saw him after that.”
“Okay, let’s change directions a little bit Mr. Blaine.”
“It’s okay to call me Pete if you want.”
“Have you ever visited a strip club called The Rack before?” Nick asked.
Blaine shifted in his chair and broke eye contact.
“What does that have to do with St. Claire being murdered?”
“It may have everything to do with his death, Mr. Blaine.”
Nick saw Blaine stiffen, probably at the use of his last name rather than his first name as he had offered.
“I guess I’ll have to trust you on that, Sergeant.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I’ve been there before. A bunch of us went there after playing some golf, you know, kind of a boy’s night out. We had a couple of beers and left.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of months ago maybe. I don’t see the relevance of all this.”
“Bear with me, Pete. I’ll explain the relevance in a minute. This boy’s night out to The Rack, who else was with you?”
“Well, ah, let me think about that. Let’s see, there was Fred Arnold, Simon Castle, Roger Templeton, and a couple of people I only met that day. One of them was a man named Josh, and the other one …I can’t remember his name. Maybe it’ll come to me as we talk.”
“Was that the only time you’ve been there?”
Blaine uncrossed his legs and shifted again.
“Just the once,” he said.
A lie, Nick thought. But was it a lie because he was embarrassed to admit it or was it a lie because he wanted to put distance between himself and a possible murder charge?
“How about the others, did any of them indicate that they had been there before?”
“Not that I recall.”
It felt like another lie, or at least a half-truth.
“Do you know any of the dancers at The Rack?”
“Of course not.”
“Was there an indication that anyone in your group knew any of the dancers, or any Rack employee for that matter?”
“Like I said, we had a few beers and went home. Someone may have given a buck or two to one of the dancers, but it didn’t appear he knew her.”
“And who was that, the one who gave some money to one of the dancers?”
“I can’t be sure. I think it was one of the two men I didn’t know.”
Nick handed Molly’s photo to Blaine and asked, “Do you recognize this woman?”
“Can’t say I do.” He swallowed.
Stomach coming up on you, Blaine.
“Do you know someone named Carl Malone? He’s a big man.”
“No.”
“How about someone named Ramon Forney?”
“I think I’d remember that name if I’ve met him.”
“The reason I’m asking you about The Rack is that St. Claire was with one of their employees on Tuesday night.”
“I see; a woman I presume. This woman?”
Blaine handed the photograph of Molly back.
“Do you know why St. Claire was with one of the women from The Rack?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
The next question he wanted to ask would have to wait until the end of the interview because it might tweak Blaine enough that he’d kick Nick out of his office, and he still had other questions for him.
Blaine looked at his watch.
I’d like to show you a few photographs and see if you recognize anyone. Without waiting for an answer he handed Blaine the stack of photographs he’d gotten from Jim Westin and then got up and moved next to his chair.
“This of course is St. Claire,” he said pointing. “The other three are Roger Templeton, Fred Arnold in the brown suit, and I’m not sure about him. He looks familiar but I don’t know his name.”
“Okay, what about this photo, St. Claire’s tablemates?”
“Not going to be much help to you on this one. The man seated to St. Claire’s right is Wendell Gertz. He’s a real estate broker in town and active in politics. He bought the entire table, so the rest of these people are, in all likelihood, from his office.”
“How about these last two photos? Who is the blond woman with Fred Arnold?” Nick asked.
“Oh, that’s his wife. Her name is Gert, Gertie.”
“And this one?”
It was the photograph of St. Claire and the woman in the blue dress.
“That’s my wife, Melanie. She was working the room; saying hello to everyone.”
There was a tiny catch in his words.
“If I need to get hold of these people, how do I do it?”
“Just call my secretary and she’ll get you their contact numbers, and if you need to talk with Melanie I’ll set it up for you.”
Blaine handed the photos back to Nick who returned to his chair.
“Will this take much longer Sergeant?”
“Not much,” Nick said. “In your industry does it occur that important clients, people like St. Claire for instance, sometimes find themselves in need of an escort?”
“What do you mean by escort? You mean like someone from an escort service?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Well, I can tell you that none of my clients have ever asked for that.”
“So it’s never occurred as far as you know?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of things like that before. I’m not going to lie to you. But I’ve only heard of them. It’s not anything I have any personal knowledge of.”
“So if a business associate of yours, let’s say worth a hundred million or so, said he wanted an escort to accompany him to a function, or maybe just for some private companionship, you’d say ‘no can do’?”
“I’d say I wouldn’t know how to help him out. I don’t know people who know about those things. You’re not implying that I arranged the meeting between this woman from The Rack and St. Claire, are you? Because if you are, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I’m asking the question, Mr. Blaine, that’s all. You said that it appeared as if St. Claire had never been to San Jose before, yet a day after he arrives, he’s with a woman from a strip club you’ve patronized. That’s pretty fast work don’t you think, unless he knew someone with a connection?”
Blaine’s face colored, and he leaned forward in his seat. “Whether it’s fast work, luck, or something arranged for him, I don’t know anything about it. And I don’t appreciate you implying that I do a little pimping on the side. I help clients buy and sell real estate, not women.”
Nick ignored his temper tantrum. Was it genuine or put on? It sounded a little theatric.
“Was there anyone at the dinner St. Claire seemed to know other than you? Maybe someone he spent a lot of time with or perhaps greeted as if they’ve had some prior contact, that sort of thing.”
“No, not that I saw. Now, is that about all your questions because I have other appointments?”
“Actually, I have just one more question.”
“And that is?”
“Where were you on Thursday morning between say 3AM and 7 AM?”
“You’ve got to be stupid to ask that question. Do I look like a murderer? Look around you Sergeant, I could buy and sell you twice over, more, do you think I’
d risk that by killing someone? That’s an idiotic question to ask.”
“No, you don’t look like a killer, but sometimes people surprise me. So the question still stands, where were you?”
“At home with my wife.”
“Anyone else in the house with you and your wife?”
“Our yellow Lab, Trixie.”
“Thank you Mr. Blaine. And I had to ask that question because when this case gets to court you can bet your ass that someone would make a big deal out of it if I didn’t.”
“And when this case gets to court, is someone going to make a big deal about me going to The Rack?”
“I doubt it, but I can’t promise anything either.”
“Great,” Blaine said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nick found Al sitting in the driver’s seat of the Crown Vic, parked in the red zone out front of the Lexington, with cigar about the size of a ballpark hotdog clenched between his teeth, talking on the phone.
He opened the passenger door and climbed in just as his partner folded up his cell.
“Fran says hello and that it’s a good day because nobody’s found any bodies yet. She also says the blood on the coveralls located near Emerson’s body is the same blood type as St. Claire’s.”
“Good, that may help later on if we need to connect the three murders for a search warrant. You find anything out?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. As you know, St. Claire ordered both room service and a copy of his bill for four in the morning on the day he was killed. He made those arrangements, by phone, sometime around noon the day before. Well, about midnight this guy calls the front desk and says he was supposed to pick-up St. Claire but forgot what time he was to be there and asked if St. Claire had indicated a checkout time. The clerk says she told the caller that it would be sometime around four in the morning. So now we know how the killer knew what time to be there waiting for him.”
“In that case, we gotta check phone records. Since Malone is at the top of our list, let’s start with him.”
Nick’s phone rang. It was Edna from The Rack.
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