by Lee Geiger
Sheyla looked away in reflection. She was facing east, and the morning sun was rising over the Oakland Hills. “Mackey, I’m going to be honest with you. I know we just met, but I’m falling for you. I’ve never felt this way about a man before. But I need to let you in on a little secret if our relationship is going to go much further.”
“What’s that?”
Sheyla took his hands into hers. “The most important sex organ in the world, the one that gives us the most pleasure, the one that makes us want to cuddle and make morning memories in bed, and the one that wants us to spend lazy afternoons making passionate love on top of a kitchen table, is not the one between your legs. It’s the one between your ears. Don’t ever forget that.”
Mac leaned against a bedpost. For a woman who hadn’t graduated from high school, Sheyla had all the answers. Her words had the same calming effect as those his mother had told him years before. His mom was right then, and Sheyla was right now.
For the first time all morning, Mac’s mind went calm. He took Sheyla’s chin into his hand, looked into her eyes, and kissed her. Then he got undressed and crawled back into bed, and within moments they began making love again.
Two hours later, after he made her some eggs, sunny side up of course, Mac kissed her goodbye.
MAC COULD FEEL THE Wrath of Mayes before he even walked into the precinct. “Where the hell have you been?” growled his mammoth partner. “Stone’s been cooling his heels in Longley’s office for almost an hour. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I’m sorry, Mayes,” replied Mac, out of breath after rushing back home to get ready for work. “I slept through my alarm, and I was probably in the shower when you called.”
“Whatever. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”
Captain Longley sat behind his desk, his feet straining to touch the floor. Chief Stone stood off in a far corner, red-faced, with beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the fog-chilled air blowing in through an open window. Stone told the detectives to grab some pine.
“I know I don’t need to remind you guys that it has been almost a week since Michelle Osher was murdered, and not only have my two best detectives not made an arrest, but according to Captain Longley, you don’t even have a single credible suspect. Governor Schwarzenegger was all over me yesterday at Michelle Osher’s funeral, asking when we’re going to get this case off the front page. Meanwhile, I’ve got the press asking me about every insignificant detail, and if I don’t give them something, they’ll go with whatever rumors and innuendo they’ve got. And I’m sure you can imagine the new asshole Mayor Newsome likes to give me everyday. You guys are killing me.”
Mac tried to imagine the pressure Governor Square Jaw and Mayor GQ must have been applying to his boss. “We’re doing our best, sir. We’ve been…”
“Dammit Mac,” howled Stone, “I don’t want to hear you’re doing your best. I want a goddamn arrest!”
Mayes interjected, believing he knew exactly what Stone wanted to hear. “Sir, we have several strong leads that we believe will lead to an arrest any day now. We’ve learned that Michelle Osher was having an affair with a woman named Sonia Grisham, but she disappeared the day after the murder and her husband, Jim Grisham, doesn’t know where she is. She has a clear motive, however, because just days before the murder Michelle Osher broke off their relationship.”
“I don’t believe this,” cried Stone. “Rich conservative women behaving badly. Gives new meaning to the term ‘Tea Party.’ What else have you got?’”
“We’ve also located a source for the murder weapon, the Balisong switchblade,” continued Mayes, “and we’ve got a sting operation set up for tomorrow to help us identify the person responsible for distributing these knives. We’ve also identified Sheyla Samonte, Paul Osher’s mistress, as a strong suspect. Thanks to Mac’s outstanding surveillance, we’ve determined that she is indeed left-handed. Plus she doesn’t have a credible alibi for the night of the murder.”
“So why hasn’t she been arrested?”
Longley rose from his chair, but because he was built like a short-stack of pancakes, no one would ever know it. “Because the evidence is purely circumstantial. To implicate her, we need to find the murder weapon. Otherwise the District Attorney would have nothing that could stand up in court.”
“Screw the murder weapon,” screamed Stone. “Let’s find something to hang on this Sheyla Samonte woman, for Christ’s sake. I want someone arrested. Now!”
“WHY DID YOU TELL him Sheyla was our strongest suspect?” complained Mac to Mayes after the pair returned to their desks. “Why didn’t you tell him about the connection we found between Paul Osher and Damian Puti? Those $10,000 checks he wrote to her have to be for something.”
Mayes would hear none of it, and his face filled with anger. “Did you just hear what went on in there? Stone wanted an arrest yesterday. We needed to give him something. Be realistic, Mac. We don’t know what those checks are for, and we still haven’t found a motive for Osher to kill his wife. Sonia Grisham has motive, but who knows when we’ll find her. Not to mention, people who live in Nob Hill don’t normally carry Balisong switchblades. So let’s face it Mac, no matter how you how you feel about her, Sheyla Samonte is our strongest suspect.”
Mac circled around his desk, searching for answers, looking for a reason to prevent a nightmare. “Look, before we do anything, let’s ask Osher about those checks he wrote to Nadia, or Damian Puti. There’s no better motive in this world than money, and the one thing we know about those two is that they are all about the money.”
“Alright, partner, I’m with you on that one. But I want you to think about something. Remember when I said whoever killed Michelle Osher was looking for attention, and killed with passion? A murder for hire doesn’t fit either of those theories. I’ve never met Sheyla Samonte, but being someone’s mistress falls into that category. If one more piece of evidence points in her direction, such as finding that murder weapon, then we’ll have no choice but to arrest her.”
ON A PICTURE PERFECT September afternoon, Mac and Mayes sat on the hillside overlooking the 18th green at the Olympic Club’s Lake Course. The golf course is considered one of the best in the country, and has been the site of several U.S. Opens. The irony with the Lake Course is its name; there’s not a drop of water anywhere on the course. Walking up the pristine fairway was Paul Osher. He was arguing with his caddie after knocking his approach shot into a greenside bunker.
“Can you believe this guy?” said Mac. “He buries his wife on Tuesday and he’s chasing golf balls on Thursday. We should arrest him just for being an asshole.”
“I remember reading in the paper how he became a member,” said Mayes. “The Olympic Club has a ten-year waiting list, but Osher moved to the top when he donated fifty grand to renovate the steam room.”
Osher took a mighty swing with his sand wedge and knocked his ball four feet above the hole, leaving himself a slippery downhill putt for par.
“Ten bucks says he three-putts,” crowed Mac.
“Twenty says he makes it,” anted Mayes.
Osher drained the putt.
“I hate him,” lamented Mac, reaching for his wallet. Mac believed in mantra ‘fast pay makes fast friends.’
The detectives followed Osher to the steps of the clubhouse where he intended to join his foursome for a few post-round beers. As soon as he eyed Mac and Mayes, Osher excused himself from his friends. The last thing he wanted was a couple of cops hovering around the venerable Men’s Grill.
“I hope you two aren’t here applying for membership,” sneered Osher as they stood outside the Spanish style clubhouse in the late afternoon sunlight. “Haven’t you guys already asked me enough questions?”
“We just need you to fill in a few gaps to your story, Mr. Osher,” responded Mac. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew the other women who work at Pearls of Asia? From the sound of it, you’re there so often you should get frequent flier miles.”
“What about your relationship with Nadia? She says she introduced you to Sheyla and Ashley. We also rechecked your bank records and saw that you’ve paid her alter ego, Damian Puti, two checks totaling $20,000, including a check for $10,000 the day after your wife was killed.” Mac stared at Osher, his face echoing a clear lack of respect. “Can you explain that, Mr. Osher?”
“Yes I can,” he said, taking a step toward Mac. “First of all, Damian Puti is a software consultant, one of the best in the business, and I pay him a handsome retainer to work for me. Second, how stupid do you think I am? Do you honestly think I’d write a personal check for someone to kill my wife? The day after she’s murdered? And just for the record, I never realized Damian Puti worked at Pearls of Asia until he saw me there one night. What he does with his free time is his business, not mine. Just so long as he does the work I pay him for. Yes, he introduced me to Sheyla a couple years ago, but what has that got to do with anything? As for introducing me to someone named Ashley, I don’t know who she is or what the hell you’re talking about. Mr. Puti and I travel together a lot on business, and he introduces me to people all the time. So what? Now, you got any other asinine questions you want to ask me, Inspector?”
The tension between the two men was palpable. Mac was letting his feelings for Sheyla affect his objectivity. Osher, on the other hand, was tired of having to explain his lifestyle choices to someone he knew would never understand. This case was starting to get personal.
Mac continued pressing. “Mr. Osher, why did Nadia call you on the night of your wife’s murder?”
“You mean Damien, don’t you? He’s starting another project for me and he wanted to know when I would be back in town. That’s why I paid him the ten grand last Friday.”
“Did that project include killing your wife?”
EXHAUSTED, MAC TRUDGED HOME. He cracked opened a beer and plopped down in a chair at his mother’s kitchen table. He stared out the window, lost in thought while contemplating the electrical Muni bus cables running above the street. Who killed Michelle Osher? Did Sonia Grisham kill her in a jealous rage? Did Paul Osher hire Nadia to eliminate his wife so he could escape to the increasing demands of his self-indulgent lifestyle? Or did Sheyla Samonte murder the wife of her married lover so she could get her hands on his fortune?
At the same time, Mac was still in the midst of an overwhelming rapture, swept away by his growing affection for Sheyla. Could he really be falling in love with a transsexual murder suspect? Just the thought of it seemed absurd.
Mac could walk into the police precinct and discuss the facts of the Michelle Osher case with practically anyone. Finding someone to open up to about his feelings for Sheyla, however, was a little more difficult. There was really no one he could talk to about her, especially someone he could trust. Then he heard a car pull into the garage. Victoria Parker was returning home from the gym. There was someone he could talk to.
“Mackey, what are you doing home?” asked his mother, wearing a green Nike sweat suit, no makeup, and looking at least a decade younger than the age on her driver’s license. “Why aren’t you out making this city safer for your poor, old mother?”
“Poor, old mother?” mocked Mac. “This coming from a woman who plays with men like a cat playing with mice. You forget I’ve seen you and your fellow Cougar Committee members cast your evil spells at places like the Balboa Café. You ladies go through men the way a shredder tears up credit cards. The guys don’t stand a chance.”
“Are we that bad?” she asked archly. “I certainly hope so. So what’s on your mind, Mackey? You’ve already scratched the label off your beer bottle. That usually means you’re doing more than contemplating your navel.”
“Let me ask you something, Mom. This case has required me to spend a lot of time at Pearls of Asia, and I’ve gotten to know several of the girls who work there. Watching them in action is like watching the transsexual version of Sex and the City. I swear, some of them are funnier than a rubber crutch. What would you think if I ever got involved with one of them?”
Victoria Parker joined her son at the kitchen table. “Well, I sure hope you’d introduce me to her. I’m sure she’d have her finger on the pulse of what’s fashionable. I need all the help I can get these days to keep up with what’s hot and what’s not.”
At a time like this, Mac needed more of a mother and less of Victoria Parker. “I’m serious, Mom. I need your advice. I’ve gotten myself into a situation. What would you think if I went out with a girl who wasn’t ‘normal?’”
“There’s your first problem,” she said, rising from the table to fix herself some caffeinated tea. The Asian markets were about to open, and her energy needed some turbo-charging. “You keep thinking of them as not being ‘normal.’ Trust me, Mackey, take any of those women out of Pearls of Asia and you wouldn’t have a clue they’re transsexual. They are just as normal as you or I. What you’re really asking me is how I’d feel if you started sleeping with one of those gals. And the truth is I could care less. Go knock yourself out. Have fun. What ever you do between the sheets is fine with me so long as it puts a smile on your face. When it comes to sex, all I’ve ever asked you to do is respect the person you’re with. You’re my son and I love you to death, and anything you do that makes you happy is okay by me. Is the sugar bowl over there?”
Mac pushed the sweetener toward his mother. “I know, Mom. I guess I’m just nervous about what other people would think if they found out.”
What had been a pleasant chat between mother and son suddenly took an incendiary tone. “Mackey Fleet, you should be ashamed of yourself! You’re a grown man, for God’s sake, and I didn’t raise you to be a wimp. You’ve got a mind of your own, and I’d be upset if you started letting other people dictate how you’re going to live your life. Respect comes from within, and you have to respect the choices you make in your life and the people you choose to be with. If you decide you want to date a trans woman, then so be it. If someone has a problem with it, then let it be their problem, not yours.”
Mac’s phone rang. It was Sheyla. “I’ve got to take this call, Mom. Thanks for setting me straight. As usual, you’re right. You’re always right.” He scurried down the stairs into his bedroom to take the call.
“Hey gorgeous, how are you?” Sheyla told Mac that she was scheduled to work tonight, but Reyna had called her and asked if they could switch nights. With her evening now free, Sheyla wanted Mac to join her for a casual dinner. Mac declined, telling her the pressure of solving the Osher case required his full attention.
“Oh really now?” teased Sheyla, once again not taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Now that you’ve had me in bed, you’re too busy for me?”
“Sheyla, you have no idea how much pressure we’re under to make an arrest.”
After a way-too-long-pause on the phone, Sheyla spoke up. “What if I had some information that could help you?”
That was the last thing Mac expected to hear. “Depends. What have you got?”
Sheyla played coy, as always. “I’ll tell you over dinner. Meet me in an hour at this fabulous little Mexican place at the corner of California and 19th Street. I hope you like tequila.” As always, Sheyla hung up first.
“I’m an idiot.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thursday, September 18, 2008 - 9:00 pm
“Due to margin calls and a dramatic falloff in commercial real estate activity, Paul Osher is negotiating with a consortium of banks to refinance or sell some of his properties in San Francisco, including several luxury hi-rise apartment buildings.”
The Wall Street Journal
SHEYLA DIRECTED MAC TO Tia Margarita, an old-style Mexican restaurant located in Sea Cliff, a quiet neighborhood known for its large houses, sweeping ocean views, and never ending fog. Sheyla had picked the non-descript restaurant for two reasons. First, it was far off the beaten path and would allow them to have some privacy. And seco
nd, they made the best margaritas in town. Despite the relative obscurity of the neighborhood, Sheyla decided to make her presence felt by wearing a low-cut red silk blouse topped by a black Gucci leather jacket, with black Escada custom fit jeans tucked into a pair of Louis Vuitton leather boots. The only “designer” elements at Tia Margarita were the tortilla chips, designed by a guy named Frank.
After ordering a pair of Grand Marnier margaritas, Mac got right down to business. “Okay, Sheyla. Let’s hear it. What have you got for me?”
“Okay, Mr. Big Time Detective, I wanted to tell you something about Paul. Did you know he’s going broke?”
“Everyone’s going broke, aren’t they? At least that’s what my mom tells me every morning when she opens up her Wall Street Journal. Where did you learn this? Isn’t Paul Osher one of the richest guys in town? He’s supposed to be a financial legend.”
“Oh, please. Paul is barely a legend in his own shower. Anyway, last month we went to Las Vegas and he said he might need to move me into one of his other apartment buildings. The building I live in is his premier property and he’s selling it to pay off the bank. He’s leveraged up to his eyeballs. The financial crisis is crushing him.”
Mac took such a huge gulp from his margarita he gave himself a brain freeze. He would never discuss the details of a case with Sheyla and he wasn’t about to now. But she had just provided a lead both he and Mayes hadn’t even considered. He was pissed and embarrassed at himself. He ordered another margarita.
Sheyla continued. “And did you know he recently bought a huge life insurance policy on his wife, with himself as the beneficiary? Ten million bucks! She was worth more to him dead than alive.”
Mac was blown away. “That’s a good piece of detective work, Miss Samonte. Now let me ask you something. Do you have any proof, or was this just pillow talk?”