If Cooks Could Kill

by Joanne Pence

  Judd smirked. “Nice guy, aren’t you?”

  “We’re on the same side in this.”

  “I know. Hell. Let me think about it.”

  Paavo wanted Connie out of jail. She was separated from the other prisoners, but ASU was no suite. The walls were padded, the toilet a hole in the floor, and the bed a block of concrete with a mattress on it. Instead of bars, the door was heavy steel with a peephole and a slot for food on the bottom. “She’s not a threat to run, Judd. Let her go. She’s innocent.”

  Judd’s secretary buzzed him, and he picked up the phone. “It’s Robbery with some new information,” he explained to Paavo. “I’d better take it.”

  Paavo waited, listening to Judd’s “yeses” and “I sees.” Finally Judd hung up and cast a stony glare at Paavo.

  “Well, well.” He rocked back in his chair, one foot up on the edge of his desk. “Robbery just got the security tapes from the Sutter Street garage. The tapes that Homicide had taken and were holding in connection with the courier’s murder.”

  Paavo just stared at him.

  He dropped his foot and jumped to his feet. “Damn it, Paavo! How could you come here and plead for Rogers’s innocence when you saw those tapes? You know they show Connie Rogers leading the jeweler away at gunpoint.”

  “Paavo will get you out of here,” Angie said tearfully.

  She sat at the visitor’s chair on one side of a glass partition with Connie on the other, a small mouthpiece embedded in it for them to converse. This was much worse than the lawyer’s meeting room, which had been fairly decent and in which Connie could freely move around. Here, armed guards watched them, and Connie, her sweet friend who could never hurt anything, had been brought in wearing shackles.

  “I hope so,” Connie said. Glassy-eyed, she appeared numb with shock.

  “He’s at the district attorney’s office right now. It should be only a couple of hours.” Angie prayed her words would be prophetic.

  Connie nodded glumly. She seemed to have aged ten years overnight. The jumpsuit hung from her shoulders as if she were no heavier than a scarecrow. “He believes I’m innocent, doesn’t he? He looks so hard sometimes.”

  “He knows you. He gets that stone face when on the job. Don’t worry. We’re going to find out who’s behind this. That’s the best way to clear your name.”

  “If anyone can, it’s you,” Connie whispered.

  “Connie, I need you to be honest with me. From the description of the man involved, he sounds like Max Squire,” Angie said sternly. “I want to know what this is about. Who is he and what’s going on between you two?”

  Connie slumped in the chair, as if she could scarcely hold her head up. “There’s nothing going on, not really. I thought he was a nice guy. Troubled. Interesting. What can I say?”

  “You can say he’s no good for you! You can tell Paavo about him!” Angie waved her arms in frustration. The guard noticed and stepped closer. “It’s okay. I’m Italian.” She smiled demurely, then quickly sat on her hands. The guard didn’t smile back.

  “Do you think he pulled this robbery?” Angie continued.

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” Connie said.

  “Why?”

  “I know him, that’s why!” Connie cried.

  Angie lowered her voice. “Then tell me who he is. Why is he hiding? Why doesn’t he have a job?”

  Connie thought a moment, then told Angie everything she knew about Max, including the money he took from her and his reaction to the gunshot near Lake Merced just hours after the robbery and murder took place.

  Angie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He stole from you when you tried to help him, and later you saw him, scared and nervous, just hours after someone had been murdered, and you still don’t believe he was involved?”

  “He’s hiding something, yes, but I don’t think he committed those crimes,” Connie said, not sounding wholly convinced herself.

  Angie sighed in exasperation. “The jeweler who was robbed identified Max as an accomplice of the woman who looked like you,” she repeated, and then firmly stated, “You’ve got to answer Paavo’s questions about Max.”

  Connie pressed her hands to her temples. “I’m so confused. None of this makes sense. He seemed troubled, as I said, but honest. A good man.”

  “You could be wrong about him, Connie,” Angie urged.

  Connie nodded, even more dejected. “Okay, I’ll tell Paavo whatever he wants to know. But I still think Max is innocent.”

  The guard moved closer. Visiting time was over.

  When Paavo stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor of the Hall of Justice, Angie stood in the hallway waiting for him. She looked worried and scared and terribly sad. “There you are!” she cried. No kiss, no flowers, no café lattes or French pastry. He almost wished them back.

  She rushed toward him. “Where have you been? Can we get Connie out of here yet? I can’t bear the thought of her having to spend another minute in that jail! It’s so horrible, Paavo! I feel so bad for her.”

  “Calm down.” He put his arm around her and drew her into the elevator. No sense taking her into Homicide with him. Not with the mood Lt. Hollins was in. “I was just talking to the ADA. He’s not willing to let her go yet.”

  “But he’s going to, right?”

  “Eventually. Because she’s innocent.”

  They left City Hall and went to her Mercedes.

  “He doesn’t believe it’s simply mistaken identity? That Connie and the robber look a lot alike?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What can we do?” Angie stopped walking.

  “One thing you can do is tell me who the man is that’s supposedly involved. I hope your memory’s improved over last night.”

  Angie was taken aback by his harshness, then realized he was right. She nodded. “I talked to her. She’s ready to answer your questions, but she insists he’s as innocent as she is.”

  He took her keys to unlock the car, then held open the door. “I’ll go see her. I’m doing what I can, Angie. Just go home and don’t worry. We’ll get her out. I’ll call you as soon as there’s a break in the case.”

  He kissed her hard and walked away.

  Angie wasn’t about to go home and bake cookies when her friend was in jail. She drove to Wings. Earl stood by the entry stand. “Earl, I’ve got to find Dennis’s friend Max. Do you have any idea—”

  Earl pointed toward a far corner. Max sat at a table with piles of paper around him. “He’s doin’ our books. Tax time. Butch said he’s good at dat stuff.”

  “Thanks.” She marched past Earl and got in Squire’s face. “All right, mister. You tell me what’s going on, and I mean now.”

  He stood. “Now? I don’t…”

  “Connie’s been arrested,” she shrieked.

  He sank back into the chair. “Arrested? For what?”

  “Murder…and robbery.”

  He looked dumbfounded. “Is this a joke?”

  “I wish! She supposedly killed a female courier and then robbed a jewelry wholesaler, a little old man. She nearly killed him—she hit him on the head so hard she caused a concussion.”

  “She…oh, my God!” He said nothing for a moment, then asked, “Why do they think Connie did it?”

  Angie told him about the wholesaler’s identification.

  “Don’t they realize there can be other women who look like that?”

  “Who?” Angie asked, eying him closely.

  “Well…anyone.”

  “No,” Angie said. “You’re thinking of someone in particular, aren’t you?”

  “I was just speaking in generalities,” he replied quickly.

  “The jeweler said Connie had an accomplice—a man who fits your description exactly. Now, frankly, I don’t think you’d be here shuffling papers if you’d just stolen a half million dollars in diamonds, but the police might not be so rational. Tell me what you know, work with me on freeing Connie, or I swear, I’ll call them and tell
them you’re here.”

  “An accomplice? Ah…now I see. It makes sense.” He was ashen, his hands shaking as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

  “See what? What do you mean?” Angie was so frustrated she could have clubbed him with the receivables register.

  “Give me time, Angie. I know who did it. I’ll get Connie out of there.”

  Angie was shocked. “You know? You were involved?”

  “No, not me.” He shook his head.

  “Why should I believe you?” she cried.

  “Good question.” He slammed down his pencil and rushed out the door, leaving Angie gaping.

  She spun toward Earl. “Have you ever talked to Butch about his nephew’s friend?” Angie asked. “Did Dennis ever tell Butch why Max is so strange?”

  “Butch don’t talk to me,” Earl answered.

  “What about Vinnie?”

  “Vinnie had to go down to Chin…I mean, to da bank. Nobody knows nothin’.”

  Another stall job, and she wasn’t about to put up with it. “Well, Butch will talk to me.” She headed toward the kitchen.

  “Stop! Miss Angie, you can’t go in dere!” Earl’s stubby legs pumped fast as he ran to the swinging double doors that led to the kitchen and hurled himself, arms stretched out wide, in front of them.

  “Why?”

  “Uh…da Board of Health says we can’t let nobody in but da cook and da waiter.”

  “I’ve been in a number of restaurant kitchens. Besides, who taught Butch how to cook half the items on the menu?”

  “I know, an’ we ’preciate you. But you still can’t go in dere. Anyway, you’re a customer!”

  “Not now. Now I’m a consultant. Dennis has asked for my help, you may recall. I suggest you let me in there, or I’ll help him expand this place to the size of Candlestick Park!”

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’ll tell you da trut’. Dere’s a problem.”

  “Do tell!”

  “We got a couple cockroaches, and Butch put powder all around to kill ’em. He don’t want nobody to see what’s going on. Not even you. I’m sorry.”

  She put her hand to her throat. “Cockroaches? In the kitchen?”

  “Shhh! He just saw a couple, so he’s acting real fast. He’s standin’ dere wit’ a can of Raid, and if he sees one, he shoots it. Bam! We don’t want ’em to tell deir buddies to come over. An’ you don’t wanna see dem layin’ on deir backs, wigglin’ deir little legs in da air, an’ strugglin’ with deir last breaths.”

  Her mouth curled in disgust. “This is the truth?”

  “Miss Angie, would I lie?”

  “Then ask Butch to come out here and talk to me. It’s about Connie. She’s been arrested, and I’ve got to help get her out.”

  “Miss Connie? Arrested? Wait here.”

  He was back in a minute. “Butch is gone. He put all da pots on simmer and took off.”

  Chapter 20

  Paavo lived in a bungalow in San Francisco’s Richmond district, a neighborhood of small middle-class homes, not too far from Ocean Beach, but without the ocean view that would have raised the prices of the homes even higher than inflation and lack of expansion space in San Francisco had already done.

  Paavo had bought his house some years earlier, when the economy took a slight dip, and he could afford it. It was also affordable because it consisted of only three rooms and one bathroom, needed work—much of which he did on his own—and didn’t have a garage, which wasn’t too bad, since neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail could do any more damage to his Austin Healey than old age had already done to it. Nevertheless, he loved the house. So did Angie.

  To an extent.

  Angie’s biggest concern about their marriage was where they were going to live. She wouldn’t be able to fit her clothes into Paavo’s place, let alone anything else she owned.

  They had time; they’d work it out…somehow. He had a good-sized backyard. The house could always be expanded into it. Or, have an entire second floor added. Or possibly raise it to fit in a garage and basement room or two. Or do all three.

  Angie sat and watched while he chopped and stirred and seasoned. She offered suggestions when he wasn’t sure about the instruction in the recipe. It was hard to concentrate on food, though, when Connie was still in jail.

  Paavo was cooking a Finnish dish for her called Karelian Hot Pot. It was a simple stew made with equal parts chuck steak, pork shoulder, and stewing lamb, onions, salt, and allspice. Since discovering that he actually was part Finnish, Paavo had been learning all he could about his heritage. Aulis Kokkonen, the man who’d raised him and whom he regarded as his father even though Aulis wasn’t a blood relation, told many stories about Finland, Finnish history and legends. Paavo now wished he’d paid more attention to those stories as a boy instead of doing the usual kid’s stunt of tuning him out, thinking Aulis was dull and that Finland was “totally uncool.”

  Paavo was a good cook in that he could follow a recipe with the diligence of Jonas Salk developing the polio vaccine. Angie didn’t tell him that the recipe he struggled with was about as simple as any she’d ever seen. Since he was preparing the main course, she volunteered to make a Caesar salad and a Finnish dessert. After much searching, she found one, a kind of cheesecake that was more spicy than sweet—the manly dessert, according to Connie’s ex. The crust was made with dry breadcrumbs and butter, and the custard in the center was a mixture of flour, cottage cheese, and eggs, seasoned with brown sugar, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, butter, and orange and lemon rind. She made the cake while Paavo worked on his stew.

  As he cooked, he began talking about Connie’s situation. Hearing her friend referred to as a “case” infuriated her. Hot tears of anger and frustration that the system she believed in could be making such a horrible mistake sprang to her eyes, and it took all her willpower to compose herself again.

  He told her that surveillance cameras had shown the courier being hit by a figure wearing gloves and a black sweatshirt with a hood. It could have been a man or a woman. She was dragged into the van where the police later found her.

  A bit later, a woman wearing the courier’s uniform—who, in fact, did look a lot like Connie—left the van for the elevator bank. She kept her face averted so that none of the pictures were terribly clear, and none straight on. A minute later, two men, one thin, the other fat, got out of the van. Both wore gloves and hooded sweatshirts and kept their faces down.

  Suddenly, the Connie look-alike reappeared, pushing a scared, panting Isaac Zakarian to his car. He drove away in obvious panic.

  The van had been stolen that very day. It was a maze of fingerprints, but the only ones they could identify belonged to the owner and the dead courier.

  Finally, Paavo placed the Karelian casserole in the oven. His work done, he put his arms around Angie, studying her face and the unshed tears he saw there. “Relax, Angel. We’ll get her out. She’s innocent. There’s no way they could prove otherwise.”

  She shut her eyes and leaned into him. As much as she wanted to enjoy the comfort he offered, all she could think about was the fear and loneliness Connie was enduring at that same moment.

  Veronica walked toward Wings of an Angel. She was feeling good. Connie Rogers hadn’t shown up at work that day. A little birdie told Veronica why. Now, all she had to do was get the police off their fat asses to arrest Max. If he was at Wings, she’d call them now; if not, she’d watch the homeless shelter where he’d been staying. They could pick him up there.

  Footsteps were fast approaching. She turned but saw no one behind her. Odd.

  She kept going, suddenly irritated when she thought of the stupid cops who hadn’t managed to pick up Fernandez or Julius. Robbers and murderers at the scene of the crime—and they just let them walk away. What idiots!

  Now, she had those two losers to worry about. But she could handle them. No problem.

  She heard the footsteps again. Stepping into a doorway, she reached into her purse and c
lutched her gun. The street was empty.

  Nerves. That’s all it was. Maybe because of El Toro, or one of the others…out there…looking for her.

  Or maybe because of the courier. When she’d put the woman’s uniform on, it was still warm from her body. She hadn’t known Julius would kill her like that. Tying her up should have been enough…

  She shook away the image and proceeded down the block. Some cars went by, but no other pedestrians were near. This wasn’t a touristy area, but usually someone was out walking.

  She concentrated on her situation. Dennis was the one who bothered her. She had to come up with a way to—

  From the corner of her eye she saw a hand reach for her. She spun around fast, and he ended up with only the strap of her shoulder bag.

  “You!” she yelled, jerking on it. He didn’t let go and the bag flipped over, the clasp opening and the contents falling to the sidewalk.

  She fell to her knees and lunged, but he was faster. In one quick movement, he picked up the Smith and Wesson and pointed it at her.

  Drawing herself to her feet, she saw the cold, icy fury in his eyes. “You can’t be serious,” she said. She glanced from side to side, thinking that he would back off if she could get someone to notice them, but the streets were empty. Even the cars seemed to have vanished. Her heart pounded, and her throat went dry. “Put it down!”

  He slowly neared, and she backed up, scared now. “Hey, let’s talk about it, okay?” She tried to modulate her voice, make it low and husky, the way he liked it. “I know you’re disappointed. In me. Us. We can fix that.”

  She looked around, searching for some means of escape. Behind her was an alley and what looked like an open door at the bottom of a flight of stairs. She needed to get down there, shut the door, and lock it. She could do it.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “We were always able to talk.” As she began stepping backward, he followed.