If Cooks Could Kill

by Joanne Pence

  “And after that, how about doing the same for a man named Max Squire?” Connie added with a sly smile.

  Angie high-fived her.

  “All right,” Stan said, “but it’ll cost you. Let’s say, a home-cooked meal of my choice.”

  “Agreed.”

  Angie and Connie nearly fell asleep as they sat slumped in their chairs, waiting. Stan wasn’t good at finding his way around the bank’s computer system, which was no wonder, considering how little he used it, but he was persistent. He loved Angie’s cooking.

  Finally, he turned and faced them. They pulled themselves up straight. “The phone number belongs to Sidney Edmund Fernandez. I’ve written down his address. The bank gives him a zero credit rating. He has no bank or saving accounts, but he does have credit cards that he uses infrequently. He pays them off right away, so I suspect the zero credit rating has something to do with him not exactly being a law-abiding citizen, but I’m not sure.”

  “Interesting.” Angie tried to make sense out of the news.

  “What about Max?” Connie asked.

  “I have no address for him, zero credit rating here, too. But if you go back three years, he had superior credit. His bank account had over fifty thousand dollars in cash, plus a couple of CDs. He obviously had a lot of stocks, bonds, and real estate. The mortgage on his house was for over six hundred grand, and he never missed a payment. He often put ten thousand on his credit card in one month, and paid it in full the next. Then he filed for bankruptcy and everything disappeared. I show no credit history for him after the bankruptcy.”

  “Mercy,” was Connie’s only comment.

  “That explains a bit about his attitude, doesn’t it?” Angie murmured.

  Stan looked from one to the other. “Ready for lunch yet?”

  Chapter 26

  The sand dunes murder victim was an ex-con named Julius Rodriguez. He’d been killed by a bullet to the back of the head. Before that he’d been castrated. Rodriguez had done time for dealing drugs and was said to have been the right-hand man of Sidney Fernandez.

  Fernandez might have been a player in the Veronica Maple heist, and now his top man was dead. What was the connection?

  While pondering this, Paavo noticed a bald man working his way around desks, printing stands, fax machines, and file cabinets, but he was so bland and colorless, Paavo paid no attention until he stopped in front of his desk.

  “Paavo Smith? Inspector Paavo Smith?” the man asked.

  Paavo stood. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “The name’s Chuck Lexington. I was Veronica Maple’s parole officer.” With that, he held out his hand to shake Paavo’s.

  Lexington…he was the first one who’d brought Fernandez’s name to Homicide’s attention when he’d talked to Calderon about Veronica Maple. The case was going around in circles in more ways than one.

  “Have a seat.” Paavo indicated the chair by his desk.

  “Thanks.” Lexington settled in. He took a breath, then let his words flow. “I talked to Calderon but haven’t heard anything back from him. I’ve been trying to find out Maple’s whereabouts. I don’t know if you heard, but she got out of prison and killed a man.”

  Paavo looked at him questioningly.

  “Me and her, we talked a lot before she left prison,” Lexington said. “It was kind of strange. I liked her. Now”—he shook his head—“I want to bring her in myself, if I can. I hate to see her get hurt. I know, she’s a killer. Still…have you heard anything about her at all?”

  “I do have some questions about Maple,” Paavo said. “Let’s go to the interrogation room. It’s more private, less noisy.” He nodded at Yosh, who followed.

  The room had a metal table with two chairs. Lexington took one, Paavo the other. Yosh stood near the wire-glass window at the far wall.

  “Why did she come to San Francisco?” Paavo asked.

  “I think she had some unfinished business here. Something she needed to take care of. Maybe involving her old boss, Max Squire. The two absolutely hated each other.”

  “Enough to kill?”

  “Him kill her, or her kill him?” Lexington asked. “He came to see her a couple of times in Chowchilla, and the guards said they thought he was going to go through the glass wall to get at her.”

  Paavo and Yosh’s gazes met. “Anyone else?”

  “I told Calderon about Sid Fernandez’s gang. The two of them go back a long way. I was worried that she might try to contact him, since he’s in the city. She swore she was through with that kind of thing, but after what she did, who knows?”

  “So it seems,” Paavo said. “Anyone else?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” Lexington said with a sigh. “It’s weird, her disappearing without a trace. I thought she might be dead. No such luck. I guess I’ll keep looking.”

  “What about Dennis Pagozzi?”

  “How do you know about him?” Lexington asked.

  Paavo shrugged. “As I said, we’re trying to be helpful.”

  Lexington gazed suspiciously from one to the other. “When they were young, she was married to Dennis Pagozzi.”

  Both inspectors froze.

  “Holy Moses,” Yosh muttered.

  “Are you sure?” Paavo asked.

  “They were only seventeen, and went down to Mexico. Rosarita Beach. Dennis apparently claimed the marriage wasn’t legitimate, but the United States recognizes Mexican marriages. His family got involved and it was annulled. After she realized half the money he’d earned playing football could have been hers, she fought the annulment, saying it was invalid. It didn’t work, though.”

  “How did you find that out?” Paavo asked.

  “I told you, we used to talk. I didn’t think she was a bad person—just misguided, especially about money. I never imagined she was a killer. Nothing in her background pointed to it.” Lexington swore. “If it had, I’d have watched her a lot closer.”

  “Maybe she didn’t kill the guy in Fresno,” Yosh offered.

  Lexington shook his head. “It had to be her. There’s no other suspect.”

  Angie and Connie rode to the Excelsior Street address Stan had given them, parked down the block, and sat in the car, doors locked.

  “What now?” Connie asked as they stared at the house. “We can’t just walk up and say, hi, tell us about Veronica Maple. We’re running out of time! This day is almost gone. Only one more day and word will get out that Veronica Maple is dead, then who knows what will happen?”

  “All we need to do is find out what this Fernandez is all about. We know he’s shady and single. He liked Veronica. There’s got to be a way. Whatever it takes, we’re going to find out what’s happening and dispense some justice!”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Angie gave a long glance in Connie’s direction. “Of course! You look like Veronica Maple, and she was his friend, possibly his girlfriend…”

  “Not again, Angie. No! I won’t do it. No way, no how!”

  When Lexington left, Vic Walters from Robbery was waiting for Paavo. He had a description of the guy who’d tried to fence Zakarian’s diamonds—tall, broad shouldered, scraggly blond hair, wearing ragged clothes. Sounded like Max Squire had struck again. The usual fences wouldn’t touch the diamonds—too hot to handle, they said.

  Paavo found information about Dennis Pagozzi on the Internet due to Dennis’s position with the Forty-Niners. Born and raised in San Francisco, attended Galileo High School, was given a football scholarship to USC in Los Angeles, and signed with the Forty-Niners as a third-round draft pick.

  He then turned to Veronica Maple’s background. She was born the same year as Dennis, but in Sacramento, California. Moved to San Francisco when she was fifteen. From the address on her juvenile arrest records, she would have been in Galileo High School’s jurisdiction. Although it was a good-sized city school, the odds were excellent that Dennis and Veronica, both in the same grade, had known each other.

  Veroni
ca left San Francisco in her eighteenth year and went to Los Angeles. It would have been the same year Dennis went to USC. Another connection?

  In LA, her problems with the law began again, and the name “Sid Fernandez” showed up in her file as someone who’d been arrested with her.

  Five years later, the same year Dennis joined the Forty-Niners, Veronica was back in San Francisco.

  It looked like Chuck Lexington was right about Pagozzi and Veronica—whether they had a legal marriage or not, they had a long and complicated past.

  Pagozzi, Squire, Fernandez…and Julius Rodriguez could be thrown into the mix. Rodriguez, who was as thin as Fernandez was heavy. Just like the two hooded men on the basement-garage security tape…

  He grabbed his files on the courier’s murder and went in search of Robbery Inspector Vic Walters.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” Connie said, tugging with dismay at the hem of the two-sizes-too-small glittery purple sweater she was wearing. How did she let Angie talk her into these things? They sat in her car, a half block from Fernandez’s house. “All I want to do is find Max.”

  “One leads to the other,” Angie insisted, picking lint from the red midriff-baring angora she wore.

  “I should be so lucky!” They’d gone to the Stones-town mall and bought short skirts, tight sweaters, spike-heeled boots, frosted turquoise eye shadow, and bright orange lipstick—the kind that turned practically fluorescent after a while. Angie ratted her hair so that it stood out from her head in gnarled splendor. Connie’s was too short to rat, for which she was grateful.

  They changed clothes and put on makeup in the ladies’ room at Macy’s, then ran like crazy to Connie’s car just in case someone who knew them was in the store.

  “Now,” Angie began, “remember, all we have to do is saunter up to his house, knock on the door, and say we were told he was having a party and that we’re there to party, big time. Got it?”

  Connie looked sick. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

  Angie couldn’t be more pleased with her brainstorm. “Well, when he sees a couple of ‘ladies of the night,’ so to speak, and with one of us—you—looking so much like Veronica, he’s going to be hot and horny and curious, right? So he’ll invite us in.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there—I’ll protect you. But first you’ve got to play up to him, sweet-talk him, charm the pants off him—but not literally. And then just sli-i-i-ide in a question here, and a question there, until you have some idea what the connection is between him, Dennis, Veronica, and Max.”

  “And what if he’s trying to sli-i-i-ide you-know-what in me while I’m doing all this nicey-nice stuff?”

  “If things get scary, I’ll just say our pimp is outside, and he’s livid. Then we’ll leave.”

  “At least say he’s ‘pissed,’ Angie. I don’t think ‘livid’ is a pimp kind of word.”

  “Whatever. Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” Connie said, clutching a door handle with one hand and rubbing her stomach with the other. “I’m scared. I feel sick. I can’t do it!”

  “There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m sure he’s harmless. Just some creep Veronica hung out with, a little shady, but aren’t most people?”

  “What if I throw up on him?”

  “That’ll work even better than my threat about a pimp.”

  Just then, a limousine turned onto the street, and the two stared, their mouths agape, as it pulled into Fernandez’s driveway. The limo looked nearly as big as the house.

  A large man, as wide as he was tall, got out and thumped up the stairs to the front door, the limo driver behind him. The first one unlocked the door, and they went inside.

  “Fernandez,” Angie whispered. “He must have a lot more money than we thought.”

  “What does he know about a deadbeat like Squire?” Connie asked, hunkering down behind the wheel. “All the more reason to get out of here.”

  “Chicken!” Angie cried. With that, she was out of the car and sauntering sexily down the street.

  With a groan, Connie caught up, and then began to saunter as well. They would have gotten there a lot faster if they’d simply walked, but Fernandez might have been watching from the window.

  “Let’s just take a look at the limo before we knock on the door. I wonder why he uses it,” Angie said. The windows were darkened. She and Connie cupped their hands against the glass and tried to see inside with no luck.

  “Where the hell have you been?” A voice bellowed. “I’m going to kill you!”

  The two spun around. Fernandez huffed down the stairs toward them, waving a gun. It looked like a cannon.

  “Don’t shoot!” they screamed in unison. This wasn’t the kind of greeting Angie was expecting.

  “We’re just looking at your car,” she explained.

  “Yeah,” Connie said, too scared to add another word.

  “Hey,” Fernandez said as he stepped closer. “You’re not Veronica.” He faced Angie. “What the hell are you two made up for, Halloween?”

  Angie was taken aback. “We’re here to party,” she said indignantly. Had she gone a teensy bit overboard with the clothes? Must be the eye shadow.

  “Is this some kind of game?” His voice was low, dangerous.

  The driver stepped to his side, eying the two women. “Hey, they ain’t so bad, boss. Maybe they are what they say. They just wanna see the limo, maybe meet the driver. Party.” He faced Angie. “The name’s Raymondo.”

  “You drive this monster? How cool,” Angie said. “And you’re right. We just wanted to look at it and meet you guys.”

  Like a puppy on a leash, Raymondo’s eyes begged Fernandez to let him go play.

  Angie peered up at Raymondo and smiled. His tongue was too busy hanging out to form words.

  She moved closer to him and turned so that he faced away from Connie. “Why don’t you tell me about the…drive shaft,” she purred.

  This time, he didn’t even wait for Fernandez’s okay, but started talking. She paid no attention, simply wanting to get him out of the way so Connie could talk to Fernandez.

  Connie’s eyes widened with obvious terror as Angie glided away from her. She glanced from Fernandez’s gun to his fat face and back to the gun again, and gulped. In a herky-jerky motion, she pointed at the gun. “I’m glad I’m not Veronica,” she said with a forced laugh.

  His eyes narrowed, but he lowered the gun. She smiled, and his gaze went to her very snug sweater. “You just came out of nowhere to party with me, huh?”

  “Sure,” she said. Angie’s back was to her. “Uh…why do you hate Veronica so much?” she asked.

  Big mistake. His fingers tightened on the gun. “Who are you two?”

  Connie jumped back, grabbed a startled Angie, and pulled her close. “We’re nobody. Just being friendly. Forget it, okay? Let’s go, Angie.”

  “Hey, I’m friendly,” Raymondo offered loudly.

  Fernandez stepped to the side, blocking their way. “How did you two get here?” he demanded.

  Connie turned to Angie to answer. It didn’t make sense to say they drove there, but if she said they were neighbors, he might ask where they lived, and he might know she was lying. Her lips were dry. “The bus?” she offered.

  “Get in the limo!” he ordered.

  Raymondo, a lurid sneer on his face, opened a door. “Come on, ladies.” he said, then laughed.

  “No…no, we’re leaving,” Angie said. “Our…our pimp…”

  Even Fernandez laughed at that statement.

  She and Connie backed up, holding each other securely. When Fernandez stepped toward them, they bolted and ran into the street, hoping to get around him, the limo, and the driver.

  Raymondo easily grabbed Connie’s wrist, and a second later, his arm went around Angie’s waist, lifting her off the ground even though her feet kept moving.

  They screamed and tried to break free, but he was able to handle both with no problem and tossed t
hem into the limo.

  The next instant, the street turned into a sector of hell.

  Sirens blared, car wheels screeched, and a force of men wearing black head-to-toe SWAT uniforms, Kevlar body armor, and shields appeared out of nowhere barking orders to Fernandez to drop the gun and freeze.

  Feet pounded the pavement, there were shouts and the sound of scuffling…then all was silent.

  Angie and Connie untangled themselves from each other and stuck their heads out the passenger door, Connie’s below, Angie’s right above hers.

  Fernandez and Raymondo stood with their hands up, surrounded by police.

  Chapter 27

  “I knew it was a set-up!” Fernandez yelled.

  Robbery Inspector Vic Walters walked up to him. “You’re under arrest, Fernandez. We’ve got you this time. Not only for the diamond robbery—”

  “What robbery? What diamonds? I don’t have no diamonds!”

  Paavo was right behind Walters. “Also for the murder of Janet Clark, a courier employed by Couriers Unlimited.”

  “Hell. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “And for the murder of Julius Rodriguez.”

  Fernandez’s face fell. “Where’d you get that shit?”

  Paavo glanced toward Raymondo, who had also been cuffed. “I’m sorry, boss. They said I was an accessory. That I could get the chair just for driving you!”

  “Shut up, damn you! So this was a set-up! I’ll get out, and when I do, you’re all dead men! All of you!”

  “Did you also kill Veronica Maple?” Paavo asked.

  Fernandez’s eyes went wide with shock. He clearly wasn’t acting. “What? She’s dead? Where the hell are my diamonds? I thought she ran off with them—that Julius was going to meet her!” Suddenly, his mouth began to quiver as the full import of Paavo’s words struck him. His voice was small. “I thought they’d double-crossed me. I thought…I cared about her, dammit! She can’t be dead!”

  “Take them away,” Paavo said to the uniforms who were there with a paddy wagon. He started back toward his car.