by Kit Crumb
They got in the car. Ramos started the engine, turned on the heater but didn’t put it in gear.
“What about geeree? The old guy told Kawamoto the intruder said he was on a mission of geeri. What the hell is geeree?”
He put the cruiser into gear and headed south on Main.
Buck adjusted the volume on the scanner so the static was at a low hum, and tightened his seat belt. “Where we headed?”
“The hospital. M has a lot of knowledge she needs to share.”
Buck closed his eyes, sank into the seat and leaned his head against the headrest.
“Did I mention she told me she recognized her attacker?” Buck said quietly.
Ramos pulled into an emergency only space.
“Between M’s ID of her attacker and the prints taken off the VW, we could have the killer by tomorrow,” Ramos said as he killed the engine, unbuckled his seat belt. He started leaning into the door when Buck reached over and touched him on the shoulder.
“Hey, boss.”
Ramos leaned back into the seat turning to face Buck. “Yeah?”
“It’s almost ten. They’re not going to let us talk to her, besides I pissed off the doctor last time I was here.”
He leaned back and put his hands on the steering wheel. “We could check on the guard you set up.”
“C’mon boss, it’s been a long day. I say we call it a night.
“Why not.” He started the car. ”Just one more stop, Amy Kittings’s. You know where she lives?”
Buck shifted uneasily. “Somewhere on Seashell. I think I can pick it out; she was always complaining about the ruts in her driveway. I think she had a carport.”
When they spotted the house they parked a block away. Guns drawn, they circled around to the back where Ramos forced the door. They entered through the kitchen.
“I’ll take the bedroom,” he said.
Buck put away his gun.
“What are we looking for?”
Ramos scanned the living room. “A diary maybe, anything that could track her day to day.”
He removed a penlight from his shirt pocket and walked to the hall. He could sense his Buck’s reluctance.
“I just wanted a quick look around before forensics got here.”
“I’ll start with her computer,” Buck said.
He tapped a few keys and the screen came to life. “Hmm, asleep, not turned off.”
The desktop contained dozens of file folders, labeled with everything from DUNES to BREAKERS to TOURISTS. When he came to the unfiled document labeled Greens, he reached over and turned on the printer. Whatever it was, he knew he wanted a copy. It opened to a proof sheet, six lines of photos, twelve shots per line. All were of the crime scene and the hotel, except the last five on the last line--a homeless man.
The printer was just spitting the last copy when Ramos approached.
“Not much in the bedroom, no diary at any rate.” He picked up the printouts. “Anything here?”
Buck put the computer back to sleep.
“Look at the homeless man, end of the last line. That looks like the same man sleeping in the ally behind M’s Gym.”
Ramos folded the prints and put them in a breast pocket.
“I’m tired, let’s go home.”
They rode in silence to the police station where Buck picked up his Ford Bronco and drove home. After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, he finally fell into a fitful dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BUCK PULLED INTO THE EMERGENCY SPACE in front of the hospital. He fully expected to go head to head with M’s doctor, but was surprised to find her sitting in the waiting area. He looked around and gave her a smile when she noticed him.
“Is someone picking you up?”
She stood up, walked over to Buck and gave him a hug.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He looped his arm through hers.
“Your ride awaits.”
He walked her around to the passenger side of the cruiser, opened the door and helped her in.
“Home in style.”
M frowned. “Please, I’m not ready to go home yet.”
When he climbed in the driver’s side she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks for bringing my clothes.”
He turned in his seat to face her.
“You leaving too soon?”
“No, the doctor came in at six this morning and said I was fine to leave as soon as I could get a ride.”
Buck left the parking lot heading south toward Fort Point.
“Are you up to Ramos playing twenty questions?”
“Ask me again when we get there.”
“A lot happened while you were in the hospital,” Buck said, turning a grim look at M. “Amy Kitting and Sato Tessu are dead.”
M seemed to deflate at the news. “Oh, god.”
He cursed as he slowed from sixty to twenty-five miles an hour to accommodate a motor home.
“Tessu suffered the same fate as Mrs. Green, including the bloody Japanese character. But Amy was strangled and sexually assaulted.”
Knowing that he and Amy were friends, M reached over and placed a hand on his arm.
“I’m so sorry about Amy.”
He looked over and gave her a weak smile.
“Thanks.”
The scanner began to squawk. He listened for a minute then turned it down. “Do you remember my visiting you at the hospital?”
She turned her back against the door so she could face him.
“It was kind of a blur, but yes.”
“Then do you remember telling me that you recognized your attacker?”
“No, and I don’t remember talking to you at all, though I remember that you visited. But I can tell you now; my attacker was that Asian guy we saw in the alley the other day.”
The motor home pulled to the shoulder of the road, Buck gave a honk and a wave as he passed.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I’m sitting here. I think I need some fresh air.”
She rolled down her window, and took a deep breath.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the gated lot of the Fort Point police department. M got out of the car almost as soon as it stopped.
Buck got out and spoke over the stop of the car.
“Are you alright?”
She was leaning against the side of the cruiser at an angle stretching first one leg then the other. “Just a little nauseous.”
Ramos walked out into the lot. “How you doing, M?”
“Better now that we’re here.”
He looked over at Buck.
“She got a little carsick on the way.”
“I’ve got some paperwork, but when you’re ready we’ll meet in the conference room.” Then to M. “Glad you’re alright.”
“Me too.”
Buck walked around to stand next to M.
“Sure you don’t need an arm?”
“Actually, I’m feeling better by the minute.”
“I’m not sure what Ramos has in mind except that he has a lot of questions for you. If you start feeling sick again or need to go home just give me a sign.”
The police department was in an old Victorian two-story, built by a lumber barren in the 1930s. The low ceiling entry was walled off and used to accommodate visitors and the dispatcher who doubled as secretary. The conference room was formerly a dining hall with a twenty-three foot vaulted ceiling. The largest bedroom had been made into an office. The three smaller adjoining bedrooms had been turned into one long room with desks to accommodate up to four officers.
“Can I get you anything? I could have one of the officers go into Fort Point for food if you’re hungry,” Ramos said.
“No thanks, I’m fine for now.
“Great.”
Ramos wheeled a chalkboard from a corner to the front of the room.
“First I’d like to bring you up to date. I’m sure Buck told you what happ
ened while you were in the hospital, about Tessu and Kitting.” She nodded.
He indicated three circles with the deceased names, under each name was listed an MO.
“Notice that you and Kitting deviate from the MO of Tessu and the Greens. We think that the killer was interrupted in your case. We’re not sure with Kitting, but we think that the killer simply lost focus.”
“What’s the question mark by Kitting’s name?” M said.
“It appears that someone was up in the dunes watching her murder, we’re still waiting for word from forensics. Buck said that you recognized your attacker?”
“Yeah, I’d seen him around town dressed like a street person.”
Ramos made note on a pad.
”I’ll put an APB out for every homeless person in town.” He turned to the blackboard and wrote the word “geeree”. “Any idea what that means?”
She stood up and walked around to lean on the back of her chair.
“It’s actually spelled Giri and usually refers to Honor.”
“An elderly couple, staying at the Dungeness Hotel were accosted by an Asian man wearing all black and carrying a long sword. Said he was on a mission of Giri. Any idea if the character at the murder sites can be linked with this?”
“Giri is honor. The characters in blood mean Retribution. Historically, where you find one you usually find the other. Both are verbs and call for some kind of action.”
She walked back around and sat in the chair.
Ramos suddenly looked past her, at the door.
Buck followed his boss’s gaze and turned in his chair as the secretary stepped into the room. Before Ramos could protest the interruption she produced a sheet of paper.
“I think you’d better have a look at this, sir. Results from the finger prints taken off the Kitting vehicle.”
Buck stepped up and took the printout.
“Thank you.” After reading for a moment he looked up. “This changes everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
DEEP IN THE BASEMENT of the Dungeness Hotel, within the dark confines of the old heating boiler, Peter opened his eyes. Not sure where he was he closed them until he remembered, then lurched to a sitting position. He rotated his arm forward then back, pleased with the painless range of motion, his hand felt better too. He opened and closed his fingers making a tight fist each time. The clock glowed six, reminding him that he wanted to get to the dive shop before it opened.
Nikki Adams rolled her shoulders, turning her head, first left then right with a quick movement that produced a sharp crack. She’d been filling air tanks for the past twenty minutes, hefting them into the water trough to keep them from heating up as they filled with air, then pulling them out and placing them in the rack. Some of the old steel tanks could weigh up to thirty pounds.
The Bamboo Reef was the only dive shop in Dungeness Bay. It was constructed entirely of cinder blocks with two small windows and a steel door, front and back. The inside was circled with dive tanks of every size and color along the wall. Three shelves dividing the floor space displayed fins, masks and spearguns. Underwater cameras, dive watches and breathing apparatus were under glass in the only display case. There was no bathroom and the office was the size of a closet. Nikki kept both front and back doors open to help with ventilation; when they were shut locals knew she was probably closed. The shop had belonged to her father, a retired WWII frogman. When he had died suddenly, everyone had expected her to sell, but living on the coast and diving was the only life she knew.
Nikki had just placed the last tank in the rack when she heard the scraping. Because the front door was always open, she kept the office door closed. When she heard the sound of metal on metal she knew somebody was opening the office door. She stepped into the store expecting to see someone peeking into the office looking for her, and was about to call out. But when she saw the shadowy figure disappear into the office she bit her tongue. Barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt, she moved easily between shelves until she had line of sight into her office. The black clad figure began rifling through a file drawer.
Silently she grabbed a spear gun holding it against her right leg.
“Hey,” she yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
In a blur the figure turned and charged. With deliberate intent, she raised the spear gun and fired from the hip. Amazed that the figure kept coming, she stepped back and pulled down the over loaded shelf of fins and masks, just before being slammed into the back wall of wet suits.
He made his way out the back door and up the dune into the cypress, continuing until he reached Bay View road, and jogged south until he came to the rusted Gremlin parked a hundred yards up an old logging road. He opened the top of his black karate uniform and eyed the hole in his side. Grabbing some newspaper from the back seat, he pressed it against the wound. He reached into his inside pocket, and pulled out the folded job application.
“Mary Margaret Malmstrom, 522-68-1175. At last, the final piece of the puzzle.”
***
“Card Services. May I have the last name of the card holder and your Social Security number?”
“The last name is Malmstrom,” he said, spelling it out so there wouldn’t be a problem. “Social security is 522-68-1175.”
“Thank you, Mr. Malmstrom. How may I help you?”
Ten minutes later Peter hung up the phone and stood holding a hand over the saturated gauze pad he applied to the hole in his side. He felt light headed and leaned against the wall until his vision cleared. He walked into the bathroom where he took off his pants, stepped into the bathtub, tossed the used pad into the trash and poured peroxide over the wound until it stopped bubbling. He had to hurry. There was still one more call to make.
***
“Good morning, Guaranteed Workouts and Equipment. How may I direct your call?”
“Yes, I placed an order and just discovered that I’ve made an error.”
“That would be sales, one minute please.”
As he listened to the canned music, he played with the tape that held the bandage in place.
“This is sales, can I help you?”
“Hello, this is the Black Dragon Studio and Gym. I placed an order for some equipment and I’m afraid I’ve made an error.”
“OK. I’ve got your order in front of me, what’s the problem?”
“Well see, I’ve expanded my facility...”
Peter hung up the phone. With any luck he’d be in San Francisco when the machines arrived. But first he had to kill Octavio Ramos.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RAMOS SLAMMED A FIST Into an open hand “I can’t believe this. It’s Ed Platte. DNA samples and fingerprints match exactly. The man must be sick.”
Buck was already on his feet, headed for the door.
“We’ve got to get an all-points out.” He looked over at his boss realizing that he might be out of line.
Ramos pointed at the door. “Pull the cruiser out front. I’ll get Molly to issue the APB and meet you.” He looked back at M who was now on her feet. “C’mon, you’re still on the case.”
She felt unsteady but wasn’t about to let on. Taking a deep breath, she lurched through the door following Buck into the gated lot where they’d left the cruiser. When she climbed in the back seat he turned around.
“You feel up to this?”
“Let’s just get the son-of–a-bitch.”
He pulled up in front of the automatic gate, anxiously waiting for it to open. With inches to spare, he squeezed through, accelerating around to the front of the building.
Ramos climbed in handing a sheet of paper to Buck as he buckled up.
“I called his office, he hasn’t been in yet.”
Buck looked at the address on the paper. “You think he’s home?”
“That’s my best guess,” Ramos said. “Anybody who would leave so much evidence at the scene of a crime must think they’re untouchable.”
Buck seethed. “Or thinks the police fo
rce is a bunch of idiots.”
M leaned over the back of the seat. “Don’t we need a warrant or something?”
Ramos turned to face her. “I have a feeling that mister Platte is going to invite us in.”
“And if he doesn’t?” M said.
“You got a better idea?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.”
Twenty minutes from when they left the police station Buck pulled up to the curb below Barnacle Court. M walked the two blocks to Platte’s house, pausing to make a show of checking the address on the blank piece of paper she pulled out of her pocket. She confidently walked up the steps, pulled open the screen and knocked.
“Who is it?”
She couldn’t determine what part of the house the voice came from.
“It’s Mary, Amy’s friend.”
She could hear someone coming. The door opened and Platte leaned against the doorframe.
“What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to thank you for being Amy’s friend.” She nearly choked on the words.
He stepped out onto the porch and looked up and down the street. “She isn’t here with you?”
She couldn’t believe the charade Platte was going through.
“She doesn’t know I’m here. But I saw how you were with her at the Greens’ crime scene, that being her first really gruesome shot and all.”
She knew that she had to be invited into the house, but that was only the half of it. She’d have to goad Platte into making a pass, or make him mad enough to hit her. Then Ramos and Buck would barge in. If it went to court they’d explain that they had the evidence on Platte and were going to meet M on his porch and attempt to talk him into surrendering. Try for a peaceful solution, instead of getting a warrant, barging in and using force. They heard M cry for help and reacted with her safety in mind. After all, this guy was a murderer.
“She’s new, probably a little nervous. I was glad to help her along.”
It didn’t look as though Platte was going to invite her in.
“She said she’d meet me here.” M looked down the street. “She should be along any minute now.”
She watched Platte for any sign of surprise, but there was none. He must have a heart of ice. She was about to make an excuse to leave when he stepped back from the door. “You might as well come in and wait.”