Death in a Wine Dark Sea

by Lisa King

  “No, but we weren’t together the whole time.” Jean frowned. “I hope you’re playing devil’s advocate, Roman.”

  “I merely think the possibility can’t be dismissed out of hand.”

  Later, upstairs in Beau’s room, Jean lay in bed and stared into space, replaying her confrontation with Peter—his pain and rage, the marks he’d made on her arms, the way he’d nearly hit her. But he hadn’t; he’d controlled himself. Killing Martin wouldn’t have been an act of passion anyway. It would have been cold and calculated, done for money. Unless there really was something between Peter and Diane. She shook her head, dismissing the idea.

  Zeppo got in beside her. “What’s the matter, Jeannie?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking about what Roman said. That I should consider whether the police might be right, that Peter killed Martin. How can I? I’d trust Peter with my life. Could my judgment really be so fundamentally flawed?”

  Zeppo pushed himself up on an elbow. “Hey, don’t ever doubt your judgment. You could tell I was innocent after hanging out with me for less than a week, and you know Peter a lot better than you know me.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Roman does have a tendency to be suspicious of people. He likes you, by the way.”

  “I like him, too. He’s a cool dude. But this time he’s wrong.”

  Jean kissed him. “Thanks. You’ve talked me down.” Their lovemaking pushed her doubts even further from her mind over the course of another long night.

  CHAPTER 35

  Jean woke up first the next morning. She put on her red dragon robe and crept down the hall to see Diane, who was making the bed.

  “Good morning,” Jean said. “How was your night?”

  Diane looked at her with mock disapproval. “I forgot what it was like trying to sleep nearby when you have a lover. I’m surprised the neighbors don’t complain.”

  Jean sat on the bed. “Diane, you don’t have any doubts about Peter, do you? You don’t wonder if he could have planned this whole thing?”

  “Of course not,” Diane said. “I’d never sleep with someone I didn’t trust completely.”

  “Why not? According to you, I’m screwing a lying, conniving loser.”

  “I’m sorry for what I said about Zeppo. Anyway, you have to admit your standards are . . . more relaxed than mine when it comes to men.”

  “Let’s just say our tastes are different, except for Peter.”

  Diane smiled. “You know, you’re right. This is the first time we’ve ever been attracted to the same man.”

  “So you agree with me that he’s completely reliable and that he never killed anyone.”

  “I definitely agree. Now all I have to do is convince Martin’s friends that he’s innocent, and that I’m innocent, too. A lot of them are going to wonder. If he gets out on bail, can he stay here, too?”

  “Of course. We’ll be one big happy family, unless Peter’s still pissed at me.”

  “How could he be, after all that’s happened?”

  “You didn’t see how mad he was,” Jean said. “Anyway, it’s great that you two hooked up. He’s just right for you.”

  “You know, I feel bad about sleeping with him because of what happened the next morning,” Diane said. “But I know Martin wouldn’t mind, even though he’s been gone less than a month. He liked and trusted Peter. Once he told me that if he had another heart attack and died, he wanted me to find someone else, someone who didn’t care about the money.”

  “Someone like Peter.” Jean had always thought Diane was a bit on the shallow side emotionally, but now she found herself wishing that Roman could get over Chris the way Diane was getting over Martin—by jumping right back into the game.

  Jean remembered an important piece of news. “Hey, Ivan called last night. He wants us to drive to Sausalito late this afternoon and do the deal. We’ll need the cash by five-thirty.”

  “That’s fine,” Diane said. “I’ll get it after the hearing.”

  After breakfast Roman drove Jean and Diane to the bail hearing, escorting them past crowds of reporters and onlookers. It hurt Jean to see how bad Peter looked, but at least his expensive lawyer, Rex Pfeiffer, successfully argued for bail—$2 million.

  Pfeiffer’s machinations and Diane’s money got Peter out within a few hours. When the paperwork was done, Peter joined them, red-eyed and rumpled, his chin covered with brown stubble.

  Diane gathered them together just inside the main entrance. “You and Roman take Peter home,” she said to Jean. “One of Pfeiffer’s clerks will drive me to the bank and then to Beau’s.”

  “Will do,” Jean said. Peter was too shell-shocked to resist as she took one arm and Roman took the other, and they walked him through the crowd to the car, ignoring the cameras and shouted questions. Peter collapsed into the front seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He smelled strongly of nervous perspiration.

  “Are you all right?” Jean asked from the back seat.

  “Just exhausted and filthy. God, what a nightmare. I’m glad I didn’t go into criminal law. I’d hate to spend my time with the kind of people I had to deal with in there.”

  Jean leaned forward as Roman pulled into traffic. “We got a response to Zeppo’s ad. The man who pulled Martin out of the bay came to Beau’s house.” She told him the Ivan saga.

  “That’s great, if it’s true,” Peter said.

  “Peter, how much trouble are you really in?” Jean asked. “What have they got besides the fingerprints on the boutonnière and the theory about you and Diane?”

  “I’m not sure. They have my credit card records, they impounded my boat, my car’s in the police lab, and they searched my apartment. I feel as if I’m being dissected under a microscope. Pfeiffer’s worried, which really scares me.”

  Roman waited in a bus stop half a block from Peter’s Pacific Heights apartment building while Peter ran up and got a bag. Back at Beau’s, Jean showed him to the guest room, where he sank exhausted into a gray overstuffed chair.

  “I want you to know how happy I am about you and Diane hooking up,” Jean said, patting his shoulder.

  “We were both in a lot of pain, thanks to you. Not the best way to start a relationship.”

  “I suppose it’s all my fault you needed to salve your wounded male pride.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. She’s only been a widow for three weeks. I like and admire her very much, and yet I took advantage of her loneliness and vulnerability. And look where it got me.”

  “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll take the blame,” Jean said gently. “Mea culpa, OK? But you have to get over it and concentrate on the bigger problem.”

  He gazed at Jean. “You know this is insane, right?”

  “Of course. If you were a killer, you’d have strangled me long ago. And Peter, I’m sorry I caused you so much pain. Please believe that I never meant to. But you know we never could have made it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Now take a shower,” Jean said. “You stink.”

  She changed into capris and a T-shirt while Peter got cleaned up. Downstairs they found Zeppo in the kitchen.

  “They granted bail,” Jean told him. “It’s two million bucks, so let’s not lose track of him.”

  Zeppo eyed the other man warily. “Great, Peter. I’m glad they let you out.”

  “Don’t worry, Zeppo, I’m not angry,” Peter said. “I know how hard she is to resist. In any case, jealousy is the least of my problems now.”

  Zeppo made a pot of coffee and gave Peter a cup. As they sat at the kitchen table, Jean brought Peter up to date on their theories about Hugh Rivenbark and their two close calls.

  “My God,” Peter said. “I was right to be pissed at you. This really is dangerous.”

  “Shall we stop now?” Jean said sharply. “We’re the only ones who know all about Martin. Do you want to be tried for his murder?”

  “No, of course not. I just don’t w
ant you to get hurt. But I can’t very well rely on the police to find the real killer. I just hope I don’t have to tell Pfeiffer about the blue box.”

  “We’re with you there,” Zeppo said. “Let’s keep the lid on it.”

  The doorbell rang and Jean let Diane in. “Where is he?” she demanded, rushing past Jean. She dropped her purse and a manila envelope on the dark red sofa.

  “In the kitchen.” Jean followed her friend, and saw that Peter and Diane were embracing. “You two are going to have beautiful children,” she said.

  Zeppo, leaning against the counter, asked if anyone was hungry.

  “I’m starving,” Peter said. “It’s been hours since I’ve had any food worthy of the name.”

  Soon they were all seated around the kitchen table, feasting on leftover Mexican food while they told Zeppo the details of the bail hearing.

  “I’ll do dinner,” Diane announced when they’d finished eating.

  Jean looked at her aghast. “You’re not going to cook, are you?”

  “Of course not. I’ll call up Jardinière and have them send something over. We’ll plan dinner for eight o’clock—the three of you should be back by then.”

  The phone rang and Jean picked up.

  “I know you did this to me, you fucking cunt,” a man said harshly.

  It took Jean a few seconds to place the voice. “Armand? How did you get this number?”

  “I touch your goddamned tit and you ruin my life. You must think a lot of yourself.”

  “Hey, you’re finally getting what you deserve for all those times you did a lot more than touch someone’s tit.”

  “You’ll get what you deserve, too, bitch. Wait and see. I know exactly where you are.” He hung up.

  CHAPTER 36

  Zeppo looked at her with concern. “Setrakian?”

  “Yeah, and he’s really pissed.” She sat on Zeppo’s lap.

  He put his arms around her tightly. “What did he say?”

  “That he’s going to get even. He says he knows where I am.”

  “How in the world did he find you?” Diane asked.

  “Probably bought the information from one of San Francisco’s finest,” Roman said.

  “You don’t think much of the police, do you, Roman?” Peter remarked.

  “They start out no worse than anyone else, but it’s a dehumanizing job. Eventually they develop what Garcia Lorca called ‘el alma de charol,’ patent leather souls.”

  Peter yawned hugely and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got to lie down. Roman, thanks for letting us stay here. I realize it’s an imposition, and it’ll only get worse if the press finds us.”

  “No problem,” Roman said. “I’m sure Beau won’t mind our turning his house into Refugees R Us.”

  “We’ll be leaving soon, so let me show you how to work the alarm system,” Zeppo said. Diane and Peter followed him to the front door.

  “Jean, you never know what the police are cooking up,” Roman said, serious now. “If things start to look bad, I can get Peter out of the country. Let him know that’s an option.”

  “OK, although I can’t believe it’ll come to that.”

  A few minutes later Roman left for the marina where Nick kept his boat. Zeppo divided the cash, all in hundreds, between two smaller envelopes and put them in Jean’s purse. As they went out the door, he placed his hand gently on her back. “I’ll drive, Jeannie. I don’t think you’ve got the right temperament for rush-hour traffic.”

  “OK, but I get to drive home. Promise?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Zeppo navigated through town and got on the bridge approach, which was jammed. Sausalito was the first town on the Marin side of the bridge, a quaint mix of nautical-themed waterfront restaurants, expensive condos, and pricy tourist shops.

  Spindrift Restaurant was a blocky structure of gray weathered wood with a blue and white Hokusai wave on its sign. The parking lot was a third full. Inside, the dining room was nearly empty, but the bar did a lively business. Most of the clientele were B-list singles in their thirties and forties drinking blended Margaritas made with bar mix.

  Jean spotted Ivan at a booth near the bar, well away from the other diners, most of whom sat at window tables overlooking the bay. He wore the same plaid shirt over jeans, and was working his way through a half-eaten cheeseburger and a mountain of fries. He waved and they sat down across from him.

  “Sorry I started without you,” he said. “You want something?” He gestured for the waiter.

  Zeppo ordered fried calamari and a draft beer, Ivan had another beer, and Jean ordered a familiar if unexciting Chardonnay.

  “This is an OK place,” Ivan said. “I usually go to one of the dives nearer the harbor. There’s no Dead on the jukebox, but there’s some real talent here.” His head swiveled as two curvy blonds walked by. He looked back at Jean and winked. “Come to think of it, there’s some real talent at this table.”

  Zeppo cleared his throat. “Here’s my proposal. You give us the watch and tell us where you took Martin, and we give you $5,000 for the watch and whatever portion of the other $5,000 we deem appropriate once we’ve heard your information.”

  Ivan grinned. “You trying to jew with me again, kid? I may look mellow, but don’t let that fool you. You don’t want to stress me out. And Roman isn’t here to back you up this time. So let’s keep it simple: Hand over the ten grand and I’ll give you the merchandise.”

  The waiter delivered their drinks and food. “Be reasonable,” Zeppo said. “You can’t expect us to hand over the money before we’ve heard your story. And I don’t think you’re going to make a scene in public. So how about we give you five and you give us the watch. Then you tell us the location and we give you the other five.”

  Ivan shrugged. “Sure. I’ve wasted enough time on this thing.”

  Jean handed him one of the envelopes. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re awfully young for gray hair. I bet they call you the Silver Fox.”

  Jean rolled her eyes. “Don’t you want to count your money?”

  “I’m getting to that.” He emptied it onto the seat next to him and counted it quickly, then pulled the watch out of his breast pocket and gave it to her. She stuck it in her purse.

  Ivan leaned on his elbows. “OK, here’s the rest of it. After I finished my delivery, I took your man to Marina Green because I knew of a pay phone there. I waited on the pier to make sure he got a lift. He made a few calls—had to borrow change—and then asked if I’d take him to the South Beach Marina. He said he was going to see some woman.”

  Jean’s leg was pressed against Zeppo’s, and she felt him shift and tense up. “Oh yeah?” he said casually. “Who?”

  “He didn’t say. So I motored down there and dropped him off. He thanked me and said, ‘I’ll forget about meeting you if you forget about meeting me.’ That’s when he gave me the watch. Last I saw he was walking up the guest pier. I went straight back to Humboldt, and by the time I saw a newspaper they’d found his body. I was sorry to hear it. While I was waiting for my buyer, we smoked a spliff and talked awhile. He was an interesting dude, for a straight.”

  Zeppo nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds OK. I think we have a deal.”

  “Good. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get mean. You have any idea who did him?”

  “Not yet,” Zeppo said, “but this information may help.”

  Jean handed Ivan the second envelope, which he counted as well. He grinned hugely at Jean, his round cheeks nearly obscuring his eyes. “A pleasure doing business with you. Tell me one thing—does the collar match the cuffs?”

  Jean laughed. “You’ll just have to wonder, fat boy.”

  Zeppo, who’d taken out his wallet, put it away again. “For that,” he said, “you can pay the tab.”

  Jean heard Ivan’s rumbling chuckle as she and Zeppo slid out of the booth and headed for the door. “Peace,” he called after them.

  Out in the parking lot, Zeppo shook his head. “What an
asshole.”

  She gripped his arm. “You know something. What?”

  “I know where Martin went,” he said. “And I know who the woman is.”

  CHAPTER 37

  They got in the car. “All the years I worked for him, Martin always had a girlfriend,” Zeppo said. “One of his long-term ones was a Brazilian woman named Flavia Soares. You remember those waterfront condos he built? He gave her one. They’re right next to the South Beach Marina.”

  “That’s quite a gift. They must be worth millions. Was he still screwing her?”

  “I didn’t think so. I thought he was stuck on Diane. But now I’m not sure.”

  “Did you ever meet Flavia?” Jean asked.

  “Oh yeah, lots of times. She and Martin were really tight for a while.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Small and dark, of course. Beautiful, but really plastic. She was always getting her nails done and her hair straightened and her crotch waxed. Martin bought her a nose job, a boob job, botox treatments, you name it. She’s one of those women you wouldn’t recognize after a month on a desert island.”

  “What does she do for a living?”

  “Nothing much. She’s sort of a professional mistress.”

  “How come you never mentioned her before?”

  “I figured Martin’s old girlfriends were history. Come on, let’s get moving.”

  They got back on the freeway, Jean driving. “Why would Martin go there?” she asked.

  “Beats me. Tomorrow we’ll ask Flavia.”

  They’d expected a quick trip into the city, but near the bridge traffic slowed, and by the time they were on the span they were creeping along. Jean’s legs, still sore from the bike ride, got tired working the brake and the stiff clutch. “God, I hate the traffic in this town,” she said.

  “I don’t mind being stuck with you for company,” Zeppo said. They inched along for several minutes. The incoming fog obscured part of the skyline and the orange art deco bridge towers loomed above them. In spite of the beautiful setting, Jean felt herself getting cross as the traffic slowed even more.