“Emotional problems?” I ask. “Financial problems? Depression? Substance abuse?”
“Nothing as far as I can tell. My friend at the redevelopment agency said he took his wife’s death very hard.”
I ask her what she’s found out about the studio project.
“It’s up for final approval by the redevelopment agency a week from Friday.”
“Any word about a competing proposal?”
“Just rumors.”
“We should try to find out everything we can before the arraignment,” I say. I volunteer to go down to the Hall to see Inspector O’Brien. Maybe I can persuade him to let me see the inside of Angel’s house. Carolyn agrees to track down the limo company and the caterers.
Rosie says, “I’m going to see Theresa and my mother.”
“What about Kent’s son?” Carolyn asks.
“Let’s give him until tomorrow,” Rosie says. “They just found the body this morning.”
I ask, “And Ellis?”
Rosie smiles and says, “You could use a trip to Vegas.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.” Then I say, “I think I’ll have a talk with Daniel Crown and his wife.”
Rosie gives me a sardonic grin. “You know Daniel Crown?”
“Not exactly.”
“How do you figure a movie star will talk to you?”
“I know where he hangs out.”
This elicits a bemused look. “Since when did you start hanging out with movie stars?”
“Do you want me to talk to him or not?”
“Of course. How do you know where to find him? This isn’t Beverly Hills. They don’t sell maps that show where the stars eat up here.”
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
I raise an eyebrow and say, “It’s a secret. If I tell you, you’ll tell somebody else, then they’ll leak it to the papers. Then the National Enquirer will show up and start taking pictures. He’ll stop going there. The owner of the place will be very unhappy.”
She’s still trying to figure out if I’m pulling her leg. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
I glance at Carolyn. “Me neither,” she says. She pantomimes turning a key in front of her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“Willie’s Café in Kentfield,” I say. “He goes there for coffee every morning after he drops his son off at school. He stands in line like everybody else.”
“How did you find out about this?”
“Becky told me.”
“And who is Becky?”
“I’m told she makes the finest lattés in the state of California.”
“Since when did you start drinking lattés?”
“I don’t. I stop there every Saturday and order black coffee.”
“I didn’t know you were becoming a connoisseur of fine coffee.”
“A man can’t live on Maxwell House alone.”
Rosie gives me a broad smile. “You’re serious.”
“Indeed I am.”
“What are you going to do? Stop by Willie’s on the way to work in the morning and try to chat him up?”
“Essentially. He seems nice on TV. We could call his agent, but we won’t get anything. We can send him a subpoena, but we’ll only get a chance to talk to his lawyer. You got any better ideas?”
Rosie chuckles. “Knowing you,” she says, “it’s just screwy enough to work.”
“You can come with me. Would you like to meet him?”
“I’d love to. He’s gorgeous.”
“I don’t think he’ll try to make a pass at you at Willie’s. They frown on that kind of behavior.”
Rosie’s face lights up. “I’ll meet you there after I drop Grace off at school.”
“Deal.”
“What if he doesn’t show up?”
“The French toast is superb.”
# # #
I’m walking back to my office a few minutes later when Carolyn stops me in the hall. “Do you have a couple of minutes?” she asks. “Ben’s here.”
A moment later, I’m sitting on the windowsill in Carolyn’s cramped office next door to mine. Her son, Ben Taylor, towers above her. His chiseled features are strikingly similar to his father’s, an egomaniacal tax attorney with a big downtown firm with whom he no longer speaks. He’s wearing baggy jeans and a Giants t-shirt, and his red hair is dyed an unnatural blond. A single gold earring hangs from his pierced left ear. His handshake is firm. He gives me a disarming smile and says, “I guess I really did it this time.”
“We’ll get this straightened out,” I tell him. I’ve known him since he was a baby. He’s a good kid who carries the all-too-familiar baggage. His parents divorced when he was three, and he never got along with Carolyn’s second husband. He got good grades until high school, but that’s when his rebellious nature succumbed to the many temptations presented to kids nowadays. He was an honors student his freshman year, but he barely made it to graduation and skated into State by his fingernails. He got a dose of reality when he moved into his own apartment. Then he started to apply himself toward school. He made the dean’s list last semester and started talking about graduate school.
He looks down for an instant. Then he glances at his mother. I look at Carolyn and say, “Maybe you could give us a moment?”
She says, hesitating, “Sure.” She heads down the hall.
Ben turns to me and says, “There was a party near Candlestick. I was the only person who wasn’t drunk or stoned. I offered a ride to a guy from school. I was carrying his backpack when the cops showed up.”
“What was in it?”
“Ecstasy.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to talk to somebody who has gotten in trouble over the popular drug. Ecstasy, or methylenedioxymethamphetamine, is a psychoactive chemical that was first synthesized a hundred years ago for use as an appetite suppressant. It comes in tablet form and became popular in the late eighties at late-night rave parties. Users experience great relaxation and profound positive feelings. However, it suppresses the desires to eat, drink and sleep, often resulting in dehydration or exhaustion. It can cause nausea, hallucinations, chills, sweats and blurred vision, and the after-effects include anxiety, paranoia and depression.
“That stuff can kill you,” I say.
“I know.”
I ask him, “Did you take any?”
“No.”
“Were you selling?”
“Absolutely not, but I was holding a backpack with a thousand dollars’ worth of pills in it. I told the cops it wasn’t mine, but they didn’t believe me. They hauled in my classmate and found a couple of pills in his pocket. They charged him with misdemeanor possession, and then dropped the charges against him when he agreed to testify against me.”
This is serious. “They’ve charged you with a felony. You could go to prison.”
He swallows hard. “I understand.”
I look him right in the eye and ask, “Are you telling me the truth, Ben?”
His eyes lock onto mine. His tone is emphatic when he says, “Yes.”
If you’re lying to me, I’ll rip that earring off with my bare hands. “What have you told the cops?”
“Nothing.” He darts a glance out the window and says, “It’s one of the things you learn when your mother is a prosecutor.”
“So, you’ve observed a few things along the way.”
He gives me a serious look and says, “I know how it looks. I made a mistake. It shouldn’t screw up my entire life.”
I’m inclined to believe him. “Let me talk to the prosecutor and review the file.” I pause and say, “You understand that legal representation costs money.”
He nods.
“My billing rate is two hundred dollars an hour.”
“I know.” He says in a tenuous tone, “I swear I’m good for it, Mike.” He hesitates and adds, “Do you think you can fix this
?”
“I can’t make any promises, but I think I can persuade them to reduce the charges to something more reasonable.”
He tugs at his earring and says, “Thanks, Mike.”
# # #
“Did you believe him?” Carolyn asks. We’re sitting in my office a few minutes later. Ben just left.
“I think so. It’s one thing to lie to your parents. That’s a time-honored tradition. It’s another thing to lie to your mother’s law partner and former high school sweetheart. That would be really embarrassing.”
She gives me an uncomfortable grin. “Thanks Mike.”
Rolanda appears at my doorway. Her expression is serious. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she says to me. “Something’s come up.”
Carolyn excuses herself. I turn back to Rolanda and says, “Is it about Angel?”
“No. It’s about my father.”
*****
Chapter 14
“They Want to Ask Him Some Questions”
“We have been asked to conduct a full investigation of the China Basin project. We have received credible information suggesting that certain parties have attempted to influence the redevelopment process through questionable means. We will provide additional details at the appropriate time.”
— San Francisco Chief of Police. Sunday, June 6.
The door to my office is closed.
“I understand you spoke with my dad,” Rolanda says. She could be Rosie’s younger sister. Their voices are similar and their inflections are identical. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to say anything to you.”
Her dark eyes flash. “I just talked to him.”
Uh-oh. “Where is he?”
“Mission Police Station. They want to ask him some questions about the China Basin project.” She gives me a sharp look and adds, “He said you’d be able to fill me in on the details.”
“I’m sorry, Rolanda.”
“He’s my father. I had a right to know.”
“He was embarrassed. Maybe you’ll have your chance to help him out.” I pause and then ask, “Did they arrest him?”
“No. I told him we’d get down there right away.”
I stand up and say, “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you have to go see Inspector O’Brien?”
“Not until after we’ve talked to your dad.”
The corners of her mouth turn up slightly.
I grab my briefcase. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
# # #
“What’s going on?” I say to Sergeant Dennis Alvarez, who is standing in an airless interrogation room at Mission Station, a modern, low-rise building on Valencia, between Seventeenth and Eighteenth, about a mile from Sylvia’s house. Tony is sitting in a heavy wooden chair. His hands are folded on the table in front of him. He hasn’t said a word since we arrived. Rolanda is sitting next to him.
Alvarez chooses his words carefully. “We have reason to believe Mr. Fernandez may have information about the China Basin project,” he says. His guarded tone is cause for concern because he’s family. He grew up down the block from Rosie and Tony, and he was in Tony’s class at St. Peter’s. He’s a tough cop and a straight shooter.
Tony says, “What’s this ‘Mr. Fernandez’ bullshit? We’ve known each other for forty years.”
Alvarez shifts on the balls of his feet, but doesn’t respond.
Tony starts to say something and I stop him. Rolanda puts her hand on his and says, “Let’s hear what Dennis has to say.”
I turn to Alvarez and say, “Maybe we should discuss this outside.”
Tony interjects again. “We’ll discuss it right here.”
Rolanda gives me a concerned glance. I see the determined look in Tony’s eyes and say, “You don’t need to talk to him, Tony.”
“I understand.”
Alvarez says, “We’re looking for information.”
Tony gives his friend the eye and says, “If all you wanted was information, why did you send a squad car over to the market? You could have called. I would have come right over.”
Alvarez swallows. “Orders.”
“From whom?” I ask.
“My captain. He got a call from the chief.” He looks at Tony through tired eyes and says, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Tony is seething. “I had a store full of customers.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“What’s this all about?” Tony asks.
“We think money is changing hands in connection with the China Basin project.”
Tony’s expression doesn’t change. He remains silent.
I say, “Tony runs a produce market.”
“We think he may know something.” Alvarez lowers his voice and says, “The chief got a call from Jerry Edwards at the Chronicle.”
Edwards is an overbearing investigative reporter who spends his life digging up dirt on the mayor. He’s also the self-appointed watchdog for graft. He’s on a mission to stop the China Basin project. When he isn’t brandishing his word processor at the Chronicle, he takes his gratuitous swipes on the morning news show on Channel 2. He took particular glee in hammering Carl Ellis when it was revealed he had been indicted a few years ago on charges of bribing local officials in Las Vegas. Although Edwards didn’t mention it, the charges were dropped. His attacks have become more strident as approval of the project has gotten closer.
“He’s been whining for two years,” I say.
“He’s working on another story. He thinks somebody is lining up support from the neighborhood businesses.”
“It isn’t illegal to exercise your first amendment right of free speech.”
Alvarez shows his first sign of irritation. “Edwards claims somebody is trying to funnel cash to the local businesses to buy their support.”
I feign indignation. “Let’s assume he’s right. As long as they report it, there isn’t anything illegal about it.”
“It stinks,” he says.
That it does.
“There’s more,” Alvarez continues. “Edwards says money is being kicked back into the mayor’s campaign chest. It’s a charade to circumvent the limits on campaign contributions and buy influence.” He points a finger at me and says, “That’s when it becomes illegal.”
Although he’s a shameless publicity hound, Edwards is a good reporter. Sounds like he’s got the whole scheme figured out.
“Look,” Alvarez says to Tony, “I don’t like to hassle my friends.”
I believe him.
“We read the papers,” he continues. “We watch TV. We have to look into it.” He pauses and adds, “The last thing I need is to see my name in Edwards’ column. And I really don’t want to hear my name when Edwards does his shtick on Mornings on Two.”
I ask, “What do you want from Tony?”
“I want to know if it’s true.”
Tony’s eyes narrow. “Are you asking me if somebody offered me money?”
“Yes.”
“People offer me money every day.”
Alvarez strokes his mustache. “Come on, Tony. Did anybody involved in the China Basin project approach you?”
I interject, “You don’t have to answer that, Tony.”
He waves me off. He turns to Alvarez and says, “I’m not talking. Are you going to arrest me?”
Alvarez’s tone becomes emphatic. “We aren’t interested in you. We’re trying to find out where the money is coming from.”
Tony looks Alvarez in the eye and says, “I don’t know.”
“Is Carl Ellis involved?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“We did. He’s denied everything.”
Tony gives Alvarez a sarcastic grin and says, “Big surprise.”
“What about Dick MacArthur?” Alvarez asks.
“He’s dead,” Tony says.
“Was he involved?”
MD03 - Criminal Intent Page 15