by Joanne Pence
Angie knocked on Stan’s door when she got back to her apartment. He was wearing Kaitlyn on the Snugli. The front of his hair was plastered to his forehead. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it until she realized it was covered with baby formula.
“I think Hannah killed Tyler!” she cried.
He shut his door and hustled her into her own apartment. “You, too?” The words were a cri du coeur. “Paavo was here earlier. He said the same thing. She had no reason to do it!”
“But she did. The two of them planned to sell the baby. Hannah changed her mind and killed him.”
Stan stood still as if in shock. “They wanted to sell Kaitlyn? Impossible! Not Hannah.”
“It’s true.” Angie grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt, giving it a little shake as she spoke. “Not only that. Remember those things that looked like cradles that Leer and Zeno were carrying? I think they were cradles! I think they smuggle babies into the city on the boat and then sell them. Hannah must have been a part of it but then changed her mind and decided to keep her own child. That’s why she was so scared and ran away. Big money is involved. If she ever does try to come back, we’ve got to call Paavo immediately.”
“I can’t do it,” Stan said, breaking free and walking toward the sofa. He sat, covering his face.
Angie put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on, Stan?”
He dropped his hands. “Hannah’s back. She’s in my apartment. She’s sleeping and Kaitlyn was fussing and that’s why…” He glanced down at the baby, stuck like a barnacle against him. He told Angie about Hannah’s capture, and how she had a knife and was scared and crying, desperate to take the baby and run. “She’d never sell her.”
“If all that’s true, why didn’t Hannah go straight to the police to report Marsh?”
“I’m not sure…maybe she didn’t want to send someone she once loved to jail.”
“Oh, please!” Angie sneered. “You know what the police will think. They’ll think she didn’t go to them because she was involved, a part of the smuggling ring. And she killed him.”
“That’s impossible. You should see her. She’s weaker than ever, and mentally as well as physically exhausted. There’s no way she could have killed Tyler. She can scarcely think—she just leaned on me and I had to tell her to eat, tell her to go to bed. It was unbelievable.”
“Did you also tell her Tyler was found murdered?” Angie asked.
“No. I didn’t want to upset her more than she already is.”
Angie didn’t like the way he answered. “She may be weak now, but how do you know she didn’t kill him in the passion of the moment, so to speak?”
Stan looked scared. “I believe her. Anyway, if even you think she might be guilty, what good would it do her to go to the police? She wouldn’t stand a chance.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got to prove she’s innocent. You need to help me, Angie. Somehow, we’ll do it.”
“I can’t work against Paavo!” she cried.
“You won’t be. You’ll be helping him find the true murderer.”
Stan was right. “Everything revolves around the Athina,” she said. “There’s a murderer out there…and possibly a smuggling operation. We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”
“Hell, no! I’m not going back!” Stan said. “They know too much about me. They’ll kill me. I think Michael Zeno is the one who killed Tyler because he was jealous of him and Hannah, and he feels the same about me!”
“I’m not saying go into the restaurant. I’m saying we’ve got to hide somewhere after hours and watch it.”
“What if we don’t hide good enough? We’re talking about someone who’s already killed, Angie. What if he finds us?” He shuddered, and in a whimper said, “There’s got to be another way.”
“There isn’t. I don’t want to be in danger any more than you do,” she said firmly. “Besides, I promised Paavo we wouldn’t go near the restaurant. Instead, we’ll use binoculars and hide far away. If we’re going to do this, though, you need to decide right now. As soon as we know for sure that Rebecca Mayfield has a warrant for Hannah’s arrest, we either tell where Hannah is, or we’re harboring a fugitive. I don’t want to spend my engagement in jail.”
“Do I have a choice?” Stan asked in a tiny voice.
“No.”
The more Paavo thought about Olympia Pappas, the more curious he became. Unless Angie had badly misread the woman, which wasn’t likely, she’d lied to Rebecca about her feelings for Tyler. The lie made sense, considering the situation, but it was troubling enough to make him want to check her out further.
He called John Erickson, Central Station’s captain, and a guy he’d worked with on several cases over the years. He explained his interest in Pappas. “I’d like to know, as closely as possible, what her duties were between midnight and one A.M., May first,” he said.
Erickson phoned back about ten minutes later. “She’d worked in files, alone, basically taking stacks of forms and reports and filing them in the proper folder, or making up folders if it was a new case. That time of night, no one had supervised her, or even paid attention to how much, or how little, work she’d gotten done.”
“You’ve been a big help, John. Thanks,” Paavo said. “Is she on duty tonight?”
“Let me see…. No, she’s off. She’ll be here tomorrow, though, swing shift. Three to midnight. Is Olympia a suspect?” Erickson asked.
“Not yet. I’ll have to talk to her, though.”
“She’s a good woman,” Erickson said. “A little messed up about the dead guy, but I can’t see her killing him.”
That seemed to be how everyone felt, Paavo thought. “Let’s hope you’re right, for her sake.”
At three A.M., Angie drove to Fisherman’s Wharf and easily parked. She was getting to like these hours.
Stan brought Kaitlyn, afraid to leave her home with a weak and sleeping Hannah. Not to mention that the woman had possibly murdered the baby’s father. Stan didn’t think she had, but if he was wrong, he didn’t want to take the chance with Kaitlyn—and Angie had promised they wouldn’t get too close. It should be safe, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t endanger the baby by taking part. That was that.
Near the Athina, the Hyde Street Pier had several schooners set up as living museums on the water. They headed out onto the pier, binoculars in hand. The eerie night fog gave the ships a ghostly quality.
Stan fastened the Snugli, hefted the diaper bag onto his shoulder, and he and Angie set off into the mist. Soon, he grabbed Angie’s hand. “This looks like a scene in a creepy pirate movie,” he said.
“Yo, ho, ho,” she whispered, then chuckled nervously. “Let’s go a little farther out onto the pier. I can’t quite see the restaurant.”
“But we can see the dock, and no boat is there. Let’s stay here. It’s safer…for the baby.”
“Come on!” She pulled him and he stumbled a few steps farther out in the open. “If we want to spy on smugglers, we’ve got to find a good vantage point. This isn’t it.”
“No!” He pulled back, and she was jerked toward him.
“You’re being silly!” She tugged again.
“You’re being nuts!” He dug in his heels. Kaitlyn began to cry, and he put the heavy diaper bag on the ground and unzipped it, looking for a bottle to quiet her.
Suddenly a bright flashlight coming from the direction of the Athina aimed directly at them. The two froze. They couldn’t tell who or what held it.
“Run!” Angie cried. “They might have a gun!” She turned and raced out of the light, away from the ships, the wharf, and whatever else threatened. Stan grabbed the open diaper bag in one hand, the other holding the baby close. As he awkwardly ran, diapers tumbled out, got caught in the breeze, and flitted around the dock like so many miniature ghosts.
On the sidewalk, they saw some men running their way.
Angie froze.
Stan somehow got the strap of the diaper bag over his head, around his neck
and shoulder, and with his now-free hand, he grabbed Angie and pulled her along toward her car, running like a galumphing pack animal as fast as he could, and crying, “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” the entire way.
Angie doubted it was chivalry, though. She had the car keys in her pocket.
Chapter 26
Paavo had just reached his desk with his morning cup of coffee when two men in gray suits approached. They looked so different from “normal” people, the word FED could have been stamped on their foreheads. He stood.
“Paavo Smith?” a fifty-something man with short-clipped gray hair asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Agent Doone. This is Agent Thompson, FBI.” Thompson was a younger man, blond and brash with a tough-guy stance that made Paavo want to smirk. They showed their badges. “We’d like to talk to you and Inspector Mayfield,” Doone said.
“Mayfield’s in court this morning,” Paavo explained. “She should be back around noon.”
“You’ll have to do, then. Seems we’re right behind you in this investigation,” Doone said.
Experience told Paavo that FBI involvement in anything he was doing meant bad news. “Which investigation is that?”
Thompson bristled and answered for Doone. “Sherlock Farnsworth, a.k.a. Shelly Farms.” He spat out the name as if Paavo were an idiot for not knowing.
Paavo sucked in his breath. “What’s your interest?”
“Nothing that is of concern to you or Mayfield,” Doone replied. “In fact, the more you two find out about the case, the more trouble that might cause us.”
“Farnsworth was killed in our jurisdiction,” Paavo said. “We need to find out who did it.”
“You need to stay away from the Athina,” Thompson added, his voice raised.
“No way,” Paavo said.
Doone looked around the bureau. Only the secretary and Bo Benson were there. Benson looked ready to intercede if necessary. “Where can we talk in private?” Doone asked.
Paavo led the agents to Homicide’s interrogation room, a plain, windowless room with only a wooden table in the center and two metal chairs on either side.
“Okay,” Doone growled. “We’ll fill you in on what’s going on. It’s probably better than to have any more slipups like last night’s.”
“Last night?” Paavo asked.
Doone ignored that question, and instead told him about what the Feds called the “baby train.” It involved a team of smugglers. When they found a woman who was pregnant and didn’t want the child, they told her abortion and state-sanctioned adoption weren’t the only alternatives, that the child could be given life, a good home with well-to-do parents who wanted it enough to pay big bucks, and the mother would be amply compensated for her troubles as well—usually to the tune of $20,000 to $25,000 cash. For many women, that represented a year’s salary or more.
If the mother agreed, as she neared delivery time she’d be moved to a small apartment somewhere in Los Angeles, away from family and friends so no one could come along and talk her out of what she’d agreed to. After giving birth, she’d return to the apartment or a nice hotel to recuperate for a week or two. The baby would be put on a fishing boat that was set up like a traveling nursery and brought to the city. Such a boat was easy to hide in Fisherman’s Wharf and easier to use to transport several babies at once than was a car or bus.
The soon-to-be parents would stay in San Francisco awaiting the child’s arrival. Once the baby was in hand, they’d pay the rest of the money—often a total of around $75,000.
The day before he died, Farnsworth had tipped off the FBI that the Athina was central to this scheme. Since then, they’d been trying to get two things: proof of involvement of the people at the Athina, and to find out who the true honcho was that oversaw the whole operation. They’d finally gotten the okay from on high to set up surveillance of the restaurant, when a young couple with a baby wandered onto the scene and disrupted everything.
Paavo listened to Doone’s story with interest. From what he’d seen, the Athina owners might be a lot more involved than the FBI thought. Look at their treatment of Hannah. He wondered why she hadn’t been sent away to Los Angeles, and if it had anything to do with Tyler being the father.
“You have no proof?” Paavo asked.
“Farnsworth was working on getting some. We’re sure that’s why he’s dead. We think that may be why your other case—Tyler Marsh—is dead as well. He was on our list of people to watch. Farnsworth was very interested in the man for some reason.”
Suddenly the interrogation room door opened and Angie and Stan peeked in. “Oops! I’m sorry,” Angie said to Paavo. “When I heard you weren’t doing an interrogation, I thought it meant you were alone. I’ve got to talk to you soon as you’re free.” She backed from the room, pulling the door shut.
Thompson’s eyes widened with shock. “Freeze!” he yelled, and jumped to his feet as his hand slipped under his jacket to his shoulder holster. Paavo put a hand on the man’s arm, stopping him.
“Me?” Angie asked, her head swiveling from the crazy man to Paavo. Stan, who was peeking into the room with the baby still glued to his stomach, clutched Angie’s arm.
“What are you doing?” Paavo’s tone was loud, firm, and furious. “That’s my fiancée.”
“What?” Thompson and Doone both gasped.
“Angie Amalfi,” Paavo said, as she let the door swing wide open, “meet Agents Thompson and Doone. And”—he did a double-take as he looked at Stan, unshaven, hair in need of a trim and unmoussed, wearing wrinkled clothes with baby spit-up on his shoulder, and a small bonneted baby in some kind of sling against his chest—“this is her neighbor, Stan Bonnette.”
“They’re the two who wrecked our operation last night,” Thompson yelled. “We should arrest them for obstructing justice!”
Angie and Stan huddled in the doorway while the baby made gurgling noises.
“They’re the couple with a kid?” Paavo asked, shocked.
“Well…uh…” Thompson now looked confused, and glanced at Doone for help.
The way the older man was glaring at her, Angie half expected a low-hanging ceiling light and rubber hoses to appear, but as she thought about it, she grew irritated. “It was the FBI crawling all over that pier?” she asked, disentangling herself from her supposed partner in crime. “Chasing us and scaring us half to death?”
Thompson waggled his thumb toward Stan, and in a falsetto said, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Then he laughed. The others ignored him except for Stan, who flushed rosy red.
“We set up surveillance and wondered why you were watching us,” Doone said. “We thought you might be connected with the restaurant until we saw the way you ran. Still, you were so loud we had to pick up stakes for another day.”
“You’re the ones who scared us with that light beam. We would have been quiet if you hadn’t done that,” Angie insisted.
Thompson puffed out his chest. “You two civilians screwed up everything. A boat is due in soon. Now we aren’t ready.”
Angie glanced at Stan, then noticed Paavo glowering at her.
“I’ve warned you the place is dangerous, Angie,” Paavo said. “You and Stan will stay far away from it if I have to lock you both in City Jail until this is over. Is that clear?”
“We were just trying to help!” Angie said. “Nobody there cares about us.”
“Tyler Marsh did,” Paavo said. “When Peter Leong woke up—he’ll be all right, by the way—he ID’d Tyler as the man who attacked him.”
“I see,” Angie said with a gulp, suddenly not nearly so sure of herself. “Let’s go, Stan.” The two marched out the door without a backward glance, Angie with her head held high. She knew when it was time to keep her mouth shut.
When Stan entered his apartment, Hannah was seated on the sofa by the window, the sun streaming in on her, showering her in golden light.
At the sound of the door, she faced him, her eyes sad and red, as if she’d been crying. “I
decided to look at the newspaper today while you went for a walk with Kaitlyn. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He detached Kaitlyn and handed her the baby, who only squawked a short while before settling down as her mother gave her a bottle.
He knew Hannah was talking about Tyler. Had he purposefully saved those old Chronicles so she would spot them? It was a coward’s way out, but he didn’t think he could bear to tell her and then see her face reflect her grief over the scumbag. Or worse, her guilt.
He sat in the easy chair near her and clasped his hands. “You should know,” he began softly, “the police suspect you did it.”
“Me?” Her brown eyes searched his face as if looking for a sign that he was joking, all the while knowing he wouldn’t joke about this. Finally, she dropped her gaze. “I’ll admit,” she whispered, “there were times I would have liked to kill him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
“I know.” He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but it was caked with baby formula. He dropped his hand to his lap in disgust. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Where were you when Tyler was killed?”
Her face stricken, she stood and grabbed a diaper to change the baby. “You believe I killed Tyler?”
“Why not?” His tone was harsh. “When have you ever opened up to me enough that I should believe or understand anything about you?”
In silence, she took care of Kaitlyn and then laid her in her crib. Stan looked down at the baby. “Angie said you and Tyler planned to sell her.”
Hannah froze. “It’s not true!”
“Isn’t it?” Stan asked.
She walked to the sofa and he followed. She sat, and then slowly began to talk about the day Tyler informed her of a loving, wealthy couple supposedly too old to adopt through the agencies. He explained that they would set up the child with trust funds and every possible need should something happen to them. Their child would be well looked after the rest of its life.
At first, willing to do anything in hopes Tyler would love her again, she’d agreed.