Killer Karma

by Lee Killough

  “It definitely isn’t Benay’s. We’ll need to check the DNA, of course, but my gut says…” Razor let the sentence trail off. He cleared his throat. “We have a bullet, too. I don’t know what shape it’s in but let’s hope good enough to match it to the gun it came from.”

  Sherrie’s mouth trembled. “I — ” Her voice broke. She sagged against the wall. “I don’t care about that. I want him back.”

  A strangling hand closed around Cole’s throat.

  A brunette nurse passing by stopped to listen.

  “Razor…please find his body.” It came out as little more than a whisper.

  Whether she felt it or not, he wrapped his arms around her. If only he could really hold her…make her pain go away. “Sherrie…” How did he apologize enough for putting her through this.

  She hung up with a shaking hand and, shivering, turned away from the phone. Slipping out through his arms. Knowing she would did not stop the bleak ache it brought.

  The male nurse said, “I’m so sorry. I’ve been praying he turns up alive. Do they have any idea who did it?”

  She stared blindly at him, face so tight it looked ready to shatter. “Not yet. Excuse me; I’d better get this room cleaned.” She turned and looked around, but Cole doubted she saw the jumbled casting cart or the crumpled sheets on the exam bed.

  “I can do it,” the male said. “You go sit down for a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, no.” She fumbled toward the bed. “I don’t want time to think.”

  The nurse watched while she started stripping off the sheets, his face creased in concern, then he left the room.

  The brunette moved close to him. “So her husband’s dead?” she murmured.

  “It looks like it,” he whispered back. “Earlier she told me they found his car with blood in it, and I guess they’ve identified the blood as his.”

  The pair of them started away. The brunette stopped whispering. “Well…if they’re looking for who someone with a motive to kill him, they ought to see if that blonde hanging on him in Bon Vivre Monday night has a jealous husband or boyfriend.”

  Cole winced. Just his luck that someone who knew him was there, though her face rang no bells for him. Sara had not been “hanging” on him, though!

  Arriving half an hour late and breathless, Sara had tucked an arm through his, yes, and leaned her forehead against his shoulder as she heaved a huge sigh. “Here I am, finally…no thanks to Tyrannosaurus Regina. God what a day!” But he peeled her off even before asking what she wanted to drink.

  The male nurse halted. “Are you sure it was her husband?”

  The brunette cocked an eyebrow at him. “Tall guy…lanky…looks a little like Jimmy Stewart, right?” When the other nurse nodded, she went on, “So anyway, this blonde was all over him when she came in. Then they snuggled up together in a back booth, making out over a cozy dinner.”

  What! Cole glared at her. How the hell did she see make snuggling out of sitting on opposites of the booth? And no one could have seen Sara’s foot crawling up his leg later. He peered at her name badge. Debra Brewer. That rang no bell, either. Why was she-

  In the orthopedic room, breath caught sharply. Horror shot through Cole. Oh no. No! Running back inside, he found Sherrie standing with her arms full of sheets and her face bloodless. She had heard. And in her stricken face he saw the demons from her childhood sinking claws and fangs into her.

  “Sherrie, no! What she said isn’t true! It didn’t happen like that!” Damn! If only she would hear him. “Babe, listen to me. Brewer doesn’t remember how it really was, or else she’s trying to make it a juicy story!”

  Sherrie turned away and stumbled to the laundry hamper. Cole followed her for a step, then halted, staring after her in despair. How much deeper and darker could this hole he dug for himself go?

  12

  He had to find Sara! Once she was safe, her name cleared, and Gao dealt with for assaulting her…then Sara could set the record straight with Sherrie, give her the true story. But first, he had to find her.

  Cole shut out the anguish from Sherrie’s pain and his anger at Brewer to try returning straight to Homicide. Concentrating, he visualized the room from the perspective of Hamada’s desk, feeling himself standing there. Nothing happened.

  Cole ground his teeth in frustration. Why could he go to Burglary with no trouble, but not Homicide, just down the hall? It made no sense. But, fine…he would ziptrip to Burglary and walk on down to…

  …Homicide, the thought finished lamely as he found himself standing at its inner door. Cole fought an urge to bang his head against the door jam. Son of a bitch. This had no rhyme or reason. It was going to drive him bonkers.

  “Someone’s playing games with me, aren’t they?” he said to the ceiling. “Well screw you.”

  He stalked across the room to Hamada’s desk…straight through other desks, a typewriter, and the legs of the detective at the typewriter. Sending the typewriter ball into a brief spinning frenzy and Darrell Wineright starting in consternation.

  Hamada and Razor glanced curiously toward Wineright. Willner and Galentree looked around from muttering together over Galentree’s laptop.

  Dennis seemed oblivious. “…no trouble finding the guy,” he said. “He claims he doesn’t have any idea where Benay could be. He’s a flake, though. When I asked him about her I got this long silence at first, and then he said I wouldn’t believe it but he woke up this morning thinking about where she might go to get away from everything…because — get this — last night he dreamed Jimmy Stewart asked him about her.” Dennis rolled his eyes.

  Hamada’s brows rose. “Interesting coincidence.”

  Cole frowned. Lockhart never mentioned that “Stewart” — did he look more like the actor in the dark? — gave him Razor’s name to call in case he remembered anything? That would have given them, and especially Razor, real “coincidence” to chew on.

  Maybe Razor was already struck by Lockhart’s dream. He had straightened in the chair, eyes narrowing. A moment later, though, he shook his head.

  Cole elbowed him. “No, don’t you write it off as coincidence! I visited him. And Kenisha Hayes. Remember her name coming up last night?”

  Razor’s only response was a flinch.

  “Lockhart did have one suggestion.” Dennis handed Hamada a sheet of the memo pad. “Talk to a girlfriend named Kenisha Hayes.”

  Razor started.

  Hamada looked over at him. “You know the woman?”

  Cole heard mental wheels race. Razor shrugged. “I remember Cole mentioning the name one time when he was talking about Flaxx Enterprises.”

  Dennis nodded. “Lockhart said Hayes works with Benay.”

  “Well, then…” Hamada straightened his tie. “I think a personal visit to the folks at Flaxx Enterprises is in order.”

  Cole hoped Hayes could give them more information than she had given him. Even if not, the visit should still be good for seeing Gao’s reaction to Hamada’s questions.

  Dennis sighed and started to heave out of his chair.

  Hamada flicked him a glance. “I think I can handle it alone.”

  Dennis relaxed, clearly relieved.

  Cole grimaced. Before I get that burned out, please someone shoot me.

  Oh yeah, somebody already had.

  “Why don’t you run Benay through the computer.” Hamada pulled his gun out of a desk drawer and shoved it in the holster on his belt. “See if she owns a handgun. Then since the car ended up in San Jose, contact the airline desks there to see if she bought a ticket. And let’s get Dunavan’s case file on the Flaxx burglaries so we can go through it.” He headed over to the radio rack, then out the door.

  As soon as Hamada disappeared, Razor casually stood up. “I think I need a cigarette.” He strolled for the door, too.

  Cigarette? Following him, Cole hoped not. He intended to be there at Flaxx Enterprises with Hamada, but if Razor were, too, the better the two of them could discuss things…once
Razor started seeing him.

  Sure enough, in the hallway, Razor’s stroll abruptly became a running walk. He caught up with Hamada at the elevator. Cole halted behind them.

  Hamada glanced sideways at Razor. “If you’re wanting what I think…it’s a bad idea.”

  “I just want to ride along.”

  Hamada shook his head. “You have too big an emotional stake.”

  Razor’s jaw squared. “When a fellow officer’s been killed, are any of us objective? Look, I can’t sit and do nothing.”

  “There’s a phone on my desk and a whole lot of airlines to check in San Jose.”

  The elevator opened. Razor followed Hamada in.

  The car already held some uniformed officers, a trio Cole recognized as Public Defenders, and a suit who looked like a private attorney. Cole walked up the side of the car and stood horizontal to the ceiling with his head above Razor’s.

  Hamada lowered his voice. “You wouldn’t be thinking this Hayes woman can point you to Benay ahead of everyone else.”

  Razor shook his head emphatically. “If she’s guilty, she’s all yours.”

  He put some emphasis on if, Cole noted with satisfaction. So Razor was reserving judgement on her guilt. Maybe he had not dismissed the night’s conversation as just a dream. That was progress.

  The uniformed officers and lawyers left at the ground floor. Razor stayed on for the ride to the basement. “Cole and I discussed Flaxx Enterprises extensively. Wouldn’t you like information on the local fauna before you walk into their jungle?”

  The elevator halted. Cole stepped down to the floor and followed Razor and Hamada out into the garage.

  Hamada raised his brows. “How long does the wildlife orientation take?”

  Razor’s face went deadpan. “Too long to give you here.”

  Hamada snorted. “That figures. But you can fit it into a drive to Embarcadero Center, I suppose.”

  Cole heard Razor’s heart rate jump. “No problem.”

  Hamada’s mouth quirked. He walked away. “Start talking.”

  Cole had no interest in hearing facts and gossip he gave Razor in the first place. He might as well go on to the Flaxx offices and do a little surveillance. “Don’t forget to tell him how Flaxx and Lamper hooked up,” he called after Razor. So Hamada could understand that relationship.

  According to Gina Galechas, it happened their sophomore year in high school, when Flaxx rescued Lamper from jocks who were stuffing him into a locker. Cole wondered what the real story was. He had trouble seeing Donald Flaxx as a defender of the underdog. However it went down, the deed won Flaxx slavish devotion.

  Cole brought up a mental image of the reception area. Could he parlay the last successful ziptrips into another one?

  Apparently not. Despite hard concentration, to his frustration he remained in the garage. Well, there was always the Dunavan Diagonal. He walked out of the garage and trotted skyward. On the way up, he glanced south toward San Francisco General. That trip made a kind of sense. However hit and miss, every successful ziptrip went to a destination he knew. Any place he saw, he certainly knew. So maybe he could zip line-of-sight.

  When he had a clear view of the Financial District skyscrapers, he sighted on the dark bulk of the Bank of America building and visualized himself there. Seconds later he stood on the building roof. Sweet! This helped travel a lot…even with multiple jumps being slower than a direct shot. He still wanted to work that out.

  The Financial District spread below him, letting him spot and ziptrip to the roof of the 2EC tower, and from there, lope down the side of the building a window he recognized. Bookkeeping.

  He passed through the window and crossed toward the door. Everyone looked busy at their work stations, including Mrs. Gao. Cole paused beside Sara’s computer, the only one not turned on, and glanced toward Gao’s back. Even when he replayed Sara’s frightened voice in his head, Gao failed to look dangerous. What if he rattled her cage a little?

  He closed his eyes and worked a finger on the power button until he felt the tickle of connection. Then he stepped up against Sara’s shelves to watch the computer boot and check out staff reactions.

  No one noticed.

  Cole smiled. Okay, then he would play some more.

  He brought up a notepad program and started typing.

  At the desk behind Sara’s, Joy Quon glanced past her own monitor, then in a double-take, leaned sideways for a better view around it. Her jaw dropped. “Kenisha, look.”

  Hayes turned around at her desk in front of Sara’s. When Quon pointed at the monitor, Hayes reached over and swivelled it toward her. After a hop of her brows, she read the message aloud. “‘Gao, Sara told me about Wed nite.’”

  That attracted everyone else’s attention, including Gao’s. She bustled back to the desk. “What’s going on?” Seeing the monitor, she frowned. “What’s this about? Who wrote it?”

  Cole studied her closely, but detected nothing in her face or voice except annoyance.

  “I don’t know,” Quon said. “I didn’t see anyone there.”

  Lamper turned his chair to watch through the window of his office. With his narrow shoulders and eyes magnified by his glasses, Lamper looked the epitome of a nerd. His drawn face today accentuated that. Aviator style glasses and the turtleneck he wore with his suit just made him look like a nerd trying to seem cool.

  Disbelief filled Gao’s sniff. She shut down the computer shut off, then headed back for her desk.

  Cole fished around in the power button once more.

  Quon gaped. “The computer’s booting again!”

  Gao wheeled in mid-stride. After turning the computer off this time, she stood watching it. As seconds dragged on and the computer remained off, Gao’s lips thinned. She raked Quon and Hayes with a scowl.

  Lamper’s phone rang. When he answered, his voice carried to Cole.

  Gao turned her scowl on the rest of the staff, all standing and craning their necks to see Sara’s monitor. “If you ladies have had your fun, there’s work to do.”

  Cole started to reach for the power button, only to halt at Lamper’s voice. “He’s here to see me?” Lamper’s expression struggled between annoyance and concern. “Tell him I’ll see him in a couple of minutes.” Then he turned back to his computer.

  Like boss, like flunky. Shaking his head, Cole trotted out of Bookkeeping and up to the reception area. “Welcome, boys. Lamper will be with you when he thinks it appears he’s squeezing time for you into his very busy schedule.”

  Hamada and Razor had taken the chairs he always preferred, those offering a good view of Gina’s legs. She gave them her brilliant smile even with her attention on a phone call. Though she spoke rapid Spanish, Cole caught enough to gather that this was the middle of a conversation to a girlfriend — interrupted by Hamada’s entrance and now resumed — about a date on Saturday. Hung like a what, did she say?

  Hamada understood better. He grinned.

  Gina saw. She started and quickly ended the call, cheeks reddening.

  “I’m sorry,” Hamada said. “I couldn’t help hearing.”

  The blush spread from her hairline into the deep vee of her blouse. “You speak Spanish?”

  Better than he did Japanese. A result, Cole knew, of a growing up in San Antonio close to the Hispanic community…thanks to the friendship forged in an internment camp between Hamada’s grandfather and a guard named Rafael Navarro.

  Gina’s phone rang. After answering, she nodded at Hamada. “Mr. Lamper can see you now. It’s down the hall on the right.”

  In his office, Lamper looked across his desk at the seated detectives and regarded Hamada with a politeness that did not quite mask concern…or the usual surprise at the difference between Hamada’s appearance and his voice. “I don’t understand. If Miss Benay can’t be reached through the number I gave you, I fail to see what more I can do. I’m sorry. It must be important if Homicide needs to reach her?”

  Standing at the office door
, Cole watched Gao. While her eyes remained fixed on her computer monitor, she leaned toward the door, her head cocked…clearly straining to hear. He read no anxiety in her face, though.

  Hamada gave Lamper a bland smile. “It would help us to know when Miss Benay told you about her family emergency.”

  “She left a voice mail message for my assistant Wednesday night.”

  That would be the call to this number. Cole caught Hamada and Razor exchanging glances that only another cop would notice.

  “May I speak with your assistant?” Hamada said.

  Lamper raised his voice. “Mrs. Gao, will you please come in.”

  She came eagerly…and settled in the chair Hamada gave up for her, folding her hands in her lap.

  Hamada sat on the corner of the desk that put his back toward the wall. “I’m interested in the voice mail message Miss Benay left. Is it still on your phone?”

  “I erased it.” Her voice took on a defensive edge. “There was no reason to save it.”

  And every reason to erase it, if Gao were lying about the message.

  Hamada said, “How did Miss Benay sound?”

  Gao looked puzzled by the question. “Sound?”

  “Was she anxious?”

  As if she had shot a cop?

  Gao considered. “Yes. Which is perfectly normal I think, with a family crisis.”

  Cole frowned. If Gao were lying, she was damn good at it.

  “When did you last see her?” Hamada asked.

  “When she locked the front doors after me at a quarter to six.”

  Cole blinked. Gao left? Then she must have come back later. The security camera up front would have recorded it. Was there any chance they still had that footage after four days?

  He walked out to Gao’s computer. With luck, no one would notice the activity. He opened a notepad and started work on the message. At the same time, laboring over the keystrokes, he listened to the voices in the office.

  “Locked up after you?” Hamada asked.

  “Miss Benay worked late.”

  Rear vision caught Razor sitting up straighter. “Was anyone else here?”