by Nancy Skopin
As soon as I unlocked the office I noticed my answering machine light was blinking. I pressed the play button and was glad to hear Detective Bill Anderson’s voice. The message was short, simply saying that we needed to talk before dinner. I hoped he wasn’t going to cancel.
I dialed his number and got voice-mail. I left a message, then booted up the computer and added the interview with Kurt to my file on Laura. I entered the haircut and tip on my expense spreadsheet. It was a legitimate expense. Once again I updated the flash drive I was carrying in my purse. Okay, so maybe I’m a little obsessive. Sue me.
I pulled Laura’s file folder out of my Pendaflex drawer and removed the picture of her with Fred Wulf in skydiving gear, the picture of Fred next to his Jaguar, and two of the pictures of Charles Spencer I’d copied from the yearbook. I placed them in an envelope, which I tucked into my bag.
Bill called me back at 4:30 and asked if he could stop by the office. There was something he wanted to talk to me about in person.
“Sure,” I said.
I hastily tidied up, which meant organizing the files on my desk into neat stacks and emptying the ashtray. I went into the bathroom and checked my image in the mirror, added lip gloss, and fluffed up my new haircut.
Bill was on my doorstep ten minutes later. He knocked before entering the office and closed the door behind him. His face looked grim.
“Hi,” I said, standing to greet him and taking in his solemn demeanor. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell me what happened with Ralph Hearn.” Not even a hello.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Okay. I called and made an appointment with Hearn right after you left on Monday. I gave him a fake name and told him I wanted my husband followed, you know, to make sure he’d be there. Then I showed up for the appointment at three. It took him a second, but he recognized me. He asked what I was doing there, said he was expecting a client. I told him I was his three o’clock and eventually he invited me back to his private office.
“I asked him who had hired him. He refused to say, of course. I said if he didn’t tell me, I’d inform everyone involved in the case that I’d spotted him on Sunday night, and I threatened to go to the media about the attempted mugging.” I blushed at the memory. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Did you leave a message on his answering machine yesterday morning?”
I thought for a moment. “Yes, I did. He never got back to me. How did you know about that?”
“What did you mean when you said he had until noon or you’d make good on your threat?”
“Just what I told you. That if he wouldn’t say who’d hired him, I’d tell everyone involved in the case that I’d spotted him following me. Has Hearn filed a complaint against me or something?”
“He’s dead, Nikki.”
The impact of his words knocked the wind out of me and I sank into my chair. “Oh, fuck.”
“His body was found this morning. His landlord went in to collect the rent. The San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department listened to your voicemail message. I heard about it through the grapevine and gave them a call.”
“What are you telling me? He had a heart attack or something?”
Hearn had looked like he had high blood pressure. Please let it be natural causes.
“He was murdered.”
I felt a chill run the length of my body. “How?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. This is serious, Nikki. You left the man a threatening message and within twenty-four hours he was dead.”
“You don’t think I’m a suspect do you? I told you what my message was about.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s not my case. But I want you to tell me everything you did after you made that call, right up to this morning around eight.”
My mouth dropped open. Then I sucked it up, lit a cigarette, and said, “Fine.” I quickly ran through the last two days in my head before continuing. “After I left the message for Hearn I was here typing reports and invoices and paying bills. I walked to the mail box across the street. I walked back here and straightened up the office, made some coffee, and updated the flash drive with the Laura Howard file on it. Then I reread the file one more time and decided I needed to talk to friends of Barbara Herbert and Andrew McConnell.
“I found some newspaper articles about their murders. I made an appointment with a hairdresser named Kurt at the Main Line where McConnell worked, and then I drove to the Library. I spoke with a couple of employees, and took one of them to lunch. Her name was Betsy. Her lunch break wasn’t until three so I spent some time at the Barnes and Noble while I was waiting. I was there from about two until a little before three. Then I picked Betsy up at the library and we had lunch at Max’s. She told me Barbara had been seeing someone, but she couldn’t really describe him. After lunch I drove her back to work, gave her a business card, and asked her to call if she thought of anything else I should know.
“When I got back here I called Hearn’s office again, and got his voicemail again. I didn’t leave a message. I did a couple of bar and restaurant surveys last night, and was home in bed by ten.
“This morning I called Hearn again, got the voicemail again, and didn’t leave a message. I decided he was a lost cause, so I made good on my promise and called Derrick and Kate Howard, and Charles Spencer, and left a message for Rod Howard. I was going to talk to Fred Wulf about it in person on Friday. We’re having dinner.
“At about two I drove to the Mane Line hair salon. At approximately two-thirty I got this beautiful haircut and had a conversation with the hairdresser, Kurt, who was a friend of McConnell’s. Turns out he’d been dating someone who sounds a lot like Fred Wulf, so I asked if I could bring him some photos to look at. I have pictures of Charles and Fred both, and I was hoping he could ID the guy McConnell was seeing.
“When I left the salon I came back here and took a shower. Then I opened the office and got your message. Now tell me how the fuck he was killed.”
Bill squinted at me for a minute, probably assessing my stability before making his decision.
“With a garrote made of heavy-test fish wire and a pair of home-made grips. There was a taser burn on his neck. Time of death hasn’t been established yet.”
I put my head between my knees and tried to breathe. Bill came over to the desk and laid his hand on my back.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know yet.” I stayed down.
“Sorry to be so blunt.”
“It’s okay. Just give me a minute.”
When the room stopped spinning I slowly sat up, lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply.
“Did they find a case file with my name on it in his desk?”
“No. Nothing in the office with your name on it, except that message you left on his machine.”
“So I’m a suspect?”
“A person of interest, yes. You should probably give the Sheriff’s Department a call before they come looking for you. Ask for Detective Dietrich.”
“He was killed because of me, wasn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.
“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. There’s no evidence to indicate that.”
“Yes, there is. He had a file on me. When I was in his office I started reading the labels on his file folders and he grabbed one and locked it in his desk, in the lap drawer. If they didn’t find that file, the odds are he was killed by someone who didn’t want me to find out they had hired him. What about his computer? Has anyone gone through his computer files?”
“Not yet.”
“Jesus. You know any good bodyguards?”
“If you’re serious, I could recommend a couple of people.”
“Why don’t you
give me their names and numbers?”
He wrote down three names and phone numbers, saying all of them were police officers who did some moonlighting as bouncers or bodyguards.
“I gotta get back to the station,” he said, reluctantly. “Can we have dinner tomorrow night instead of tonight?”
“Sure. Eight o’clock?”
“I’ll meet you here.” He started toward the door.
“Bill…do you mind if I call you Bill?”
He turned back to me. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean no.”
“Thanks for telling me in person.”
“No problem. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 25
I put out my cigarette, took a deep breath, and called the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. I asked for Detective Dietrich and was promptly connected.
“Dietrich.” It was a woman’s voice.
“Is this Detective Dietrich?” I asked.
“Yeah. Can I help you?”
“This is Nicoli Hunter.”
She was silent for a moment, and then said, “The Nicoli Hunter who left a voice-mail message for Ralph Hearn yesterday?”
“That’s me. I just spoke with Detective Anderson here in Redwood City. He suggested I give you a call.”
“Would you be willing to come in so I can ask you a few questions?”
“I’d really rather answer them over the phone, if you don’t mind.”
She thought about that. “I’d prefer to discuss this matter in person, Ms. Hunter. And the sooner the better.”
I couldn’t really blame her. In her place, I’d want to watch my suspect’s reactions too.
“Of course. I can be there in fifteen minutes. Will that work for you?”
“Yeah. That’ll work. You know how to get here?”
“I think so. Are you in the County Center building?”
“Yep. See you in fifteen.”
She hung up without another word.
County Center is off Middlefield Road in Redwood City. Not all that far from the marina. I could be there in five minutes, but needed the extra time to make photocopies of my receipts from my lunch with Betsy and my bar and restaurant surveys from last night, in case Dietrich needed to be convinced of my whereabouts.
I stuffed the photocopies in my purse, locked the office, and trudged out to the parking lot feeling guilty for my small role in Hearn’s death. I never should have told him I was investigating a homicide. I’d been too eager to badger the name of his client out of him. I really hate feeling guilty. Hearn was a low life, but he didn’t deserve to die.
I pulled into the County Center lot, collected my purse, and locked the 2002. Just because there were a lot of cops around didn’t mean my sweet little ride would be safe.
In the lobby I used an internal phone to dial Dietrich’s extension. She said she’d be right out, and I shuddered with anticipation. I’d never been a murder suspect before, or even a person of interest.
Dietrich marched into the lobby only seconds after I’d hung up the counter phone. She was about five-three and a hundred and twenty pounds of muscle dressed in khakis and a navy polo shirt. Her short dark curls framed an oval face unadorned by make-up. She looked about my age, but the wrinkles between her eyebrows had been deepened by years of frowning. In her line of work, that made perfect sense.
She held out her hand as she approached, “Ms. Hunter. Thank you for coming in.”
“Not a problem.” I took the proffered hand and she briefly crushed my fingers.
“Follow me, please.”
Dietrich escorted me through a series of corridors and into a small interrogation room. When she’d closed the door and flipped a counter switch, she said, almost as an afterthought, “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”
Clearly the recording had already begun.
“Not at all.”
Dietrich announced her name and mine and the time and date, then wasted no time getting down to business.
“Your voicemail message to Mr. Hearn yesterday was a little cryptic. What did you mean when you said he had until noon,” she glanced at some notes in front of her, “and then you planned to make good on your threat?”
“He’d been hired to follow me,” I said. “I assume you know I’m also a PI?”
“Anderson told me.”
I described the attempted assault at the Fanny Pack, and repeated the story of my encounter with Hearn in his office, including my threat to reveal his incompetence to my primary suspects, and to go to the newspapers and radio stations.
She listened without comment until I had finished, then said, “Let me get this straight. When you said he had until noon, all you meant was that if you didn’t hear from him who his client was by noon yesterday, you would tell some people that you knew he had been following you, and then go to the press and tell them he had attempted to assault you?”
“That’s right.”
“And did you do those things?”
“Yes. Well, I didn’t go to the press, but I called several people and told them I’d spotted him following me.”
“Who, exactly?”
“Laura Howard’s parents, her half-brother Rod, and her former fiancé, Charles Spencer.”
She asked me for their phone numbers and addresses, and I gave them to her.
“Can you tell me where you were between five and ten p.m. last night?”
“I was doing bar and restaurant surveys for two of my regular clients. I brought photocopies of my receipts.” I pulled the pages out of my bag and passed them across the table to her. “So the coroner has determined time of death?”
Dietrich gave me a guarded look, set the receipts aside, and nodded somewhat curtly.
“That’s all for now,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions. Please remain available.”
“Is that another way of saying don’t leave town?”
Dietrich was not amused. I made sure she had my office and home phone numbers, and she walked me back out to the lobby.
I lit a cigarette as soon as I’d locked myself in my car. I felt as though someone had run a thousand volts through my adrenal glands. My hands were shaking and my skin was clammy. Hearn had been murdered because he could point the finger at Laura’s killer. I was certain of that. Maybe he’d even tried to blackmail the person who’d hired him.
When I got back to my office I pulled the flash drive out of my purse, popped it into the computer, and added the details and timing of Hearn’s murder to the file.
When the mail carrier stomped into the office I almost had a heart attack. I gave her my outgoing mail and accepted the small stack she had for me. When she left, I locked the door behind her and looked through the mail. There was a payment from Kate Howard. I noted the amount and slipped it into my wallet.
I checked the magazine in the Glock and took a spare mag out of my gun drawer, making sure it was also fully loaded. I toyed with the idea of having an alarm installed and decided to price them. For the first time since I’d rented the office I felt exposed and vulnerable, being surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and glass doors.
Since I wasn’t having dinner with Anderson, I could take care of my regular clients. I checked the schedule and grabbed some forms, then locked up the office.
I wanted to change clothes before going out, so I headed down the companionway to the docks. Elizabeth was out on her steps talking to K.C. She watched me for a minute and then said, “What’s wrong, honey?”
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“Aren’t you having dinner with Detective Hottie tonight?”
“We’re having dinner tomorrow night instead. You know that PI from San Mateo I told you about? The one wh
o tried to mug us at the Fanny Pack?”
“Of course.”
“Well, he’s dead.”
“Oh,” she said. “Your hair looks great.”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you. What’s your point?”
“He was murdered, and the case file on me was taken from his office.”
“Did he have a computer?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“I don’t know yet. The police have to check the files.”
“How was he killed?” she asked.
“He was strangled with fishing wire.”
“Gross. You think he was killed because you talked to him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m thinking about getting an alarm for the office. Maybe hiring a bodyguard. I’m carrying the Glock,” I patted my purse, “and I’m hoping to get a good night’s sleep.”
“You must be getting close.”
I nodded. “I just wish I knew what I was getting close to.”
“Have you eaten today?” Elizabeth has a way of simplifying things. “I have low fat lasagna.”
“That sounds great, but I have to get some bar and restaurant surveys done. You wanna come?”
“Absolutely. As long as you don’t keep me out too late.”
We had drinks in three different bars, nibbled at dinner in two restaurants, and talked more about the investigation. I told Elizabeth I was taking the pictures of Charles and Fred to Kurt the hairdresser and Betsy the librarian the next day, and that I was having dinner with Fred on Friday. She approved of Bill, even though they hadn’t met, but asked what I hoped to gain by having dinner with Fred again.
“I don’t know. More insight into his character, I guess. Maybe a chance to search his car.”