To Catch a Cook: An Angie Amalfi Mystery

by Joanne Pence

  Aulis’s apartment was located on the ground level of a three-story building, at the end of a long, flowerpot-lined path behind the garage. Paavo unlocked the front door and walked in, leaving the door wide for Angie to follow if she wished. He wouldn’t blame her if she preferred to remain outside. Being here, knowing Aulis lay hospitalized and close to death, chilled him to the bone.

  Three steps inside the door a dark pool of blood stained the beige carpet. His breath caught.

  Yesterday, investigators had swept through the crime scene. He was glad he had asked the CSU to go over Angie’s apartment after the break-in there, as well as the one in his own home. Now the crime lab could look for similarities between the three. There had to be some.

  Yesterday, too, he and Angie had spent the entire day and most of the night at the hospital. Aulis remained in a coma in intensive care, and was allowed no visitors. His condition had not changed this morning.

  The only joy in the past twenty-four hours came from bringing Hercules back to the little cottage. He was so ecstatic to be with Paavo again that every time Paavo sat down, all eighteen pounds of cat bounded onto his lap. Angie immediately treated the big tabby to a plate of fresh salmon. Paavo found himself barely acknowledging the happy cat, though. His thoughts were elsewhere.

  Now he forced his eyes from the carpet stain to the rest of the apartment. The destruction so much resembled what had been done to his own home, for a moment he was unable to move. Sofa and chair pillows were slashed, drawers pulled out, books and magazines opened and strewn all over. A throbbing in his temples beat dully in synch with the heavy beat of his heart.

  A quick walk-through left him ready to explode in rage and frustration. Nothing, it seemed, had been stolen. He would talk to Aulis’s neighbors, find out what they saw and heard.

  Once he found out who was behind this, there’d be no stopping him. The bastard would pay in blood.

  When he returned to the living room, Angie moved toward him. “What would you like me to do?” she asked.

  “Nothing! Don’t touch a thing.”

  He was immediately ashamed of his tone with her, especially when she gazed at him with quiet understanding. “I’ll look for his address book,” she said. “You’ll need to make some phone calls, Paavo, to let his close friends know what’s happened.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. He stood again unmoving as a moment of excruciating silence went by. God, how was he going to get through this? He turned toward the bedroom.

  In the top drawer of the pine highboy, Aulis kept important papers. Paavo and his sister had been taught to never go near that drawer if they valued their skins. Aulis had a “system” and if the system was in any way disrupted, it meant he might not pay bills on time or find important papers, and the stability of the world order would fall into disarray.

  It was heartrending to see that most crucial drawer on its side, the contents littering the floor. Grimly he righted the drawer, knelt down, and began to stack the papers.

  He didn’t have to dig too deeply through old tax filings, Social Security notices, property tax billings, and other such documents before coming across the medical policy. Along with Medicare, Aulis had good coverage and should be well taken care of.

  As he gathered up the rest of the papers and envelopes to return to the drawer, an envelope from the Ford Motor Company caught his eye. He added it to the stack. It was odd, though. Aulis had never owned a car. Didn’t even like cars, Paavo thought. Had Aulis harbored some secret passion for a Mustang GT? Curious, Paavo pulled it out of the pile and opened it.

  Inside was a photograph and another, smaller envelope. He pulled out the photo, and his blood ran cold.

  Three people stared at the camera. One of them, looking very young and very innocent, was his mother.

  He knew her immediately, even though he had seen only one other picture of her. That other picture, one of his most valued possessions, showed him standing on her lap, leaning across a table and staring intently at a birthday cake with two candles. His hair was blond and wispy—it hadn’t turned dark brown until his teens—and he wore canary-yellow short pants with matching suspenders over a white shirt. His cheeks were puffed out and he seemed to be blowing hard. His mother was holding him at the waist and laughing.

  She was a pretty woman, her face fine-boned, with white, almost translucent skin. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes—they were Kodak-flash red in the photo—but her hair was auburn, shoulder length, and parted on the side. Her head was cocked and her hair swung free and easy except for a strand of it tucked behind one ear.

  His only vivid memories of his mother were seeing her laugh in that picture, and hearing her cry as if her heart had broken.

  In this newly found photo, she looked very serious. Her eyes squinted against the sun, causing her brow to furrow, and her lips were set firmly. Her hair was cut in an over-the-ear bob, the bangs so short they only covered the very top of her forehead. Her pink dress was big and boxy, with a high-necked Peter Pan collar. She held a black-haired baby in her arms in a way that showed off the baby’s frilly matching pink dress and booties. The baby had to be Jessica. She had a knockout smile even at that young age.

  The woman in this picture didn’t mesh at all with the image he had of his mother. She was taller than he’d imagined, and bore herself in a stiff, cautious manner. Clipped to the waistband of her dress was an identification badge of some kind.

  Beside her stood a hard-featured older man. He wore a similar badge clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket. His face was heavily lined and shades darker than the woman’s. His eyes were thin slits from squinting, his mouth turned down at the edges, and his brows crossed. His short hair, Paavo saw, was as black as Jessica’s had been.

  Jessie had never known who her father was. It was hard to imagine this dour-looking man being him, but the resemblance showed in the dimpled chin and in the widow’s peak. How odd that Aulis hadn’t given her this picture. But then, Paavo didn’t know his own father either—only that he wasn’t the same as Jessica’s.

  He’d always assumed that meant his mother was “just that kind of a gal.” Love ’em and leave ’em Mary Smith. She walked out on men, on her own kids. She was a real winner. Good old Mom.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he reached again for the Ford envelope and shook it, dropping out the smaller white one still inside. On its face, in a cursive, feminine hand, Aulis’s name had been written.

  Inside were two sheets of paper. The first was a simple statement.

  I hereby grant Aulis Kokkonen full authority to care for my children, Jessica Ann and Paavo Smith, until my return. This includes the right to authorize any medical care necessary.

  Mary Smith

  He snorted, surprised his mother had bothered with such legal niceties. Maybe she’d run off and left them with Aulis more than once, and the last time hadn’t returned.

  He put the sheet aside. The one under it was a letter, written in the same hand as the statement had been. As he read, his throat began closing, tightening, until he could scarcely breathe.

  Aulis,

  I’m a dead woman. I’ve failed. Take care of my children, dear friend. Enclosed are the documents you will need. Tell them nothing about me—absolutely nothing. It’s the only way they will be safe. Kiss Jessie and Paavo good-bye for me. Please destroy this letter.

  Cecily

  He stared at the letter, unable to believe its contents. Reading it again, he was hurled back in time and place. The old pain, the loneliness, the question why—all those feelings he had sworn he would never again allow himself about his mother or his past—washed over him. He was back at the age when he told himself that strong boys don’t cry, the age he had taught himself not to do so any longer.

  He dropped his head forward, his eyes squeezed tight. Kiss Jessie and Paavo good-bye for me.

  It hurt his heart to see those words.

  Cecily. Why had his mother signed her name Cecily? Her name
was Mary. Mary Smith…so common a name he’d almost, almost believed it was false. But then if someone were choosing a fake name, he’d convinced himself, she would certainly pick something less blatantly phony than Mary Smith.

  Over the years he told himself he was being too suspicious thinking her name was false, being too much the cop. Now he wondered if he’d been right. Strangely, the name Cecily resonated with him. He had no idea why, but seeing it written there, hearing it in his head, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  His fingers smoothed the folds of the letter. It was undated. What did she mean about keeping her children safe? Aulis had never given any indication of them having been in danger, but that would explain why he had taken them to L.A. shortly after their mother had abandoned them…not that Paavo remembered being there. He was so young it didn’t much register on him which city he was in, but Jessica had told him about it. All he did remember was that Aulis seemed to move around quite a bit, taking him and Jessie from city to city, one small apartment to another, until they all became a blur to him. Eventually they returned to San Francisco.

  He didn’t understand what any of this meant, but he did know that Aulis had kept his part of the bargain. He had told Paavo nothing about his mother.

  Chapter 10

  “I didn’t know what to do or say, Bianca.” Angie was fighting tears. It was early morning, and she sat in the kitchen of her sister’s house, telling her about Paavo finding the strange letter from his mother. “First the shock of Aulis’s attack, and then that awful letter!”

  “There’s not much you could have said. You were there for him, that’s what matters.” Bianca was the oldest of her four sisters, the one she went to when she was troubled. She was little, like Angie, but outweighed her by about fifteen pounds. Where Angie’s hair was short and wavy with auburn highlights, Bianca’s was straight, chin-length, and dark brown.

  “Hercules is there for him. The man is hurting and confused. I’ve seen Paavo upset about his cases and—maybe once or twice—even about me, but nothing like this. You know how quiet he gets when he’s upset; well, it was silent-movie time at our place last night. I kept waiting for a piano player to show up.”

  Bianca had just taken a blueberry strudel from the oven, and cut a piece for Angie and one for herself. “When Aulis gets better, Paavo can ask him about his past.”

  “And if he doesn’t get better?” The two sisters looked at each other sadly. “If Cecily’s letter—if that’s what her name really is—is to be believed, Paavo’s whole life, his whole childhood, is based on a lie. It was such a strange, frightening letter. She gave Aulis her kids! I just don’t get it. How could any mother do that?”

  “It’s hard to imagine that such a story could have been kept quiet all these years,” Bianca said, pouring hot coffee and then sitting across from Angie. “People know about such things—and talk.”

  For the first time that morning, Angie smiled. “That’s right, they do. They’ll know. Neighbors will know. Anyone around at the time will know!”

  “Slow down! This happened thirty years ago.”

  “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But we aren’t talking Harry Houdini here, either. She was just a woman with two kids, and no husband. Maybe she was heavily in debt, or…or owed money to some drug dealers. Who knows? That would be a reason to leave town!”

  “Poor Paavo,” Bianca murmured. “What a thing to discover.”

  “It’s got to have been really bad or she wouldn’t have left those kids, I just know it.” Angie sipped some coffee, lost in thought. “I wonder if he should be the one to find out. It could be potentially devastating for him. Aulis kept the past hidden for a reason. At the same time, it’s important. It’s the…the prelude, so to speak…of the good man he’s become. I’m afraid for him, Bianca. Maybe I should see what I can find out.”

  Bianca was lifting a piece of strudel to her mouth, but put it down at Angie’s words. “Aren’t you supposed to be hiding until the police catch whoever has been lurking around you, or your apartment, or whatever?”

  Angie pushed her piece of strudel aside, her appetite gone. “Oh, the more I think about it, those two guys might have been salesmen, or Jehovah’s Witnesses, or even Mormons. I might have made a mountain out of something completely innocent.”

  “And Aulis’s shooting?” Bianca asked, with a worried frown.

  “Well…” Angie didn’t even try to answer. Instead of mountains and molehills, she was clutching at straws.

  “Ah, here you are,” Ray Faldo said as Paavo walked into the photo laboratory on the second floor of the Hall of Justice. “I’m just about ready to print. Give me a couple more minutes.”

  Faldo was the best lab man in the department. He could work wonders with the equipment they owned, making it perform almost as well as top-of-the-line merchandise. That was why Paavo had gone to him for help. Faldo stared into the scope of a photo enlarger, slowly adjusting dials. “I made a negative of the photo,” he said, “and now I’m trying to see how large I can get it and keep it in focus.”

  Paavo sat on a stool at the end of the counter where Faldo worked.

  “Who are these people, anyway?” Faldo turned the magnification knob.

  “I found the photo at a crime scene,” Paavo said. “It might be important.”

  Faldo made a few final adjustments to the focus. “The woman’s quite a dish. A little flat-chested for my taste—”

  “It’s the badges I’m interested in,” Paavo said, interrupting.

  Faldo gave him an odd look, then he placed an eight-by-ten piece of low-contrast resin-coated paper under the enlarger, set the timer, and flipped it on. “Badges? Oh, yeah. Those that she and the guy are wearing. Christ, is he her husband? Looks old enough to be her father. Homely bastard, isn’t he? They made a cute kid, though.” When the exposure was complete, he moved the paper into the developer tray, and after a short while turned it faceup. The enlarged photo began to appear.

  “How’s your dad doing?” he asked as he used tongs to move the print into the stop bath.

  Paavo shrugged, tamping down his impatience. “Same. Still in intensive care.”

  “Well, he’s hanging in there. Good for him. I’ve been working with Ben on the CSU materials from the break-ins. Nothing I hate to say it, Paav, but the guys who did it were pros. Keep your girlfriend out of their way.”

  “She’s found a place to stay until this is settled.”

  “Good.” Faldo washed the print in plain water, squeegeed it, and hung it on an easel. “Here you go.”

  As Faldo turned on the fluorescent overhead lights, Paavo walked up to the photo. He could see some kind of symbols on the badges, but they were angled in a way that made them hard to read, and were still a little blurry. “Can anything be done with these to make them clearer? I’d like to know what they say.”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll give it a try. If you’re just curious about the badges, I can tell you about them. I used to wear one of those myself, years ago, before I decided I’d much rather live here in foggy and damp San Francisco than in hot and humid Washington.”

  Paavo eyed Faldo with surprise. “You know what these badges are?”

  “Sure.” Faldo grabbed a sponge and wiped up some spilled developer solution. “And if I didn’t, the building would be a dead giveaway for old-timers like me. It’s the Old Post Office Building in Washington, D.C.—Twelfth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Years back, when the post office moved out, other federal agencies moved in, including the FBI’s metropolitan office. The badges they’re wearing were picture IDs. Employees had to wear them to get inside. The blue background on the guy’s meant he was a special agent. She isn’t, of course, given the time. But it’s pretty darn certain both of them worked for the FBI.”

  Angie unlocked the door to Aulis’s apartment. As she entered, she shuddered, finding being here as eerie this time as the last. An unearthly chill hung in the air, along with a musty smell.

&nbs
p; The investigators had finished their work, so the cleaning service she’d hired would be coming by in about an hour.

  Today, when she’d first arrived in the neighborhood, she’d knocked on doors and asked people if they’d seen anything strange—particularly a dark blue Mercury—before or since Aulis’s attack. As casually as she could slide it in, she also asked if they knew his old friend Cecily. To both questions, everyone’s answer was the same—no.

  Paavo had told her that Aulis had lived in the small apartment for only the past fifteen years or so, but he had lived in the area for most of his life.

  Her earlier phone calls to several of Aulis’s old friends—Paavo left the address book at their house after making calls about Aulis being hospitalized—had given the same results. The people she’d spoken with were all quite elderly, and sounded confused and anxious about her questions. She felt bad about upsetting them, and stopped calling. For the moment, at least.

  So far, her Ferrari had received more notice and interest from the neighbors than either her or her questions.

  Now, walking around the ugly bloodstain inside the apartment, she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. Something despicable was going on here. She wanted to scream, “Stop! Leave us alone!” and to explain that there was nothing that she or Paavo or Aulis owned that anyone might want. But what good would it do to shout at the walls?

  She’d brought in the mail and flipped through the bills and advertisements before placing them on the coffee table with other mail accumulated since the attack. Paavo would need to take care of the bills, plus any others unpaid. She should try to find them while they were on her mind.