by Rex Bolt
“Just curious. I think there was a House Hunters episode there. You get a lot for your money.”
“That you do,” Floyd said. “Hope Chipper got his money’s worth too.”
“He didn’t,” Christian said, “but maybe someone else did.”
+++
Christian decided he better take care of the bats on the late side, so he put on some music and stretched out on the couch for a nap. When he woke up his headache was nearly gone, but he had had his first bad dream. He and Donny were on stand-up surfboards that you maneuvered with a paddle, and the current pushed him into the pilings under the Manhattan Beach Pier. Every time he tried to get away from the pier, a wave would knock him back under it, and he realized he was bleeding and that he was being cut by the waves.
He liked it that people were rarely in the park off 11th Avenue after dark, but more bats in the same little lake might attract attention. Lake Merced seemed like a good alternative, more exposed to traffic, but with plenty of inconspicuous access points, especially at two in the morning.
Christian backed out of the garage, and when he got to the corner he thought what if someone was following him? He drove around the block, double-parked, shut the engine off. Then he started again in the opposite direction, saw nothing in the rear view mirror and was pretty convinced he was being paranoid.
He remembered a parking area near the Harding Park golf course, and without fooling around, fired the aluminum bat into the water. He swung back through Golden Gate Park, threw the wooden one into the lake where you rented rowboats, and then found a dumpster near the Hall of Flowers and stuffed the bag into it.
He checked his watch, it was twenty to three. He had just left the park and was on Oak Street in the Panhandle, right down the hill from Bethany’s. No rush to be anywhere now, so what would it hurt to drive by?
He recognized Bethany’s car, a blue Mini Cooper. It was parked on the right side of the driveway that she shared with her upstairs neighbor, who parked on the left. Directly behind the Mini Cooper was another car. There were lights on in Bethany’s flat.
Hmm.
Christian rang the bell. He waited a minute, rang it again, waited a bit longer and got back in the car and went home.
+++
He slept for a few hours and took his run, trying to rehearse how it might go with Detective Cousins. There was clearly a tricky balance between volunteering too much information and coming across like you’re holding onto something.
Cousins arrived at 10:15 and Christian came down to let him in.
“Ed. A pleasure,” the detective said. He was wearing a suit. He sat at the kitchen table and thanked Christian for the cup of coffee.
“Traffic into the city?” Christian said.
“Not that bad. Nice apartment, I lived in the Marina once upon a time. A different animal now.”
“You said it. The families are pretty much all gone.”
“Now on the homicide, did you know this fellow?” Cousins opened a notebook.
“I saw him around school, but I never taught him, so I didn’t really know him. I did watch him pitch several times.”
“What about Meghan Britta, you knew her?”
“Yeah, I had her in a class. Both Meghan and Lindie, who ended up together at that party.”
“What was your reaction after the accident?”
“You mean Donny, or Meghan?”
“Meghan.”
“My view of it was that guy shouldn’t be walking around enjoying himself like nothing happened.”
“So you think he didn’t pay a price?”
“Not at all. I mean, he obviously did in the end.”
“So it’s your opinion he was killed because of what happened to Meghan?”
“I’m not sure, but it would be hard to one hundred percent rule out.”
“How well do you know Joyce McCann?”
Whoa.
“Pretty well. We dated for a year and a half when I was teaching up there. We’re still close.”
“Did she take Meghan hard?”
“She did. She had a real tough time. Meghan reached out to her not too long before it happened. She’s had a tough time since Donny too, because it re-kindled it.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“How about Meghan’s family, you know anything about them?”
“I really don’t, other than there apparently wasn’t much of one.”
“Where’d you get the shiner?”
“Ah, it’s embarrassing . . . but Joyce’s boyfriend hit me. Guy named Bruce, apparently.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She’s been coming down sometimes. Last Thursday I guess he followed her. When she left, I got what I deserved.”
“Bruce who?”
“I don’t know. She just said he was in the wine business. Big, sturdy guy, like a bodybuilder. Well dressed.”
“Bruce Gilbright?”
“I don’t know.”
“Black hair, slicked back?”
“Yeah.”
“Could be a match. We know that guy well, if it is. Used to own a strip club at the end of Santa Rosa Avenue. Difficult gentleman to deal with.”
“I actually remember that place.”
“You surprised Ms. McCann would get mixed up with a guy like that?”
“Well, my guess is she doesn’t know that much about him. She said it’s been a couple months.”
“Now I’m going to ask you a hard question,” Cousins said, “and I expect a stand-up answer. You got that?”
Christian said yes.
“Could Joyce have gotten Bruce to kill Shelhorne? On a scale of one to ten, how likely is that?”
“That’s a zero. Not even a possibility.”
Cousins gave him a long look. “Well, I thank you very much for your time.”
“I hope I could help,” Christian said. “What else do you have in the city today?”
“Ah, my old man is out in the Sunset, not doing that well. Eighty-seven years old, the bastard refuses to allow any help.”
“Probably what keeps him going though, the feistiness.”
“Maybe. Makes it harder to give a homicide the attention it deserves. We’ll figure it out, though. Sooner or later.”
Christian walked Detective Cousins down and saw him off, and continued right to the nearest bar, which wasn’t Weatherby’s or the Booker Lounge but Joe’s Place. He ordered a straight double scotch and tried to piece together what exactly had just happened.
+++
He put in a couple hours that afternoon on the computer at the Funston Library. One reason he was pretty sure the Pocatello Thad Simmons was the same one who raped Bonnie was that according to Google he was running a gym out there in Idaho now. In 1992, when it happened, Simmons and Bonnie had desk jobs at Eastern Sports Clubs, one of those success stories with gyms sprouting up all over. The company had moved into a new headquarters in northern Westchester County, which was where the piece of scum assaulted her.
Christian found a little bit on Bethany. Her maiden name seemed to be Hoag, so the name she went by now, Lamb, was most likely her husband’s. There was a Kyle Lamb listed in Anthem, Arizona. Address, phone number, the whole works. On Street View you could see the actual house, with a pickup parked in the driveway.
Before he left the library, he checked the LA Times online and found two articles. The first was from yesterday, with no writer’s byline:
Financial Advisor Found Slain In Hermosa Beach Office
March 12. 2017 – Anthony Reggio, 46, of Manhattan Beach, was found dead yesterday afternoon in his south bay office, the victim of an apparent attack.
Reggio was found in the ground floor office of Good Fund Financials, LLC, at 213 Norden Lane in Hermosa. Police said there was no sign of forced entry. The body was discovered at approximately 12:30pm by a patron of the nearby Taqueria San Jose.
And then one from today:
Slain Hermosa Financial Pl
anner Had Reputed Organized Crime Ties
By Arlene Gonsalves
March 13, 2017 - A financial advisor found dead Sunday in his Hermosa Beach office had ties to organized crime, according to a source close to the investigation.
Anthony “Chip” Reggio, who lived at 1178 Primrose Street in Manhattan Beach, was known to both Las Vegas police and LAPD as a suspected member of the Romano crime family, the source said.
Reggio, 46, was originally from Hoboken, New Jersey, and had been a Las Vegas resident for sixteen years before moving to the south bay in 2008, records show. He operated Good Fund Financials, LLC, and was on the board of Citizens For Manhattan Beach Preservation.
A Primrose Street neighbor, Jonathan Sweet, said, “Chip was the nicest guy you could ever meet. He played ball with the kids. He was Santa Claus at our Christmas block party. We’re all in shock.”
Police said Reggio was beaten to death Sunday morning in his Norden Lane office, and that robbery has been ruled out as a motive.
Police are asking anyone with information to call their hotline at: 888-826-4800.
Worth keeping an eye on, Christian thought, but definitely good about the mob angle.
There was an afternoon run that he did sometimes when he wanted an extra workout, across Lombard and up the Divisadero hills to Broadway and back down. He’d repeat it a few times. Today the energy wasn’t there, but he forced his way through it. Hopefully it was the double scotch and the stress of talking to Cousins, and nothing physical screwing him up yet.
The shocker was that Cousins might be suspecting Joyce. Of course one positive was the police up there apparently didn’t like Bruce, if it was the same guy, and that could keep them busy for a while. It was impossible to tell if Cousins was slick and knew what he was doing, or was just an ordinary cop fishing around without a plan.
Either way, it seemed wise not to procrastinate too long on the rest of his own business, in case things suddenly caved in on him.
By the time he showered and ate something and paid a few bills it was after seven, and Christian figured why not go see what was up at Maierhaffer’s. The guy had a small mansion on Washington Street, in Presidio Heights not far from where they played tennis at Julius Kahn.
Christian pulled up and parked across the street. If Maierhaffer was home, there might be some fireworks, and if not, he could say hello to Birgitte. What was the harm?
Birgitte answered the door. She was dressed modestly, with little or no makeup, a gorgeous woman in her day, it was clear now, looking entirely appropriate in her fifties.
“Chris Seely?” he said. “Steve’s tennis partner? Remember, at Cala Foods?”
“Oh yes, absolutely—Chris,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you, but actually is Steve around by chance?”
“No, I’m sorry, you’ve missed him. He has a business meeting tonight.”
“Really,” Christian said. “Okay then, I’ll come in for a moment if it’s no trouble.”
“Please, by all means,” she said. “Can I get you something?” They were in the formal living room.
“A club soda type thing would hit the spot,” he said. Birgitte came back with drinks on a tray and a bowl of nuts, everything tasteful.
“It’s none of my business,” Christian said, “but does Steve frequently have business meetings at night?”
“He can, yes,” Birgitte said. “There’s no rhyme or reason to Steve’s schedule. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“He’s an interesting man,” Christian said. “Do you ever think he might be cheating on you?”
Birgitte sat up straight, her face contorted. “I’m sorry?”
Christian nodded. “He is. At least he says he is.”
The words took time to register.
“You’ve . . . caught me totally . . . I don’t know what to say . . . I’m stunned.”
“I’m glad I said something then. It got to the point where I couldn’t hear about it any more.”
“Yes, then . . . I’m glad you did too . . . thank you . . . I needed to know, obviously.”
“Here’s my number. If I can do anything for you, any time, please call me. Okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Thank you so much.”
He left her seated on the couch in a daze and headed to Weatherby’s to take the edge off the day for the second time.
21 – Driveway
“Haaay, what’s shakin’ my brother,” Shep said.
“One thing I’m learning,” Christian said, “don’t get a terminal disease. You act different.”
“I’ll try to remember that . . . Any updates . . . on a topic I might be interested in?”
“The cops talked to me today.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“I don’t think I’m their man. At the moment, anyway.”
“And they have that part right?”
“I feel they have it right, yeah.”
“Okay, I’m not going there,” Shep said.
“That other situation though,” Christian said, “with the intimidating ex-husband? I was in her neighborhood at three in the morning, so I swung by.”
“Any particular reason you were out at three in the morning?”
“I had to put something in Lake Merced.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, there was an extra car in the driveway.”
“See, this type of thing, too much nonsense. It’s generally not worth it.”
“We’ll see, maybe you’re right,” Christian said. His phone rang and he answered it.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” a female voice said.
“Just a moment please,” he said, “I can barely hear you.” He went outside.
“I said you’re an ass, shame on you.” It took a moment, and he realized it was Monica.
“Um, hi Monica. What do you mean?"
“You don’t even know? You’re more pathetic than we thought.”
“I’m real sorry,” Christian said. “I’m at a loss here. What are you talking about?”
“Allison’s open mc? Tonight? In San Rafael? Ring a bell? You told her you’d be there.”
“Shit . . . I can’t believe I forgot all about it. Where is she, let me speak to her.”
“She’s right here, driving back to Berkeley, but she doesn’t want to talk to you. You obviously could care less, but it meant a lot to her to have you at her performance. Which of course you had better things to do than show up at.”
“How did she do?”
“Chris, just don’t pretend you’re interested, all right? Just go back to your party.” She hung up.
“That wasn’t the authorities or anything, was it?” Shep said quietly. “You look a little shook up.”
“Nah, I left someone hanging. My brain is screwy. This is what I’m talking about, how you’re not the same.”
“Let’s face it though, pardner, you’ve got a lot on your plate. You get a pass.”
“I hate standing people up though,” Christian said. “I don’t sleep well afterwards.”
+++
On Wednesday afternoon he dropped in on Ray in the dialysis department at SF General.
“Well now, looky here what the cat brung in,” Ray said. He had two strands of red rubber tubing taped to his forearm that Christian assumed entered his arm someplace, and then continued into a couple of canisters attached to a standing, computerized machine. Ray was wearing a sweater and Oakland A’s cap and sitting on a hospital-type recliner, partially covered by a blanket. There were nine or ten identical patient set ups, and several TVs were blaring.
“I called you back,” Christian said. “But there was no option to leave a message.”
“And there never will be,” Ray said. “I hate the telephone. I’m a fan of direct contact.”
“Good thing I remembered your schedule, then,” Christian said. “What’d you want? When you called me.”
“I got your thing is all.”
; “You did?”
“Told you I’d look into handling your business, didn’t I? So why you surprised?”
“No, it’s just, I thought you might put me in touch with someone or whatever. Not finish it off.”
“You want it or not?”
“Oh, yeah. Listen, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t be jumping for joy like it’s Christmas morning. You setting up for some serious shit now.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“You owe me nothing. If you want, you can buy me another drink.”
“Ray, you’re a good man, you know that?”
“So all these years later . . . that’d be your conclusion then.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still a little white boy piece of crap,” Ray said. “But looking at the whole picture, I guess I’ll take it.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. I got a place we can unwind, hear some music.”
“Fine with me. Long as it ain’t the joint on Chestnut Street again.”
“It’s near there, but a brother’s in charge of this one.”
“That don’t mean nothing.”
“I’ll see you at eight,” Christian said.
+++
When he left Ray, he called Allison.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey back. I guess.”
“About last night, your performance . . . ”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. But getting beyond that for a second, I’m taking a drive out to Idaho. Be gone probably a week.”
“Have a nice trip then.”
“Would you want to come? I mean I know that’s a ridiculous question, completely out of left field.”
“Sure.”
“Hold on, just like that? Sure?”
“Yes, it sounds like fun.”
“Fun in what way? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, have an adventure.”
“Oh. Well I checked the weather and it’s snowing in the Sierras. I hate dealing with chains, but it’s supposed to be clear Saturday. That work?”
“Yes it does,” she said. “I have to run, but thanks.”
“Any time,” he said, pretty sure he just piled on something he shouldn’t have.
+++
After dinner he drove over to Bethany’s.