Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2)

by Joanne Pence

  “Everything is fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  At the elevator, he announced. “I’ll drive. I don’t want to get into any car you’re associated with.”

  She bit her tongue.

  “On the other hand,” he continued as they reached his car, “how often do you hear of the Russian mafia trying to kill someone twice and not succeeding? It’s uncanny. You must have more lives than a cat.”

  “If they wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”

  “Well, they were surely trying to do something. And if I’d been there, I might have been caught in the cross-fire. I think you’re putting all of us in danger.”

  “Drive.”

  At the Stegall home, they showed the search warrant and looked for a down pillow. There was none. Lyndsey was allergic to down.

  They questioned her about her husband’s death. She said she tended to stay up late while her husband was an early to bed, early to rise type. When she got up Monday morning, she found him dead at the bottom of the stairs.

  When questioned about her relationship with her husband, she spoke nothing but platitudes and clichés about their perfect marriage. That, and anger that she was being asked such questions.

  Rebecca and Sutter next canvassed the neighbors, and that turned up a very different scenario. The divorced woman next door, Briona Horne, was certain Lyndsey had murdered “poor Harlan.” She said the two fought constantly and never seemed to do anything together.

  Back at the office, Rebecca checked insurance companies, and discovered that Harlan Stegall had a sizable term life insurance policy—a cool two mill.

  Sutter spun his desk chair around to face Rebecca, then leaned back in it to discuss the case. A clear conflict existed between the wife's view of the marriage and what they heard from one neighbor.

  They came up with a plan to sort it out.

  Sutter requested that each of them show up in Homicide in one hour.

  The timing couldn’t have been better. Briona Horne arrived first. She stood at the entry to Homicide when Lyndsey Stegall and her attorney walked in.

  “What’s she doing here?” Lyndsey demanded of her attorney. The man looked as surprised as she was.

  “I’m here to help the police,” Briona said. “They need to know what you’re going to do now that you can no longer spend every waking moment making Harlan miserable.”

  “You slut!”

  Briona smirked. “Say what you want, but at least I’m not a frigid bitch.”

  “Come on,” Lyndsey’s attorney took her arm and pulled her towards the interview room, but she wouldn’t stop shrieking.

  “Harlan would have been happy, and I would have been happy, except for your meddling ways,” Lyndsey was all but screaming, then her voice turned high and mincing as she mocked Briona. “‘Oh, Harlan, you’re so nice to have around to help poor little me.’ Yeah, right. He was a jerk to fall for that. But he got over it. He was going to dump you on your fat ass, and you couldn’t stand that, could you?”

  The homicide cops gladly let the two continue to fight until Lyndsey’s attorney got her inside the interview room and slammed the door.

  When Rebecca and Sutter interviewed Briona, she admitted to the affair, but insisted it had not ended, and that Lyndsey killed Harlan out of jealousy.

  Briona's involvement was enough to get a search warrant of her home. Sutter accompanied the crime scene investigators while Rebecca kept an eye on Lyndsey and Briona in their separate rooms.

  Before long, Sutter phoned. He held a down feather in his hand from a pillow on Briona Horne’s sofa. CSI took the pillow to the lab.

  Rebecca explained to Eastwood and the district attorney that she and Sutter may have found the murder weapon, and gave them a heads up for a potential arrest warrant request.

  As she spoke, she couldn’t help but think about the similarities in Karen Larkin’s case.

  Everything pointed to Baranski as Karen’s killer, but what if, as in Harlan Stegall’s case, the most obvious person was not guilty?

  She needed to return to Sausalito, to the houseboat Yuri and Karen shared.

  She would have a couple of hours until the down pillow results came in, which was time enough to go through the houseboat again. She left Homicide and headed north.

  Instead of stopping in Sausalito, she continued to San Rafael. On the northernmost edge of the city stood the Marin County Courthouse, well known because it had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright to fit in with the rolling hills of the area.

  There, she located the Investigations Bureau, and hoped the detective assigned to the case would be more helpful to her than Larry Wong had been. Deputy Mike Vargas, the person in charge, was in the field on another case. Rebecca had to admit she was surprised that more than one homicide was being investigated simultaneously in the quiet, affluent streets of Marin County.

  Vargas’ boss contacted the deputy, who agreed to meet Rebecca at the houseboat. They were still holding it, but the investigation had stalled. If nothing broke over the next day or two, they would release it back to its owner.

  Deputy Vargas was a pleasant looking fellow, tall, broad, olive complected, with thick straight black hair over a square face. He stayed with Rebecca as she looked through Karen’s paper, photos, drawers, and anything else that might turn up a clue.

  “I understand the deceased was a friend of yours,” he said after a while.

  “Yes. She was a good cop.”

  “We were told she quit the force to take care of her baby.”

  Rebecca was surprised. “I’d say it had more to do with a boyfriend in the country illegally and working with the Russian syndicate.”

  “The Russians? Those are scary guys. I never dealt with them, but I’ve heard stories.”

  Rebecca could have told him scary stories of her own. She let her eyes slowly travel over the space. She felt stymied. “I heard you found some jewelry in the houseboat from recent thefts in the county. What can you tell me about that?”

  “We’ve had a number of burglaries the past couple months. When some of the stolen jewels were found in this houseboat, we wanted to know why. Did her boyfriend steal them, or Karen Larkin, or what?”

  “Karen was no thief,” Rebecca said firmly.

  “The jewels were from the most recent theft, a party in Sausalito two Sundays ago. The party began at two that afternoon. The jewels were in the bedroom before it started, and were heisted sometime after that.”

  “And Karen was killed on a Thursday, a week and a half later?”

  “Correct. Detective Wong’s theory was first that Baranski was the jewel thief, but now he thinks Karen Larkin was the thief, Baranski found out and that’s why he killed her.”

  “That’s even crazier than his first theory.” Rebecca said. “And since when do spouses kill each other for being thieves? He’s nuts!”

  Vargas held up his hands. “I agree. But it explains everything. Wong likes it.”

  Rebecca thought it best not to comment. “How were the heists conducted?” Her first stint in the Bureau of Inspections had been in Property Crimes. Since she had done well there, she was promoted to the pinnacle of the bureau, Homicide. Time to revisit her old skills.

  “What can I say?” Vargas said. “Rich women; lots of money; garden parties, soirees held in their homes, you name it. Plenty of booze, sometimes drugs. Some guests show up with a ‘plus one’ as they call them, someone the home owner doesn’t know, and knows nothing about. Karen Larkin could have fit in. We found a couple of very expensive dresses in her closet. In any case, she or Baranski have to be suspects, because we found stolen jewelry in their houseboat.”

  “Have you matched the guest lists to see who shows up more than once?” Rebecca asked.

  “Of course, but it’s a small community, and when you’re inviting a couple hundred people, you get lots of matches. There are at least two dozen people—our wealthiest citizens for the most part—who are invited to every big event. Not only d
o we have plenty of names to investigate, but they aren’t the type of people who appreciate our inquiries.”

  He continued. “In every theft, someone threw a big party at home, and afterward, some jewels were gone.”

  “Were the jewels in safes?”

  “All were in older, at-home safes. Nothing especially elegant, but they should have been adequate. These people would keep their truly expensive pieces in their bank safe deposit boxes. Those items kept home were in the ten-grand range, not fifty grand. I had the impression that many felt an individual piece might not have been worth locking up, but when ten such pieces are stolen, it adds up to real money, even for multi-millionaires.” Vargas checked his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in Fairfax now, but I’ll head over to the city soon—possibly today, but if not, for sure tomorrow. I’ve got a few leads I’m working on, and I’d like to find Baranski myself, if he’s still alive. If you’re not too busy, what if we get together when I’m there, and talk over what we’ve found?”

  She liked that idea and gave him her card. “Sounds good. Call me. I look forward to it.”

  He smiled—a very handsome smile. “So do I.”

  The houseboat seemed eerily quiet after he left. He had a good presence. A nice way about him. No wedding ring. Plus, he was a cop—not a “heaven-only-knows-what” like Richie. She should dress a little better tomorrow. It couldn’t hurt, and might distract her from her growing fascination with Richie.

  Or, maybe she should just move back home. She hated hiding out. Hated living in Richie’s house. Last night, she could hardly go to sleep. Whenever she shut her eyes, she imagined beautiful women at Big Caesar’s throwing themselves at him. With them, he could have the kind of carefree relationships he wanted. She should be glad for him.

  She didn’t feel glad, however. She felt jealous.

  Damn!

  She left the houseboat.

  The phony gypsy who had been selling flowers the last time she was there was present again. She jutted her head forward as if looking through her dark glasses studying Rebecca.

  “You again?” Rebecca said.

  In a pseudo-spooky voice, the vendor intoned, “You must beware because everything you think you know is wrong. The road you are on is very dangerous. You will put yourself and others in danger by following it. Turn away from it before it’s too late.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” she asked.

  “It’s a warning. There is evil in this place. You must keep away or it will end badly for you.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Did Richie put you up to this?”

  The vendor took a white peony from her cart and handed it to Rebecca. “White is the color of death in many Eastern cultures. You will see much death unless you change.”

  “News bulletin: I already do.” Rebecca refused to take the flower and watched while the vendor dropped it on the ground and stepped on it, crushing the delicate petals.

  o0o

  Rebecca drove straight to the Sausalito PD. She was going to try one last time to get Wong to work with her.

  He was at his desk and didn’t invite her to sit.

  She explained that Yuri Baranski was now missing, and that his daughter had been left alone in his apartment. He was the subject of a search.

  “A missing person’s case, in other words,” Wong said with a smug smile. “So why is Homicide involved?”

  She bristled.

  Where’s Richie when I need him?

  She tried to sound pleasant as she said, “I’d like to see your murder book.”

  He gave her a look that told her he would rather have his fingernails torn out. He stood up. “Sorry. It’s with the captain at the moment.”

  Sure it is.

  “Your friend was on the wrong side of the law. Until you recognize that, you’re going to be wasting your time. Mine, too.”

  “Oh, yes,” Rebecca said. “I heard you now think Karen was a thief. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “Is that so?” He remained standing as he talked to her even though she had a good three inches on him. “She had knowledge of guns, and the moxie, since she’d been a city cop, to dress up and waltz into homes with big parties going on. And I can well imagine what she did to get rich men to take her to such parties. She knew no one would question her if she looked right. Then, she could find a way to steal the jewelry.”

  God, but Rebecca was really coming to hate the jerk. “You seem to be making a lot of assumptions, Detective.”

  He lifted his chin. “The welfare assistance and food stamps she got from the government couldn’t have paid for her rent, let alone food or the quality of a few of her dresses. She had to do something for money.”

  “Ever hear of a consignment store? And you know she and Baranski both worked from time to time.”

  “No, I don’t know that.” He put his hands on his skinny hips. “Neither worked ‘on the books’ at any rate, which means she was even more of a criminal than I thought.”

  Rebecca was ready to slug him, and decided she had better change the topic. “Why didn’t you talk to the owner of the houseboat?”

  “Officer Grimes looked into it. Apparently, she lives in San Francisco and has nothing to do with the couple other than to collect the rents.”

  “Do you know who her husband is?”

  “I don’t know why I should care.”

  “I’ve met him. He’s part of the Russian mob.”

  Larry Wong burst into laughter. “You are really too much, Inspector. Now you’re bringing organized crime onto a little houseboat in Sausalito? Give me a break! It was a domestic dispute! Everyone knows it. This is a small community. People here know each other, and many people I know and trust knew Baranski and Larkin. They all say the exact same thing. It’s not a mystery, Inspector. How many ways do I have to tell you that?”

  “Police work by gossip,” she said. “What a concept.”

  “I may not be a ‘trained’ homicide investigator, but I’ve worked in this city many years, Inspector Mayfield. I know the people here. They are my people, not your big city scum.”

  “Baranski worked at the Golden Gate Garage,” she continued, “which is somehow connected to his landlord, Shurik Charkov, who is a crime boss in the West Coast syndicate.”

  Wong was furious. “You located where he worked, and you didn’t tell me? You interfere with my investigation, find out an important piece of information and keep it to yourself? I’ll report you for this, Inspector.”

  She folded her arms. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Since I’ve never been allowed to see your murder book, I don’t know what information you did or didn’t have. I mistakenly assumed you would have found it out as easily as I did. Oh, wait … the last time I tried to talk to you about Baranski, to say I learned where he worked, you refused to listen. Said it was all 'confidential.' How did that work out for you?”

  He sat down at his desk and opened a folder, pretending to be engrossed in it.

  She was so angry she scarcely sounded civil as she asked, “Who’s in charge of investigating the jewelry robberies?”

  He leaned back, arms folded, and with a smirk said, “That would also be me.”

  He pointed at a desk pushed up against a wall in the corner and overflowing with folders and paperwork. “Heaven forbid I keep anything more from you. There you’ll find all the reports and statements and forensic evidence we’ve collected so far. Feel free to go through it and give us your expertise, Inspector Mayfield. I’m sure we’ll find your insights most valuable.”

  She so very, very much wanted to shoot him.

  CHAPTER 20

  Rebecca was going through Wong’s reports on the jewelry heists while sitting in the receptionist’s area—away from her favorite detective—when she received a call from San Francisco’s CSI that the down, fabric, lint, and dander particulates from Briona Horne’s pillow exactly matched with those found in Harlan Stegall’s air passages. With no fond farewell to Wong, she left Sausalito and
headed back to Homicide.

  She and Sutter got the okay from Eastwood to make an arrest.

  Rebecca and Sutter met Briona Horne and her attorney in the interview room. Once Briona learned about the pillow, she changed her story to say she and Harlan had gone to his house to wake Lyndsey and tell her he was leaving her, but Harlan tripped and fell on the stairs. Briona ran back to her house to get a pillow to put under his head, but he was too heavy for her to roll onto his back, and that was why he breathed in the down. Then, he died. She was trying to help and had nothing to do with his death.

  Rebecca and Sutter looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Whether Harlan’s fall on the stairs was accidental or not, most likely no one but Briona would ever know for sure. Lyndsey, with her medications, had slept through it all. A macabre, vengeful ménage-a-trois gone deadly.

  Neither side could prove that theirs was the “true” version of what happened, and the D.A. decided to suggest a plea deal. Briona and her attorney had twenty-four hours to decide if they would take it.

  All Rebecca had left on the case was to write up her reports.

  Before doing that, she called Child Protective Services to check up on Nina Larkin. The girl had been transferred to a home set up to care for very young children. The CPS heard nothing as yet from the child’s father.

  Rebecca went down to Missing Persons. Since enough time had passed that Baranski could be considered officially missing, she gave all the information to Inspector Pamela James. Until Baranski’s body turned up, he wasn’t Homicide's case.

  Back at her desk, she faced a stack of notes that needed to be put into the report when Deputy Mike Vargas called. He was in the city and hoped to discuss Yuri Baranski with her.

  Since it was after seven, and neither had eaten dinner, they met at a restaurant near the Golden Gate Garage. She wanted Vargas to see the location she was talking about, and perhaps, the type of people they were dealing with.

  Rebecca learned Larry Wong was as unwilling to help Vargas as he was her. Vargas concluded that Wong saw the murder as a chance to be on the front page of the local newspaper and to assure he became the next Chief of Police. He somehow became convinced early on that Baranski was the killer, that he or Karen was also the jewel thief, and Wong would do nothing except follow that course. Once Baranski disappeared from Sausalito, Wong didn’t know how to proceed beyond sending out APBs and waiting for street cops to find him.