by Joanne Pence
“Good. There, she will be safe,” Baranski said. “Now, you must understand. Karen’s death had nothing to do with me or Charkov and his people.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Rebecca said. “You and they seemed to be the most dangerous things in her life.”
“No.” His eyes filled with anguish. “I may have been safest. If up to me, she would be alive today. But in her heart, she was still cop, even though she quit her job.”
“What do you mean?”
He drew in his breath, waiting a moment before continuing. “She had interest in jewelry thefts in towns near us. She study them. She want to go back to law enforcement, but because of me, she could not. She love ‘the game’ as she call it.”
“What did she do?”
“She not tell me. She said less I know, is better for me. But she now had money—money to buy expensive clothes and attend fancy parties.”
“Money from where?” Rebecca asked.
Yuri shook his head, murmuring that he didn’t know.
“I don’t get it,” Rebecca said. “Was she working with the Sausalito police or the County?”
He again shook his head. “I don’t think so. I remember one day, she said thieves took over ten million dollars in jewelry. She was happy about it.”
“Happy?” Rebecca didn’t get it. “What did she mean?”
“I don’t know. But someone knew, and when she die, stolen jewels were found in houseboat. But she did not steal them. She was no thief. Someone put thefts on her. And now, someone put her murder on me.”
“Didn’t you two fight the day she was murdered? Didn’t she throw you out?”
“We fought, and I left. We fought because I don’t want her to do anything dangerous. She said we need money and she have good way to get it. She said we soon go far away, start over.”
Rebecca studied him. “If you left earlier that day, and you weren’t involved in Karen’s murder, how did you end up with Nina?”
He shut his eyes a moment, and when he opened then, silent tears fell from his eyes. “Later, when I calm down, I am sorry for fight. I call Karen, said I hate that she put herself in dangerous, but if she must do this, I will help. I want to keep her safe. She ask me to take Nina for a few hours that night. She said she must meet someone, and she call me when we could go back home. But she never …” He stopped, struggling with his memories.
Rebecca waited a moment, then asked, “You went along with that?”
“I didn’t want to fight anymore. She was strong, brave, and smart woman. She had plan, but something went wrong. I think someone learn her plan. I don’t know how, but that is who killed her.” He blinked hard as if that would stop the tears that rolled down his face, but it didn’t. “She was good, Rebecca, good to me and our daughter. I fail her. Now, I fail Nina. I don’t know what to do, but somehow, the one who did this terrible thing, must pay.” He bowed his head.
For the first time since this all began, she felt as if the old Karen, her friend, was being described. Yuri talked about the Karen she knew. A bit daredevil, a bit brash, and loving the excitement of “the game.”
Unfortunately, this time the game had turned deadly.
“One thing bothers me,” Rebecca said. “Why were you at the Golden Gate Garage on Saturday?”
“Before you found me, it safe for me. No one know I worked there. I ask Vasiliev if I could have work, or if not, borrow money for apartment for me and Nina. He give me some money, small job, try to help … and then, you arrive. He say go away, do not come back.”
Rebecca’s heart sank. She turned to Sutter, who had been quietly listening. She knew he was trying to put all the pieces together as he listened. Sutter was far from stupid, and she was confident he understood.
He wrinkled his mouth, but then his eyes darted towards Baranski, and back at her. He nodded. He believed Baranski’s story.
Rebecca knew there was an APB out for Baranski from Sausalito, which meant she should take him in. But that, she was sure, would stop Wong from looking for the real murderer. She made a decision—one that again jeopardized her job, so she couldn’t get her partner involved. “I’ll handle it from here,” she said to Sutter. “Thank you for your help.”
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded.
He faced Baranski with a fierce scowl and a warning. “If you’re lying to us …”
Baranski looked him straight in the face. “I do not lie about my wife.”
Sutter turned and walked out the door.
Once the two were alone, Rebecca said, “I want you to stay here. I’ll bring you more food. I know there isn’t much in the apartment.”
“There’s enough for me. Don’t worry about it. If Charkov still watch you, he wonder why you bring food here. When person who kill Karen is caught, Charkov will know you are not looking for him any longer. After that, he has no reason to kill me. Perhaps then I can go back to my daughter.”
Rebecca nodded and removed his handcuffs. “I’m trusting you to stay put. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t,” Baranski said. “But I beg you, Inspector, please keep my Nina safe, and find Karen’s killer.”
CHAPTER 22
Rebecca hurried to Richie’s house but he wasn’t home. If Baranski’s story was true, she could stay away from the Russians, and leave them to the FBI just as Eastwood wanted. She was glad of that. The killer, she now knew, was somewhere in Marin County.
At the moment, however, her thoughts took a very different turn, as she decided to go to a grocery store. She could cook a little, and since Richie once called her a “country girl,” she planned to show him just how good an Idaho meal could be. She bought a small prime rib and a couple of potatoes for baking, along with butter, sour cream, chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits to put on top, plus some creamy horseradish sauce for the prime rib and the makings for a crisp salad with ranch dressing.
She put the roast and potatoes in the oven, then took a shower. She expected Richie would be coming home any minute now.
She was dressed and pacing in the kitchen, wondering why he wasn’t there yet. She knew that preparing a special dinner would put their relationship on a whole new level, but she was ready for that, and wanting it. She had heard how hollow her words to Kiki against Richie sounded. The more time she spent with him, the more she cared, the more she trusted, and since he had indicated he’d like to try to work out their differences, she wanted to try as well.
And, yes, the whole idea of her and Richie together made her nervous. But right now, she didn’t care.
The prime rib should be removed from the oven in another half hour. He liked meat medium rare. The last thing she wanted was to serve him something dried out and overcooked.
She had wanted the meal to be a surprise, a delicious surprise, but decided to phone and make sure he would soon be arriving.
“Hello, Rebecca.” The tone of his voice sounded odd, distanced.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he said curtly. “You called me, remember. Why?”
This wasn’t like him. “I was wondering when you were coming home for dinner.”
“I already ate. I’m going straight to the club tonight.”
“Oh.” Of course, she thought, as disappointment filled her. He had a life. Lots of things to do. He had never struck her as a homebody. Probably, he had spent more time in his house since she’d been there than usual.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did you need me home for some reason?”
“No … no, not at all.” Kiki’s words about Richie being insightful came back to her. “I just had an interesting turn of events in Karen’s murder to tell you about. But it’s nothing that can’t wait.”
“Well, in that case,” he said, “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Sure.” She swallowed hard.
He hung up without another word.
She stared at the phone. That was the second time he’d hung up on
her. I’ll see you when I see you. What kind of rotten way was that to talk to her?
“Screw you!” she muttered.
She finished cooking the prime rib. She ate some and tried to eat a baked potato and salad. She knew they were cooked well, and that the meat was tender, but everything tasted like sawdust.
Finally, she put the leftovers away and cleaned up the kitchen. She wished her apartment was half as spic-and-span as Richie’s home. He had a woman come over to clean it once a week, and he managed to keep it in fine shape in between.
She went into the living room, her pride still stinging, and turned on the TV. She flipped through a bunch of channels, and realized that despite the hundreds of channels he seemed to have available, she couldn’t find a thing she wanted to watch, not even It Happened One Night, which was one of her all-time favorite classic movies.
She turned the TV off again.
She was in a sorry state. She had never before turned off Clark Gable.
She couldn’t take it any longer. She knew what she had to do.
o0o
Rebecca walked into Big Caesar’s wearing her green cocktail dress. With a little foundation make-up, and the lounge lighting, her bruises scarcely showed.
The place was packed, as usual. As the band played the upbeat and fun, Zoot Suit Riot, she headed for the bar but saw, near a wall, a small table for two. She took it.
She didn’t see Richie, and didn’t ask for him when the cocktail waitress came by to take her order.
She was sipping her mai tai when she saw him strolling towards the bar, his hand on the waist of a beautiful redhead. Rebecca could feel her heart begin to pound, which was silly, she told herself. It was just Richie.
As usual, his dark eyes surveyed all that was happening in his club, but when he saw her, he did a double-take. Their eyes met and held, but then he turned back to the woman he was walking with and he continued to lead her to two other couples.
Rebecca took several deep breaths. She told herself she only wanted to talk to him about her case, so why should it matter if he was interested in some other woman? But then she stopped. She wasn’t fooling herself anymore.
She drank more and waited. He was only being polite, she thought, talking to the small cluster around him. He would come over to see her soon.
The band began to play a slow love ballad, “The Nearness of You.” She watched Richie walk the redhead to the dance floor.
Rebecca tried to ignore the sexy, innuendo-filled words to the old Hoagy Carmichael classic.
Richie seemed to have eyes only for his dance partner.
Rebecca finished her drink, stood, picked up her purse, and was about to leave when she changed her mind. Let’s see how long you ignore the person living in your house. She sat back down, folded her arms and watched.
“May I join you?”
She looked up to see a pleasant looking young man holding a martini. “Get lost!”
He hurried away.
This wasn’t a pick-up kind of place. Most people who came were couples, but there were a few loners—like her—who wandered into the bar area. She ordered a second drink, and the cocktail waitress quickly brought to it her.
She sipped on it until the maudlin song ended and Richie walked the woman back over to the group they had been with. She expected he would come over to see her next.
The same singer rolled right into an old torch classic, “Cry Me A River.” At times she had felt it should be her theme song.
But no more.
Her gaze narrowed on Richie who still had his back to her. A nice looking back it was, though.
“Want to dance?”
A smug-sounding fellow who looked like he had too much to drink appeared beside her. “Beat it,” she said, then went back to glaring in Richie’s direction.
“I’ve watched you sitting here.” He put his drink on the table and leaned towards her. “Whoever you’re waiting for isn’t going to show up. But I’m here. Come on. I know you want to dance.”
“I said, go away.” Her whole day now added up to an I-hate-the-world situation.
He smirked. “You don’t mean that.” He took hold of her wrist, stood up straight and gave it a tug.
“I’m warning you,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”
“No way.” His grip tightened and he pulled on her again. This time, she did stand, twisted his arm behind his back and lifted in a way that made his head bob forward as he yelped in pain.
“Do you still want to dance, shithead?” she asked sweetly.
“Let him go.” Richie was beside her, pulling her away as a couple of his bouncers took hold of the guy and whisked him out of the club so fast his feet scarcely touched the ground. The whole thing was over in less than five seconds.
She faced him and didn’t say a word.
He ran his hand along the back of his head, which she learned was his usual gesture when trying to regain control of his emotions and to think before blurting out something he might regret. “Sorry about that. We try to keep guys who’ve had a few too many out of here, but sometimes one slips by.” His dark eyes drifted over her cocktail dress, then caught her gaze and held.
Words raged through her head, but she still was too angry to speak.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
“Waiting for someone?” She managed to keep her voice down, despite her wanting to shake him. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m here to see you.”
His jaw tightened, and she knew he was keeping his temper in check the way she had failed to do with her own. “Let’s go.” He took hold of her arm and led her towards the back offices.
“Richie, sweetie?” the redhead called as they walked by.
He didn’t say a word to her.
He brought Rebecca to his office and shut the door. “What’s going on?”
“Maybe I should ask you that?” She could have kicked herself as soon as the words came out and she saw his eyebrows lift. She sounded like some jealous girlfriend, which she was not. She put her hands on her waist. “I thought you might be interested in knowing that I’ll be moving back to my own place soon.”
His lips tightened. “You want your privacy, I take it.”
“Me? I should think that’s more what you want, ‘Richie, sweetie,’” she said, mocking the redhead’s tone.
His eyes narrowed and hardened. She had never seen him look at her that way. “No, I don’t, but then I don’t have a new friend from San Rafael to entertain, do I?”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “A what?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you spent yesterday and last night with him. Dinner, and then who knows what. But I can imagine. Then today, you went back to your apartment, I guess to make sure it was ready for company. He seems to be everything you’re looking for. Nice, dependable, and he’s a cop. Bully for you!”
Her jaw dropped. “We’re working together on Karen Larkin’s case.”
“Don’t lie. You’re no good at it.”
He started towards the door, but she grabbed his arm and made him face her. “You had me followed?”
“No. But I hear things. When you didn’t come home last night, I was worried. About the Russians, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You knew I was on-call.”
“Is that your excuse?”
She let go of him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Shay knew where the Beemer was, so it was easy for him to learn about you and your deputy friend. Later, the Beemer didn’t move.”
“Shay put a tracker on the car? Took off the Russian’s and put on his … or yours. How dare you!”
“How dare I?” he shouted. “What if Charkov tried again? Was I supposed to ignore the danger? Not be able to find you? Oh, but I found you all right.” His voice turned low, deadly. “Found you huddled in some restaurant with a guy you then left with.”
Her breath came shallow. “You could have phoned me.”
>
“What, and interrupt your date? As if you always take my calls. And yes, I thought I might be wrong, so I talked to Sutter around two a.m.,” Richie added, “and learned nothing was going on last night. Nothing involving Homicide, I should say. But you never made it home. Fast work, Mayfield.”
She was so angry she shoved him and gladly watched him stumble back a couple of steps. “Yes. I spent the night with Mike Vargas after we both fell asleep in your BMW on a stake-out. It was a big nothing.”
He stepped towards her, furious, grabbing her wrists so she wouldn’t push him again. But almost immediately let go as he saw the bruises that still showed a bit on her arms. She watched a multitude of emotions play across his face.
“All right,” she said, trying to calm herself. “Vargas is a good guy. He even asked me out. But I stupidly turned him down. So there. Does that make you feel better?”
He lifted his chin.
She wanted to shove him again, wanted to do anything to try to break through this brick wall of injured possessiveness between them. She tightened her jaw, then spat out the words, “I’ll be sure to remedy that mistake tomorrow. How about that?”
To her surprise, his mouth curved into a half-smile. “Good.”
She was sure her head would explode. “Good what? Good I turned him down, or good that I’ll remedy my mistake?”
He stepped closer, still smiling. “You figure it out.”
She didn’t know if she most wanted to kiss him or slap him. Instead of deciding, she spun towards the windows, needing her breathing to return to normal, or as normal as it could be around him. She shut her eyes, but then she pictured him in the arms of that stupid redhead.
“You wanted to tell me that you’re moving back to your apartment, right?” he asked.
She could tell from his voice that he had backed away from her.
She waited a long moment, then turned. He was seated in a chair near his desk.
She strode to the main desk chair, a high-back leather that swiveled and rocked, and sat in it. “Your spies had a lot wrong about how I’ve spent my time. A call came in at five a.m., and I worked on it most of today. The only thing the spies had right about my day was that I did go back to my apartment,” she said.