by Joanne Pence
“Oh?”
“Yuri Baranski is hiding out in it.”
He looked stunned.
She relayed their conversation.
“His story makes sense,” Richie said. “Or maybe it sounds true because you obviously believe him.”
“I do,” she admitted. “The way he talked about Karen, about her excitement over the jewel thefts, that made sense to me. I think”—she caught his gaze—“I think we’ve been wrong about Yuri and the Russians as the cause of her death. I think it had something to do with the jewelry heists. It was right in front of us the whole time—the jewels that were found in the houseboat. Yuri insists neither of them was involved in the thefts, and I believe him. Karen was no thief. So, who put the jewels there? And why?”
Richie nodded. “Go on. I think you’re onto something.”
“She sent Nina off with Yuri so she could meet someone. Obviously, whoever she met must have gone back to her houseboat with her and killed her.”
“The jewel thief?” Richie asked.
“I suspect.”
Richie thought a moment. “But why would she put herself in such danger? It makes no sense.”
Rebecca rubbed her forehead. “I was wondering that myself. There was no reward being offered, so that wasn’t it.”
“Wait a minute.” Richie said. He stepped towards her. “She mentioned that the value of the stolen jewels was ten million dollars. That’s got to be it.”
“What’s it?”
He spun the desk chair around so she faced him, then leaned forward, his hands on the arms. “Find out who insured the jewels. You might find that one company held most of the policies. If so, it’s fairly standard in something like this that an insurer will pay a reward, finder’s fee, whatever you want to call it, to retrieve the stolen goods, especially if the law isn’t making any headway. When really big money is involved, companies have been known to pay up to ten percent of the amount insured. Ten percent of ten million … Karen was looking at a cool million reward if she could find and return the jewels to the insurer.”
“Oh, my God,” Rebecca said. “That would have solved all her problems.”
Richie nodded. “I know someone who lost jewelry in one of those thefts. Let me call her.” He took out his cell phone, and in a short while had Marlena Carbini on the line. He gave her a quick rundown about a friend investigating the robberies, and then asked the name of her insurer. He jotted down the answer. “Thanks, Marlena. I’ll be back to your restaurant soon. Ciao.”
He handed Rebecca the paper with the company’s name. “Sometimes, the Italian hotline serves a good purpose.”
“Thank you.” She tucked the note into her handbag. “It may sound odd, but finding this out makes me feel better. This is definitely the Karen I knew—active, headstrong, and clever. I can see her figuring out who was behind the heists, even without all the data and resources of a police department.”
“Not that those resources seemed to be doing the police any good,” he said.
Her phone started to buzz. “Nothing helps if you don’t know how to use it.” She reached for her phone. “The dispatcher,” she murmured.
He waited as she took the call. She needed to leave.
“You’ve decided Yuri’s okay, despite everything?” he asked.
She thought a moment. “I think Yuri tried to be a good man for Karen, but somehow, he took a wrong turn—visa problems, getting involved with Charkov. It probably seemed the easiest route at first, but once he became involved with the syndicate, they wouldn’t let him just walk away. For Karen, I suspect the problem was that she ended up working on the jewelry heists alone. Yuri didn’t know how to help her, and it ended up being too much for her.”
He walked her out to the car. As she got in, she said, “Don’t do anything until I get back. This is my fight, not yours. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”
He cocked his head slightly as he met her gaze. “I think it’s too late for that.”
CHAPTER 23
Rebecca was surprised to find the lights still on when she walked into Richie’s house at four in the morning. The situation she and Sutter had been called to was clearly an accident unless something remarkable showed up in an autopsy. A motorcyclist who reeked of alcohol had gone off the road south of Fort Point, sending him over a cliff and onto to the rocky beach below. She was glad it was now Friday morning—only a few more hours of being “on-call” and then her days, and nights, would be her own again.
She entered the living room to find Richie stretched out on the sofa reading a mystery set in Naples at the time of Mussolini.
“I’m surprised you’re still awake,” she said. The room was dark excerpt for the lamp beside the sofa. Spike had greeted her then jumped onto a chair to go back to sleep.
Richie shut the book and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I really hate this.”
“Well, if the book isn’t any good, nobody’s forcing you to finish it.”
“You’re funny. What I hate is imagining the danger you’re under when you go out there. It’s hard to take, Inspector.”
“Danger is rare, okay?” she said.
“Like early yesterday morning?” he muttered. “Hunters Point? Do you know how dangerous that area is?”
“Could be that’s why people get killed out there.” She sat on a chair facing him. “I’m sorry I worry you. I’m sorry about yesterday when I stayed out all night working. It happens to me all the time—its routine when I’m on call. I didn’t think you’d worry. I’m not used to having anybody worry about me. No one has for”—she paused to think—“not for the past nearly six years. Boy, I hadn’t realized how long it’s been.”
“Six years?”
“That was when my not-quite-fiancé Will walked out on me after I got shot. I told you about that—how first he was getting jealous of my partner, and then when I was shot, not life-threatening or anything, he couldn’t handle it. I guess that was when I decided I was better off on my own, or with someone who could understand me and my life.”
“Meaning no more guys like Will,” he said.
“Exactly.”
He dropped his gaze from hers and nodded.
She understood exactly what his wordless reaction meant. “Go to bed, Richie. I’ll let Spike out.” She walked to the back door, opened it and called Spike. She stepped onto the deck as Spike ran down the steps to the yard. To her surprise, Richie joined her.
He leaned forward, forearms on the railing as he looked down to watch Spike. Richie the usually talkative one, didn’t say anything.
She did. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening.” She placed her hands on the balcony railing, gripping it tightly.
“I’ve never known you to apologize so much,” he murmured. “Cut it out! It’s not in character. And you didn’t ruin my evening.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to Big Caesar’s. When I saw you with your new girlfriend, I shouldn’t have stayed.”
“Hey,” he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him. “It’s okay. She’s not my ‘girlfriend.’ Just a woman who’s a friend. Nothing more. And maybe I liked it that you stayed there, that you scared the jerk who bothered you into nearly wetting himself, and that you even seemed a little jealous.”
“I never—”
“Yes, Sunshine, you did.”
She stared at him a moment, then, a bit breathlessly added, “And what would you call your attitude when you thought I’d spent the night with Deputy Vargas?”
The seconds seemed to tick by slowly. His hands seemed to tighten on her. She couldn’t look away. Then he let her go and took a step back. “I’d say it’s time for you to go inside. Now. I’ll take care of Spike for you.”
Something about the way he said it, she knew he felt the way she did. One move on her part and all her, and his, good intentions would dissolve. But he was right.
She hurried to her bedroom, and shut the door.
The clock showed 5:30 a.m.
when she awoke to the sound of her bedroom door opening, followed by the patter of Spike’s feet as he entered the room and jumped up on the bed. Then the door shut again.
CHAPTER 24
The next morning, before Rebecca headed for Homicide, she phoned Deputy Vargas and gave him a quick run-down of what she called some ‘indications’ that Karen might have been working for or with an insurance company, and that she might have been trying to figure out who was behind the jewel heists going on in the county.
“Whoa,” Vargas said. “I didn’t see that coming. What gave you the idea?”
“Let’s call it a hunch. What I want to know is if you found anything from an insurance company in with her stuff.”
“Now that you mention it, hold on a minute.” He put the phone down and she could hear the rattling of papers before he came back on the line. “Here’s something. I found a phone number scribbled on a scratch pad. When I called, I got the private number of a Vice President of Heritage Insurance, name of Charles Schoenberg. He acted shocked that I called, and claimed to have no knowledge of Karen Larkin or why she had his phone number. When I told him she had been in possession of stolen jewelry, he suggested she must be a jewel thief herself, and that pretty much ended our conversation.”
Bingo! Heritage was the same company that Richie’s friend had named. She could understand the insurer’s reluctance to talk about rewards or finder’s fees because many people believed that simply offering such things encouraged even more thefts. Vargas gave her the V.P.’s phone number.
She phoned Charles Schoenberg’s office to request a meeting and learned he wouldn’t be back to his office until around one o’clock. It was only 9:30. She decided to look in on Nina since Yuri was depending on her to be sure the child was well taken care of. She drove to the Child Protective Services office and went inside.
She walked up to the woman at the front desk and showed her badge. “Inspector Mayfield, Police. I’m here to see Nina Larkin. I brought her in three days ago.”
The woman quickly looked through her files. “Oh … let me get her social worker for you.”
In a moment, Eleanor Chang came out of the back room, a pretty Chinese-American woman who looked to be in her early-to-mid thirties. “Inspector Mayfield?” The two shook hands. “I have good news for you, Inspector. The child’s father came and got her.”
Rebecca was shocked by the news. “That’s quite a surprise.” She pondered how to proceed. Had Yuri changed his mind since yesterday? What was he up to? Had he lied to her all along? “We tried to find the father, but weren’t able to,” she said. “Did he explain why the baby had been left in the house all alone?”
“He said she was supposed to be cared for by her mother. The parents are divorced with joint custody, but the mother has a drinking problem. When he went to pick up his daughter, he found the mother drunk and our note saying we have the child. He’ll be going to court, using this situation as evidence to ask for sole custody of the girl.”
A good story, but Rebecca wasn’t buying it. She went out to the BMW for her folders with files from the cases she was working. She found a photo of Yuri Baranski, took it inside and showed it to Ms. Chang.
“This is Yuri Baranski. Is he the man who picked up the child?”
The social worker looked worried and confused. “No. But he showed me all the identification we require—everything—including several photo IDs, not just a driver’s license. Are you sure that’s a photo of Mr. Baranski?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said.
She shook her head. “The man I saw was much older—old enough to be her grandfather, in fact, but older parents are more and more common these days.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Big, husky, you know? Kind of scary looking, short grayish blond hair.”
Rebecca nodded. “By any chance did you notice if most of the little finger on his right hand was missing?”
The social worker gawked at her. “As a matter of fact, yes. I remember seeing that. Are you telling me he’s not the girl’s father?”
“I’m not sure exactly what’s going on yet. I’ll look into it.”
“So will I.” Eleanor Chang put her hands to her cheeks, her face reddening with angry blotches. “If that child was taken by someone other than her father, she’s been kidnapped.”
Rebecca asked that Chang’s supervisor join them, and then she explained to both women that the situation involved the Russian mafia and the FBI. She had no idea the Russians would be so brazen as to take the child, but CPS needed to back away at this point. The SFPD and FBI would handle it. Chang and her supervisor were quite glad to do that.
Rebecca steeled herself as she returned to Homicide to tell Lt. Eastwood that her dead friend’s child had now been kidnapped by Shurik Charkov himself. She knew, after he told her to stay away from the Russians, he was going to have a conniption.
He did.
“Damn it, Mayfield! Still, I’m not letting a child’s kidnapping get swept under the rug no matter what the FBI says” Eastwood fumed. “I’ll deal with them. This time, I’m not backing down. But as for you, go home. If I hear anything more about you connected with anything Russian, even a piroshki, I swear I’ll have your badge. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Rebecca hurried out of the office, glad to still have a job.
She sat in the BMW, trying to figure out what to do. If the law didn’t move fast enough and Charkov got wind of it, that could also result in Nina getting shipped off to God knows where, as Yuri feared might happen. Also, Yuri might be killed or imprisoned. And she could have a perpetual price on her head for messing with the Russians. She now understood, more than ever, the fear Karen must have lived with every day knowing that Yuri was involved with those people and that any wrong move could be deadly to any one of their family, including her parents and her child.
And if they went after people their enemies were close to, did that mean they might go after Richie?
CHAPTER 25
Rebecca was waiting when Charles Schoenberg walked into the Heritage Insurance office waiting room. He entered with such an air of authority, immediately barking orders at his secretary, that Rebecca needed no introduction. He was tall and tanned, with manicured gray hair and wearing an impeccable suit whose price-tag she couldn’t begin to guess. She stood and showed her badge. “Mayfield, Homicide. I need to speak with you.”
“What’s this about?”
“Karen Larkin’s murder.”
“Who?”
“May we speak privately?”
He glanced at his secretary who was watching them, mouth agape. With a grimace, he said, “All right. But I don’t have much time.”
“The more you cooperate, the faster I will be.” Rebecca’s eyes were hard.
Still frowning, he showed her into his office. It reeked of wealth with heavy wood and leather furnishings. He pointed towards a chair for her as he sat behind his desk.
Rebecca went straight to the point. “We know Karen Larkin was on the verge of identifying the person or persons behind the jewel thefts in Marin County when she was killed. How much did she tell you about what she learned?”
He folded his hands on the desktop. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Yes, you do.” Here she took a leap and hoped it proved right. “Yours was one of the last numbers she called before she was killed. I’m sure she wasn’t calling to discuss the weather.”
He shook his head, his nose arrogantly lifted. “I don’t—”
“If you want to make it to your next meeting, you’ll stop stalling.”
He sighed with distain. “You appear to be making assumptions. I’ll have my attorney contact you.”
“Mr. Schoenberg,” Rebecca’s voice was low and cold. “I suggest you think before you say anything more. If you want your lawyer involved, that’s fine. But are you sure playing this out in public is in your best interest?”
His perpetual frown deepened. “Now, look
—”
“Let me be even clearer.” She spoke slowly and distinctly. “I suggest you give some thought to your investors’ reactions to learning that this company used a young mother to go up against jewel thieves, and as a result, got killed.” Rebecca stared hard at him. “Will your superiors admit to going along with you in that? Or will they say they knew nothing about it? Whichever happens, what will that do for your career, Mr. Schoenberg? Or should I say, what career?”
“You have no proof!”
“Don’t I? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
His face turned ashen.
“This is a murder investigation, sir.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm at the honorific. “You will tell me everything you know, here, now, or we and your attorney can meet at Eight-Fifty Bryant Street.”
He recognized the Hall of Justice address because he blanched, then drew in his breath. “All right! All right. If I tell you what little I know, will you agree to keep me and our company out of the picture?”
“I can’t do that,” she said. “If we need to use it, we will. If not, we won’t.”
He drew in his breath. “Okay. All I can tell you is that she met with me about three weeks ago to discuss retrieval fees given to someone who helps us find property we normally would be paying a claim on. She wanted to make sure they would apply in the Marin County jewelry heists. I said that if her information allowed us to retrieve the stolen jewels, and saved us from having to pay insurance claims on those jewels, she would be rewarded in the amount of five percent of whatever she saved us. I also explained that our share was seven million dollars, not the ten million she might have heard. She insisted on a contract, and so we drew one up which included us covering her legitimate expenses.”
“Go on,” she said.
“That was it for a while, then, two weeks ago, she called to say she was close to getting the proof she needed. She had set up a meeting and needed money for it. I sent her some cash.”