He thought about the man he’d seen die on New Year’s. Karl Schuler had spent most of his life giving to other people. In a valley where young, smart tech types were glorified and senior citizens barely visible, why would anyone track down and kill a ninety-two-year-old man?
He’d meet up with Duke Sorenson to ask more about Karl. He was also curious about Schuler’s involvement with East Point Youth Center—could his work there have led to a bad encounter with gang members?
Maybe they’d been making the old man’s death too complicated. Maybe Karl Schuler had been unlucky, that’s all.
In the wrong place at a very wrong time.
12
Rose called Duke back the next morning, asking if he could come by and do some yard work when he picked up the box of Karl’s books and belongings. He agreed.
He had too much time on his hands anyway. Karl had kept his front yard neatly groomed, right down to the edging.
But three days after Karl’s death, the lawn needed to be mowed, weeds pulled and the hedge of rose bushes pruned.
It was the least Duke could do. Karl would wince if he saw the yard like this. Taking care of this would honor Karl.
Rose was inside with her daughter, clearing out more of the closets and loading up boxes to take to the Goodwill truck. They stacked the filled boxes on the porch. Duke had volunteered to load them into his Taurus and get rid of them for Rose. He’d go through the boxes first. Sure, it was nosy and he had no business doing it. But he wanted to see if there were any more books he might be interested in. Any papers that might give him a hint of what could have happened to Karl. And if he was really lucky he’d find it—the book that had brought the cold, no-nonsense Rose to tears.
The weather was biting cold, the skies clear and sharp blue. An airliner, a 747, judging by the nose, cut low across the sky, on its way to San Jose International. It reminded him of brisk days he’d visited Joanne at school in the winter, the kind of day that made her cheeks pink as they walked across campus. She’d been beautiful, dark hair and those blue eyes. Stunning like a movie starlet.
Duke remembered times when he’d put the relationship to the test. Didn’t call her back. Let a few of her letters go without writing back. To see if she’d realize her mistake and drift off to someone else. When that didn’t stop her, he’d accepted that she would be his, an extravagant gift.
He pulled the lawnmower out of Karl’s side shed, pulled the crank and mowed across the yard in neat horizontal rows as Karl always did. He pruned the few winter roses, raking the debris into the pile of lawn clippings, branches and leaves, then push-broomed it all out to the street for yard waste collection.
He looked up when he heard it.
The screech of a car turning too fast, then barreling down the street toward him. Duke stepped back as the car braked abruptly and angled up to the curb a few feet from him.
The young man who got out looked to be in his twenties. His hair was pulled back in a tiny ponytail and he had a full reddish-blonde beard. He wore nice slacks, a sweater vest and a navy-blue sports coat, one Duke himself would have worn with pride in the 1960s, when going to a fancy restaurant.
The young man slammed the car door.
“Is Rose here?”
Duke stood taller and gripped the broomstick in front of him like a weapon.
“Tell me who you are first.”
“I’m Randall Mulvaney, old man. Her son.”
Duke’s heart pounded. He felt an instinctive desire to protect Rose, to warn her. He watched the young man’s face as he looked beyond him to the house. This must be the one who smokes pot.
Randall headed for the front door and opened it with a carelessness that caused the inner doorknob to bang against the wall. Duke hurried up to the front steps, not knowing what he would do if Rose and her daughter were threatened. He closed his fingers around the cell phone in his pocket, ready to call 911 if he had to.
Duke stood awkwardly in the entry way, waiting. He heard Randall’s raised voice from the back bedroom.
“You said you’d give me the seventy-five bucks. I helped the old guy out. What are doing to me here?”
Duke heard Rose respond in a quiet, measured voice. He heard sound of a zipper, then soft, hurried voices as Rose and her daughter tried to piece together the money between them. Randall raised his voice again.
“I went out of my way and you’re both giving me shit now. Fuck you. I deserve more respect than this.”
More mumbling between the two women, then Randall came out of the room. He stopped in the hallway and looked down as he slid a thin stack of bills into his wallet. As he headed for the front door, Duke sidestepped into the kitchen to get out of his way. Randall left and slammed the door behind him, with a sound that reverberated from the entry way into the kitchen. Wine glasses in a hanging rack above the counter tinkled against each other, trembling.
Duke looked out the kitchen window and saw the car wheel into the driveway, then back out, turn and head back down the street. His heart beating, he waited until Randall’s car turned onto the main street and disappeared.
“Are you ladies all right?” Duke poked his head into the downstairs bedroom, where Rose and her daughter were sorting pants and shirts into boxes.
Both looked up, surprised. The daughter, a skinny blonde with a sunken face turned to her mother, deferring to her.
“We’re fine. Why?” Rose calmly folded the arms of a sweater, then looked up at him, expressionless.
Nothing about Randall Mulvaney’s behavior seemed to have bothered the two women. And that’s when Duke knew. There was something odd in Karl’s family. Something he’d never seen in his times with just Karl.
It made him wonder if there was something about the Schuler family that he’d missed in his years of knowing them.
13
When the dental office opened on January 4, Reyna Ruiz was relieved to go back to work.
She was happy to get back to a regular routine. Three days after the shooting, she was having trouble sleeping at night.
She’d been shaking when they arrived at her parents’ house to pick up Jacky. Her mother in her worn nightgown and robe had asked what was wrong as soon as she’d seen her and Jimmy on the doorstep. They came in, sat on the sagging corduroy couch that her father refused to get rid of and described what they’d seen happen. Reyna slid toward the deep pit in the couch Jimmy made when he sat down and listened to him tell the story. His voice was steady and clear. He spoke slowly and calmly, as if he were reciting the details of a police report. No emotion. Hadn’t he felt anything? A man had been killed as they watched.
Wedged in next to him on the couch, she felt irritation, as her father, her grandmother and her mother asked endless questions. Her teeth were chattering, from cold and shock. It was 3:30 a.m. on New Year’s. She wanted to go to her own home, curl up in her own bed and cry.
They could have easily shot us instead. My life could have ended an hour ago.
She’d woken up at 11 a.m. on new year’s morning, her body dull and sluggish, but her mind racing. She asked Jimmy about the old man who’d died. Jimmy had shaken his head, not sharing what he saw when he’d looked into the car. It poured over her: the shaky, weak relief of having just missed death.
Today in room 2, she pulled the shield down over her face and flipped the light on above the dental chair. She went to work on Ben Marsden’s teeth.
“Open wide for me now. A little to this side.”
She touched the side of the man’s chin with her gloved hand and gently shepherded it to the left. A young entrepreneur who had started a company in his 20s, Ben drove a Tesla Model X and wore buttoned-down shirts, the tailored kind that showed off his toned torso. She saw guys with bodies like this at the gym in the mornings, but they bored her. They scanned the line of machines full of women as if it were a restaurant menu. It disgusted Reyna as she did her time on the treadmill. She refused to acknowledge them. She kept her chin lifted and her eyes fo
cused out the window at the parking lot.
It was a small gym in a strip mall, with stained carpeting, the type of business that advertises on flyers stuffed into envelopes with pizza coupons and car insurance ads. It was what they could afford—$15 a month—and she could do spin classes, no extra charge. She went in early, did her time and left.
Her looks were an asset, and she wanted to keep it that way. Not to please Jimmy—he couldn’t keep his hands off her. His looks did nothing for her: his flat nose, his barrel chest and belly.
But on one Friday night ten years ago, Jimmy Ruiz had changed everything for her. Pulled her out of a life she could never tell the PTA ladies about.
That afternoon, her boyfriend Mateo Ruiz had been arrested for dealing. She’d found his phone and called his older brother Jimmy after the police left. She and Mateo rented a room in a dirty three-bedroom house in south San Jose, with ten other people she did not know and did not want to live with by herself.
She had nothing but a part-time job at the Dollar Store and a dying, Bondo-covered Corolla.
No matter how desperate she was, she could not call her parents. She’d seen what had happened when her older brother had been arrested the
year before. He was no longer allowed in the house. His pictures had been taken down. It was as if he had never existed.
Jimmy had come over, picked her up with her Hefty trash bag of belongings and taken her back to his apartment. He’d slept on the couch and let her have his bedroom. Within a week, he’d found her a small studio off of Alum Rock Avenue, near Japantown. In the summer she started a dental assistant program, with help from Jimmy and her parents.
She’d been so grateful for a new start. When he asked her to marry him after her graduation, what else could she have said?
The wedding in Tahoe and the first year of marriage had gone okay. Then she felt the walls tightening around her, enclosing her with this man who’d fallen into her life and fixed everything. The kindest man she’d ever met, a good man.
A man ten years older than she was. A man her parents adored. A man she wasn’t attracted to.
Last October they had gone for a week’s vacation in Hawaii, paid for by Jimmy’s summer security gig. The hotel on Waikiki made her feel like she was walking through a dream. The way she and Jimmy were treated at the hotel and the restaurants—they were valued guests. The warm breeze touching her face, the tropical flowers she started smelling almost as soon as they landed.
That week away, her life matched up with her dreams. Jimmy even looked better to her; in the dim light of the room, with the curtains closed, she saw some of Mateo’s features in him—the full curved upper lip, the muscular upper arms. A little pretending didn’t hurt anybody. Making love made Jimmy happy and then he fell asleep. She was free.
She could sit on the balcony and read her magazines or go down to the open-air bar, have a drink and watch the torches burn along the beach. Away from Silicon Valley, she moved effortlessly, almost floating. She accepted her drink from the waiter with a slight smile and a graceful, raised hand.
Now she scraped at Ben’s front teeth, releasing the fine bits of plaque that had accumulated. It was a satisfying feeling; the same pleasure she got from giving a room a thorough cleaning. She could be as picky as she wanted within the twenty minutes. Just like she was at home, she became protective of her work, wagging her finger at the patients and warning them.
Feel how clean your teeth are now? Don’t you dare mess this up.
She wheedled with them to brush and floss. Flirting sometimes worked with the guys. Many of these patients, especially ones working in tech, would leave the chair, then not floss for the next six months. She was tired of picking bits of rotten meat out of their teeth.
Ben was different. He took pride in his appearance. His teeth were perfectly aligned, his gums strong and healthy. His breath smelled faintly of mint.
As she prepared the polishing paste, he smiled up at her. Her first response was to smile back, but she stopped herself. Her cheeks turned warm and she looked away quickly.
After polishing, she pushed the tray aside and slid up her face shield. She tapped the controls to bring the chair up to position.
“Good job, Ben.” She kept her tone professional. “Keep up with your flossing routine, and I’ll see you in six months.”
He watched as she peeled off her latex gloves and revealed her wedding ring. “That’s such a long time.”
She was ready to smile and hand him his bag of complimentary toothbrush and floss, but the look in his eyes stopped her. She kept her face composed, pushing down the excitement that rose up in her chest.
“There’s a great tapas restaurant down the street where I work,” he continued. “I was wondering if you’d be up for lunch sometime.”
In the look on his face and the deliberateness of his words, she felt a threat. She had come a long way. She and Jimmy now owned a house. Jacky was in a good school. In the back of her mind, there was a plan. She knew this was not part of the plan.
All of this must have shown up on her face. He looked down then shook his head.
“No worries, Reyna. If you change your mind and ever want to meet me for lunch—just lunch—give me a call.”
He handed her a business card. Bright red shapes, bold black print. Ben Marsden, President and CEO.
She turned to slip the card in her purse. She kept her smile polite.
“Thank you, Ben.”
He stood for a moment watching her, then nodded and left for the hallway.
Reyna stood, her stomach fluttering with delicious excitement. Her face felt hot.
She looked down the hall to make sure no one saw her and wondered why she looked so different.
14
Just when the phone was on its fourth ring and seemed ready to roll over to voice mail, Flores heard a live voice.
“Jake, here.”
“Jake, this is Detective Mario Flores of the San Jose Police Department.”
“Are you calling about the unpaid parking ticket? ‘Cause I paid it online before Christmas.” The response was gruff and deep, a note of defensiveness, and heavy breathing as if he’d rushed to find his phone.
“Glad you took care of that, Jake. I’m calling about your 2003 Ford Explorer. I understand you sold it right before Christmas, is that right?”
There was a long pause. “Why are you asking? Did I do something wrong with the paperwork?”
“I’m calling because the car was involved in a fatal shooting on New Year’s.” The guy had a lot to learn about law enforcement if he thought the police followed up on DMV paperwork issues.
“Oh, shit.” More heavy breathing as he seemed to be adjusting the position of the phone. “I had no idea. Yeah, I sold it. December 23, I think it was. A guy who responded to my ad on Craig’s List. It was a hand-me-down from my parents and Teresa hated it. It was time to get rid of it.”
“I’ll need the name of the person, Jake.”
There was fumbling in the background.
“Hold on while I look up the guy’s message on my phone.”
It took a couple of minutes. Flores took a gulp from his coffee cup and picked at his lunch, a salad bowl from Chipotle gone cold. The lettuce underneath looked wilted and limp. It was what you got when you waited to have lunch at 2:30 p.m. He tapped to refresh his screen, so he could see if he’d heard back from the Gangs Investigations. He noticed he had a text from Jimmy Ruiz. Jake came back before he had a chance to read it.
“You still there? Yeah, the guy’s name is Tuan. Tuan Nguyen. He met me at a gas station and paid me cash.” Sure, that’s not sketch. Flores mentally rolled his eyes as he typed the name on his tablet.
“He was a pretty nice guy.”
“Did he give you an address?”
Jake breathed heavily into the phone again as he seemed to be trying to look for it.
“I’m still in Minneapolis. I don’t have it with me.”
“Okay, Jake.
Can you describe Tuan for me?”
“Skinny guy. Asian, maybe in his thirties. Kinda short. I’m 6’4” so everyone’s short to me. But I’d say 5 foot 8.” Flores grunted to himself. So I’m really short. “He wears glasses. Crew cut hair. Kind of a nerd vibe.”
Not bad, though everything but the height could easily be altered.
“He gave you cash.”
“It was kinda weird. But hey, I’m not turning down cash.”
“Last time you saw or heard from him was December 23.”
“Yeah. Everything must have worked fine with the car, ‘cause I didn’t hear anything else from him. Then on New Year’s Eve I flew out of town.”
“Did you send in the change of ownership form to the DMV?”
“Fuck! No, I didn’t. I forgot that part. I thought I was taking care of everything too. Shit.” Jake mumbled and spiraled down into a pit of self- condemnation.
“Jake, I need the info on it as soon as possible.”
“I can have Teresa do that, if she can find it on my desk. Shit. Sorry, man.” Jake seemed to be going out of his way to beat himself up verbally.
“Have Teresa take a picture and send it to me.” If he didn’t hear back from Teresa Cho, he’d stop by and follow up with her.
“Got it, man.”
Flores ended the call and wrote up his notes. He had a mental picture of Jake Hollander as a big oaf. Brilliant at coding but not so much at practical matters like paperwork and finances. For the sake of the couple’s financial future, he hoped Teresa Cho was.
The light outside was dimming as it approached 4 p.m. There was that desolate feeling in the air. The light in NorCal, in his opinion, always seem to slip away too soon.
As he typed up his notes, he wondered if Oksana would be up for a late dinner later after her 7 p.m. class. After their New Year’s morning, he really wanted to see her again. She backed out on dinner last night, so she owed him one. It was that back and forth that they did. It usually balanced out.
Swift Horses Racing Page 6
