by Nancy Skopin
“Can I help you?” he asked, with a British accent.
“I hope so. My name is Nicoli Hunter.” I handed him a business card. “I’m investigating the theft of a Zodiac dinghy, which I understand the police found tied to your guest dock.”
“Oh yes. I spoke with a Detective Anderson about that.”
“Exactly. I was hoping someone might have seen the person who tied the Zodiac to your dock. It would have been between midnight on Thursday and two a.m. on Friday.”
“As I mentioned to the detective, we’re only open until six on Thursday night, and the cleaning crew usually finishes up around eight. No one would have been here after midnight. Sorry.”
“What about the live-aboard community. I see you have a deck out back that faces the guest dock. Any chance a resident might have been out and about at that time of night?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. Many of our resident tenants are retired, so they’re up at all hours. I just don’t know how you would find them among the hundreds of yacht owners we have here.”
“Do you have any security cameras around the club?”
“Oh, yes, actually. I forgot about that when Detective Anderson was here. We had two cameras installed just last week after some of the patio furniture went missing. The cameras only cover the deck, but it abuts the guest dock. There might be something there.”
“Any chance you could take a look at the footage between midnight and two last Friday morning.” I took out my wallet. “I’d be happy to pay for your time, and if you find anything, I’ll want to purchase a copy of the video.”
He was nodding happily now. “Sure. I could do that.” He looked at my card in his hand. “I’ve never met a real PI before. It must be exciting work.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said, with a smile.
“I’m Robin, by the way.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. All I sensed from the physical contact was warmth and humor. Robin was a nice guy.
“Should I wait, or would you like to call me if you find anything.” I took five twenties out of my wallet and handed them to him.
Robin raised an eyebrow, tucked the money into his pants pocket, and said, “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve run through the video. Hopefully by the end of the day.”
“Thank you, Robin,” I said, and made my way out of the club into the glare of sunlight reflecting off the water.
I walked around to the back deck and located the guest dock in question. The dock itself was a few feet lower than the club’s deck. I turned around and faced the deck, searching the eaves until I spotted the cameras, one on either side of the roof. I followed their trajectories to the guest dock and thought it was possible that even though they wouldn’t show the Zodiac being tied up, once the thief stepped onto the dock they would be within camera range.
Back at the marina I collected my dog and we walked over to the Diving Pelican for lunch. I was feeling frustrated and in need of Bennett’s meatloaf. Bennett Zepeda, another boat dweller, owns the Diving Pelican, and is a master chef. He’s also cantankerous as hell, but he’s always been friendly with me.
I ordered and paid at the counter then selected an outdoor table. Fifteen minutes later Bennett himself delivered my lunch, along with a bowl of ice water for Buddy. Buddy licked his hand as he set the water dish down, and I was tempted to do the same after inhaling the aroma of his meatloaf.
I said, “Thank you,” and Bennett said, “Enjoy.” Then it was just me and my meatloaf. Of course, I shared with Buddy. There was plenty for both of us.
Once my faith in humanity had been restored by Bennett’s culinary expertise, I slogged down to the boat and took a nap. I know, right in the middle of kidnapping and murder investigations. But I knew I couldn’t get into that compound alone. There was nothing to do but wait to hear back from Nina, or from Robin, whichever came first, so I napped.
Buddy woke me with sloppy kisses a little after 2:00 p.m. I’d needed the extra sleep, but I wanted to return the rental car today. If I kept it too long I’d use up Jea’s whole retainer. I stretched and shuffled into the head, where I brushed and flossed the remnants of meatloaf out of my teeth, fluffed up my curls, and applied lip gloss.
I hooked Buddy to his leash and we made the walk up to shore, taking a quick detour to water shrubbery before unlocking the office. I called Enterprise and told them I was done with the Civic, and they agreed to have someone at the marina to pick it up within an hour. Sweet.
The voicemail light on my office phone was blinking so, after starting a pot of coffee and turning on my computer, I pressed the play button and grabbed a clean legal pad. The message was from my new friend, Robin, at the Cooke’s yacht club.
“I think I might have something for you,” he’d said, and left a number.
I jotted it down and called him back, but I got his voicemail. I was used to playing phone tag with clients, so I didn’t think twice about it and simply left a message asking that he call me back. I made a point of repeating my cell phone number, even though it was already printed on the business card I’d given him.
I filled a mug with coffee, added a splash of milk, and sat down to weed through my e-mail. After ten minutes I’d deleted all the spam and began to open the remaining missives.
Michael had responded via e-mail to my text requesting notification when he’d be on this side of the hill with the following: “I’m meeting with AMD a week from Friday. Probably be done by midafternoon. Dinner sounds great.”
That would be the night before Elizabeth and Jack’s wedding cruise. Since they were eloping beforehand, we’d cancelled the original bachelor and bachelorette parties, and though nothing had been rescheduled yet, I should probably keep that Friday night open.
I responded to Michael’s e-mail saying, “If an early dinner works for you, let me know what kind of food you’d like and I’ll make reservations for 5:00 p.m. Thanks again for all your help.”
The guy from Enterprise arrived at 3:15 and I signed the charge slip, gave him the rental car keys, and told him where the Civic was parked.
I was forwarding a survey request from one of my clients to Jim Sutherland when my cell phone vibrated. I checked the screen and, seeing “unknown caller,” assumed it was Robin from Cooke’s Harbor calling me back.
“Hunter Investigations,” I answered.
“It’s me.”
Though I’d never spoken with Nina on the phone, her voice is distinctive. More snarky than venomous, and kind of a whiskey tenor.
“What’s up?”
“I checked that property you’re interested in, and I think we can make it work.”
“That’s great. When would you like to meet?”
“There’s a restaurant on Skyline Boulevard off La Honda Road called Alice’s. I’ll meet you in the parking lot at nine tonight.”
“Okay. Do you think the two of us will be able to handle whoever is in there?”
“Bring extra ammo.” With that pronouncement she ended the call.
I saved the number she’d called me from, even though she’d probably used a throw-away cell, labeling it “JN,” for Jezek, Nina.
I called Jea and told her I had a plan of action. I asked her to be at Alice’s Restaurant at 9:30 tonight, and to wait there for my call. She agreed without questioning me about what I was up to. Obviously Loretta had impressed her with my competence and she’d decided to trust me. I was honored, and a little scared, by that. What if I was wrong and Sky wasn’t being held in the compound?
I texted Bill saying I had to do a late dinner and bar survey, and he immediately texted me back that he expected to be home around 7:00. Once again I ran through my wardrobe in my head. I needed to dress for function, so dark clothes and my Track II boots. Although most of my clients are high-end establishments, I have a couple microbrewery restaurants and steak houses for which I dress down in order to fit in. I’d just tell Bill I was going to the TEAG House in Mountain View. It’s a sports bar with peanut
shells on the floor, specializing is German style beer, where there’s always a game on the big screen TV. The food is actually pretty good, if you like artichoke dip and spicy ribs, which I do.
CHAPTER 20
Alice’s Restaurant is a favorite of the local motorcycle clubs and is almost always crowded, even on a Tuesday night. It’s on the rustic side, resembling a huge log cabin, with a front deck for outdoor seating. I parked my Bimmer in the corner of the lot and scanned the area for Nina. I didn’t see anyone with curly silver hair, but since I knew that had been a wig, I just checked the area for tall, slender women dressed in dark clothes.
There was a row of dirt bikes parked in front of the restaurant, including a Husqvarna Rockstar and a few nice Kawasakis and Suzukis. I’m not into motorcycles, but Bill occasionally brings home a Motocross magazine and I like to look at the pictures.
I found myself admiring a particularly fine KTM 450SX-F Supermoto. It was black and silver, and so clean it could have just come off the showroom floor. I was walking toward the restaurant, still scanning for Nina, when the guy standing next to the KTM took off his helmet and I realized it was a woman. She turned to face me as she shook out her long, wavy black hair. Son of a bitch, it was Nina. Even though I’d been looking for anyone her height and build, I’d completely missed her. She was dressed in black jeans, a leather jacket, and Harley Davidson motorcycle boots.
Nina gave me a half smile as I approached. She knew she’d surprised me. Tonight her eyes were their natural steel-blue color. She held out a spare helmet, which I accepted, and replaced hers on her head, climbing onto the KTM. I looked down at the helmet in my hands and shrugged. Pulling my hair back with one hand I put on the helmet and secured the chin strap under my jaw, then joined Nina on the bike just as the monster roared to life. The Supermoto had no sissy bar or backrest, so I wrapped an arm around Nina’s waist as we motored out of the parking lot onto Skyline Boulevard. After turning onto La Honda Road she pulled the bike over on the shoulder and cut the engine.
“You armed?” she asked.
I patted my fanny pack and nodded. I’d stowed the Glock in the concealed holster along with two spare magazines.
“Turn your phone off,” she said. “Once we’re inside the compound we need to be silent. Even a vibrating cell could get us unwanted attention.”
I realized she was right. The vibration was a low pitched hum that could be heard up to twenty feet away. I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and turned it off.
“I’m going to park in the woods to the left of the access road. I only found one small area that isn’t covered by cameras. You ready to do this?”
I nodded again. My pulse was racing. I had no idea what we’d find in that compound. I only hoped we’d find Sky, alive and unharmed.
Nina kick-started the Supermoto and we were off-road a few minutes later. I wondered how she could see so well in the dark, but then I remembered this was Nina. She probably had a night vision visor on her helmet. We motored slowly between trees and bushes, up and over a few fallen logs, and eventually stopped at the base of a huge Sequoia.
I climbed off the bike, my thighs trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through my system. Nina disembarked more gracefully, then unzipped a black nylon saddlebag that was draped over the fuel tank. She took out a pair of goggles and handed them to me.
“Night vision,” she said.
I took off my helmet and accepted the goggles. They were fitted with a headband and a chin strap, and weighed a little more than a pound. Nina took them back and secured the headband and chin strap on me, then flipped the goggles up and down a couple times. She positioned them over my eyes, pushed a button on top, and the forest lit up in shades of green.
She pushed a second button, and said, “Thermal imaging.” Now she was lit up like a nova but everything around her was dark. I looked up and saw a few bright spots among the branches. Probably nesting birds and squirrels. Amazing.
Nina took a scrunchy out of her pocket and pulled her hair into a ponytail.
“You look well,” I commented. And she did. Nina had been diagnosed HIV positive after killing a sexual predator who had AIDS. The blood spatter from stabbing him had gotten into her system somehow. I knew there were new medications on the market that were deemed effective in fighting HIV and AIDS, and wondered if one of Nina’s false identities had health insurance. Her abusive father had left her a fortune when he passed away, but I imagined any treatment that would sustain or save a patient’s life would be prohibitively expensive.
She didn’t respond to my comment, but put on her own goggles and flipped the binocs up. Then she removed a folded, black blanket from the saddle bag.
“Kevlar,” she said.
Replacing the blanket in the bag, she hauled out a coiled rope ladder with a grappling hook attached at one end.
“To get over the fence.”
I was impressed. The woman not only had skills, she had imagination. She stuffed the ladder back in the saddlebag and hoisted it over her shoulder. Lowering her binocs, she took off through the forest with me on her heels. Showtime.
CHAPTER 21
We approached the perimeter of the compound slowly with our goggles in place. As we neared the fence-line, Nina paused. She put her hand up to keep me still, then pointed out the two cameras closest to our position. They were both facing away from the compound into the forest, mounted atop fence posts. She wanted me to know that our only approach could be a straight line between the two cameras. I nodded my understanding.
“Stay here for the moment,” she said before turning back to the fence.
“Wait,” I whispered. “Is the fence electrified?”
Nina grinned a little maniacally and said, “Only one way to find out.”
I had to remember to breathe as she set her saddlebag on the ground, took out the Kevlar blanket, and tossed it up onto the razor wire. No sparks. That was good. She unwound the rope ladder and swung the grappling hook up and over the top of the blanket. She gave it a firm tug and it caught the chain link on the other side of the fence. Nina was up and over the fence before I’d even reached the ladder. I climbed the rungs clumsily, thinking I needed to intensify my upper body workout. I’ve never been any good at pull-ups.
As I crested the fence, I took a moment to scan the inside of the compound, switching my goggles to infrared. I didn’t see any heat signatures larger than a chipmunk, so I eased over the Kevlar covered wire and dropped into the belly of the beast.
“Any internal cameras in the compound?” I asked.
“How the hell should I know? Just stay alert.”
Another twenty yards in we spotted the building. We both stopped in our tracks, scanning the eaves, looking for cameras. It was a huge block of concrete, like an above-ground bunker. There were no windows visible from where we stood. After a couple of minutes we moved slowly forward, still looking for cameras and watching for movement. We began circling the building counter-clockwise. When we turned the first corner we encountered the access road that Cammie had driven in on and what looked like a four-car attached garage. Still no windows; only the four roll-up doors. We continued creeping along, and I began to wonder if the garage was the only way inside.
We rounded the next corner and discovered a heat pump, which probably provided the compound with both heat and air conditioning. The unit was humming softly. I looked up along the eaves again and spotted a vent. It was the first opening I’d seen, other than the garage doors, but it was too high to reach and too small for either of us to climb through.
We completed our circuit back at the garage, finding no other doors and no windows. If the garage doors were the only entrance or exit, there must be a generator of some kind so they could get in and out during power outages. I’d never lived in a house with an automatic garage door, but I assumed they only worked when the power was on.
I’d been lost in my own thoughts and hadn’t been paying attention to Nina, who was running her finge
rs around the perimeter of one of the garage doors. Clever girl. She was probably searching for alarm wires. When she finished she turned to face me.
“We might have to wait for someone to drive in or out,” she said.
I thought of Jea, waiting at Alice’s Restaurant, and I shuddered.
“What?”
“I don’t think we should wait,” I said. “I think we need to get in there now.”
“Okay, genius. What’s your plan?”
I slid my fingers under the bottom of one of the overhead doors and attempted to lift it. It wouldn’t rise at first, so I gave it another tug, and Nina joined me. With both of us lifting together we actually managed to raise it up about two inches. It made a soft rattling sound I hoped wasn’t loud enough to carry.
I grinned at Nina, and said, “I have a hydraulic jack in the trunk of my car.”
“Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”
“No.”
“Give me your car keys.”
I handed her the keys to my Bimmer, indicating which one would open the trunk. “It’s the British racing green BMW 2002,” I said.
“I know what you drive, Hunter.”
I remembered staking out her house once, a long time ago, and realized she’d probably been watching me the whole time.
“Stay hidden until I get back,” Nina said.
I followed her back to the fence where we’d climbed over and gave her a boost, so she could grab the Kevlar blanket covered area and hoist herself up and over. When she disappeared into the woods, I backed up against a tree and listened for the sound of the Supermoto engine. At this distance it was barely audible. Only a muffled thrum.
I kept my senses open while Nina was gone, listening for the sound of any vehicle approaching on the access road, but other than the soft whir of the heat pump, the compound remained silent. I checked my watch. It was 9:40. Jea would be waiting for my call. I hoped she didn’t have to wait long, but that was out of my control.
