by Nancy Skopin
Bill didn’t have anything helpful to share with me. Apparently no one on the Atherton force had a relationship with Maggie, and none of them could afford the houses she sold.
I thought back to the indentations in the sod and mentioned them to Bill.
“Those could have been made at any time,” he responded. “And you need to stay the hell away from that crime scene.”
“You’re a big help.”
“You’d be lost without me,” he said. “By the way, the Sheriff’s department finally got into Sectio’s safe deposit box. There were sixteen videotapes in it, including the five you had copies of. She must have moved them after the break in. Also, she kept trophies. There were sixteen tiny plastic bags of hair, all labeled with dates that matched the videos.”
We ended the conversation and I hung up the phone feeling unsettled. What if Jack was telling the truth? I needed to analyze the situation objectively. I needed Elizabeth. I called her at work.
“Are you free for dinner?” I asked. “I need help.”
“I’ll be home by six,” she said.
“Great. What kind of food do you feel like?”
“Greek,” she said without hesitation. “I haven’t had Greek food in ages.”
“Okay. See you at six.”
I logged onto the Internet and started looking for a hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant. I was hoping to maintain a low profile. I found what I was looking for, and called to make a reservation. The man who answered the phone told me they didn’t take reservations, but assured me there would be tables available.
Chapter 36
I spent the rest of the day cleaning and reorganizing my office. At 5:45 I locked up and walked down to my boat. I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and applied some under-eye concealer, a little blush, mascara, and some lip gloss. At 6:00 I walked over to Elizabeth’s boat, arriving just as she was coming in the gate.
“Hi, sweetie,” she called out. “I just got home. I need a few minutes to get ready.”
She invited me aboard while she changed clothes and listened to her messages. There was one from Jack. His voice sounded subdued as he said, simply, that he would call her later. Now I felt guilty. I hate feeling guilty. Elizabeth stopped what she was doing and listened to the message a second time.
“I wonder what’s bothering him,” she said.
When she had changed and freshened up we walked up to the parking lot. I drove. In spite of the red message already decorating my car, I wasn’t comfortable leaving it in the marina lot where more damage could potentially be done.
I’d gotten directions to Zorba’s when I’d called the restaurant. They were off Ralston Avenue in the Belmont Hills and were located below street level, under a shopping center. The man I’d spoken with had suggested that I drive to the back of the parking lot and listen for the music. We both heard it as soon as I shut off the engine.
There were no lights in this part of the lot, which was definitely in keeping with my desire not to be noticed, but it was also a little disconcerting. The sun wasn’t down yet, but it would be by the time we came outside again.
“This is going to be fun!” Elizabeth said, prancing toward the nearest building.
I locked up the 2002 and followed. We found the restaurant, though the sign above the door was obscure at best. We walked down a dimly lit flight of stairs into a large room full of wonderful smells. The live Greek music was just short of deafening.
The maitre d’ grinned appreciatively at both of us and seated us directly in front of the dance floor. I grabbed his sleeve and pointed to a corner table. He looked puzzled, but shrugged, picked up the menus, and escorted us to the table I’d pointed out. Once we were seated he took our drink orders.
Elizabeth was in her element, fascinated as she is by other cultures. I scanned the menu and discovered that they had pizza. This improved my outlook considerably. I’d go back on my diet as soon as I was exonerated. When the waiter brought our drinks I pointed to the Meat Lover’s pizza on the menu, and shouted, “Small.”
Elizabeth smiled widely. She crooked her finger at the waiter and he leaned close to her. She said something I couldn’t hear. He nodded, collected our menus, and left. We were both drinking Retsina, which tastes like gasoline, but is so distinctly Greek that the atmosphere demanded it. Two Greek salads arrived just as the band went on a break. I hoped they took long breaks.
“I didn’t order a salad,” I said.
“The beautiful lady ordered it for you,” said the waiter, gesturing toward Elizabeth.
“Thank you,” she said to him. “You need your vegetables,” she said to me. “Besides, you love Feta cheese and the house salad has Feta. Eat.”
I ate. The salad was wonderful, and I was half full by the time my pizza arrived. I grabbed a slice and cast a glance at the bandstand. Still empty. Now was my chance.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you out tonight.”
“I figured you’d get around to it when you were ready,” she said, looking at me between bites.
“It’s about Jack.”
Elizabeth put down her fork and picked up her Retsina.
“What about him? This is bad news isn’t it? I knew something was wrong when I heard his voice on my machine. What happened? Is he okay? Is he married?”
“He’s fine. I don’t know if he’s married, but I seriously doubt it. It’s just that, well, he’s not exactly who I thought he was.” There was no delicate way to approach this. “Elizabeth, Jack is Patrick. He’s Maggie’s brother.”
Her mouth dropped open. I took a copied yearbook page out of my purse and handed it to her. She quickly identified his picture, read the name below it, and took another swig of Retsina.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head.
“Wait. Are you seriously saying you don’t believe it, or are you saying you don’t believe how pissed off you are?”
She considered that for a moment. “Both,” she said. “I never, never would have guessed this. I did wonder why he was willing to pay you to stop her, but it never occurred to me he had anything to gain. Shit.” She handed the page back to me and signaled the attentive waiter with her empty wine glass.
“I need your opinion about the story he told me.”
Elizabeth nodded, and I launched into an abbreviated version of Jack’s tale. When I had finished, she looked pensive.
“I really like Jack,” she said. “I haven’t slept with him yet, you know.” She was telling me that what she was about to say wasn’t influenced by hormones. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked around a mouth full of sausage and bacon.
“Well, I can’t. This is one of those times when I have to go with my gut. What do you think?” she asked.
I swallowed the pizza and took a sip of the foul tasting wine.
“At first I thought he was playing me,” I said, “but now I think you might be right. So who took the knife?”
Elizabeth shrugged, and the band started up again, terminating our conversation for the moment.
When we had both eaten too much we asked for doggy bags. I paid the check, and we slowly climbed the stairs to street level.
We were crossing the lot when I heard the restaurant door open and close behind us. I turned to look over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of someone with blonde hair slipping into the bushes. That got my attention.
I gave Elizabeth a nudge. “There’s someone following us,” I whispered. “Don’t turn around.”
I took out my defense spray, and shook it to activate it. As I turned back toward the bushes a heavyset blonde woman suddenly came charging out of the shadows. It was Courtney, the receptionist from Millennium. She was wild-e
yed, screaming like a banshee, and she was running straight at me, holding the missing scissor-knife over her head.
“Elizabeth, run!” I shouted, giving her a shove to get her away from me.
I turned my side to Courtney, making myself less of a target. I raised my left arm defensively, prepared to block her first thrust, and fisted my right hand hoping I could get in a throat-shot before the knife struck. I braced myself for the blow, silently cursing myself for not having the common sense to retrieve one of my guns from Elizabeth’s boat. Too late now. Courtney was only three yards away when I heard a gunshot. I dropped to the ground, instinctively flattening my body against the asphalt and covering my head with my arms.
I peeked out from beneath an elbow, and saw Elizabeth crouched in a shooter’s stance, holding my Beretta in a two-handed death grip. Courtney had taken a round to the shoulder. It spun her around, but she got her bearings and kept coming. Elizabeth fired again, missed, then dropped to one knee and fired three shots in rapid succession. Two of the bullets struck Courtney in the chest and throat. She dropped on the pavement only a few feet from me. I knew she was a goner, but I scrambled away just the same. The knife had slipped from her hand and lay by her side. When she didn’t get up and come after me again, I approached cautiously and checked her wrist for a pulse. There was none.
I turned to Elizabeth. She was still pointing the gun at the corpse, just as I had done after shooting Maggie. I walked over and took it out of her hands. She started shaking. I set the Beretta on the ground and put my arms around her.
“Well,” she said, after a few moments. “Now we know who took the knife. Who the hell is she?”
“She was the receptionist at Millennium,” I said, turning to look at the body.
“Where Maggie worked?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said. “Jesus, I just killed somebody. I think I’d better sit down. Don’t take your eyes off that knife.” She pointed at the weapon, making sure I knew where it was this time, and seated herself primly on the asphalt.
I recovered my purse from where I’d dropped it, took out my smartphone, and called 911 and then Bill. Bill got there first.
Elizabeth and I told our story twice that night, first to Bill and then to the Belmont police. Bill was right when he said I’d be lost without him. His position with the Redwood City PD gave him some clout. He arranged for us to give formal statements in the morning, so we wouldn’t have to spend the night at the police station. We hung around until forensics showed up and watched as they bagged the knife and my Beretta, for which they gave me a receipt, without being asked.
Chapter 37
When we got back to the marina that night I had a voicemail message from Rosa, my domestic detective in Atherton. Two of her friends in the neighborhood had spotted Courtney the night of the murder. One of them had even gotten part of her license plate number. I called Bill and gave him Rosa’s phone number, so the appropriate branch of law enforcement could get all the details firsthand. I would call her myself tomorrow to thank her.
I spent the night on Elizabeth’s galley settee in case she needed company. Surprisingly, we both slept.
Early Tuesday morning I called Peter, my attorney, and explained why I might be a little late for the hearing. He said he didn’t think it would be a problem under the circumstances, and told me he would speak with the bailiff about the delay.
I dressed in my best pair of black slacks, the Stuart Weitzman pumps, and a white blouse. Elizabeth and I drove to the Belmont Police Department together and Bill met us there. During the drive, Elizabeth told me that she had been carrying my Beretta in her purse since the break-in at my office. She said she’d chosen it because it was the only one of my guns that was already loaded.
We were placed in separate interview rooms and, after an hour and a half of intense questioning, we were allowed to go, but asked not to leave town without letting them know. Some things never change.
Elizabeth took the 2002 back to the marina and Bill drove me to court. On the way, he told me he’d called Claude Wolfe, the owner of Millennium, last night. Evidently Courtney had a fatal attraction-type crush on Maggie, although, according to Wolfe, her affections were not reciprocated. He said this had been going on for some time. He’d often seen Courtney’s car following Maggie’s out of the parking lot at the end of the day. That explained a lot. I’d also remembered Maggie saying she would have Courtney make the reservation at the 4290 Bistro, and following us from there to Atherton would have been easy.
My preliminary hearing was being held at the San Mateo County Courthouse in Redwood City. It’s an anonymous beige building located at the intersection of Middlefield and Marshall. Employees enter through the front and civilians enter through the rear, where a security station is set up to scan for anything that might be used as a weapon. I turned over my defense spray. The guards were friendly and professional. I noticed only one female among them, but who’s counting.
The floors were linoleum and I could hear our footsteps echo off the high ceilings as we searched the long hallway. The building smelled of disinfectant, or maybe Pine Sol. The courtroom doors were labeled with brass plaques and the walls were lined with framed photos of Superior Court Judges.
I was still feeling a little apprehensive and I was glad Bill was there with me.
When we entered the appropriate courtroom, I stood in back while Bill went forward and spoke to the bailiff. The room became silent as the bailiff stepped up to the judge’s platform and whispered in her ear. She turned to look at me, and so did everyone else. I felt the blood rush to my face. Even though I was certain I would eventually be cleared, these people had no way of knowing that. Some of them must have recognized me from the news. I hate caring what other people think of me, but I can’t seem to stop.
Peter appeared by my side, and when Bill joined us we all took seats in the back row. The judge finished hearing the case that was before her and then invited me, Peter, Bill, and the District Attorney, into her chambers.
I’d never been in a judge’s chambers before. The room was small and the walls were lined with books. The desk was utilitarian, its surface covered with file folders. The judge herself was about five-ten, in her late forties, with sandy blonde hair, fair skin, and penetrating gray eyes.
Her focus was unwavering as Bill outlined the events of the last three days. He was precise, thorough, and eloquent. The sixteen videotapes found in Maggie’s safe deposit box were evidence that I had dispatched a multiple murderer. The knife was clearly displayed on each of those tapes. Sixteen unsolved murder cases could now be closed. DNA from the hair in the little plastic bags also found in Maggie’s safe deposit box would be used to identify the sixteen victims displayed on the tapes.
While Bill was talking, I thought about the closure this would provide the families of Maggie’s victims. I felt good about that, but I was still pretty overwhelmed about taking a life.
I was impressed with the effort Bill was making on my behalf. I never expect people to come through for me. That way I’m seldom disappointed.
After a brief question and answer period, the District Attorney elected to drop the charges against me. He could always file again later if he changed his mind. I felt my eyes heat with relief, but I managed to hold back the tears.
Bill drove me home, and we talked about getting together on the upcoming weekend. Suddenly I had a future again. It’s amazing how much we take for granted. For three days I hadn’t known if I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison, and now I was free. I imagined some damage had been done to my reputation by all the publicity, and my picture being circulated certainly wouldn’t help when I was attempting to conduct a covert surveillance, but right at the moment I didn’t care about any of that.
When we arrived at the marina, Bill got out of the car and held me for a long time
before kissing me soundly.
“You never doubted me for a moment, did you?” I asked.
“Of course not.”
“Thank you, Bill. Thank you for believing in me.” Tears filled my eyes, so I put on my sunglasses and turned toward the gate. “I’ll see you this weekend,” I said over my shoulder.
He got back in his car and slowly pulled away.
I headed straight for Elizabeth’s boat to give her the good news. She had taken the day off from work, and because I had an idea what she was going through I didn’t want her to be alone. I knocked on the closed door of the trawler and heard laughter coming from the stateroom. What the hell?
After an interminable thirty seconds, Elizabeth peered out at me through the drapes and then slid the door open. Her hair was a mess and her face was flushed.
“How’d the hearing go?” she asked.
“It went great. They dropped the charges.”
I craned my neck to see behind her.
She slid the door the rest of the way open and I saw Jack coming up the steps from her stateroom into the galley. His hair was messy too.
“Come on in,” Elizabeth said. “We were finished anyway.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Jack hadn’t taken the knife, but what about his profession? And he had lied to me.
I sat down on the settee and K.C. nestled into my lap, comforting me in a way that only a four legged creature could.
“Guess what,” Elizabeth said slipping an arm around Jack’s waist. She smiled up at him. “No, you tell her,” she said.
