Inky water lapped several feet beneath me under the pier. I peeked around the corner of the building. No path or walkway gave access to the street. Had I escaped one trap only to find myself in another? I heard the clinking of dishware and glasses, then voices and laughter from somewhere above. I looked up. At a neighboring restaurant, perhaps eight feet above where I stood, was an outdoor dining area, the railing outlined in small white lights. A wooden ladder ran up the side of the Macao building. I wasn’t sure it would hold my weight, but I had no choice. I wouldn’t last long out here in the freezing wind coming off the bay. The motorboat I’d heard earlier could return and I’d be discovered.
I hung my purse around my neck and started climbing. When I reached the level of the neighboring restaurant, I clung to the far side of the ladder and leaned over. The distance between the buildings was about six feet. Close, but still a risk. I’d have to take a chance. I’d have to let go of the ladder and leap, hoping to reach the other railing. If I made the jump, I knew I could easily clamber on to the deck. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the black waters below. If I fell I might not be able to swim to safety. Even in the sheltered part of the Bay, people have been washed out to sea if the tide is turning. I had to make it across.
I closed my eyes, imagining myself making it successfully across the gap. Just stay focused for those few seconds, I thought. Taking a deep breath, I launched myself from the ladder, reaching out with both hands.
My foot hit the edge of the wooden flooring. I slipped. Panicking, I grabbed for the railing. It creaked loudly, as if about to break in two. I looked up. I’d missed the heavier top rail. My feet were flailing below me, searching for something to stand on. Splinters had lodged in the palm of my hand. Painfully I clung on, grasped the top railing with my right hand, and pulled myself up. I struggled to get one foot on the edge of the deck, then the other.
A group of diners were seated around a large table, wineglasses raised, about to make a toast. One woman’s eyes grew wide. She pointed at me. The others turned to stare. They didn’t utter a sound. I ignored them and climbed over the railing onto the restaurant’s deck. I pulled a small piece of wood out of my palm, brushed myself off, and, managing a weak smile, walked through the restaurant and out to the street.
Once on the sidewalk, I jogged back to my car, passing the front entrance to Macao, half afraid someone there would see me and sound an alarm. With shaking fingers, I managed to get my car door open and fell into the driver’s seat. I hit the door locks and took deep breaths until my heart rate returned to normal.
twenty-five
As calmly as possible, I pulled out into traffic and drove several blocks away from Macao, then parked in a red zone. I dug my cell phone out and dialed Don’s number. He’s a large teddy bear of a man and I often find myself crying on his shoulder. My hands were still shaking as I hit the buttons on my cell phone. I took a deep breath and told myself to speak calmly. Don answered on the first ring.
“Hey, I thought you’d still be at the office!” I said. “Can I buy you a late dinner?”
“Oh God, what does she want now?” He laughed a deep belly laugh.
“You’ve got my number, huh?”
“Your timing is impeccable. I’m starving. I want the most expensive steak you can afford. None of that PC yuppie vegan garbage, the stuff that food eats. I’m having a bad day. I need to eat meat today, great hunks of dripping bloody mammal flesh. Where are you?”
“Near the end of Broadway by now, I think.”
“Turn around and meet me at Market and Stockton. There’s a great steak place there.”
Twenty minutes later, we were seated in a plush booth with huge menus. Don, true to his word, ordered a large porterhouse, rare. I ordered the tomato bisque soup with croutons. At one time, Don had dated my college roommate, and we’d became close friends when she dumped him to join a commune up north. In those days, Don would hang out at my apartment, spending time with Michael and me, but eventually he recovered from his heartbreak and married his high school sweetheart.
He was watching me carefully. “You look like hell. Hope you don’t have a date later.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“Speaking of dating, are you?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Don narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “I didn’t know we were on a subject. Oh, let me guess, you want some information. You’re paying for this dinner, I hope you know.”
“To answer your question, no, I’m not dating anyone. You sound like my therapist.” Several months after Michael’s death, I’d started seeing Paula. It helped a lot to be able to talk to someone, and it pulled me through a bad time. Unfortunately, those sessions were also very expensive and, I felt, no longer necessary.
“What does she have to say about your single state?”
“I don’t see her regularly anymore.” I mumbled.
Don reached across the table and gripped my hand. “Julia, for heaven’s sake, look in the mirror. You should be fighting them off with a baseball bat.”
I took a deep breath. My friends all meant well. It just wasn’t a subject I wanted to get into, especially at that moment. “Don, you’re a true dear. But can we talk about something else?”
“Fine. Okay. I won’t nag you anymore.”
“What do you know about a place called Macao?”
“Macao? That place on the Embarcadero?” Don narrowed his eyes. “Owned by a guy named Cheng. Luong Cheng—Vietnamese.”
“Is he a big guy, dark-skinned?”
“No. Slight, slender guy. Believe it or not, always dresses in white and has a very nasty female bodyguard, and Dobermans too.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Newspaper articles, stuff on government investigations. Saw them once getting into a limo. Caught my eye and somebody pointed them out to me. She was scary, the bodyguard. I could feel my you-know-whats shrivel right up. I don’t know why you’re asking about him, but you shouldn’t even be asking. What are you messing with?”
“Trying to help a friend find out what was going on in her sister’s life and maybe why she was killed.” I filled Don in on the night of Moira’s murder.
His eyes widened and he was speechless for a moment. “Julia,” he finally said, “this is not a nice guy. He was a real bad guy in the old country, and I’m sure hasn’t seen the error of his ways in the good old USA.”
The waiter returned and placed a huge piece of dripping beef in front of Don. My soup came a moment later. Don punctuated his speech with his steak knife. “There was a federal inquiry into Cheng’s gambling practices. He’s set up some clubs down south. They were looking to nab him on smuggling, but it wasn’t enough to shut him down. They’ll probably eventually trip him up on tax evasion. The feds keep their eye on him, believe me.”
Don poured a generous helping of steak sauce on his dinner plate and scooped some up with a piece of meat. “What does this have to do with your friend? This was the Laurel Heights murder, right?” I nodded without speaking. “Well, let’s put it this way. If this sister was in business with Cheng, I’m not surprised she’s dead.”
“I don’t know that she was, but there’s a connection. She worked there off and on. Have a look at this.” I pulled the small packet of paper out of my makeup case and slid it across the table.
Don looked at me questioningly. He put down his fork and inconspicuously opened the tiny packet. He touched a small amount to his finger. “Where did you get this?” He hissed. “I don’t know enough to be sure, but this looks purified, what they call ‘number four.’”
“There are crates of this stuff in a storeroom at Macao.”
“What the hell were you doing there ?”
I didn’t answer. Don wrapped up the packet and passed it back to me. “If you’re smart, you’ll head for the ladies room and flush i
t down the toilet. Don’t walk around with this stuff in your purse. What are you going to do?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Absolutely nothing. Forget you were ever there. Forget you ever saw a thing. I’m not kidding Julia. This is heavy stuff.”
“Don’t you think I should report this?”
“No!”
“What?”
Don sighed. “Tell you what. I have some contacts. I can make a phone call and keep you out of it”
“Don, if drugs are bringing in huge profits, then wouldn’t there be a need for the dealers to get that cash into circulation—to launder it?”
“I’m sure Cheng has a whole team of smart people working on that.” Don reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Julia, I’m your friend. Take my advice and stay the hell away from this. I know you mean well, but these are not the people to mess with.”
It’s a bad trait of mine, but I have to admit I hate being told what to do. I’ve been told I have a mind like a bear trap. The best way to get me to do something is to tell me not to do it and vice versa. If that makes me contrary and ornery, well, I guess I am. Don knew me well enough to know that. I didn’t answer.
“And wipe that stubborn look off your face. I mean it. Stay the hell out of this and let the cops worry about Cheng and this woman’s murder.”
twenty-six
The next morning, I woke with a start. I was dreaming I’d fallen into black ocean waves so thick and viscous I couldn’t move my arms or legs. A hangover from the night before no doubt. I dragged myself slowly out of bed. My right side ached. I’d pulled muscles clambering onto the deck of that restaurant. I wasn’t complaining—the other option would have been far less appetizing. I shivered when I thought what might have happened if Refrigerator Man, as I’d dubbed him, had discovered me hiding in the storeroom. If these people were as bad as Don seemed to think, my chances of getting out of there wouldn’t have been good.
I put the kettle on to boil, downed two aspirin, and dumped a large amount of espresso coffee into a filter. Wizard was circling my legs waiting to be fed. I scooped some Fancy Beast into a clean dish. When the water boiled, I poured it through the filter, inhaling the aroma. My drug of choice in the morning. The night before, I’d taken Don’s advice and flushed the contents of the tiny packet down the toilet. If Moira had been mixed up with these people, it opened a Pandora’s box of possibilities.
The phone in the office began to ring. I glanced at the clock: 7:15. An uncivilized hour for anyone to call. Even my grandmother wouldn’t call this early. My head was pounding. I trotted down the hallway and checked the caller ID. Not a number I recognized. Heaving a sigh, I picked up the phone, hoping I wouldn’t sound like something that had almost washed up in the Bay the night before.
“Julia? Hi.” A man’s voice.
“Hi.” I hesitated, not sure if I was correct. “Is this Matt?”
“Listen, sorry to call so early, but I was just wondering … ” Matt hesitated. “Have you heard if they’ve questioned David? The police, I mean.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Well, I don’t believe he had anything to do with this for a second. I’ve known him for years and he’s just not capable of hurting anybody.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Erring on the side of caution, I wisely kept my mouth shut and offered no information. There was something about Matt right now that didn’t feel quite up front, as if he were the type to throw out a tidbit of information, hoping to reel in more. Maybe it was just his stockbroker’s personality revealing itself, talking up an investment to an uncertain client, or was there more to it?
“I’m wondering … actually … um … I’d like to make an appointment with you. You know, for a personal consultation, like we talked about. Could we arrange that?”
“Oh. Of course. Let me check my calendar. What day is good for you?”
“Later today would be great. That’s if you have the time.”
“Today?” I squeaked. I quickly reviewed what I’d planned for the day. I still hadn’t caught up with Brooke to ask her about the bracelet I’d found at Moira’s apartment. She might or might not be at her office today. Other than that, I had to prepare some Zodia responses for the column, although I could do that at any time. I was well ahead of my deadlines, and my client scheduled for today had cancelled—an attack of cold feet for the second time. I was relatively free. Why turn a new client away?
“I know it’s somewhat short notice, but … I just happen to have some free time …” he continued.
I was surprised by his eagerness, and generally I’m very careful about new clients coming to my home, at least until I get to know them better. I always ask who referred them, and if my client is male, I tend to be even more cautious. When in doubt, I arrange to meet them in a private room at the Mystic Eye. I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but there are lots of crazy people out there. And most victims are done in by someone they know, even someone close. Family, friends, neighbors. The human race can be quite disgusting.
It’s also been my experience that whenever a client calls with a sense of urgency couched in a casual excuse, it’s often urgent. They just don’t want to tell you what the real issue is. Whether from an unwillingness to be open or a test of the astrologer’s ability, I’ve never figured out. “Well then, today it is,” I said. “Much later today—I’ll need some time to do the work. My fees are—”
“Oh, money’s not a problem, Julia. Whatever you charge is fine with me. How about five o’clock this afternoon?”
“That’ll work. I’ll see you then.” I gave Matt my address and he said goodbye, sounding genuinely relieved. What could be on his mind, I wondered. Did it have anything to do with Moira’s death, or was it something more personal? Whatever it was, I’d find out very soon. I’d intended to do some more work on all the Leary family charts, but now that would have to wait.
I devoured some toast, hopped in the shower, dressed in a presentable outfit, and straightened up the apartment. Then I spent the next two hours with Matt’s chart, making notes and preparing for his visit. When I finished, I stood up and stretched, stiff from sitting in one position too long. I felt a bad twinge in my side, but the good news was that my headache was gone. Maybe I was getting soft and needed regular exercise. But the prospect of joining a gym appalled me. I despise gyms. The equipment confuses me and everything looks like a torture device. Most of all, I hate the smell of sweat and dirty socks.
When all was ready for Matt’s appointment, I called Brooke’s office only to learn that she wasn’t in and the receptionist had no idea when she might be available. The bracelet was burning a hole in my consciousness, but it was easier to worry about the bracelet than dwell on Macao and what Moira’s involvement in that place might have been. I tried Brooke’s home number, but an answering machine picked up. I left a message that I had a quick question for her but it was nothing urgent. Given what she was going through, I certainly didn’t want to pressure her. It was always possible Geneva had had a chance to talk to her about the bracelet by now anyway.
There was one other person who might know if the bracelet was Brooke’s. Rather than calling Rob first, I thought I’d go straight to his office for an unannounced visit. I was curious to see him in his own environment. It was slightly presumptuous of me, but since he’d lain in wait for me outside Moira’s apartment, I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t beard him in his own den.
Rob’s law firm occupies two floors of a high rise at 600 California Street, in the heart of the financial district, just south of Grant. I wasn’t about to open a vein to pay for parking there, so I pulled into a public lot a block up the hill. I rode the elevator up to street level and cut through a small park with kiddy swings and a sandy play area. I didn’t spot any kids, but a homeless man was enjoying the slide. Across California Street, the bells of Old Saint
Mary’s chimed the noon hour. The inscription on the tower reads, Son, observe the time and fly from evil. I shuddered. A dire warning aimed at the fearful.
The plaza in front of Rob’s building was crowded with people rushing out for an early lunch. I pushed my way through and stepped into the elevator. With a slight sensation of upward movement, it deposited me on the twenty-eighth floor. The interior lobby was dominated by a desk that rivaled the Starship Enterprise. The receptionist looked up as I approached. I gave her my name and asked to see Rob Ramer. She smiled and gave me a curious look but buzzed his office immediately.
I sat near the control deck. The waiting area was enclosed with layers of floor-to-ceiling green translucent glass. Shadows moved behind the glass like human fish in a murky aquarium. A few minutes later, Rob entered the lobby through a cleverly concealed corridor and came toward me.
“Julia. How nice to see you!”
“I hope I didn’t arrive at a bad time.”
He smiled. “No. Not at all. How are you? I was just finishing up a project and getting ready to head out for lunch. Come on back.”
He indicated I should precede him down the hallway. We were treated to a few curious looks from people we passed. Was it because he was so handsome and I was an eligible female? Or did he have a reputation in the office? At the end, the hallway turned right into another section.
All Signs Point to Murder Page 16
