Murder in San Francisco

by Dianne Harman

  MURDER IN SAN FRANCISCO

  By

  Dianne Harman

  (A Liz Lucas Cozy Mystery - Book 8)

  Copyright © 2017 Dianne Harman

  www.dianneharman.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1979361132

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Probably the most asked question I get from readers is, “How do you get the ideas for your books?” Here’s the background on this one.

  I have my husband, Tom, to thank for this book. He served twelve years in the California State Legislature, and prior to that, as an attorney specializing in probate law. While he was in the legislature, young men and women in our Armed Forces were being sent off to war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them had concerns about having children in the event they were killed or badly wounded. To protect against such a worst-case scenario, some of them deposited genetic material with a sperm bank prior to departing for a combat zone.

  Recent developments in the field of reproductive medicine have allowed human sperm and egg cells to be frozen and stored for many years, then by means of artificial insemination, successfully used to impregnate a woman.

  As a former probate attorney, Tom became interested in what the inheritance rights were of a child who was conceived and born after the father’s death. While he was in the legislature he authored a bill dealing with this subject, which was ultimately signed by the governor and became part of California law. His staff jokingly called it the “Dead Dads” bill. On the day the bill was up for a vote, one of his colleagues in the Assembly asked him if this was the bill about “Papa’s in the freezer.”

  All joking aside, the bill provided needed guidelines and procedures for determining the inheritance rights of posthumously created heirs-at-law of a predeceased parent. In fact, several years after the bill became law, the U.S. Supreme Court, in a case arising in another state, referred to the California law with approval when it ruled that a child conceived after the death of his father was not eligible for Social Security survivor’s benefits because the state in question had not adopted a law like California’s.

  Given the background described above, I thought it would be interesting to write a book about a dispute over inheritance rights when a child is conceived and born after the parent has died. Thanks, Tom, for giving me the idea along with all the technical legal advice that went into this book.

  As always, my thanks to Vivek and Connie. You give my books the final touches that make them so readable and error-free!

  And last, but definitely not least, to you, my readers, who make the long hours I spend writing so worthwhile. Thank you for buying, borrowing, and reviewing them. I truly appreciate it!

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  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  EPILOGUE

  RECIPES

  ABOUT DIANNE

  SURPRISE!

  CHAPTER 1

  It was a quiet afternoon in the San Francisco Police Department’s Detective Division. Most of the other detectives were simply pushing some of their paperwork around, waiting for their shift to end, but not Mitch Latham, who was getting ready to retire in six months, and had something important weighing on his mind. He took one last look at the file in his hand, the file documenting the death of one Bernard Spitzer.

  His chair creaked as he leaned back and reacquainted himself with the file one last time before deciding whether to put it in the large cardboard box labeled “cold case storage.” Bernard “Bernie” Spitzer was eighty-three when he died. According to the coroner he died from natural causes, since no signs of injury or trauma were found on his body. Often the next of kin requested that an autopsy be performed, but in this case, given his age and the fact that there had been a number of homicides on the night the octogenarian died, his next of kin, as well as the law enforcement authorities, decided an autopsy was not necessary.

  Something about Bernie’s death made an alarm bell go off in the back of Mitch’s mind, but he couldn’t come up with any reason why. He doubted if Bernie had simply died from old age.

  What bothered the detective was that Bernard Spitzer was a San Francisco legend, a multimillionaire, and whenever a man that wealthy died, red flags went up, but so far, he’d found nothing to justify them.

  Instead, he had an octogenarian who had made a fortune as the founder of Spitzer Electronics, a company that twenty years ago had successfully fought off a hostile takeover by a corporate raider. Bernie had sold the company nine years ago to a Wall Street hedge fund for three hundred million dollars. He’d kept a minority interest in the company which paid him twenty million dollars a year.

  The money alone could have been motive for a murder if he had, in fact, been murdered, but so far, there was not one shred of evidence pointing to his death being a homicide. Mitch kept reading, envious that a man of Bernie’s age lived in the penthouse of one of the most expensive condominium projects in the city. After Bernie’s death, Mitch had visited the penthouse and had personally seen the five thousand bottle wine collection Bernie had amassed over the years, which occupied all of the floor below the penthouse. It was equipped with automatic temperature controls to keep the various types of wine at just the right temperature. To a detective with the San Francisco Police Department, it was an unbelievable display of wealth, and put Mitch’s wine rack containing a couple of bottles of sauvignon blanc and a Chateauneuf-de-Pape to shame.

  According to the file, and from the conversations he had with Bernie’s two adult children, Larry and Joni, Bernie had been widowed for the last twenty-five years and had enjoyed the company of a number of different women during that time. Evidently in recent years he had been seeing one woman exclusively, a woman named Michelle D’Amato. Larry and Joni didn’t like her very much, but she seemed to take good care of their father, so they had grudgingly come to accept her, since they really had no choice. Neither one of them was particularly close to their father, and seemed happy to have any responsibility for him taken out of their hands.

  “Mitch, time to give it up,” his partner, Austin Grey, said as he returned to the small room they shared, a cup of coffee in each hand. He handed Mitch one of the cups, spilling it as he did so. “That Spitzer case was dead on arrival when it got here. Actually, it never was a case, just an old geezer who bit the dust. Trust me, from the conversation I had with the chief this morning, we’ve got plenty
of other things on our plate that are a lot more important right now. Might as well kiss the case goodbye and send it off to cold case storage. Quite frankly, I think it’s long overdue. I can’t do the heavy lifting for both of us. Sorry to say it partner, but you haven’t been exactly shouldering your half of the load for the last couple of months.”

  Mitch sighed, savoring the taste of the warm, sweet coffee. “Yeah, I know. It’s just that since the guy died without a will and it’s taking a long time to probate his estate, I just keep hoping something will show up that will justify these red flags I keep getting. Guess it isn’t gonna happen. You’re right,” Mitch said as he picked up the file and walked over to the large cardboard box that held the dusty cold case file folders, dropping it in. “You’re my witness. It’s officially a cold case now.” He smiled at Austin. “Sorry, buddy, I’m back.”

  “Good.” Austin’s face brightened. “I can use some help. Here’s a couple of files that need our attention, like yesterday,” he said as he handed them to Mitch. “Glad to have you back, partner.”

  CHAPTER 2

  (4 Months Earlier)

  Four months earlier on a pleasant evening in San Francisco, Bernie Spitzer stepped under the striped awning and through the door of his favorite restaurant, The Seven Hills. The busy restaurant was buzzing with the chatter of people enjoying good food and company, and there was a line at the bar, but Bernie had no concerns about having to wait. He approached the maître d’ who politely bowed and said, “Right this way, Mr. Spitzer. I’ve reserved your favorite table.” He led Bernie and his female companion, Michelle D’Amato, to a table in the rear of the room. He handed them a menu and said, “Your waiter will be with you in a moment.”

  “Bernie, I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t get beyond the ravioli when we come here. I’m hopelessly addicted to it.” The auburn-haired beauty discarded her menu and reached across the table for Bernie’s hand. Her green eyes met his through luscious lashes. Her pale, freckled skin was enhanced by only the lightest dusting of powder. Her rosebud pink lips were parted just short of a pout, revealing neat, white, even teeth and while several decades younger than her partner, she wasn’t jail-bait, and she oozed a natural sophistication that caused more than one male head sitting at nearby tables to turn and look at her. “I wish I could make it like this.”

  Bernie squeezed her had. “Michelle, that’s why I have the money. I can take you to places like this, so you don’t have to cook. Let’s face it, the Seven Hills Restaurant is the finest and one of the most expensive restaurants in San Francisco. That’s one of the perks that comes with having founded, and then sold, a multimillion dollar business.” He took a sip from his glass of the five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine that had been brought to their table as soon as they were seated and smiled at her. “This is quite good. I approve, but I probably won’t tell them I have far better in my wine collection at home. I mean, what more could we want? A beautiful city, all the money we need, our health. Yes, life is good. Don’t you agree?”

  “Bernie, you know I totally agree, but it would even be better if I could have your baby. I know you’ve taken a vow to never get married again, and I understand and accept that, but if something happened to you, I wouldn’t have anything of you. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about you. I love you.” Michelle tilted her head towards Bernie, causing her hair to curl up on her shoulder.

  “Absolutely, emphatically no.” Bernie said as he pulled his hand away from Michelle’s. “The last thing I need is to have a kid. Made that mistake twice, and I’ll never make it again. Both of mine turned out to be losers. Not trying a third time. Anyway, I’m too old to have a baby that needs to have its diapers changed every two hours and everything else that goes along with it. No, Michelle. Sorry, I love you too, but I am not having a baby and that’s final.”

  Michelle’s eyes flashed with hurt, and she decided to try a softer approach. “Bernie, the papers have always referred to you as the king of compromise. That’s what happened when you sold your company. You got less than what you thought it was worth, and the buyers paid more than they wanted to pay. It was a good compromise. What about if we compromise?”

  He looked at her suspiciously, even though he knew her background and understood why she was asking. The beautiful woman sitting across the table from him had been married three times, all of which had ended in divorce. She’d suffered two miscarriages, and was alone in the world. Her mother had left her on the steps of a church, and she’d spent her formative years bouncing from one foster family to another. When the last of her many foster fathers had recognized just how beautiful the young woman was and tried to sneak into her bedroom, she’d taken to the streets.

  Bernie had met Michelle several years earlier when they ran into one another at prominent San Francisco law firm. She was there meeting with her attorney who had done a very good job getting a large divorce settlement from her wealthy banker husband. It hadn’t hurt that Michelle had discovered he’d been having an affair with their maid. Bernie had been at the law office because his lawyer, Walter Highsmith, had insisted he come into his office and meet with him regarding his estate plan.

  Bernie and Walter had spent the better part of two hours wrangling over who Bernie should leave his estate to and what should be done with it. At the end of the two hours, Bernie had thrown up his hands and said, “I don’t care who gets it, because I’ll be gone. When that happens, you do whatever is necessary. I’m done.” He’d flung the conference room door open as he left the room and it narrowly missed hitting Michelle, who happened to be walking past the conference room at that moment. “Better luck next time,” Michelle had said as she smiled and side-stepped out of the way. Bernie apologized profusely and asked if she’d join him for a cup of coffee. The fact that Michelle was so charming about him almost knocking her over had endeared her to him immediately. “I’ve been hit by a lot worse,” she’d said as she tried to put him at ease.

  One thing led to another, and strangely enough, within a few months the octogenarian and the beautiful young woman had fallen in love. They didn’t bother to explain it to others, because they knew no one would understand how they could fall in love with that large of an age difference. Michelle simply loved Bernie, and he simply loved her.

  He smiled, thinking of the happy times they’d enjoyed together since they had met, and his mood softened. “Michelle, I think you need to get away for a few days. One of the partners in the law firm I have on retainer lives in Red Cedar which is about an hour north of here. I’ve been told his wife has a spa there. Let me call Walter and see if he can get you in there for a few days. I think it would be good for you. My treat. How does that sound?”

  Michelle paused before replying. “It sounds wonderful, Bernie.” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Look, I know you’re trying to shift the focus away from becoming a father, but let me make one last attempt at this. I was at my doctor’s this afternoon, one of those annual check-up things, and I mentioned to him that I wanted a child, and you didn’t. My doctor told me a man could donate his sperm, and the woman could use it to get pregnant after he died. You said you didn’t want a child while you were alive. Well, what about after you’re dead? At least that way I’d have something from you.” Her eyes widened, and she sat back again, folding her arms.

  “Michelle, I’m sick and tired of this subject.” Bernie slammed his menu down on the table and lifted his wine glass. “Fine, if that’s what you want, fine. Give me the darned doctor’s name, and I’ll do it while you’re at the spa. Will that make you happy?” he asked as he signaled to the waiter that they were ready to order.

  “Ecstatic, Bernie, ecstatic.” Michelle ran her tongue across her lips. “You’ll never know how happy it makes me.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Roger Langley said, as he walked through the front door of the Red Cedar Lodge and Spa. “What’s for dinner tonight? Did the guests request anything special?
”

  His wife, Liz, looked up from where she was checking the visitors book at the desk in the spacious hallway. The space was filled with a soft glow from the setting sun outside. “We’re having shrimp fettucine, mixed green salad, and something similar to bruschetta.”

  “Sounds interesting, what kind of something?” Roger asked as he walked over to Liz and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Well, we have a garden in the back where Zack raises fresh vegetables and herbs for the dinners I serve the guests. I decided to use the garlic, tomatoes, basil, and a few other things that were growing in the garden, and I came up with something I think is wonderful. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  “Liz, I don’t think you’ve ever served anything I haven’t liked. Oh, by the way, I got a call from Walter Hightower today.” Roger loosened his tie and set down his briefcase. “I don’t know if you’ve ever met him. He’s a law partner of mine who really brings in the big bucks for our firm. Anyway, one of his clients called and asked him if he could get a reservation for his lady friend here at the spa for three nights. I told him that would be fine and had him call Bertha. I told him we’d do a VIP thing for her and make sure she enjoyed her experience. I knew you wouldn’t mind. Guess the client is some old geezer, but really bucks up.”

  “Sure. When’s she coming to the spa?”

  “She’s already here. I saw her Jaguar in the parking lot with a personalized license plate that reads ‘Bernie’s’. I guess he got the car for her and wanted to make sure everyone knew both she and the car were the property of someone named Bernie.”

  “Sounds a bit like a male chauvinist to me,” Liz said, closing the visitor book. “I mean, women are not the property of men.”

  Roger smiled. “Normally I’d agree with you, but this is a bit of a different case. The guy’s an octogenarian and his lady friend is in her early 40’s. Walter told me his client had no intention of marrying her, but he pays for everything she wants or needs. He even bought her a lush condominium two floors down from the penthouse suite where he lives. Walter said she’s actually pretty nice and not the least bit of a gold-digger. I told him you’d make sure that her experience here at the spa was enjoyable, and as a personal favor to me, I’d appreciate it if you did.”