by Nathan Field
“Is it money well spent?”
“Yeah, he did a good job. So, who first?”
“The eldest son?”
Izzy nodded wisely, like he’d anticipated my response. He thought I was hitting the prime suspect first, but in fact, I was saving the best till last. He handed me a sheet of paper densely lined with dates and abbreviations. Reading from a second copy, Izzy proceeded to translate from the top. “Oliver James Piper, born January 3rd 1984, which would make him thirty now. Went to Casa Roble High, mediocre student by their standards, but he played junior varsity football and was a member of the sailing club. Undergrad at Sac State and then on to Berkeley, where he majored in Marketing. Enrolled in the Master’s program, but he dropped out soon after. That was in 2007.”
He paused for effect. The significance of the year wasn’t lost on me.
“Moved back to Sacramento to take over the family business, and within three years, he’d run it into the ground. Construction delays, over-leveraging, and poor pre-sales on a Fair Oaks condo development forced a massive liquidation auction, and suddenly the sixty year old company was no more. He licked his wounds for a while, renting an apartment in midtown and keeping a low profile. Then in 2011, he began working for Greenfield and Thompson, the luxury estate agents who do a lot of business in Granite Bay. I’m guessing Daddy’s old connections helped him out there. But he didn’t stay long. In 2013 he resigned, telling the agency he wanted to see the world. Within a month he’d sold his car, closed out his bank accounts....and that’s the last we hear from him.”
Izzy waited for a response, eyebrows raised.
I nodded slowly, giving the information due consideration. “Yes, very interesting. And the sisters?”
He frowned. “Hold on, maybe I wasn’t clear. The trail ends. One minute Oliver’s starting a new career in the realty business, and the next he’s disappeared without a trace.”
“He went traveling. That’s not so strange.”
Izzy shook his head. “There’d still be an audit trail. Electronic transfers, credit card transactions, something.”
“Your man checked all those in one day?”
“Oh sure. He said ninety-nine percent of people show up on a basic electronic sweep. And of the one percent that don’t, most are lying low for a reason.”
I sipped my beer, trying to hide my skepticism. “Okay, I’ll admit that Oliver looks pretty suspicious on paper. But let’s not jump to conclusions. Just because he’s fallen off the radar doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”
“Jesus, you sound like a defense attorney. But you’re right, the other kids have some red flags, so we won’t condemn Oliver just yet.” He went back to the file. “Do you want to hear about the youngest son – Evan?”
“Not really. He killed himself, right?”
Izzy nodded. “Hanged himself in his bedroom the day after his eighteenth birthday. Right before his older brother disappeared.”
“Well there you go – that’s why Oliver ran off. He was shaken up by Evan’s suicide, and he needed a change of scenery. He wouldn’t be the first person to jump on a plane to escape problems at home.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Izzy said, eyes narrowing. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Yeah, but can we finish this first? I want you to keep an open mind.”
Izzy chuckled and shook his head. “Okay. You’ve kept me in suspense for eight years – I guess another five minutes won’t kill me. So, eldest daughter next?”
I nodded, leaning forward.
“Right,” Izzy said, handing over another sheet of paper. “Tiffany Dawn Piper, born July 10th 1987, making her twenty-eight. Educated at Granite Bay High School. A-grade student, played on the tennis team, and was her class salutatorian. She went to Berkley like her brother, but then she transferred to Sac State in 2008 to finish her BA in English and Spanish. Taught ninth and tenth grade English at Oakmont High from 2010 to 2014, then left to do the same job at Mission High School in San Francisco earlier this year. Doesn’t own a house or a car, and the only other detail we have is that she’s a member of the Adele Fan Club.”
“Adele the singer?”
“Adele the singer,” he confirmed.
I took a measured sip of beer, pondering Tiffany’s bland resume. Could she be the killer? There weren’t any light-bulbs flashing. The only significant aspect of Tiffany’s story was the fact she’d recently moved to San Francisco, just before Ralph Emerson’s impersonator took up residence in my office. But thousands of people left Sacramento for the coast every year – it wasn’t an out-of-the-ordinary move. And everything else about Tiffany’s profile was respectfully ordinary: a top student, a schoolteacher, and fan of middle-of-the-road pop. I could picture her now – her hair styled with a flip, wearing a pale sweater and a long pleated skirt, singing Adele songs in her Prius.
“What about personal stuff,” I said. “Marriage? Kids?”
“Never been married, never had kids. And no records of joint accounts or mutually held assets. The same goes for Oliver. They’re about as single as you get.”
I nodded slowly, wondering if there was anything to read into the siblings’ solitary lives. It was probably easier to moonlight as a killer if you didn’t have a family to worry about, but beyond that…
“Are you ready for the black sheep?” Izzy said.
My ears pricked up. “That sounds promising.”
“It’s quite a story,” he said, handing me another printout. “Kendall Louise Piper, born March 1st 1992, so she’s twenty-three. Went to Granite Bay High like her sister and younger brother. Straight A student, school choir, debating club, hockey team – a real goody-two-shoes. Then out of the blue, at fourteen, she’s expelled for drinking on school grounds.”
“Let me guess. The year her father died?”
“Exactly, in 2007. Someone must’ve pulled a few strings, because she transfers to Loretto High School and keeps her head down for the next three years, graduating in 2011 with a 4.1 GPA and gaining admission to Brown. Except she never makes it to Providence. In September 2011 she’s arrested in New York for possession of cocaine. She’s sentenced to five days community service, fined $1,000, and then she drops out of sight for a while.”
“And she’s still just a teenager?”
“Yeah, and she’s only warming up. Next she pops up in Vegas, February 2012, to marry one Lee Archibald. They file for divorce four months later, citing irreconcilable differences. Skip to March 2014 – Kendall gives birth to a son in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, but the baby dies before he leaves the hospital. Father unknown. She marries again in August 2014, to a Larry Jewell, and they buy a $280,000 house on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Then in January 2015, Kendall Jewell is arrested for brandishing a firearm at her neighbors after a compliant about a domestic dispute. She’s not charged, but soon after her credit card starts making its way north. Flagstaff, LA, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz…”
“–San Francisco,” I guessed.
“You got it. Since March this year, the transactions are all from the Bay area. I’m guessing she left husband number two.”
“Hmmm,” I said, leaning back. “Interesting.”
Izzy stared at me. “What are you hmmming about? I know she sounds crazy, but you don’t seriously think she’s the killer.”
My silence said everything.
“What about Oliver?” Izzy said. “Surely he’s the prime suspect.”
Rather than wasting my breath on defending Oliver, I told Izzy about my run-in with Gordon Conway, and how he’d been hired by a woman.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Izzy said. “You’ve spoken to the killer on the phone, and he was a he.”
“Maybe that wasn’t the killer. Kendall could’ve easily found an out-of-work actor to make a few prank calls. I only spoke to him three times – twice when he was Ralph Emerson, and then once when he was calling me Johnny. Everything else could’ve been done by a woman. Changing the script, s
etting up the photos of Ralph’s family, spraying cheap aftershave round the office…”
Izzy was shaking his head. “You think a twenty-three-year-old girl could’ve bludgeoned Ralph Emerson to death, and then forced your friend to drive off a cliff?”
“She has a history of violence.”
“Waving a shotgun around is not the same.”
“Yeah, I know. I had a hard time imagining it myself. But my gut tells me she’s the one. Did your man happen to get a current address?”
“No, not in San Francisco. She’s probably hiding from her husband.” Izzy’s eyes suddenly lit up. “But he did send through a picture. Kendall’s mug shot from the Albuquerque arrest.”
He reached into the folder and handed me a printed photo. “She’s got that sexy goth thing going on.”
Kendall Piper had matted black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes that were filled with resentment. She wasn’t happy about being photographed, that was for sure. The longer I stared, the more I saw something familiar in Kendall’s confronting gaze, and the haughty set to her jaw.
I knew that look.
I knew that woman.
Bruno would’ve been caught off guard, thinking she was a friend of Chloe’s.
“Do you know her?” Izzy said.
“I was on a blind date with her last week.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. She’s had a makeover since this picture was taken, but it’s definitely her. She’s going by the name Maxine.”
“Jesus. Who introduced you?”
“A friend of a friend….” My eyes shifted to the groups of office workers in the bar. I’d been completely fooled by Maxine’s polished, corporate façade. But I hadn’t been the only one…
A cold sweat tickled my scalp. “Fuck. I have to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
I was already on my feet, edging out from behind the table. “My friend – the one Kendall’s attached herself to. I have to warn her.”
Izzy put a hand on my forearm. “Wait a second, Pete. Think for a….”
“–No,” I said, pulling my arm away. “I’ll think on the road, but I have to leave now. That bitch has killed the last of my friends.”
24. “She only befriended you to get to me”
It took less than a minute to pack my overnight bag, but I spent much longer pacing my hotel room, trying to connect to Chloe’s mobile. On the sixth failed attempt, I left a message.
“Chloe, it’s Sam. This is going to sound crazy, but please hear me out. Maxine is not who you think she is. Her real name’s Kendall Piper, and she’s responsible for Bruno’s death. Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but for your own safety, stay away from her until I can explain. You’ve got to trust me on this. I’m heading back to the city now, but in the meantime, don’t talk to Maxine or let her know I’ve been in contact. I’m serious, Chloe. She is fucking dangerous, so don’t even think about confronting her. Call me when you get this.”
Right away, I worried that my message might do more harm than good. Chloe was a ballsy woman, and telling her to stay away from her boyfriend’s killer might have the opposite effect. But what else could I do? She needed to be warned.
If only she’d turn on her damn phone.
It was hard not to be reminded of the countless calls I’d put through to Bruno a few days earlier, when he’d been lying dead at the bottom of a cliff. I tried to convince myself that this time was different. Bruno had been staking out my office, threatening to catch Kendall in the act. She’d murdered him for practical reasons – not for pleasure. By that rationale, there was no reason for Chloe to be next on her list. She wasn’t a sworn enemy, or a threat to her grisly revenge plot.
Despite the likelihood that Chloe was in perfect health, I wasn’t taking any chances. I had to assume she was in danger. I left the hotel without stopping at the front desk, tipping the valet a twenty to hasten his return. After throwing my bag in the back-seat, I drove aggressively through Sacramento’s downtown traffic, running red lights and making use of both sides of the road. I put my foot down as soon as I hit the highway, knowing that every passing minute could be the difference between life and death.
I was making good time, but I was also painfully aware that Kendall had been one step ahead of me since the trouble began. If she’d already guessed I was flooring it back to Chloe’s place, she’d have made plans to get there before me, regardless of how fast I drove. To balance the odds, I needed a spy on the ground.
With my list of options down to one, I dialed up CC.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” she complained right off the bat.
I suddenly remembered the messages she’d left the previous two nights. “Sorry, I’ve had a lot on my plate.”
“Not good enough, Sam. I know I’m a tough bitch, but I was worried when you didn’t get back to me.”
“I’m sorry CC, alright? Really sorry. I owe you the mother of all explanations.”
She sighed heavily into the phone. “You want another favor, right?”
“I hate to ask….”
“–Then save your breath. The answer’s no. This relationship has to get back on a professional basis.”
“CC, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. Someone’s life is at stake.”
“Jesus, Sam,” she groaned. “Why is everything such a drama with you?”
“I’ll pay you a grand for two hours work.”
She paused. “Five hundred an hour isn’t so great.”
“Fuck, two grand if that’s what it takes.”
“Is this danger money?”
“No. It’s the easiest two grand you’ll ever make. I’m heading to a friend’s place in SoMa, but I won’t get there for at least an hour. I just need you to ring her buzzer to see if she’s there. If she is, tell her you have an urgent message from Sam, and then call me right away. I’ll talk to her through the intercom if I have to.”
“Is your office psycho after her?”
“I hope not, but I need to warn her just the same.”
Another long pause. “I’m already at work. I took an early shift”
“Fuck work. It’s two grand, CC.”
“What if she’s not home?”
“Then call me anyway. I’ll work it out from there.”
“Mmmm,” she dithered. “So where are you at the moment?”
“On the highway, driving as fast as I fucking can. CC, if you’re going to help me out, I need you to move now.”
“Calm down Mister Grumpy Pants. Where does your friend live?”
I gave out Chloe’s address and urged CC to order an Uber. I could tell she thought I was overreacting, and that my dramas were all in my head, so I warned her if she didn’t call me within twenty minutes, the deal was off. She wasn’t happy about being rushed, but the proviso worked. Fifteen minutes later, when I was driving past the last of the Dixon exits, she called me back.
“That was quick,” I said,
“I got my boss’s car. But your friend isn’t answering.”
“Damn it.”
“And there’s a nosy old bag glaring down at me from the top floor. I better move.” I heard her high heels crunching on the footpath, the drone of traffic in the background. “So, what now?” she asked.
“Okay. I’m still at least an hour away so you have to keep an eye on the place till I get there.”
“I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”
“I said two hours, CC.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
She’d stopped walking, and I imagined her standing under a streetlight with a hand on her hip, pulling her best ‘whatever’ face. In my calmest voice, I told her to look out for either a curvy twenty-three year old brunette, or a slender twenty-nine year old blonde with bad roots. If she saw the brunette, she needed to keep her distance and give me a call. If she saw the blonde, it was probably Chloe, and she should try and get her attenti
on.
“What if they’re together?” she said.
I took a deep breath, mulling it over. “Call the cops.”
“And say what?”
“Anything, just make sure they get round to the apartment. Be creative. I’ve got faith in you.”
She laughed at my weak attempt at flattery. “Okay, I better go. My battery’s running low.”
“Christ, CC! How are you going to call me?”
“It’s not dead yet. Don’t worry, I’m just being cautious.”
She hung up, and straight away I pounded the dash with my fist. I only hoped CC was telling the truth about just being cautious. Caution wasn’t a word I would’ve normally associated with CC, but there had to be a first time for everything.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I was particularly worried about the prospect of Kendall and Chloe showing up together. Not only would Chloe be in immediate danger, but CC was now under instructions to call 911, something I’d been hoping to avoid. My priority had to be Chloe’s safety, but I didn’t relish the thought of talking to the cops again.
Even if the facts supported my version of events, clearing me of any direct involvement in the Piper shootings, I’d probably still wind up in prison. Assault, blackmail, conspiracy to commit murder, perverting the course of justice – there were at least a half-dozen crimes the cops could throw at me. And I was guilty on all counts. The nocturnal routine that had become my security blanket would be whipped away. I’d be at the mercy of the system.
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Chloe had to be my sole focus. Not stuffy interview rooms and shared cells and enforced daylight. Chloe.
I was cursing a bottleneck near the Benicia exit when my mobile rang again. CC sounded agitated. “Your friend’s a stuck-up bitch.”
“You saw Chloe?”
“Yeah, the bottle blonde with the poky little face. I did what you said – I got her attention, but she fucking snubbed me. Like I was after her handbag or something.”
“Shit. Did you mention my name?”
“Of course. But I’m not sure she heard. She was too busy fumbling with her keys, trying to get the door open.”
