by Matt Coyle
“You didn’t tell me about Dina Dergan’s wedding ring,” I said into Moira’s voicemail, then hung up.
She’d told me to stop calling her and asking for favors. That was fair, but I needed her help. Lighting her anger would work better than appealing to a broken friendship. Maybe I didn’t have to be dead to not have a conscience.
My phone rang. I answered and put the call on speaker.
“What’s your problem?” The machine-gun voice on full burst.
“I need your help. Not as a favor. I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you can drive up to Carlsbad and tail Dina Dergan.”
“I’m working a case.”
“Two thousand.”
“Shut up, Cahill!” She let out a deep breath. “What did you mean about Dina Dergan’s wedding ring?”
“You didn’t tell me she was wearing one when she kissed Sophia Domingo. Would have been good to know.”
“I don’t remember seeing one.” Rare uncertainty in her voice. “If she wore one, I must have missed it.”
“It happens.” Now I felt bad. I shouldn’t have called.
“Shut up. Where in Carlsbad? Her office?”
“Listen, you don’t—”
“Shut up. Her office?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
* * *
I waited in my car for Moira to arrive. I didn’t expect a happy reunion. Moira had earned the right to be mad. I knew how to be a colleague. I knew how to be a friend, even though I didn’t have many. I didn’t know how to be a colleague and a friend.
Fifteen minutes in, someone came out of Dergan Consulting. Man Bun. I let him walk out of the binoculars’ view. I ran my conversation with Dina Dergan in my head over and over while I waited. Something was pecking at the edges, but I couldn’t bring it into focus. I’d already figured that Dina was lying. That wasn’t it. The statuette on her desk flashed across my internal screen. Medusa, but not Medusa. I’d called it Mother Nature and Dina had said, “Something like that.” No. She said, “That’s one name for her.” Those were her exact words. Another name for Mother Nature.
Gaia.
The name of the trust that owned the home in Point Loma where Sophia had spent the night after leaving The Pacific Terrace Hotel. I wondered if Dina let all her former employees shack up at her million-dollar hideaway in Point Loma. Or was it just for former lovers? Or current lovers about to be former?
My phone buzzed interrupting my thoughts. Moira.
“Where are you staked out?” Businesslike with a trace of disdain.
I told her.
“Okay. I’ll position myself on the other side of Dergan Consulting.”
“No. You can take my spot. You’re riding solo.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get a closer look at Mother Nature.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE SUN HAD dropped below the waterline by the time I arrived in Point Loma. Good. I needed the cover of darkness. I climbed the hill that held the Gaia Trust–owned house and drove past it. A floodlight splashed light over the empty driveway, but the house was dark inside. I drove past and parked on the flat street behind the house.
No streetlight on my end. I sat in the car and let the night fall completely. My phone rang. Moira.
“She’s on the move—5-South.”
“Thanks. She lives in Del Mar. Call me back if she hasn’t gotten off the freeway by the time she hits Del Mar Heights.”
“Roger. Where are you, Cahill?”
“You don’t need to know. Better for plausible deniability.”
“Don’t make me your one phone call if it goes wrong.” She hung up.
The only friend I had left still didn’t want to be my friend. I couldn’t blame her, but I had to find a way to heal the wound. I didn’t want to die friendless.
I turned the car’s interior light switch to off, got out, and opened the trunk. The light went on, but I kept the lid low so not much light escaped. I scanned the street. No one out walking a dog. Lights on in the mansion on the raised lot across the street, but no heads in windows that I could see. There were probably security cameras on the property, but hopefully it was dark enough and I was far enough away to not be identifiable if someone looked at the video later. I prayed it wouldn’t come to that. I reached into the trunk, pulled up the carpet, and raised the particleboard flooring to expose the spare tire well. I grabbed the duffel bag flattened down against the tire and let the flooring drop back into place.
The duffel was small and colored gray. My black bag. It held the tools I needed to do things I never told my clients about. Plausible deniability. If the cops ever caught me holding the bag, they’d call it a burglar kit or worse. It held a lock pick set, black ski mask, black gloves, small crowbar, a blackjack, and a penlight flashlight. All it needed were handcuffs or a rope to qualify as a rape kit.
I put the pick set in my back pocket, put on the gloves, and grabbed the ski mask and flashlight. Still no one on the street. I closed the trunk and headed toward Dina Dergan’s secret crash pad. I turned the corner and headed down the hill. The downward pressure on my leg accentuated my limp and squeezed more pain out of my stab wound.
Still no one else on the street. I put on the ski mask before I cleared the tall hedges bordering the Gaia house. A floodlight attached to the eaves lighted the driveway and caught the walkway up to the house. Under the eaves below the floodlight hung a security camera pointed at the entrance to the house.
The ski mask could hide my face, but not my limp. I’d be pretty easy to identify if I was still limping by the time someone looked at the security video. A Russian goth girl with a knife and her posse with guns didn’t allow the option of turning back. I shuffled through a desert garden up to the front door to stay out of the light.
The front door had a dead bolt. I pulled the pick set from my back pocket and took out a tension wrench and a pick. Breaking and entering could get me Jeffrey Parker’s old cell in the downtown jail. My father’s credo about doing right even when the law called it wrong didn’t apply. I was breaking the law out of self-interest. Self-preservation. No moral quandary. I wanted to live.
I slid the wrench into the bottom of the keyhole, applied slight pressure, and worked the tumblers into place one by one as I moved the pick back and forth with my other hand. Even out of practice, I opened the lock in less than a minute. I pushed the door open and listened for the beep of an alarm system. Nothing. Didn’t mean there wasn’t one there. I went inside and scanned the wall by the front door with the flashlight. Nothing. If I had tripped an alarm, someone at the security agency would call the house to check for a false alarm soon. I closed the door and locked the dead bolt. The sealed house’s smell hit me. Clean. Freshly scrubbed. Pine-Sol–scented air.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I jumped. My leg spat pain. I pulled out the phone. Moira.
“She passed Del Mar Heights and is still headed south on the 5.”
“Okay.” I whispered. I still hadn’t cleared the house. “Thanks.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“If she goes all the way down to Point Loma, give me a call, then you can drop off. I’ll put an envelope with two grand under your doormat sometime tomorrow.”
“Keep your stupid money, Cahill. Just don’t get caught.” Moira hung up.
I scanned the room with the flashlight. The entrance opened into the living room. No foyer. The money in this house was in the view, not the outdated floor plan. Even that was reduced down to a single rectangle window looking out the front. A modern house would have had glass around the whole living room. The whole room one giant window. The furniture was nothing special either.
I turned to walk down a short hall and bumped the side of the couch with my leg. Right on the wound. Pain. I dropped the flashlight, swallowed a scream, and tried not to grab my leg. That would just hurt worse.
After I stopped hyperventilating, I stooped dow
n and picked up the flashlight. The carpet’s smell kept me bent over. I stuck my nose down near it. Medicinal, yet soapy. It had been cleaned recently. A carpet that was at least twenty years old. The Pine-Sol in the air. Why the deep clean now? Was the crash pad for sale? Or had something needed to be cleaned thoroughly and in a hurry?
I limped down the hall and opened the first door on the right. Bedroom. Empty. Musty, unlike the living room. If the house was for sale, why hadn’t the spare bedroom been cleaned? I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but needed more evidence.
The next door was on the left. I opened it. Bathroom. Pine-Sol wafted into my nose and irritated my eyes. Like someone had just spilled an entire bottle on the floor. Something else pushed through the Pine-Sol.
Bleach.
The hair spiked on the back of my neck. The ski mask now hot on my face.
Pine-Sol was powerful enough. Bleach was overkill. Unless you were trying to eliminate DNA. I turned on the light. The dated bathroom was immaculate, but something was missing. Towels. Not a single one on either of the two towel racks. No washcloths either. I pulled open the shower curtain to look at the tub and the smell of recently unsealed plastic fought through the cleaning agents. I examined the shower curtain and then smelled it. Brand new. Dina had replaced the curtain, but forgot about the towels. Unless they were in the washer or dryer. The tub shined like new.
Dina Dergan killed Sophia. I was certain now. And I stood on the killing ground. The recently cleaned carpet, Pine-Sol, bleach, missing towels, new shower curtain, plus the feeling in my gut added up to murder. She’d convinced Sophia to meet her at the Gaia house for one last fling, offered her the shower afterwards, then stabbed her in the tub to make the cleanup easy. If I had a spray bottle of Luminol and a black light, the bathtub would probably light up like a blue oil slick.
Dina must have spilled some of the blood left in Sophia when she wrapped her in the old shower curtain and dragged her through the house to the trunk of Sophia’s car. Unless she poured bleach in the rug-cleaning solution, there was probably still some blood and DNA in the fibers of the carpet. I walked back out into the living room and turned on a light switch on the wall. The room lit up from an overhead light.
There was a light spot in the mauve carpet just outside the bathroom. She had used bleach. She probably already had a new carpet on order. I found a laundry room in a pass-through to the garage. I checked the washer and dryer. Both empty. Dina had disposed of the towels she’d used to clean up the blood that spattered outside the shower. The rest went down the drain. I wondered if she’d been smart enough to clean the drain cover. If not, there was probably some of Sophia’s hair and blood stuck in it.
That was for the police to find. I just had to figure out a way to get them here with a search warrant. I took a picture of the light spot on the carpet with my phone, turned off the light, then went back into the bathroom and took a couple shots of the empty towel racks and new shower curtain. None of this would get anywhere near a search warrant, but it was a start.
I went into the master bedroom at the end of the hall and flipped on the light. Small master. Queen bed. Painting of the Point Loma Lighthouse above the bed. Small bureau. Nightstand. Bathroom. I looked through the bureau and checked the nightstand. Nothing. I searched the closet for a wall safe. None. Bathroom. Counter, drawers, medicine chest. Nothing. If Dina had the flash drive, she’d probably hidden it here away from her life in Del Mar and Carlsbad. It had to be here. And if the drive was here in the crash pad, it was probably in the master bedroom. Somewhere close when she stayed here. If it was here, she was on her way. The normal instinct is to put your hands on your secret when someone has brought its existence to light.
My phone rang on cue.
“She’s on Rosecrans heading your way.”
“What do you mean my way?” I turned off the bedroom light.
“I’m not stupid, Rick. Don’t insult me. Point Loma. The house where you tailed Sophia to after she left The Pacific Terrace Hotel. I know you’re there. I just don’t know why.”
“Plausible deniability, Moira. Go home. And thanks. I owe you. As always.” I hung up to keep her from making an objection. I knew she wouldn’t call back with Dina closing in.
I figured I had at least five minutes. I hustled-gimped down the hall, through the laundry room and into the garage. I flicked on the light. Small. Would only fit a car and a half.
A few gardening tools on a workbench. A handcart. A tool box. I whipped it open and dug through a few odd tools. No flash drive. Nothing else in the garage. I hustled back into the house and back into the master. One more check of the closet. I shook the five or so pairs of shoes. No flash drive.
I turned off the light to the bedroom and went back into the closet, left the doors an inch apart, and waited.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway and stopping with a start. Dina was in a hurry. A few seconds later the click of an unlocked dead bolt and a snick of the front door opening and slammed shut. Footsteps down the hall. Light. She flashed by the closet, dropped her purse, kicked off her shoes, and jumped onto the bed. The painting that hung over it, now in her hands. She pulled something off the back of the picture frame. I couldn’t see what it was, but didn’t have to.
The flash drive.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I EYED DINA Dergan through the slit between the two closet doors. She put the flash drive in her jacket pocket and hung the painting back up on the wall. She stepped off the bed. If she left with the flash drive, Kim and I were dead. I whipped open the closet doors and dove at her. She turned toward me. Horror in her eyes. My shoulder hit her chest and drove her onto the bed, landing on top of her. She screamed. Clawed at my eyes, but got only ski mask. I shot my hand into her pocket, grabbed the flash drive, and rolled off her onto the floor.
My wounded leg gave and I banged into the wall, but stayed upright. Dina jumped off the other side of the bed, snatched her purse, and pulled out a small black canister and pointed it at me. Pepper spray. I lunged for the door. The sizzle of spray hit the wall behind me. I hop-skipped into the living room.
“Cahill?” Dina chasing behind me. “I know it’s you.”
I made it to the front door. She was ten feet behind me.
“Stop or I’ll call the police!”
I put my hand on the doorknob. Breaking and entering. Assault and battery. She could even claim attempted rape. If I ran now and got arrested before I gave the Russians what they wanted, I’d end up dead in jail and Kim dead in her home.
“Put the pepper spray down.” I kept my head angled away from her.
“Give me back the flash drive and you can go.” Dina back in control.
“Put the pepper spray down and we can figure out how to keep you alive.” I tilted my head away from Dina.
“Now you’re threatening my life?” A chuckle. She was cool. And had already proven deadly. “You just keep tacking on more charges. Don’t you ever want to get out of jail?”
“Put the pepper spray down and we can talk.”
I heard movement away from me and then the overhead light went on. I peeked over my shoulder. Dina stood next to the wall near the kitchen. She set the canister of pepper spray down on a countertop breakfast nook that connected the living room and kitchen.
“Okay.” She remained standing within reach of the pepper spray. “But there’s not much to talk about. If you give it back to me, I won’t call the police.”
I limped a few feet into the living room. I’d already been teargassed once this week. I knew the damage pepper spray could do.
“We both know it’s not your property.”
“It’s mine now.” She smiled. It would have been considered a beautiful smile, if she weren’t evil. “And if you don’t give it back to me, you’re going to jail.”
“You don’t understand the danger you’re in. The people who want that drive back will kill you. If you work with me, maybe we can find a way to keep you alive.”<
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“Empty threats, Mr. Cahill.” She smiled a death grin and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of the disreputable people Peter Stone’s gotten involved with. I’ve dealt with politicians who are more dangerous. I’m going to screw Stone the way he and Sophia screwed me. Everyone will learn the truth about just how corrupt the great philanthropist really is. You should be concerned with your own freedom.”
“You don’t really know who those people are, do you?”
“I know that the shell corporations that are helping finance the construction project have been involved in some shady deals.”
“The people behind the shell corporation are the Russian Mafia. And they’re going to kill whoever took this flash drive. You already saved them one murder when you killed Sophia. They’re going to think you were in on it with her if I tell them where I got the drive.”
“Is that what Peter told you? That his silent partners are the Russian Mafia?” Her voice wasn’t as confident as her words.
“No. I figured it out when one of them stuck a knife in my leg and told me I had seventy-two hours to find the flash drive.”
The fear that I’d seen in Dina’s eyes when I attacked her returned.
“I didn’t steal the flash drive. I found it in Sophia’s purse when …” She looked at the pepper spray and then back at me. Eyes wide. “I’m not going to tell anyone about what’s on the drive. I looked at it once and clearly didn’t understand its importance. You have to tell them that.”
“Did you make a copy?”
“No. You have to tell them. You said you knew how to save my life.” Frantic. “How? What do you want?”
“I’ll lie to the Russians about where I found the flash drive.” I locked my eyes onto hers and held them. “If you go to the police and confess that you killed Sophia.”
“What?” Still scared.
“I know you killed her in this house.” I nodded once. “The bleach. The recently cleaned carpet. The new shower curtain. The cut on your finger. She jumped back into bed with you, then stole GBASD and used what you taught her to get the Coastal Commission vote to go GBASD’s way. And you killed her. But at this point, I don’t care. Make up a story. Self-defense. She attacked you and you went crazy. Diminished capacity. Any scenario you like. Just turn yourself in and take responsibility. You have until noon tomorrow.”
