by Elin Barnes
Darcy inhaled through his nose, trying to get any other nuances, but didn’t. Gas was not his field of expertise. “Isn’t that what they used in the Russian theater?”
“That’s the theory.”
The coffee shop was empty. There were half-filled coffee mugs and plates with uneaten food on several tables. The place looked eerie. As if aliens had come and snatched the patrons while they were going about their business. The shop was dark. The tinted windows kept most of the light out.
Darcy pulled out his Maglite and walked around, searching from left to right methodically.
“There’s still money in the register,” Sorensen said from behind the counter.
“Do SJPD and EMTs wear regulation boots?” Darcy asked, aiming the light at a partial boot print on the floor.
“Some do. Not all. Did you find something?”
“Maybe.”
He took his phone out and, after placing a pen next to the boot print, took several shots. It was fairly obvious the man had stepped in some spilled coffee and then left a large mocha print against the gray floor.
Darcy emailed the photos to Lou, the head of CSU, and wrote, “From the coffee shop on First Street. Need info yesterday.”
After a split second, his phone beeped with a reply. “Do you ever have realistic expectations?”
Darcy smiled and put the phone back in his jacket and continued to walk the scene.
“There’s nothing here. A dropped gallon of milk on the floor, but it didn’t even spill,” Sorensen said.
Sergeant Marra walked in. “All the victims are going to Good Sam. The kid who shot the video is outside.”
“Keep him there,” Sorensen said. “When is CSU getting here?”
“As soon as they’re done at the VTA.”
“We only have one team or what? That’s ridiculous,” Sorensen protested.
Marra shrugged for the second time and headed toward the door.
“Sergeant,” Darcy called after him. “Can you give me a list of every officer at the scene and include what shoes they’re wearing and their size.”
“You found something?” Marra retraced his steps and met the detective by the counter. Darcy pointed at the boot print a few feet away. The sergeant walked to it, bent over to get a closer look, and said, “It could be one of ours. I’ll send you that list.”
“Add the paramedics as well.”
“You got it.”
Darcy and Sorensen followed Marra out to the sidewalk. “This is Jinkoo Song. He took the video.”
Darcy introduced himself. The kid was tall and lanky, and even though he looked barely out of high school, he already had a strong handshake.
“What made you shoot the video?” Sorensen asked.
Jinkoo looked at him as if he were crazy. “Man, when you see something weird, you shoot it. I bet I’ll be a number-one hit by the time I get out of here,” he said without an accent.
“You live close by?”
“Yeah. I go to Santa Clara U. I hate the library there. It’s too quiet, so I always come here to study.” He moved his backpack from one shoulder to the other as if he’d just noticed how heavy it was.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Darcy asked.
“I saw these six dudes coming from the south. They were dressed in camo and wore gas masks.” Looking from one man to the next, he raised his voice a couple notches when he added, “Weird, right? So, I pulled my phone and started shooting.”
“Did you see them leave?” Darcy eyed the street, assessing the possible escape routes.
“No. Well, sort of. The moment the door opened, the smoke spilt into the sidewalk, so I assumed they were leaving but didn’t actually see them walk out.”
“The black SUV—did you notice if they came in it?”
“The black SUV?” Jinkoo asked.
“Yes, it was parked close to the coffee shop. It was there at the start of the video. When the gas dissipated, it wasn’t there anymore.”
Jinkoo looked in the direction Darcy was pointing at, as if trying to recall something, then shook his head. “No, sorry, didn’t pay any attention to it.”
“Anything else? Something about the guys maybe, or anything that might have caught your eye?” Sorensen added.
“Not really. I was just trying to record the whole thing and hoping they wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”
They asked him a few more questions that got inconsequential answers and then got the closest officer to collect Jinkoo’s contact info.
Darcy looked around, taking in the scene, watching the people standing there, curious about the crime. Then he focused on the street, trying to imagine the six men coming, gassing the coffee shop and leaving as fast as they’d come.
“Detective Lynch, what can you tell me?” Janet Hagen asked from the other side of the tape.
Darcy looked in her direction. The Channel 6 News anchor shoved a large microphone toward him as if a few inches would make a difference when they were so many feet apart.
“You know better than that, Miss Hagen. No comment.”
He turned away from her, pulled out his phone and called Jon. “Can you tell me the time of the two videos?”
“The VTA happened at 2:38 p.m. The one at the coffee shop started at 2:56 p.m.”
Darcy thanked Jon and hung up. “These two incidents happened almost fifteen minutes apart.”
“You’re brilliant, Sherlock. Any more insight the rest of us haven’t figured out yet?”
“Could they have been done by the same perps?”
Sorensen thought for a few seconds. “No, unless they use teleportation. Given the distance between the two scenes, it would be impossible, even if they had motorcycles.”
Before Darcy could reply, his phone rang again. “Yes?” he answered, putting it on speaker.
“I know what they took at the VTA,” Jon said, his voice singing with excitement.
Chapter 5
The bartender put a mojito in front of Blake Higgins and left. Blake took the straw out and took a sip. After nodding in approval, he rubbed his tongue over his teeth to make sure there was no mint stuck on them. He had a feeling he was going to get lucky tonight. It had been a shitty week, and he needed something petite and sweet to take his mind off of things.
Blake eyed the bar. The music was loud—too loud to have a meaningful conversation. But that was okay. He hadn’t come here to talk. He took another sip, left a twenty on the counter and moved to one of the sofas by the open windows. The air was cool, but he had a much better view. He surveyed his surroundings again but still found nothing to pursue. Blake wasn’t worried. The night was young.
After answering a few emails on his phone, he texted his CEO. “Meet me at Braseiro.”
Martin Dunn responded that he couldn’t. He was still reviewing the paperwork for the acquisition with Karsum Conglomerate.
“Do you need me there?” Blake texted him.
“No,” the CEO responded.
He felt a pang of dejection but washed it off with his drink. He called the waitress over. The skinny blond in the short peacock dress that showed her lean legs took his order.
A sense of dread made his mouth dry. He had to find out if anybody else knew about the papers he’d been served a couple weeks ago. A few more people sat at the bar. He caught a petite Asian lick her lips as she made eye contact. Blake drank his second mojito and made up his mind. He needed to go back to the office a lot more than he wanted to get laid.
His car unlocked as he got within Bluetooth distance. Blake inhaled the smell of new car and revved his Jaguar XK convertible as he took each corner out of the parking lot a little faster than he needed to.
Even with traffic, he reached Mountain View in twenty minutes. He parked in his assigned spot and waved his badge by the security reader when he reached the door. The receptionist had left already, but there were still plenty of people plugging away in their cubes. He reached the executive confe
rence room and entered without knocking.
Five faces turned toward him. He saw a shadow go over Martin’s face but decided to ignore it.
“What did I miss?” he asked, settling by his CEO, who was sitting by himself on the left side of the large table.
Blake felt Martin tense beside him. Then his friend set both elbows on the table and said, “We’d just finished discussing Q1 and Q2’s road map.”
Martin pressed the remote, and the next slide appeared on the large screen to his right.
Blake saw the bullets listing the patents filed by the company through the four short years of its existence. The list filled the slide. Blake swallowed hard and wished he had stayed back at the bar.
“I thought we covered the patents yesterday,” Blake said before he could stop himself. Blaming the alcohol, he swore to never drink again before a meeting with Karsum Conglomerate.
“We did. Just doing a quick run through everything to show we have all our t’s crossed.” Martin said.
Blake twirled between his fingers the thick Montblanc fountain pen his dad gave him and forced himself to look across the table at the three Karsum men. He met their eyes, one by one, and hoped that his jaw didn’t show his muscles tensing. “Of course.” Blake leaned closer to the table, mimicking Martin’s posture.
“As we discussed yesterday, NanoQ has filed twenty-eight patents, and the approval dates are pending. We’re very confident that all twenty-eight will pass.”
The three men nodded. Blake watched them scrutinize the list as if it was the first time they’d seen it. He held his breath, hoping that the information he gave them yesterday had satiated their curiosity and they could move on to the next slide.
When nobody protested, he silently sighed, sure that his secret was still safe.
Chapter 6
Sorensen followed Lynch as he moved away from the crowd so they wouldn’t hear what Jon had learned. “What did they take from the train?” he asked.
“A man.” The intern took a deep breath, probably to calm himself down. “I watched the video at least ten times and finally realized that there was a passenger missing when the gas dissipated. They took a guy,” he said, almost yelling, as if that would make his point stick.
“Is there anything particular about him? Could he be rich?” Sorensen asked.
“He’s using the VTA. How rich can he be?” Lynch asked.
“This is Silicon Valley. When are you going to learn? People ride the VTA for environmental reasons. And to avoid rush hour.”
“This was the middle of the afternoon.”
“There’s still the environment.”
Lynch ignored him and spoke back to Jon: “Can you make out anything from the coffee shop?”
“No. Only the gray smoke.”
Lynch hung up. Sorensen looked back to the coffee shop. “You think they took somebody here too?”
“They didn’t take money,” Darcy said. “We need to go to the hospital. Maybe somebody will know.”
About thirty minutes later, Officer Wilkes met them by the ER entrance at Good Sam. He informed them that none of the victims were going to die or suffer major side effects. They were going to keep them for a few more hours under supervision just in case, but they expected everybody to go back home before the day’s end.
“How many are there?” Sorensen asked.
“Eight. Six were patrons. The other two worked there.” Wilkes opened his notebook and said, “Actually, Jessica Molton’s the owner. She was coming from the back, so she’s the only one who’s awake enough to talk.”
“Where is she?” Sorensen asked, moving forward already, but he looked back to confirm he was going in the right direction.
“End of the hallway on the right.”
When they reached the last curtain, Sorensen pushed through into the small space next to the gurney.
Lynch followed. “Best not to do that,” he said to a pretty woman in her early thirties who was rubbing her eyes. A colorful bandanna held her huge Afro away from her face.
Jessica stopped, a little startled. She looked up while she slid both hands under her thighs.
“We understand you were in the storage room when this whole thing started,” Sorensen said after he made the introductions.
Wilkes tried to step inside the cramped space, but Sorensen stopped him. “We need photos of each of the victims. Go take a few and bring them back here.”
Wilkes looked disappointed but left them alone.
Jessica had a dreamy voice, as if she were recalling something long forgotten. “I went to get some more milk. When I came back, I wasn’t even paying attention. Then I heard Matt. . .” She looked at the detectives and added, “He works for me at the store. I heard him curse, which he never does, so I looked up, and I saw three men wearing gas masks and black clothing. Then everything went gray, and I passed out.”
“You only saw three men?” Lynch asked.
“Yes. I hadn’t made it all the way to the counter, so I could only see half the store.”
“Was there anything else remarkable about them?”
“Honestly, they looked like they were from one of those sci-fi movies.”
“How about the patrons? Do you normally get pretty much the same clientele?”
“We have our fair amount of regulars. It’s sort of like a neighborhood hangout. In the afternoon there’re a lot of college kids.”
“Was there anybody who looked suspicious or nervous or was acting in a way that seemed weird?”
She thought for a while. Started to rub her eyes again but stopped herself, probably remembering Lynch’s admonishment.
She looked up at him and shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”
Wilkes came back. He shoved the phone into Sorensen’s hand. “Seven pictures. I assumed you didn’t want me to take profile shots as well.”
Sorensen almost responded but instead showed the first photo to Jessica. “Can you tell me who are your regulars?”
She scrolled through each picture and identified Matt, her employee, and three other people.
After a few more routine questions, they left her to interview the rest of the victims as they were waking up. The other stories were very similar to Jessica’s, though most of the patrons had seen six men, not just three.
“Matt, any of these people looking suspicious or weird today?” Sorensen asked Jessica’s employee, a kid of college age sporting sleeve tattoos and multiple piercings.
The barista checked the pictures several times. After the third pass, he said, “I don’t see Seth.”
“Who’s Seth?” Sorensen asked.
“He’s one of the regulars, and he was there today for sure. He’s always there on Mondays. I had just made his large iced Americano, and he was settling by the wall, last table.”
Matt looked from one detective to the other and then scrolled through the pictures as if he had missed the one showing Seth’s mug shot.
“Could he have left before all this happened?” Lynch asked.
“No. As I said, he’d just picked up his coffee from the counter and pulled his computer out.”
“Do you know his last name? Where he works or lives?”
Matt shook his head. “He’s a decent guy. Always chats a little. He’s working on a book, but that’s all I know.” He rubbed his eyes for a few seconds. “I think he’s a Marine, or maybe air force. No, Marine, I think. Something like that.”
The two detectives exchanged glances. While Lynch stayed and continued asking Matt questions, Sorensen stepped out and called Sergeant Marra.
“Sorensen here. Have your men collected all of the personal belongings in the coffee shop?”
“Yep. Wrapping up as we speak.”
“We have a potential missing person. Did you see any governmental equipment—a Toughbook maybe?”
“Oh shit. Not sure. I’ll take a look and let you know ASAP. Then I’ll send everything to your office.” Before he hung up, he asked, “Are you
seriously thinking some national security shit’s going on here?”
“As soon as you can find me that computer, I’ll be able to tell you.”
Chapter 7
Saffron Meadows shifted her weight from foot to foot while she stared at the blouses hanging in her walk-in closet. She hadn’t seen her sister in a couple weeks and was looking forward to it.
She stepped on a pair of jeans already discarded on the floor and finally chose a black silk top with spaghetti straps. Her sister had the best clothes, and even though Saffron hated to admit it, she always felt like she had to compete a little.
She turned around in front of the mirror: fitted raspberry blazer, dark skinny jeans, and new Prada Mary Janes. Satisfied, Saffron grabbed her car keys and coat, scratched Cat behind the ears and left for Santana Row.
Twenty-five minutes later, she parked on the fourth floor of the parking garage in front of Best Buy. It had taken her longer to find an empty spot than to drive the ten miles to the Row. Five girls waited for the elevator. Three blonds, two Asians. High heels, tight tops, light coats too light for November. They talked fast in high-pitched voices and a little too loud. Saffron passed by them and took the stairs around the corner.
She checked her phone, but instead of seeing the time she saw a text: “At the Village. Braseiro was packed. And where are you? You’re never late.”
Saffron weaved her way through the crowd. Some people were going in and out of high-end stores and restaurants, but most seemed to just stand there, in endless conversations, blocking the sidewalk. Even on Monday, Santana Row was flooded with Valley businessmen and up-and-coming twentysomethings looking to hook up with somebody after a few too many drinks.
“I’m glad you changed restaurants,” Saffron said a few minutes later, kissing her sister’s cheek.
“I walked into Braseiro, and the bar was a sausage fest.”
“I thought that’s why you liked that place.” Saffron said, laughing. She took off her coat and sat down next to her sister at the bar. “What are you drinking?”
“Merlot.” She picked up the glass. “Want to try it?”
