by R. J. Jagger
“What’s going on? You got some job security for me?”
She did.
She did indeed.
A man named Brian Zoog got himself stabbed in the gut with a large knife and then pushed off a second-story deck onto a concrete patio. “He tried to stop his fall with his face.”
Teffinger winced.
“That’s never a good idea,” he said. “Is he dead?”
“Twice, apparently.”
Teffinger looked at his watch.
“I better get down there and talk to him before someone shoots him too,” he said. “You got an address?”
She did.
Foote Avenue.
HE MADE A PIT STOP at the men’s room before heading out. The DA, Paul Lancaster, was walking towards the sink as he zipped up.
“I still want a search warrant for Condor’s house,” Teffinger said.
“You got something new to justify it?”
“No.”
“Well, all I can say is that the Fourth Amendment hasn’t changed all that much since the last time we talked. It still doesn’t run on gut feelings.”
Teffinger frowned.
“We got that witness,” he said.
“She’s not a witness,” Lancaster said. “She’s someone who didn’t identify Condor at the lineup. In fact, she said he wasn’t the guy she saw.”
“By that time she was too scared,” Teffinger said. “Condor was the guy she saw that night. I was looking at her face when he was marched in. It was him.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Lancaster said. “Either way, she said what she said, that it wasn’t him. To be honest, even if she had identified him, that still wouldn’t be enough for a warrant. All she did was see him on the street, in the vicinity at the time of the crime. She didn’t actually see him do anything. There were other men in the area too.”
Teffinger stepped to the urinal and unzipped.
“What if I get her to tell the truth and admit that she lied at the lineup?”
Lancaster turned.
“You haven’t heard?”
No.
Heard what?
“She was in that twin-prop airplane that went down offshore last week.”
“She’s dead?”
Yes.
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“Apparently not.”
HE WAS WALKING TO BERTHA when his cell rang and Neva’s voice came through. “For what it’s worth, Triple-C is a total prick for not telling you about Northstone before the meeting. It was wrong of him to spring it on you that way. Totally wrong.”
“He’s just covering his bases.”
“That wasn’t covering bases, that was an ambush. Why the hell did you just hand the guy the reins? That’s what I don’t get. You’re not quitting, are you?”
No.
No.
No.
“Listen, do me a favor. Make sure you don’t get so entrenched that you can’t free up if I need you,” he said.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
22
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Morning
JONK AND TAG SWUNG around to pick up her car, then parked four blocks down from Tag’s apartment and walked the rest of the way. She grabbed a key out of the kitchen drawer and led Jonk to the unit directly above hers, where they watched the street from behind closed blinds. “A friend of mine lives here,” she said. “I’m watching her plants.”
Jonk looked at the plants.
The tips were brown.
The leaves sagged.
“I hope you never have to watch me,” he said.
“Not funny,” she said. “Who killed Zoogie?”
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Jonk said. “It’s possible that Poon sent another recovery team besides us.”
“You think?”
He shrugged.
“You know Poon, always minimizing the risk,” he said. “It could also be the Egyptian government—they keep their ear to the ground as to what’s going on in the black market. They have special people they can call in to do recoveries. They don’t ask a lot of questions as to how things get done, so long as they do. Or it could be something as simple as another black-market trader. Someone who knew or suspected that Zoogie got fed by a bigger source.”
Tag peeked out the window, saw nothing of interest, then pulled two diet Cokes out of the fridge and handed one to Jonk.
He popped the top and took a long swallow.
Very good.
Ice cold.
“Maybe it wasn’t even related to the coin,” Tag said.
Jonk nodded.
“There’s always that, too. But backing up for a minute and assuming it’s because of the coin, the question is whether he gave up his source or not. I think he did, otherwise the guy would have done exactly what we did, namely take his cell phone and laptop. That’s why he didn’t interrogate the girl. He already had what he wanted.”
“I can’t believe she slept through the whole thing.”
Jonk grunted.
“That’s drugs for you.”
“If you’re right that he gave up his source, then someone’s ahead of us.”
“Way ahead,” Jonk said. “What we need to do now is fire up the cell phones and see who they’ve been talking to.”
TAG PUT HER HAND ON JONK’S.
He looked into her eyes.
There was something there he hadn’t seen before.
Something deep.
Something real.
“That was pretty nice what you did with that woman, keeping the pressure on her bleeding until the very last second,” she said. “If she lives, it’s because of you.”
“Us,” he said. “You hung around to the last second too, if my memory serves me.”
She smiled.
“Okay, us, but 95 percent you.”
JONK FIRED UP Zoogie’s cell phone. “This is risky, because when it’s on the cops can get a GPS. If my guess is right, though, they’re still working the scene. I’m going to read off phone numbers. You program them into your phone.”
“Go.”
23
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Afternoon
SONG CALLED HER MALPRACTICE INSURER to see if, by chance, the theft of the $10,000 retainer money was a covered loss under her policy. It wasn’t. “That kind of claim might fall under your premises insurance. Check there.”
Yeah, right.
As if she had any.
Suddenly music vibrated up through the floor.
Great.
Her office was above a Karaoke bar. Most of the time it was dormant and not a problem. But sometimes the owner let people come over and practice, like now, apparently. The music began to take shape and turned out to be Madonna’s “Material Girl.” A terrible female voice suddenly rose up over the music. It vibrated into Song’s feet and straight up her spine.
Suddenly the door opened and someone barged in.
It was the last person Song expected.
Shaden Jade.
“Are you aware of what your roommate just did?”
“Nuwa?”
Right.
Nuwa.
“She called me and chewed my ass out,” Shaden said. “Did you give her authority to do that?”
“No, I had no idea.”
“She said she was working for you now, as part of the law firm. Is that true?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why does she know the details of my case?”
“Wait, yes.”
“Yes meaning she’s part of the firm?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you’re going to take responsibility for what she did?”
Song exhaled.
“Yes,” she said. “Whatever it is she said, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Do you know what she told me?”
No.
She didn’t.
“SHE SAID SHE’S ON THE RUN from an abusive boyfriend,” Shaden said. “She said she was at the end of her rope and ran into you at a noodle bar. She said you took her in and gave her a place to stay until she could get on her feet. Is that true?”
Yes.
It was.
“She said she’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for you,” Shaden said. “She said you were the best person she’d ever met in her life and that I was a total scumbag for firing you.”
Song pictured it.
“I had no idea she was going to do anything like that,” she said. “All I can do is apologize.”
Shaden pointed to the chair in front of Song’s desk.
“Can I sit down?”
Sure.
Of course.
“I’VE NEVER HAD ANYONE do for me what Nuwa did for you,” Shaden said. “I think I underestimated you. Don’t get me wrong, when I said you were perhaps too delicate, I still think I was right to an extent. But it was wrong of me to pull the case and not at least give you a chance to prove yourself.”
She exhaled.
“I guess what I’m saying is that if you’re still interested in being my lawyer, you have the job.”
Song chewed on it.
“Nuwa’s part of the firm now,” she said. “If you hire me, you’re hiring her too, assuming she wants to get involved.”
Shaden nodded.
“I have no problem with that,” she said. “I just want to be absolutely sure she appreciates the risks.” The music below got louder and even more terrible. “I’m going to call Madonna and tell her what someone’s doing to her song.”
24
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Afternoon
TEFFINGER HAD SEEN WORSE but, still, Brian Zoog didn’t die pretty. The girlfriend, Winter Smyth, slept through the whole thing. When she woke this morning, two people were in the bedroom.
One of them was a man.
A Chinese man, about thirty, with blond hair, a bad left eye and a scar.
The other one was a black woman.
Light skin.
Nice legs.
“They were after a coin,” Winter said.
“What kind of coin?”
“Old, real old, that’s all I know about it,” Winter said. “That’s what Zoogie did. He bought and sold old things. Black-market things. One of the things he had for sale was an old coin—Egyptian, I think. As soon as he put it on the market, he started getting calls like never before.”
“So what happened to it?”
“Well, he had it for sale for something like $5,000,” she said. “When the calls came in, he knew it was worth more. He raised the price to $20,000. Someone was supposed to get it tomorrow—well, today now that I think of it. I forgot it’s already Tuesday.”
“So he still had the coin as of last night?” Teffinger said.
Winter nodded.
“Where did he keep it?”
She didn’t know.
“He didn’t keep his business stuff in the house,” she said. “He had some other place where he kept everything.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are we talking about a friend’s house, or a storage unit, or another apartment, or what?”
“All I know is that he didn’t want the stuff at the house, for my protection,” she said.
Teffinger studied her.
“You look really familiar,” he said. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
She shrugged.
“I used to dance at Cadillac Sam’s, if you’ve ever been there.”
Teffinger nodded.
“That’s probably it.”
“You didn’t recognize me with my clothes on.”
Teffinger smiled.
“I know you’re joking, but there’s probably some truth to that.”
“There definitely is,” Winter said. “I see lots of guys from the club on the streets. They have no idea who I am. That’s where I met Zoogie. Cadillac Sam’s.”
ZOOGIE’S CELL PHONE was nowhere to be found, so Teffinger got the process in motion to get the records from his provider.
He interviewed neighbors.
He took notes.
It was doubtful that the Chinese man and the black woman were the killers because one of them—the woman, to be precise—called 911 after Winter fell. But it sounded like they were after the same thing as the person or people who killed Zoogie, meaning it would be nice to round them up and ask a few questions.
His thoughts turned to Chase St. John.
He’d see her tonight at eight o’clock.
25
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Afternoon
JONK PACED NERVOUSLY outside a BART station two miles down the road while Tag drove past Zoogie’s house every half hour to see if the cops had finished processing the scene. After two hours she called and said, “I think they left. All the cars that were in the driveway and street are gone. The front door’s shut and has yellow crime-scene tape over it. I don’t see anyone left.”
“Okay.”
“No, not okay,” she said. “There’s nothing about any of this that’s okay. I think we should abort.”
“We can’t.”
“Yes we can.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Then let’s at least wait until dark.”
Jonk exhaled.
“No time,” he said. “Wait for me where we discussed.”
“Jonk—”
“Are you going to be there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, don’t worry.”
Jonk hung up, got on the BART, took it to the station just south of Zoogie’s house, then walked the rest of the way on foot.
He entered the property from the back.
He had to admit, this wasn’t the most insane thing he’d ever done, but it was right up there. Breaking into a crime scene was a serious offense. Doing it as soon as the cops left was a particular slap in the face.
Jonk stepped over Zoogie’s blood—which was a lot more prominent now that the man’s body didn’t cover it—then tried the back door.
It was locked.
So were the windows.
He looked for nosy neighbors, saw none, shimmied up the post for the bedroom deck and found the sliding glass door closed but unlocked. He stepped inside cat-quiet, shut the glass behind him and stood still, listening for sounds.
He heard nothing.
Only silence.
THE PLACE WAS PRETTY MUCH as he last saw it. In fact, it looked like the cops had taken an effort to disturb things as little as possible.
Jonk started in the bedroom.
He checked the mattress and found no trap compartments.
He tugged at the carpeting along all the edges where it met the walls and found it solidly tacked.
He checked behind the posters taped on the walls and found undisturbed plaster.
He checked the master closet and found no false ceilings.
Same for the bathroom.
He headed downstairs.
ZOOGIE WASN’T THE WORLD’S BIGGEST or greatest black-market dealer, but he was a player nonetheless, meaning he needed at least some storage space. Not everything would be as small as a coin. In fact, artifacts of any significance ended up with custom cases for protection during shipping and storage.
Those filled up space.
It took some time, but Jonk searched every nook and cranny of the entire house, including the garage and the attic. He didn’t find a single place devoted to artifact storage and, on the contrary, learned that every cubic centimeter was taken up with junk.
He did find something of interest, though, namely Zoogie’s checkbook, which he shoved into his back pocket.
That reminded him to look for bank statements.
He found those in the bottom drawer of the desk on top of a pouch of pot.
&nb
sp; He left the pot.
And took the papers.
26
Day 2—September 22
Tuesday Afternoon
SONG’S JOB, now that she had it, was to find out if Shaden actually killed a woman Sunday night or whether the whole incident at Rekker’s house was a charade. She had no idea how to go about it but Nuwa did.
“I’ll cozy up to him.”
Song rolled her eyes.
“Stop it,” she said. “We need to be serious.”
“I am serious.” She retreated in thought, then said, “I got it. I’ll hire him as my lawyer.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s either that or try to meet him by accident,” she said. “The accident route would be cheaper if he fell for it, but the problem is that I might not be able to get his attention long enough to set a hook. That wouldn’t be an issue if I walked into his office as a client.” She took a long drag, blew smoke at Song and said, “So what do you think? Accident or client?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
She headed for the door and said over her shoulder, “Call Shaden and see what she thinks.”
“Where you going?”
“Cigarettes,” she said, crinkling an empty pack and tossing it in the trash. “Think of a good case, if we go that route. Make it something where I’m all vulnerable and innocent and at-risk and need him to protect me. You know, a damsel in distress.”
“Where do you get this stuff?”
Nuwa ignored her.
Then said, “That will be your contribution, to come up with a good fake case. Also, be sure it’s something where I only have to go to his office once or twice or three times. We can’t afford too big a deal, not at his rates.”
The woman smiled and left.
Song went to the window and watched her walk down the alley and disappear around the corner. She had to admit, the woman had a good wiggle.
HER OFFICE WAS CLUTTERED WITH CASES.
Sitting on this.
Leaning on that.
Every single one of them was small.
Suddenly her whole office was too small. The walls were too close, the ceiling was too low and the windows didn’t have enough light. She headed outside and walked, not in any particular direction, but eventually finding herself getting closer and closer to the financial center.
