Six O'Clock Silence

by Joanne Pence

  “Involved with the holding company, yes, but not necessarily having anything to do with Isabella’s accident,” Shay reminded him.

  Richie poured himself a straight shot of Stolichnaya and offered Shay a drink. Shay refused. Richie didn’t drink much hard liquor and almost never in the afternoon, but thinking about Isabella always brought out the worst in him. He drank it down in one gulp. “True. Maybe you should just forget all this.”

  “I can,” Shay said, unhappily eying Richie still holding the vodka bottle. “But can you?”

  “Probably not.” Richie put down the liquor and sat in a chair facing Shay.

  Shay nodded. “That’s what I thought. Have you told Rebecca you’re looking into this?”

  “Why should I?”

  “You don’t think she’ll notice that there’s something going on? You’re not exactly taking this well, you know.”

  Richie rubbed his chin. “She kept asking me if there was something wrong last night. Instead of talking about it, I split. Part of me felt like I was copping out.”

  “Right, like that’ll stop her from being curious about you,” Shay said.

  “At least she’s got a new case. It’s different. Hopefully, it’ll distract her.”

  “Different?” Shay asked.

  “Bones.” Richie grimaced.

  Shay couldn’t help but smile at Richie’s pained expression. “A skeleton?”

  “Not exactly. Some workers found a hand and arm out in Golden Gate Park. Now, Rebecca wants to find the rest of the body.”

  “Golden Gate Park?” Shay said quizzically, then added, “With all the people around there, someone dumped some bones? It sounds like a prank.”

  “Apparently not. She said the city decided to put in some restrooms at the western edge of the park since more and more people are going out that way—going in all meanings of the word, apparently. Anyway, some guys were out there digging a trench for the sewer pipes, and dug up the bones. They were plenty deep, according to Rebecca.”

  “Oh,” Shay murmured softly. “I see.”

  Richie chuckled. “I told her to beware of Indian burial grounds. She didn’t take that well.”

  Shay didn’t react at all. Richie guessed the joke wasn’t as funny as he thought. “Anyway,” he continued. “The bones should keep her busy for a while. Hopefully long enough for us to get some answers to our questions about that bank.”

  Shay nodded. “Got it. I’d better get going. I tell you when I find anything.”

  They both stood. “Great. Thanks.”

  Shay abruptly left, and Richie returned to staring at his spreadsheets.

  o0o

  Shay got into the black Maserati parked in the alley behind Big Caesar’s. The model was called “Quattroporte,” which meant “four-door.” For those who didn’t know cars, it looked like a luxurious foreign sedan. For those who did know cars, it was a thing of pure beauty. A few years back, nine to be precise, he had told himself that one day he would be able to walk into an auto showroom and buy a Maserati or any other car he might want, and price would be no object.

  Three years ago, he reached that goal.

  But now, hearing Richie talk about a skeleton found in Golden Gate Park, he couldn’t help but think of those days, shortly after he left the Marines, after he decided not to re-up as a sniper…

  They were tough times, and because of that, the more Richie had talked about the skeleton, the more Shay had to drive over to the park and see the situation for himself.

  He hoped he was being paranoid, but at the same time, he couldn’t stay away. Nor could he let himself think about what such a discovery might mean.

  Once near the park, he left his car and walked through foliage toward a location he remembered all too well.

  His jaw ached from the way he had kept his teeth clenched on the cross-city drive, and now, as he neared, his stomach tightened.

  The bright yellow construction trucks came into view through the trees, and he noticed that much of the foliage and brush in the area had been cleared. His worst fear had just come true.

  He drew in his breath and did his best to stay hidden behind pines as he inched closer.

  An open trench was surrounded by heavy equipment, trucks, and stacks of new sewer pipes and manholes, all wrapped up inside crime scene tape.

  Right now the trucks stood idle. A guard watched over the area, and several men and women in white coveralls crawled in and around the trench. Some had small shovels and plastic containers and seemed to be collecting samples of the soil. Another group was near mounds of dirt that had been taken from the trench.

  Shay suspected they were crime scene technicians.

  As he watched, Rebecca and her partner, Bill Sutter, approached the group. All of a sudden, the people in the trench became animated, and waved for the others to join them.

  Shay’s heart sank. He suspected what they had found.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After checking in at Homicide the next morning, Rebecca rode the elevator to the basement where the Medical Examiner’s office was located.

  Evelyn Ramirez got up from her desk as Rebecca entered. She looked as if she were dressed for an upscale business meeting, wearing an expensive gray suit, a light pink silk blouse, and rose pink high heels. But then she put on her white lab coat.

  When they first met, Rebecca wondered why Evelyn dressed so nicely to work in this environment. She had since decided it was Evelyn’s way to keep from becoming overwhelmed by the morbidness of cutting open people who had died under questionable circumstances. There was also the fact that she was an attractive, middle-aged divorcee. The way she presented herself meant she always had an entourage of admirers wherever she went, from “her” team of paramedics who would crawl through broken glass for her, to potential beaus.

  “Have you had a chance to take a look at our ‘boney Maronie’?” Rebecca asked.

  “I have,” Evelyn said as she opened the door to the morgue. “He’s quite fascinating—he is male, by the way. I’ve made an impression of his teeth. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to call in more people.”

  On the table lay the victim’s bones—all placed where they should be, but unattached to each other. Rebecca drew in her breath. She had become used to dead bodies and autopsies—or as accustomed as any person could be to looking at the victims of abnormal and often violent death. But seeing a skeleton outside a laboratory was a whole new experience.

  “More people?” Rebecca asked. “Why?”

  “We have a problem.” Evelyn put on gloves and picked up one of the victim’s backbones, which Rebecca found strangely jarring. “The way this bone has fragmented indicates a bullet entered from behind.” Evelyn ran her finger along the area she spoke of. “In other words, this victim very likely was shot in the back. From the angle of the trajectory, the bullet most likely struck his heart. So, I suspect we’re looking at a murder. Based on that suspicion, we need to call in a few specialists to determine what happened to this man.”

  “You’re talking about a team? Are you kidding me?” The cost, Rebecca knew, could be quite high.

  “A team—I like the sound of that.” Evelyn smiled. “We’ll need the CSI, of course, but I’ll also need a forensic anthropologist to help with body identification and reconstruction, a forensic odontologist to work with dental evidence, and a forensic entomologist to use insects to help determine the approximate time or, in this case, the year of death. We’ll also need to collect all the DNA evidence possible around the crime scene.” Evelyn again put the back bone onto the table.

  Rebecca drew in her breath. “And that should help us identify who this is?”

  “That’s right. From the bones, teeth and DNA.” Evelyn kept moving the bone a centimeter this way or that, trying to get it exactly where it needed to be.

  “Any ideas now about the person’s age, or how long he had been in the ground?” Rebecca asked.

  “Definitely. But since I’m not an expert, it w
ould be guesswork, and I’d hate to lead you astray.”

  Rebecca expected that answer. Evelyn hated to “guess” unless she was 99.9% certain she’d be proven right.

  “My immediate interest,” Evelyn said, removing the gloves, “comes from noting the bullet’s entry wound, but not seeing a similar exit wound. Now, it’s possible the bullet missed the rib cage and immediately exited through soft flesh, and if it did, we’ll never know. But the more likely scenario is that the bullet remained inside the victim. Then, as the flesh and internal organs liquefied, the bullet would have slid out of the skeleton and onto the ground. I suspect it’s still there. It easily could have ended up more deeply buried as the skeleton was lifted out of the ground, or as the construction equipment dug the trench, or even as the CSI walked over the soft dirt and caused it to shift.”

  “So you’re saying we need to get back out there and dig around in the dirt that was under the skeleton?”

  “As soon as possible, yes. The CSI already took some soil samples, but given the age and complete decomposition of this skeleton, I want them to take soil samples from up to three feet all around where the bones were found. My entomologist friend will use it to conduct some studies of the insects that are, or were, in and on the body.” Evelyn gave a blissful sigh. “I envy him his knowledge. I’ve always wanted to do that!”

  Rebecca didn’t say anything, but she never ceased to be amazed by the strange things that excited Evelyn. Perhaps that was why, as much as she liked Evelyn, the two had never become really close friends.

  Evelyn grabbed some papers she had stapled together and handed them to Rebecca. “You should read this. It’s a fascinating article on how insect evidence will help us determine the post-mortem interval we’re looking at.”

  Rebecca looked at the papers. “Great.” She hoped she didn’t sound sarcastic. “But, tell me, since years have passed, won’t all the insects have gone on their merry insect way by now?”

  “Ah, that’s the beauty of forensic entomology.” Evelyn smiled. “Their dead bodies leave evidence behind, just as the corpse’s will have done. That’s why we need the soil samples—to see exactly what died in it, and when.”

  “That’s so weird, Evelyn.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Evelyn exclaimed. “But I’m sure you can see that since the flesh decomposed and we’re now at the skeletal stage, the forensics is complex to the point we need experts to help in our determinations. And, if this is a murder case, a qualified entomologist can offer court testimony.”

  “Good point,” Rebecca said, then hesitated a moment. “Once you’re done with all that, if we still can’t identify the victim, is it possible to use a forensic artist to do a facial recognition drawing?”

  Evelyn clasped her hands together. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Could this case get any more fascinating?”

  Rebecca certainly hoped not. For one thing, she was going to have to give all this information to Lt. Eastwood. The only thing he would see was that the case was growing more expensive by the hour.

  o0o

  That afternoon, Richie drove to Superior Savings Bank, and asked to speak to the assistant branch manager, Grant Yamada. Yamada immediately called him into in his office.

  “I know who you are,” Yamada said, standing behind his desk to receive Richie. He was a tall, broad Japanese-American, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. He didn’t offer his hand. “Brian told me you visited him yesterday, and I remember how Isabella used to talk all the time about you. She was a wonderful woman, and I'm so sorry about what happened to her. I can understand that you're having trouble letting it go, and you want to continue to look into her death, to find answers, the ‘why’ of the accident. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Amalfi, but I’ve found that in life, at times, there simply are no answers. It was an accident after all.”

  Richie walked to the edge of the desk and eyed Yamada. Obviously, the man had expected him to show up, and had prepared the long speech. Unfortunately, it came across as more contrived than heartfelt. “You certainly have a lot to say about me and my life. But if there are any answers to be found, I'm going to do so. I'd like to know what you can tell me about the real estate holding company that had been owned by a woman named Audrey Poole. She was also a friend of mine, and she is also now dead.”

  “Ah, Audrey Poole,” Yamada murmured. “Have a seat, please.” He gestured toward the leather chair facing his desk. Richie took it.

  “I remember Ms. Poole,” Yamada said, settling back in his desk chair and folding his hands. “We serviced her holding company loans, but they were nothing special. San Francisco real estate is a major part of our business. We service an incredible number of such loans in this bank. It's what we do. I'm sorry to hear that Ms. Poole was also a friend of yours.” Yamada cocked his head slightly as he looked at Richie. “Having known two women who have suffered untimely deaths, I can't help but suggest that perhaps the link is you, Mr. Amalfi, and not us. Coincidence runs both ways.”

  “I'll let that go,” Richie said with a fierce glare. “I'll assume you're nervous, and you don't quite know what to say to me. So here’s an easy question. Which of your employees was in charge of Audrey Poole's accounts?”

  “Isabella, of course,” Yamada’s brows arched slightly even as his lips hinted at a smile. “She set them up, and after that, they needed little intervention from anyone. Perhaps... I hate to suggest it, but perhaps this is a rock you simply don't want to look under. Let your fiancée and her friend rest in peace.”

  Richie jumped to his feet. “What the hell are you implying?”

  “You heard me, Mr. Amalfi.” Yamada’s voice was soft yet firm. He picked up a fountain pen and uncapped it. “Now, I'm a busy man, and if you have nothing specific to say to me I believe this conversation has ended.”

  Richie glared at Yamada, and then stormed from the office. He didn't dare look back at the man who could make such disgusting insinuations; he feared what he might do to him.

  o0o

  As Rebecca headed home, she found herself hoping to see Richie that evening. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since he left her apartment two nights earlier … and she missed him. She even missed those moments when his antics drove her mad.

  She sighed heavily as she drove up Taylor Street, then tore her thoughts from Richie back to the case. She hated to admit it, but she found the skeleton very sad. She couldn’t help but think that someone had lived with the hope that the missing man would return, and now, he never would. Or perhaps there was a worse scenario. That the man went missing, and no one cared.

  Then, as ever, her thoughts drifted back to Richie. He always knew how to help her shed the blues—even if they were caused by a nameless, faceless collection of bones. She hoped that whatever had caused his strange behavior two nights earlier was now over, and he would be back to his old self.

  She even hoped he might be in her apartment waiting for her.

  But his car wasn’t in the alley. Maybe he had parked somewhere legally, she told herself, even as she knew it wasn’t likely. Her apartment was empty except for Spike. She greeted and hugged him, but he wasn’t quite enough to chase away her unhappiness.

  Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, hoping it was Richie.

  The phone’s screen stopped her. Her day had just gone from bad to worse, and she debated about answering. The caller ID showed “Mom.”

  Lorene Mayfield and Rebecca had a poor relationship. They were cordial with each other, but little more. Rebecca had adored her father, Benjamin. He had owned a farm in Idaho and worked hard at it. He and Lorene separated when Rebecca was a teenager, and Lorene moved to Boise, taking Rebecca’s younger sister, Courtney, with her. Rebecca chose to stay on the farm with her father. When his heart gave out at too young of an age, Rebecca’s mother immediately sold the property.

  Rebecca was age twenty-three at the time. Now, looking back, she could understand that running a farm without Ben would have been quite difficult for
her. But she had resented that Lorene hadn’t even consulted her before deciding to sell. One day, she had a home, a father, and a boyfriend with an “understanding about their future.” The next, everything was gone.

  Her sister, Courtney, had moved to Los Angeles right out of high school. She had always dreamed of becoming an actress, and she wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of that. So, while Courtney couldn’t care less what Lorene did, Rebecca cared. A lot.

  The farm had been sold to Benjamin’s brother, who was also a farmer. Her uncle said she could stay on with his family until she found a place to settle. He realized she might not be happy in the small city house Lorene had bought for herself.

  Rebecca’s steady boyfriend had lived on the farm adjacent to theirs. He was literally “the boy next door” that she had had a crush on while growing up, and was thrilled when he finally started to notice her as something more than just some bothersome girl who liked to hang around him while he worked.

  Once they started dating, everyone assumed they would marry and their farms would be joined. Even Rebecca had assumed it. But when her father’s farm was sold, her beau seemed to lose all interest in their future.

  Rebecca left the state and headed to San Francisco. She had surprised everybody, including herself, by getting accepted by the Police Academy. She joined the police department after graduation and found she actually loved the work. She never thought about returning to Idaho to live. Her home there was gone, and she had nothing left to go back to.

  As the years went by, she grew further and further apart from Lorene. They’d talk on the phone around birthdays and holidays, and two or three other times during the year, but Rebecca rarely went to visit.

  Guilt that she hadn’t spoken with Lorene for some time filled her, and she answered the phone. “Mom, how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Lorene said. “I’m calling to find out how you’re doing.”