M-9

by Marvin J. Wolf

  “Supposed to be. But then, see what just happened.”

  “I’ll handle this, Blair. I’ll be in touch when she’s safe.”

  “Uh, just one thing, Rudy.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Show me your piece.”

  Chelmin shrugged, opened his coat, and slowly drew his revolver, which he handed to Blair.

  Blair sniffed the gun, broke it open, and examined the six cartridges in its cylinder. Then he handed it back.

  “And I’m gonna need to do a paraffin test on your hands, buddy. You understand.”

  Chelmin nodded. “No hard feelings. I’d do the same thing. But can we do the test here? Right now?”

  “Come over to the portable crime lab. And bring that lady friend of yours—Cindy?”

  “Cheryl.”

  The interior of the white van was crowded with electronics. A woman of perhaps fifty sat at a folding table, photographing expended cartridges with a digital camera.

  Blair said, “Mrs. Renard? This is Special Agent Chelmin and Miss—“

  “Miller,” Cheryl said.

  Blair said, “Can you give them both a paraffin test, hands and clothes, and then run it ASAP.”

  “That’s more urgent than these shell casings, is it?”

  Blair smiled. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

  As Cheryl watched, Renard poured warm wax over both of Chelmin’s hands and wrists in turn. Then, using a large cotton swab, she applied the wax to random spots on his jacket, trousers, and shirt. Cheryl got the same treatment.

  Then using compressed CO2 from a canister, Renard sprayed each piece of wax. Instantly cooled, it was easily removed from hands and clothing.

  Each casting was treated with diphenylamine and examined under a microscope.

  “Looking for trace nitrates and nitrites,” Renard said.

  “They show up as blue dots,” Chelmin said.

  Renard grunted, as if to say, tell me something that she didn’t know.

  “You can go,” Renard announced. “Ask Blair to step back in for a minute,” she added.

  Back in the circle of flashing lights, Cheryl shivered. “What was that about?” she whispered to Chelmin.

  “A man was killed here,” Chelmin said. “Shot to death. And we were the only ones here when Blair left. He had to rule us out as suspects.”

  Blair stepped out of the van and approached.

  “You’re clear. Stay in touch.”

  “What about my suitcases?” Cheryl asked.

  “Crime scene evidence,” Blair replied.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means that we’ll have to process them as evidence, see if there is anything relevant to our investigation before we can release them to you,” Blair said.

  “It just clothes and personal papers,” Cheryl said. “Divorce papers, my parents’ death certificates. Stuff like that.”

  “And there are bullet holes in each suitcase.”

  Chelmin said, “They’ll look inside for the bullets If they’re in there. Standard procedure, I’m sorry to say.”

  “What am I going to do about clothes?” Cheryl asked.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Chelmin said.

  Blair extended his hand, and Chelmin shook it.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Chelmin said and put his arm around Cheryl as he guided her into her car.

  Seventy-one

  Chelmin filled the Honda’s tank at the first gas station he encountered, paying cash. Then he drove north, found Interstate 10, and headed west.

  “Where are you taking me,” Cheryl said.

  “Fort Hunter-Liggett.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Exactly,” Chelmin said. “It’s operated by the Army as a Reserve and National Guard training center. It’s in the middle of nowhere, but it has a nice hotel, and best of all, the CID agent there, my opposite number, is both an old friend and an old spook.”

  “Spook? What does that mean?”

  “He was in the Army, but he wasn’t in the Army. He served in places where we never sent anyone, and he did things that never happened.”

  “He was a spy?”

  “Not exactly a spy, but close enough. You should push your seat back and try to get some sleep. I think we can get there by breakfast time. Then you’ll be safe until I come back for you.”

  “I love you, Rudy.”

  “And I love you, Cheryl.”

  Cheryl began crying softly.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Nothing. I just thought that you’d never say it.”

  §

  A little after sunup, Chelmin slowed for a flashing amber light protecting a crossroads. Cheryl sat up, rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “This is Buelton.”

  “What’s here?”

  Chelmin said, “A restaurant and not much else. But just up the road to the east is Solvang and Santa Inez. Wine country. Very pretty. We should spend a weekend here sometime.”

  “We should,” Cheryl said and went back to sleep.

  An hour later, Chelmin stopped in San Luis Obispo, a college town astride Highway 101. He found a coffee shop a few blocks off the main drag, and they went in.

  While Cheryl was in the ladies room, Chelmin pulled out his phone and dialed a number from memory.

  “It’s too fucking early,” a voice said in his ear.

  “Come on, Scotty. You’ve probably run ten miles, eaten a side of beef and made love to your wife three times already.”

  “Those were the days. What’s up, Rudy?”

  “I’m in San Luis Obispo. We’re going to eat breakfast here, and we’ll be at the front gate in about two hours. I’ve got a woman with me. Protected witness. It’s a long story, but we’re both in the sights of a Salvadoran gang based in Orange County.”

  “The M-9?” Scotty asked.

  “You’ve heard?”

  “The bamboo telegraph still works. Two head shot kills with a six-gun at 200 meters? It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

  “Yards, I think, not meters.”

  “Modesty doesn’t become you, Rudy. But what can I do for you?”

  “I need to stash her in a safe place for a week or two, and I need a car. Anything reliable and, from what the last ten days have been about, expendable.”

  “I’ve got a ten-year-old Subaru. Not much to look at, but it runs well.”

  “Perfect. And Scotty, this all has to be off the books. They’re inside the FBI, into at least one city PD, and maybe a county sheriff’s office, as well.”

  “I suppose you need money, too?”

  “I can get what I need from the credit union on base.”

  “I’ll get the wheels turning. Ask for me at the front gate, and they’ll give you a visitor pass, no record.”

  “You’re a prince,” Chelmin said.

  “A king, more like,” Scotty said and, laughing, hung up.

  Seventy-two

  Will knocked on Eugene Alter’s door. After a minute or so, he knocked again. The door opened, and Alter appeared, clad in sweat pants and an apron.

  “Special Agent Spaulding,” he said.

  “Mr. Alter, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about your trip to Costa Rica,” Will said.

  “I was just about to put dinner on the table. Can you come back?”

  “Why don’t you eat while we talk? May I come in?”

  Alter stood aside, and Will entered, looking around. The dining room table was set for one, and something that smelled like chicken was simmering on the stove.

  “I made a paella. If you’d care to join me, there’s more than enough.”

  “I’d be delighted,” Will said.

  “Have a seat,” Alter said.

  After setting another place, Alter put a trivet between the two, then put a hot pot on it, followed by a tortilla warmer hosting half a dozen flour tortillas.

  “Please,” he commande
d, and the two men filled their plates and began to eat.

  Alter broke the silence. “Chief Spaulding—is that your father?”

  His mouth full, Will moved his head up and down, then swallowed.

  “Yes. And this is really good.”

  “Thanks. Kendra taught me how to make this. Did you know that her parents were from Mexico?”

  Will nodded. “I’ve heard. What did you start to say?”

  “Oh. Your father called me, said that there would be no charges for trashing the car, and asked if I’d like to do some consulting work for the department. And he offered me $500.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that came out of his own pocket,” Will said.

  “Did you know about this?”

  “I recommended you. He said he’d find something in the budget, but I know that budget very well, and I can’t see where it would come from. We’re not even paying overtime for detectives unless we get special funding from some other agency.”

  “I’m confused about you. You’re a federal agent, but you’re also a Barstow cop?”

  “Only temporarily. I was with the department until I joined the Army. Now I’m CID. but Kendra’s murder is local, and my dad runs the department, so I’m working closely with the police.”

  Alter nodded his understanding and took another bite, chewing slowly until he swallowed. “What do you want to know about the Costa Rica trip?”

  “I’d like you to think about each day that you were there, and tell me, in as much detail as you can recall, what you did that day.”

  “Well. We checked into our hotel about four on the first day. We showered and changed clothes, then we went downstairs to listen to music and have some drinks.”

  Will said, “Wait. Where was this hotel, exactly?”

  “El Presidente—downtown.”

  “What was nearby, if you remember?”

  Alter closed his eyes. “There were office buildings. A McDonald's around the corner. A big library, I mean really huge. A few banks. A big park.”

  Will said, “OK, so after drinks at the bar, then what?”

  “We had a nice dinner, took a little walk around the block—actually, that’s when I discovered the library. It was closed, but a very nice, modern building. And then we had a drink in our room, and went to bed.”

  “And the next day?”

  “I slept in. Didn’t get up until maybe 10:30. Kendra went shopping for something. She left a note that she’d gone, and came back about 11:30, like that. I was just out of the shower.”

  “What did she buy, if you remember?”

  Alter shook his head. “I don’t. She said something about checking on tours with the concierge and that she wanted to go see a volcano.”

  “You went that day?”

  “The next. Tour bus left at nine.”

  “What did you do after Kendra said she wanted to take the tour?”

  “We went downstairs to eat, then we spent a few hours just walking around central San Jose. I found it surprisingly modern. There was a magnificent park, and we walked through that.”

  “When you were walking around, where did you go, if you remember?”

  “Just strolled. Kendra wanted to go into a couple of big buildings, just to look around, maybe ride an elevator up to where we could get a better view of the city.”

  “Did you actually do that?”

  Alter shook his head, picked up his fork and put another bit of food into his mouth and chewed it.

  “No, actually. There was security in all those buildings, and you needed a badge or an invitation from somebody upstairs, or they wouldn’t let you past the security desk. Kendra spoke with the people at the desk for quite a while, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but we didn’t get permission to go up.”

  Will said, “You spent all the next day at the volcano?”

  “We left early, got back about dinner time.”

  “You ate in the hotel?”

  “Yes, they have three or four good restaurants, all very reasonable.”

  “What did you do after dinner?”

  “Kendra said she wanted to check out the library. I don’t read Spanish, so I went for a massage.”

  “The massage was in the hotel?”

  “Yes, they have a spa. I have trouble with my back, and the seats on that bus didn’t do much for me.”

  “When did Kendra return from the library?”

  “Must have been about 9:00 that night. I was in our room, taking a nap.”

  “Did you go out again that night?”

  “I offered to take her dancing—she loves to dance. Loved. Excuse me.”

  Alter took off his spectacles and dabbed at his eyes.

  “Sorry. That night was the last time we made love. “

  Will said, “I’m genuinely sorry for your loss.”

  “The next day, we went on a tour, to a rain forest. Really beautiful. We didn’t get back until midnight, so we just ordered room service and went to bed.”

  “And the next day, your fifth day in San Jose?”

  “We got up about nine or so, went down to breakfast, and then she drops it on me.”

  Will asked, “That she was leaving?”

  “Exactly. Wouldn’t say why. Just that it had nothing to do with me, that she thought I was a wonderful man and a great lover, but there was something she had to do, and it meant leaving right away. That afternoon.”

  “You took her to the airport?”

  “No, no. She took the hotel shuttle. I tried to call her at the airport, but my calls went right to voicemail.”

  “Do you know what airline she took?”

  Alter shook his head, no.

  “She wouldn’t even tell me where she was going, except that it was in Texas.”

  “What did you think about this?”

  “Well, she was from San Antonio. Near there, anyway. And her parents live there. Her ex, I think I told you, is at Fort Sam Houston. So, I figured it was some family thing and didn’t press her. I didn’t want to lose her.”

  “Did she ever mention Belize? While you were in Costa Rica?”

  “I think so. She said it might be a fun place for our next vacation. In fact, she asked the concierge if there were direct flights there, and he said that he didn’t think so.”

  “When was that, if you remember?”

  “That was when we came back from the volcano.”

  “Did she say why she thought it might be fun?”

  “It was something about how it used to belong to England, and so everyone speaks English, and I might have a better time if I could speak with the locals.”

  Will scratched his head. “Did you ever tell her that you weren’t having a good time? Or that you wished you could speak Spanish?”

  Alter thought for a moment. “Not exactly. But there were a couple of times at the volcano that I asked her to translate a question for me. She seemed perfectly fine with that.”

  Will got up from the table. “Mr. Alter, you’ve been very helpful, and dinner was delicious. Thanks very much.”

  “Will I see you at the police department?”

  Will shrugged. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in Barstow,” he said.

  Seventy-three

  Will stepped out of the elevator on the parking level, then stopped. Something had been nagging at him since he left Alter’s apartment, and now he knew what it was. He got back in the elevator and punched the button for the fifth floor.

  “Did you forget something, Special Agent?” Alter asked through a three-inch crack in his door.

  “No, I remembered something. I hate to be a bother, but could I come back in? This won’t take long.”

  Alter opened the door and stepped out of the way as Will entered.

  Will asked, “Do you have a computer and a broadband Internet connection here?”

  “Of course. What for?”

  “Do you think that, if you logged on to Google Earth, you could find the building in downtown San J
ose where you and Kendra tried to use the elevator?”

  “Maybe. If I tilt the image for some virtual relief, it might work.”

  Ten minutes later, staring at the big screen of the laptop in his bedroom, Alter poked a finger at a low-rise office building. “It could be that one. I don’t see anything else for half a mile around that looks like that building.”

  “Can you get the address of the building?” Will asked.

  “Maybe. Let’s see… It’s 241 Avenida San Martín.”

  Will wrote the address in his notebook.

  “Thanks for everything, and good night,” Will said, heading for the door.

  “Wait,” Alter called, and Will turned to face him.

  “Why is that important—the address, I mean?”

  “I’m not sure that it is. But that was the building where Kendra spent upward of ten minutes talking with someone at the security desk. You don’t know what she was asking or what that person was saying, because it was all in Spanish. But it occurs to me that it shouldn’t take more than a minute or two to learn that you can’t enter the elevator and go upstairs.”

  “So what?”

  “So, what were they talking about for so long? And why, soon after that, did Kendra suddenly have the urge to leave Costa Rica and go to Belize?”

  “That’s where she went?”

  “I think so, but you must not share that with anyone.”

  “Okay. But why did she go there?”

  Will shrugged. “Maybe, just maybe, if I can find who has an office in that building, I’ll be on the path to finding out why she went to Belize.”

  Seventy-four

  Chelmin stopped at Fort Hunter-Liggett’s main gate, used Scotty’s name to get a temporary vehicle pass, and drove to the base housing area.

  As a GS-15, Special Agent Woodhew Scott Penworthy IV of Army CID ranked with a colonel when it came to housing. His four-bedroom, ranch-style home rated an expansive lawn—maintained at no cost to Scotty by the post maintenance division—as well as a swimming pool and a three-car garage.

  Chelmin pulled into the open garage, and the door closed behind him. A slim, exquisite woman of uncertain age with a flawless complexion the color of café con leche and clad in a batik sarong, entered from the house and offered a dazzling smile. “This way, please,” she said and led Cheryl, with Chelmin at her heels, into a cool, bright kitchen.