by Joanne Pence
Paavo ran toward the yelps and squawks. Not far behind him was Salvatore.
Paavo lifted Angie up by the waist and swung her away from Elizabeth Schull. Schull looked at him, then got up and started to run. He set Angie on her feet and took off after Schull, catching up with her after only a few steps.
Angie was fuming and started after Paavo when her father grabbed her arm. “Don’t,” he said.
“What’s going on?” she cried. “She was in the house! When she saw me she left, and now she’s taking pictures.”
He shrugged. “Must be a burglar casing the place. Paavo will take care of her.” He picked up the woman’s camera. “This is probably evidence of what she’s been up to.”
Angie noticed that Paavo had kept going.
“Where’s he taking her?”
“Jail, I suppose,” Sal said.
“I’m going to go see.”
Sal’s grip tightened. “No, you’re not. Come inside. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“But—”
“You don’t want Paavo to see his bride-to-be looking like a female mud wrestler, do you?”
They turned toward the house. “You’re lucky you don’t have a black eye or something,” Connie said, walking beside Angie. “You two were really going at it.”
Visions of appearing at her party in her beautiful dress, her hair perfect and her eye multiple shades of blue, black, green, and purple, made Angie shudder. “Don’t even talk about such a thing,” she said, furious to discover a broken fingernail.
Paavo came back alone after Angie had washed her face and hands and brushed the twigs, leaves, and weeds from her hair and clothes. She and Connie were sitting in the Italian provincial living room with Sal, sipping brandy and sodas.
“That was fast,” Angie said to Paavo. She stood as he entered. “Don’t tell me you let her go?”
He held her shoulders, checking her face and making sure she was all right before giving her a quick kiss and hug. Sal’s black eyes bored into his back the whole time. “A patrol car arrived. They’ve got her. I wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
“I can hold my own,” Angie announced, chin up, her arms around his waist.
“That, I already knew,” Paavo said with a smile, starting to draw her close again when he heard Sal’s voice.
“Here’s film from her camera.” Sal held the roll out for Paavo.
“Thanks.” He put it in his pocket.
“All right, you two.” Angie’s pointed gaze went from one man to the other. “What’s going on? Where’s Mamma?”
“Your mother went to the ballet,” Sal said, then met Paavo’s eye as he said, “I felt sick and had her turn around and drop me off back home. Then Paavo showed up looking for you.”
Paavo nodded to Sal before facing Angie. “That’s right. I have the evening off.”
“But I didn’t tell you I was coming here,” Angie said.
“I must have just guessed it,” he answered.
She turned to her father. “Who was the woman? It wasn’t just chance that she was lurking around.”
Sal was all wide-eyed innocence. “No? Seems like chance to me. I have no idea why any woman would want to do that. Or maybe it’s that I’m still such a handsome old coot. Did she say anything to you about why she was out there, Paavo?”
He faced Angie. “She refused to say a word to me just now,” he answered honestly.
Just then, Serefina appeared in the doorway. “Che fai?” she cried. “There were cops outside my house and your Stonestown manager was sitting in a patrol car crying. As I watched, they drove off. I’m tired of you keeping me in the dark about whatever’s going on, Salvatore. You tell me right now why you’ve been acting so strangely.” She shook her finger at Paavo. “And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. I want to find out what’s going on from you, too. But first, it’s Sal’s turn.”
“It’s nothing, Serefina. Niente.”
“Sal,” Paavo said sternly, then nothing more.
Sal’s gaze darted from Paavo, to Angie, Connie, and then Serefina. “It’s the truth!” he cried.
“You know you’re the worst liar in tutto il mondo!” Serefina screeched. “Now tell me what this is about, or I’ll go find Elizabeth and ask her! This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s got her eye on you, does it?”
“What?” Sal gaped.
“She’s got her eye on you,” Serefina repeated. “That’s it, isn’t it? Don’t tell me she did something stupid! I know she’s a little bit”—she tapped her temple—“pazzo, but I didn’t think she’d cause trouble. Is that it? Is that why Paavo is here?”
Sal just stared at his wife. Angie gawked at both of them and only from the corner of her eye did she see Connie give her a high sign before sneaking off to Serefina’s study to put the papers back where they should be. Angie was glad somebody around here had a little sense left.
“You knew she had a crush on Sal?” Paavo asked.
“Of course.” Serefina chuckled. “She looked at him as if he could walk on water. I wanted to tell her she should try living with the man, then she’d change her tune.” She gazed curiously at Sal. “You didn’t think I noticed? What, am I blind? So, who’ll tell me what happened here?”
Sal glanced at Paavo as if for help.
“Angie’s engagement apparently pushed Schull over the edge,” Paavo said. “She had trouble at her own engagement party years ago, and it unbalanced her. I can’t help but suspect she was unbalanced before and that’s why her fiancé abruptly cut off the wedding. In any case, watching you, Angie, and Sal, she probably felt jealous and lonely, and exhibited it by making threats. She’ll most likely be spending some time at Langley Porter again.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Salvatore?” Serefina looked at him crossly. “Or Angelina. If she was making threats, didn’t you think we should know?”
“Well, you know your relatives….”
“My relatives! Are you crazy? How can you keep these things from me! I should have made you tell. Madonna mia! Such a stupido I married!”
“Does this mean…”—Angie looked from Paavo to her father—“that the whole time you two were going around saying you were trying to be friends, trying to get to know each other better, you were just pretending? That it was all a ploy so you could catch this horrible woman?”
“Horrible?” Sal said indignantly. “I don’t know if that’s the way to characterize her. Her taste in men is good.”
Angie put her hands on her hips. “So, you’ve been playacting!”
“No, we’re friends,” Sal said, grabbing Paavo’s arm. “Tell her.”
“Uh…”
Angie glared at Paavo. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Paavo Smith!”
“I won’t lie, Angie,” he said. “Sal and I have reached an understanding. We never really talked before, but now we have. It’s made a difference, one that will be for the better…in time. Wouldn’t you say that, Sal?” Paavo asked.
Sal just stared at him a long moment, then finally he nodded. “Yeah. It made a difference.” He faced Angie. “Not a whole hell of a lot, I’ll admit, but it’s better.”
“I’ll never understand either of you,” Angie said, wrapping an arm around Paavo, “but I love you both, so it’s okay.”
He held her close and smiled down at her, as she did up at him.
Sal gave Serefina a forlorn shrug. She laughed heartily. “Ti amo, Salvatore,” Serefina said. “Even if you are an old fool.”
Chapter 25
The next day in Homicide, Paavo told Rebecca Mayfield about Angie’s conversation with Gail Leer and shared her speculation.
It was clear to Rebecca that Tyler must have known the murderer because there was no sign of a break-in or struggle. She doubted it was a robbery-gone-bad since nothing was stolen. Hannah was her prime suspect—and now her prime suspect in Shelly Farm’s murder as well.
Hannah had to be the pregnant woman he’d talked ab
out. What if he’d learned of Hannah and Tyler’s plan to sell the baby and tried to stop it? She might have killed him and eventually decided to kill Tyler as well for being the cause of so much death and misery. Until Rebecca could meet and question Hannah, anything seemed possible to her.
Rebecca relayed to Paavo all she’d learned about Marsh’s background. He’d been born and raised in Oakland. At seventeen, he was arrested for stealing from a 7-Eleven and hit with a misdemeanor. Shortly after that, he moved across the bay to San Francisco and stayed clear of the law for nearly twelve years. He began working at the Athina about two years earlier.
The weekly entries to his bank account showed how little he earned at his job. But other monthly deposits brought him over a hundred thousand dollars for the year. Where that money came from was anybody’s guess. They couldn’t find any reason for Tyler having that kind of income.
People said he was filled with charm. They also indicated that under that charm was a cold heart.
By late morning the results of fingerprint analysis came in. There were two hits at Tyler’s apartment: Hannah Dzanic, whose prints were on file because she’d been raised as a ward of the court, and Olympia Pappas. What was interesting about Ms. Pappas was the reason her fingerprints were on file: she worked in records at the SFPD’s Central Station.
What Paavo found even more interesting, though, was the report on the murder weapon. He and Rebecca had been surprised to find it at the scene. Most killers tried to hide their weapons unless they were so shocked and disoriented by what they’d done that they couldn’t think past the need to run. Given the report’s findings, that was a distinct possibility here.
Only one set of prints was on it. As soon as he read the report, he left the office and headed for Angie’s apartment building.
Paavo knocked on Angie’s door, but she wasn’t home. He turned toward Stan’s and gave a loud, this-is-the-police-open-up-now kind of knock.
Stan peeked into the hallway. “You want to see me?” he asked, his surprise evident.
“That’s right. I want to talk to you about Hannah Dzanic.”
Stan darted into the hallway and nervously shut the door behind him. “The baby’s asleep. I don’t know that I can help you.”
“Any word about Hannah’s whereabouts?” Paavo’s demeanor was stern and formal.
Beads of perspiration broke out on Stan’s forehead and he looked pleadingly toward Angie’s door. “Uh…I tried to find her, but I had no luck.”
“If you hear from her,” Paavo said, eying him closely, “contact me as soon as possible.”
“How was Marsh killed?” Stan asked suddenly.
Paavo paused a moment, but Stan deserved to know. “He was stabbed through the heart.”
Stan turned so pale Paavo was ready to catch him if he fainted. “That’s horrible.”
Paavo continued. “We’ve got a match on the only set of fingerprints found on the murder weapon. It was a fillet knife from a set at the Athina—very sharp, very strong. Finding Hannah Dzanic isn’t a matter of choice anymore. The fingerprints are hers.”
Stan stared at him, shocked and speechless.
“If you see her, keep away and call me,” Paavo repeated. “Don’t let her in your apartment and don’t let her near Angie. She could be dangerous.”
“But…”
“Yes?”
“She’s not a killer, Inspector,” Stan protested weakly.
“That’s what they all say, Stan.” Paavo turned and headed for the elevator.
“Stan Bonnette is hiding something,” Paavo said when he stopped at Rebecca Mayfield’s desk back in Homicide. “I can’t tell if it’s because he knows something or that he’s shook up over Hannah’s possible involvement in Marsh’s death.”
“Possible? It’s more than possible, Paavo. And from what I’ve seen, just being around you makes him so nervous he looks guilty,” Rebecca said with a fond smile.
“Hey, look at you two,” Yosh bellowed from his desk. “It’s like watching a tango. I’m starting to feel like the odd man out here. Should I worry about losing my partner, Paav?”
“Maybe Angie needs to worry more than you do,” Calderon called from the coffeepot, where he was getting his twentieth refill. “I heard they worked on the Marsh case all night.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Cool it,” Paavo warned.
Rebecca stood, glaring hard at Calderon. “One more comment like that, and you’re dead meat!”
He threw up his hands. “Just a joke! Relax. We know you better than that. Hell, we don’t call you the Iron Maiden for nothing.”
“What?” She put her hands on her hips.
Calderon slinked back to his desk, head down. “I thought we were friends,” he muttered.
“Jackass,” she tossed back at him.
“Ignore them, Rebecca,” Paavo said. “What’ve you got?”
Still smarting, she handed him a piece of paper, then sat. “It’s a warrant for Dzanic’s arrest.”
“Aren’t you being hasty?” Paavo pulled up a chair and read the warrant. “I don’t want to rule out others until we’re certain of her guilt.”
“We are certain,” Rebecca stated. “We’ve got her fingerprints on the murder weapon.”
“True. But it was a knife from the place she worked as a kitchen helper.”
“So? That only incriminates her more.”
“What if someone wanted to set her up? She was the one who cleaned the kitchen. She’d wash the knives and put them away. Until used again, they’d only have her fingerprints. Anyone who worked there, who spent much time there, would know that.”
“Possible,” Rebecca admitted. “But a long shot. Also, you can’t ignore the connection with Shelly Farms. The two deaths have to be linked somehow. Hannah knew both men, and I don’t buy coincidence. You taught me that. Besides, the only other person with prints in Tyler’s apartment was Olympia Pappas, and her alibi is rock-solid. She was at work at Central Station.”
“Central isn’t all that far from Marsh’s building,” Paavo mused. “When was her lunch break?”
She flipped pages in a binder until she came to the one she wanted. “Here we go. Olympia Pappas. Work at nine P.M., lunch with two girlfriends one in the morning, back on duty one-thirty, out at five-thirty.” She stopped reading. “Marsh was killed, best we can figure, between midnight and one A.M.”
“You think she’s innocent?”
“Yes.” Rebecca frowned. “She seemed like a nice woman, and not heartbroken and jealous the way her mother and others were saying. She said she’d gotten over Tyler months ago.”
“Interesting,” Paavo said. That didn’t jibe with the way Angie had described her, and Angie was one of the best readers of people he’d ever known.
Rebecca picked up her shoulder bag. “I’m out of here. I’m going to try to reach some of the neighbors who weren’t home last time I went by. Want to come along? Maybe someone’s seen something we’ve missed—like Hannah Dzanic lurking around Tyler’s apartment.”
“Good idea,” he said, turning back to the paperwork. Hannah Dzanic lurking around Tyler’s apartment… Where had he heard that, or something like it, before? Was it something Angie told him?
He didn’t notice Rebecca roll her eyes in exasperation before she headed toward the door, but he did see her sock Calderon in the arm to show all was forgiven.
Calderon winced. Her weight training was obviously paying off.
Angie was troubled by her suspicion of Hannah and Tyler wanting to sell their baby to the Vandermeers. If the Vandermeers were interested in adopting, why wouldn’t they simply go to an adoption agency?
Paavo suspected that Vandermeer couldn’t adopt because he was a violent felon, but he wasn’t sure.
Angie knew someone who could help—Dianne Randle. Surely a social worker would know the answer, and if not, she could make a few phone calls and get the answer in minutes rather than Angie running off on a wild goose chase. She didn’t have
time to waste. With only two days before the day of the big event, the hope that somehow, some way, she’d find out about her party still glimmered. Dimly, true, but she hadn’t yet given up. This party had to be the most exasperating experience of her life—and all caused by her own mother!
She ignored the glares and scowls of the women waiting in the welfare line as she asked an assistant for a couple of minutes with Miss Randle concerning Hannah Dzanic’s possible involvement in a murder case.
The assistant’s eyes bulged as she hurried back to the offices.
Less than five minutes later, she returned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Dianne has no information for you. She said she can only talk to the police due to privacy concerns. In the meantime, if you’d like to make an appointment, she has an opening in three weeks.”
“If I what?” Had she heard right? It sounded like a typical bureaucratic runaround. What was wrong with these people?
“I’m sorry,” the assistant said.
“Thank you, that helps,” Angie said, hoping to win the girl over. The clerk nodded sympathetically. “Actually, all I wanted to do,” Angie continued, “was to ask about adoptions. I wanted to find out if a couple named Vandermeer tried to get one.”
“Vandermeer? Oh, man, you don’t mean Lance Vandermeer, do you?” The assistant’s expressive eyes were saucerlike again.
“A big, blond, Teutonic-looking guy,” Angie said. “You know him?”
“I know who he is. He came here once.” The girl grew a little breathless from the memory.
Angie leaned closer. “Did he? He’s kind of scary, isn’t he? I heard he’s been in prison.”
“That’s right,” the assistant whispered. “Now, I didn’t say this, hear? But when he was told it would be hard, maybe impossible, for him to adopt because of his record, he blew up and swore the charges were false. He had us so scared we had to call a guard to escort him out! I hope he never gets his hands on a child. I don’t like or trust him one bit.”
Angie thanked her and as soon as she was clear of the office, she smiled broadly. Privacy laws, hah!
