The Black Tortoise

by Ronald Tierney

  “Are you’re saying…?”

  “I’m putting you in your place.”

  “That’s an old and unfortunate attitude.” I went back to my car. I could feel my face burning. I wasn’t exactly sure why. It was one thing to remind me it was her job as a homicide detective to work the case. It was another to interpret authority as superiority.

  I drove off. Within two blocks, I heard the whooping of a police siren. I pulled over and rolled down my window. My stepfather had told me it was proper to stay in the car and wait for instructions.

  She came to the window. She said nothing.

  “Lights, sirens…I’m impressed with your toys of intimidation.”

  She laughed. “Let’s start over.”

  We went to a coffeehouse on Eighteenth Street on Potrero Hill. All of San Francisco took on a peachy glow below as the sun began to dim.

  I told her what I knew, except for Emelio’s illegal immigration status. I clearly related how Madeline’s immediate staff felt about her.

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t the one floating in the drink. I’ll ask again. Did you talk to David?”

  “Maybe I made a mistake, but I couldn’t see how he had access to serious money. Then again, Madeline plucked him out to be her personal guide on her computers.”

  “Computers plural now?”

  “Yes. I suspect she was maintaining her consulting business on one while doing her foundation work on the other.”

  “You confronted her?” Hadley asked.

  “I was about to when I saw David floating and then you showed up.”

  Hadley added to her notes.

  “What she was doing was unethical but not illegal,” I said.

  “But it might have gotten her fired.”

  “I doubt if she cared about that enough to kill someone.”

  “You understand the mind of a murderer?” Hadley asked.

  I didn’t answer. But I was right. Madeline would only have a motive if she was skimming gold from the goose and David was in on it. Hadley and I talked more. I gave her my take on Vanessa, Craig and Marge as potential embezzlers and as satisfied employees. Much of it was gleaned from Emelio’s gossip.

  As part of our starting over, Hadley said that David lived alone. He had once had a roommate, but San Francisco was too expensive for him, and the guy had moved back to Baltimore. And David was about to be evicted himself. Rents in the city were at a record high.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a breath and looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Given what’s left of the railing, engineers have determined that someone just leaning against it wouldn’t have caused it to fail.”

  “Doesn’t rule out suicide,” I said.

  “No, but it makes it unlikely. If he wanted to jump in, he would have climbed over or between the rails. And why there? Why not the Golden Gate Bridge? Plus, he went through the railing with some force.”

  “He could have run toward it.”

  “Backward?” she asked.

  After a bit of quiet while I absorbed her comments, I asked, “You think Madeline did it?”

  “I don’t know why she’d want to kill David. It would put everything she might be doing on her computer in danger.” Hadley shook her head.

  “You wanted it to be her, didn’t you?” I said.

  “I don’t think she believes the laws that apply to other mortals apply to her,” she said.

  “Or that you are smart enough to catch her if they do.”

  Hadley smiled.

  She had a charming side, I thought. No doubt Madeline had one as well, or she couldn’t have gotten as far as she had. She just didn’t need to use it when dealing with the unwashed masses.

  In my world, logic rules. It may be boring, but it has its good points. There are limited possibilities in accounting. In the end either things add up or they don’t. In murder cases, there are often unlimited possibilities. And at the moment what we had was a homicide, not an error on the ledger sheet.

  Was David killed by a jealous lover? Or was it a mugging gone wild? Was it the result of a psychopath who didn’t need a reason or had one we could never comprehend? A case of mistaken identity—an accident the doer didn’t want to own up to? A wild animal that had disappeared in the bay? Maybe an ingenious suicide? All were possible. And in this case, it would probably never add up—not without reasonable doubt, that is.

  And unless David was messing around with the accounts, my skills were as useless as an electric blanket in hell. All this drifted through my mind as I sought sleep.

  I woke up more positive and with my imagination in check. I called Mr. Lehr and attempted to withdraw. He wouldn’t have it. Worse, he said he was going to call the chief of police to make sure I was part of the case. His fellow board members wanted this wrapped up quickly and completely. Even if I couldn’t really help the police, I could keep him, and those with whom he chose to confide, informed.

  EIGHT

  Madeline’s office door was closed. I found my way to Emelio’s office. He was polite, but not happy to see me.

  “As you might imagine, we’re in a bit of turmoil here. Madeline’s gone missing for the moment, thank God, but I’m having to deal with all the calls. There’s insurance. The police. And while it might seem cold, I have to find a replacement for David. I posted his job on the internet this morning when I got in. I already have hundreds of résumés.”

  “I’ll leave you alone,” I said, backing out of his office. I stopped. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in this country illegally?”

  He reacted as if I had slapped him. He stood, went behind me, shut the door. His face was ashen.

  “I’ve told no one,” I said.

  “But?” he said.

  “But you are providing me with sketchy background. You said you were a qualified accountant. Not quite true. You said you had a green card. You also implied that Patrick helped on the mortgage of your new home, yet the title is in your name only.”

  “At his request. What’s so difficult about that?”

  “Very trusting on his part.”

  “We do trust each other. He is high up in the Roman Catholic Church. We are being cautious. At some point, when the church comes to its senses about same-sex marriage, we plan to marry, and it won’t matter whose name is on the title.”

  “What if you have a disagreement?” I asked, wondering if there was something more that might spill out given his emotional state.

  “Why, I’ll just kill him, won’t I? That’s where this is going, isn’t it?”

  Marge was in the large conference room with a bunch of people in suits, rolling out blueprints. Vanessa was leading a small group through the empty venue space. Craig was with them.

  I followed them at a discreet distance. These were potential customers, yet she, not Craig, seemed to be the one selling them, trying not to lose the deal. Certainly she was the one answering their questions.

  I had no idea how long they’d be. I decided to leave and find a place for coffee. I ran into Hadley at the door. She wore her gray suit and white shirt under a black trench coat. So much for not being a uniformed officer.

  She was angry. She pulled me outside. We stood at the edge of the pier, not far from where the body had floated. Salty, wet air blew in our faces.

  “I’m told I have to put up with you,” she said.

  “There are worse things,” I said.

  “I see we are not going to agree on a whole lot.” She gave me that practiced cop look. It was supposed to intimidate me. It did. A little.

  “I’m just doing what I’m told, same as you,” I said.

  We stood face to face. Water lapped against the pilings. A ship’s horn sounded in the distance. Seagulls screeched. The morning fog was beginning to lift. A ferry crossed just beneath it.

  “He was held under or possibly pulled under,” she said.

  I must have looked confused.

  “David,” she said. “No blunt force. Only bay water
in his lungs.”

  She looked at me. My turn. I still didn’t want to rat Emelio out on his immigration status. It wasn’t all sympathy for Emelio. I just didn’t want to see him deported before this mess could be sorted out. I told her about Emelio’s nice house instead, and that it was pretty nice given his pay grade. And about Patrick.

  She gave me a puzzled look.

  “All the accounting is computerized. Emelio had access to the system,” I said.

  “Your heart isn’t in this,” she said.

  “The foundation runs standard, proven, accepted accounting programs. Once a year a team of highly professional accountants audits the books. They know the programs. They know the scams.”

  “David worked for Emelio,” she said.

  “Yes. But as the IT guy, David worked with everyone. He was specially selected as an aid to the lovely Madeline and her two laptops. Though, like most of us, she has only one lap.”

  Hadley appeared to be doing some active thinking. I continued.

  “Marge does the triathlon every year. In addition to running and bicycling untold miles, she swims to San Francisco from Alcatraz.”

  Hadley’s eyebrows rose involuntarily.

  “I can be valuable,” I said.

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m checking the bank balances of the prime suspects.”

  “How do you know where they bank?”

  “Paychecks are automatically deposited. I just follow the routing numbers. Of course, it won’t show other accounts at other banks. But eventually money from various sources would be funneled into the account used to pay bills and debt. We find that first bank, we can find the others.”

  Two things occurred to me at that moment. The first was that any unauthorized transactions were probably transferred directly to an account without a check being requested or written. However, even electronic transfers to someone other than a legitimate business would have shown up in the audits. I had found no evidence of that.

  The second thought wasn’t fully developed, but if there were some funny financial goings-on, the process had to be more sophisticated. It had to be set up to bypass any recording of the transaction. Invisible. If that was the case, then surely David’s involvement would be necessary. It was unlikely that any of my suspects could have done it alone. Killing, yes. Embezzling, no.

  Maybe I was getting somewhere. I had to get Madeline’s computers, both of them. I had to find out more about David. His bank account showed he was struggling a little. It began when his roommate moved out. There was no sign of unexpected deposits. He had automatic bill payments set up for gas, electric and the Internet. In short, David was a dull boy. Nothing out of the ordinary. There were phone calls to and from Baltimore—his former roommate or family, I assumed. I planned to check it out. Maybe he had told someone something.

  The following morning I was in Madeline’s office shortly before Inspector Hadley arrived. Madeline denied running her consulting business from the foundation office. She insisted that her husband was running it without her. She was insulted that I asked.

  When I asked her about the special and expensive soundproofing, she had an explanation.

  “I was hired to do a full makeover of this place. No doubt heads were going to roll. A lot of people would be hurt. Things can get emotional in those circumstances, and strategies might have to be discussed in secret.”

  “Whose heads were on the chopping block?” I asked.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but you realize it might be of interest to homicide?”

  She shrugged. Fiddled with her bracelets. Her apparent boredom was theatrical.

  “Emelio told me none of this,” I said. “He was both the finance director and in charge of human resources as well.”

  “So?” She had a way of making one feel like an idiot for even asking a question.

  “So wouldn’t he have to be involved if you were making big changes?”

  She smiled. “I told him nothing. If I told Emelio anything, it would be tweeted to the world within seconds.”

  “Is the board aware of your grand plan?” I asked.

  “The board will not be a problem.”

  “You’re good at keeping secrets?”

  That’s when Hadley knocked. She didn’t wait for permission to enter.

  “To what do I owe this intrusion?” Madeline asked.

  “I’ve come to pick up your laptops,” Hadley said.

  Madeline looked at me as if this was my doing. It was.

  “You have wasted the taxpayers’ money. You can’t have them.”

  “These pieces of paper say that I can,” Hadley said.

  Madeline reached for her phone. “We’ll see what my lawyer has to say about it.”

  Hadley plucked the phone from Madeline’s hand. “That too.”

  “This is outrageous.” Madeline stood. “The law doesn’t permit this. I won’t allow it.”

  “Apparently, you are a very special lady,” Hadley said. “Are there any laws that do apply to you?”

  “Gravity,” Madeline said.

  “Good to know,” Hadley said, handing me the phone and gathering up the two laptops.

  I left, following Hadley, feeling secure in the knowledge that the inspector was armed. I could feel daggers from Madeline's cold, steely eyes between my shoulder blades.

  NINE

  I spent the afternoon and evening going over everything. Hadley had shared what the police found on David’s computers. There was no money trail leading to David, although he could have been paid in cash and buried it in a can somewhere. There was no evidence that he had bought things he couldn’t afford. No curious communications on his computer or cell.

  There was no evidence that anyone was involved in his death. No marks on the body to suggest David had been knocked out or subdued. Nothing under his fingernails to suggest he’d resisted.

  Like me, poor David had led a pretty boring life. Unlike me, he didn’t seem to have had any bad habits. He had some video games. He’d googled pizza places and brew pubs. He read sci-fi and was a fan of various superheroes and movies featuring them. He didn’t seem to have had a personal life. No relationships. He was a nerd. It didn’t fit for him to be into anything illegal—certainly not seriously illegal. From what I had learned from others in the office, he wasn’t high on ambition nor did he have the American instinct for greed. The only thing that popped out was that he seemed to get excited by a challenge. The tougher the problem, the more excited he became. He’d spend hours—off the clock, if necessary—to solve computer problems for staff, whether they were work related or personal.

  Madeline’s problems were that she was keeping her personal business alive while sleepwalking through her job as executive director. She might be immoral, but she kept everything just inside the terms of the contract. The idea of murder probably wouldn’t bother her, but it would be outside her comfort zone. She also used David for her personal business. One might say she misused funds or engaged in minor fraud perhaps. But again, this was a firing offense, not a criminal one. Getting fired was part of her plan anyway. Surely she wouldn’t kill David over some low-level crime, even if she were morally and physically capable. What was she really hiding?

  TEN

  Emelio stood in the doorway, my doorway, the one to my home. The darkness was behind him. My porch light lit Emelio’s forlorn face. His neck was wrapped in an oversized scarf. His eyes were sad, downcast. If it weren’t for the five-o’clock shadow he would have looked like a street orphan from a Dickens novel.

  “May I come in?”

  I stepped aside.

  My stepparents would never have forgiven me if I had sent him away, which was what first came to mind.

  “Please,” I said. I’m pretty sure coldness remained in my voice.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, unwrapping himself. “I had to talk to you.”

  “All right.”

  “
Are you in the middle of something?”

  “Just a glass of Cabernet. Would you like one?”

  “That would be fabulous,” he said with no fabulousness in his voice.

  “I’m out on the deck. No wind on that side of the house. Should be warm enough. Go on out, and I’ll join you.”

  “You have a better view than I do,” he said, accepting the glass I brought him and staring out at the city skyline.

  “No fog,” I said. “All is pretty clear tonight.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. He had something on his mind, and I was glad we were going to get to it quickly. He leaned against the rail. The pockets on his Navy pea coat bulged. I hoped he wasn’t carrying a gun.

  “I’m frightened, Peter.” He spoke as if we’d been close friends for years. I waited for him to continue. “I couldn’t make it if I had to go back.”

  “It’s not my job to round up undocumented immigrants. I have no legal or moral cause to do so. Stop worrying.”

  “They would kill me.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “That’s fine. I wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

  He turned completely to face me. The light caught his face. So hurt. So sad.

  “You said you received your accounting credentials in the UK. You did not.”

  “We’ve been over that. I know what I’m doing,” he said.

  “I don’t doubt that. Perhaps more than most certified public accountants. But you lied. About that, about the green card and about Patrick helping you with your mortgage.”

  “I never said his name was on it.”

  “Or on the other multimillion-dollar homes you own in the city.”

  “It’s cold out here,” he said, walking inside. He took a sip of his wine and appeared to be weighing some heavy thoughts.

  Perhaps he wanted to shoot me without the neighbors witnessing the act. Maybe he didn’t have a gun but wanted to get closer to the kitchen and a meat cleaver.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I haven’t been embezzling from the Black Tortoise Foundation.”