The Goat-Ripper Case: Sonoma Knight PI Series

by Peter Prasad

  He stood there, unsure of what to do. There were no door handles. Then Hap’s voice emerged from a speaker mounted in the ceiling. “I’ll buzz you right in, buddy boy.”

  The security system began to chime like London bells. Jake pushed at the redwood door and entered. He heard the hardy wooden doors shut behind him.

  He was stopped by a wall of tinted glass thick enough to stop a bullet. He could see vague shapes behind the glass. Two bright spotlights in the ceiling lit him from head to foot. He assumed he was in some kind of bio-metric scanning device.

  Again, Jake was momentarily confused. A mechanical voice spoke from a hidden speaker in the ceiling. “Please put your right palm on the pad in front of you and place your face in the retina scan frame. Thank you.” Jake performed as instructed.

  “Son of a bitch,” he howled. He jerked his palm from the pad. A narrow door on the side of the pad had opened. He saw the thin silver glint of a prick needle retract and watched the small door slide close. The damn thing had just taken a blood sample, no more than a pinhead, from the tip of his third finger.

  He stood there in amazement, then heard a vacuum seal open and the left side of the glass wall slide behind the other portion of wall. “Come on in,” Hap hollered.

  Inside, the view looked across the Square to the redwoods, stretching east to the brown and blue hills. He had never seen a nicer view, except from the deck of Tanya’s cottage up on Sonoma Mountain.

  Hap’s head popped out of a doorway in the south corner of the room. “This way. Join me in my office, Jake. Please help yourself to anything on the bar.”

  Jake lifted a bottle of water from the bar and walked toward Hap’s voice, stepping on a thick, cream-color wool carpet. To his right, the wall was covered by a bright silk panel, a woven illustration of the Tree of Life. Above that, an old red single-engine prop plane propeller had been hung on the wall. As he walked forward, the thick security glass wall slid back into place behind him.

  “Why the pin prick to get in? Taking a blood sample?” Jake asked.

  “You bet. I want to see what every new guy is hopped up on. You passed. Cholesterol and sugar levels are good too”

  “Is that legal?” Jake asked.

  Hap gave Jake a look that made him feel two-inches tall, then shrugged. “My office and my rules.”

  Jake’s first impression of Hap’s office was ‘Frat boy dorm room for blue bloods’. A black-framed case hung above the plate-glass windows that looked out on the Square. Inside was a hand-stitched needlepoint monogram that read in Old English letters: I Have No Clue. You?

  Hap sat, enthroned behind his desk, in the center of the room. His desk was clutter-free except for a gold-framed photo of Sonya supine, nude, suggestively draped by a blue silk sheet. On a redwood credenza behind the desk under a wall of south-facing paneled glass sat a tray of more than 20 orchids in individual baskets. Jake was instantly reminded of Tanya’s tattoos.

  Hap’s office had plenty of boy-toys: a Bowflex, a Treadmill, a golf swing practice booth, a rowing machine, a padlocked rack of hunting rifles and shotguns. A row of framed photos showed Hap with several world leaders from the last two decades. A Lionel HO-gage electric train track wound across the floor.

  In the corner stood an authentic set of knight’s armor in polished black metal, circa 17th century France. Jake noticed the inlaid sign of the lily on the chest and visor, hallmark of the French Plantagenet kings.

  Hap volunteered, following Jake’s gaze on the armor: “Sonya wants me to wear it to our wedding. I said, no way. I’d look like a can of spam.” He paused while Jake chuckled.

  “Welcome to my abode. We can play with some of the toys later. How’s the cheese?” Hap asked as Jake sat and opened his water.

  “We have 27 cheese dairies in Sonoma. Three are sheep; six are goat; one is water buffalo and the rest are Jersey cow. At my dairy, we have two rams working overtime, and a great product, I’m told. But ask me again in two or three years.”

  “Sonya can’t stop talking about your cheese. She puts it on everything. So, how’s being back?” Hap watched him with a sniper’s patience.

  Jake’s hand resting on his crossed leg. “Well, you know what it’s like up here, Hap. If you live in Sonoma, somebody always has a screw loose about someone else.”

  Hap nodded. “So how’s Tanya doing you by?”

  Jake gave Hap a long look then said something for the first time in his life. “I love her.”

  Hap nodded in agreement. “A great gal, just like her mom.” He glanced at the framed picture of Sonya on his desk.

  “All right, Knight, I need a copy of your driver’s license and a signature. I’m putting through the paperwork on your P.I. security bond. And I’ll advance you fifteen hundred. Call Henry Powell, the attorney, he’ll do your legal structure. And he can bill me.”

  Jake nodded; there were many aspects of this business he had not yet considered.

  Hap handed Jake two copies of a three-page legal agreement. “Here’s our standard consulting contract. You earn seventy-five per hour, plus expenses. And I supervise and bill you at one-fifty. It’ll take a few weeks to get you up and rolling. Most of the work is afternoons, evenings and weekends.”

  Jake signed the documents and pocketed the check. “I know Powell. He helped with the dairy lease.” Jake decided to drill down. “So, Hap, where’s your sweet spot?”

  “Security work and investigations run five to ten thousand each. We do a little bit of everything, with a five thousand dollar deposit up-front. If I find they’ve lied to me, I give it back, no questions asked.”

  “And the air charter business?”

  “Five hundred per hour, three hours minimum. I have three birds in the fleet. High-end tourists and fast-track executives mostly out of SFO.” He meant San Francisco International airport.

  “Don’t expect me to move mountains, Knight. You’re out there sleuthing on your own, but I’ll backstop you. So keep your head down and keep your powder dry.” The two men chuckled.

  “I’ve got a great network: friends, clients, military buddies, spooks, NSA, congressional staffers. But most of it is a long, slow grind. People think white-collar crime comes off in the wash, but we find a stain or two.”

  “I’m honored to be working with you, Colonel Hazard.” Jake stood and reached across Hap’s desk to shake his hand. Hap didn’t move.

  “One last thing, Knight. I hate surprises. Keep me up on what you’re doing. You may think it’s trivial, but my belief is—you’ve got to know everything.”

  Jake sat back down. “Okay. So do you know Koch Semper at Fransec?”

  “Sure do. We’ve had our eye on Cornelius for a while. He’s a fruit-loop.” Then Hap checked himself and explained. “Hey, I came up through the Air Force during ‘don’t ask don’t tell’. I could care less about his interests or orientation, until I’m retained to shoot video.” Hap and Jake smiled at each other.

  “My bunch looked at acquiring the old Shawn Estate, the one Semper is calling Fransec now. We did our due diligence, but decided to pass.” Jake looked at Hap, expecting more. He didn’t get it. That was all Hap was prepared to say.

  Jake decided to plunge in deeper. “Wally and I think he’s adulterating wine. Wally ran an analysis and sent it to the Wine Board in Sacramento.”

  “It’s a fine line,” Hap said. “Every winemaker is filled with tricks, some of it is border line. But if you add alcohol, syrup or juice, we’ll have your hide. Catch him at that and you’ll make some friends around here.” Hap shook his head and stared at the blue sky outside. He slipped his bare feet into his shoes.

  “It’s all about reputation. The hint of adulteration can crater a brand. I’ll bird dog it for you up in Sac’to.” Hap looked at his wristwatch. “It’s your case, so run with it if you think there’s something there.”

  Hap nodded. “I gotta fly. Bird on the roof in five.” He stood and walked Jake to the door, across the conference room, and placed his han
d on a security pad that opened the glass-walled cage. Jake walked through the security cage out the door.

  Jake might have a safety net now, but he was hanging by a few threads. Here he was, point man on a pro bono investigation, with no gun, little protection, and in over his head.

  Then he laughed and decided that was about right for a Knight. As he pushed the elevator button, he realized that it did not bother him at all.

  Back to Table of Contents

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The computer supply center sat in the middle of a parking lot at the shopping mall. As Jake entered, he was greeted by a chirpy assistant in a logoed pink shirt and blue jeans. She waved him toward the computer section. He had a working knowledge of the electronics equipment he needed, but good advice could save him money and mistakes.

  At the counter, three pink-shirted geeks consulted with a man in a gray suit. Jake turned sideways and listened to their conversation as he edged closer. The man in the gray suit looked familiar.

  He’d stumbled on Koch Semper while shopping, and Semper didn’t know what Jake looked like.

  “I’m satisfied with the cameras you recommended. A little fuzzy but unobtrusive. Wireless is the way to go. So let me have two more back-up units.” Semper said.

  “Sure,” the clerk replied. “Most people set a single unit on a 24-hour re-cycle to wipe the recorded content and reuse. This is for your security system, right?”

  “Something like that, but I archive everything.” Semper explained

  Jake moved closer.

  “I’m building a handsome video archive,” Semper added.

  As he paid and walked past, Jake burned his image in his brain: black hair; brown eyes; big head; no facial hair; not tan; chubby, maybe 20 pounds overweight; short, maybe five feet and five inches; three-piece gray suit; black boots and wears lifts; mincing walk like his short, fat legs have grown together; possibly testosterone-deprived. In all, an odd duck.

  A clerk approached. Jake pointed his thumb at Semper. “Wasn’t that the guy from Fransec?”

  The clerk, name-tag “Dimitri,” replied, “Yes. We sold him a security system a while back.”

  “I may have a similar security need. Can you show me what you sold him?” Dimitri led him to a display of pinhead cameras, software editing tools, wireless routers, signal boosters, and a home security demo display. Jake rubbed his chin and looked at Dimitri. “So who buys this stuff?”

  “We sell to paranoid moms who want to monitor babysitters and step-dads. These pinhead cameras work better inside. They need light. We have infrared systems for outside. You want to see that?”

  “No,” Jake replied. He stood at the display. “So this is all wireless? Through a router? And a direct feed into the software on the laptop? With some kind of a video editing interface? You leave the laptop on to monitor in real-time?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” Dimitri replied.

  “What’s the range on these pinheads? Can I pick up the feed from outside?”

  “Can do. We had a Mom in here last week who monitored the ex-Dad’s visitation from down the street on her laptop. Recorded everything. She busted the pervert too.” Dimitri smirked at Jake.

  “Sicko, huh, lots of that going round,” Jake replied. “So what do I need to walk into a room and scan for a system like that?”

  “Who wants to know?” Jake looked over his shoulder as a monster of a man approached, wearing a tent-like white shirt and narrow pink tie. Jake remembered bouncing off a man that big once before, on the football field at Cardinal.

  Monster-man wore thick black-framed glasses, black slacks, high-top tennis shoes and had an Afro-do teased out into a halo around his huge head. He looked like a white Jimi Hendrix made out of cheese.

  The man-mountain grinned from ear to ear and reached for Jake’s hand. “Shakin-bacon, how you hanging? Been a while!”

  Jake let Herk Taylor shake his hand. He hadn’t lost his brutal grip. His friends called him “Hulk.” He’d been an all-state defensive center for Jake’s high-school football team and played both ways, offense and defense, once the team made it into the playoff games. Jukin-Jake had followed Hulk to daylight through opponent formations on several occasions.

  “Hey! Daylight! You still the biggest man in Sonoma?” Jake smiled at Hulk.

  “Size-wise, of course.” Hulk grinned back. He stood six feet six inches and weighed 300 pounds. Hulk was a genetic mystery, part Samoan, part African, part red-neck, with a dash of ragin’-Cajun, he’d once claimed over a beer after a game.

  Jake remembered how the younger players would sit on a bench in the locker room to watch Hulk pad to and from the shower, nude, a Goliath on cat’s paws. “I don’t speak to you,” is all he’d say to them.

  “So you work here?” Jake asked him.

  “Geek of the Week, six times in a row. I got a full ride to Stanford to play college ball, lasted three years, went pro for a $500,000 signing bonus with the Seattle Seahawks. Traded to New England after my first knee surgery. Traded to Tampa Bay after my second new knee. Never made six years to get a pension. So I’m deep into this computer stuff now. Never been married but I got three kids to support.” Jake smiled at his old friend’s resume.

  “Do any freelance surveillance?” Jake asked him.

  “Might-could, if the money is right. Working with you?”

  Jake nodded.

  Hulk looked over the tops of the nearby aisles and put a finger to his lips. “Let’s talk about it after my nine-to-five.” He winked at Jake. “So you back from the ‘stans? Shoveling sheep poop, I hear?”

  Jake nodded again.

  “Well, you got butterfat in your blood, Sonoma through and through.”

  Hulk chuckled at his own joke. Jake remembered that Hulk’s jokes only got worse, a unique mix of football slang, hip-hop and poetic allusion shouted through a six-inch drain pipe.

  “Let’s work something out, Hulk. I’m about to get my private investigator’s license.” Jake explained.

  “Spy shit, I love that. Who’s boppin’ who? Video too. I’ll bring popcorn.”

  He grinned and displaying a gold-front tooth inset with a ruby. Jake tapped his own front tooth, knowingly.

  “Yeah, I got a few real ones left,” Hulk explained.

  “We’ll hide in a tricked-out van to do most of the surveillance work,” Jake explained. Hiding Hulk would be impossible, he thought. And he would be fun when a stakeout ran for hours, as he knew they would.

  “Great, Jake. I’m your man.” Hulk concluded, touching his finger to his lips again.

  “Now, what can I sell you?” he asked, with a serious, focused expression.

  “How well do you know that last customer, Koch Semper?”

  “Him? Well, I designed his system and answered a few questions, but Dimitri sold it to him. Let me go ask the D-man a thing or two.” Jake watched The Hulk wander back to the counter. Dimitri and The Hulk put their heads together for a confidential chat. Hulk picked up a red plastic shopping basket and filled it with several off-the-shelf items and walked back to Jake.

  “Here’s everything you need. Two pinheads, two transmitters, a wireless receiver, a battery power pack, a signal booster. You got a laptop, I assume. And your property is what, six miles from Semper’s winery? Your signal is encoded and the strength should be okay. Want me to come out and set it up for you?”

  Jake shook his head. “No thanks. I got rated for electronics and surveillance with the Army. I trained for assignment with the Military Police, before the surge happened.”

  “Well then, get yourself some grey duct tape and wrap the battery pack and transmitter together as a single unit within a hundred feet of the cameras. Got something hot? Say, perv-per-view? People pay for that.”

  Jake laughed out loud. Hulk was another mad man, probably dropped on his head one too many times as a baby. “Hulk, I appreciate this. You’re still my lead man.”

  “Just finding you daylight, like old times.” T
hey bumped their knuckles together, bro-fist. “Come on, I’ll ring you up.”

  Jake followed Hulk to the cash register. Eight hundred dollars lighter, Jake walked out the door with The Hulk’s cell phone number in his phone. He was building a new network on which to build a business.

  Back to Table of Contents

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jake returned from his shopping trip with a backpack filled with gear. He assembled it all, charged the battery pack and tested all the connections. He gathered a few tools and a sharp knife, and repacked everything in the backpack which he stored under his bed.

  He locked the cottage door and walked up to the feed barn in the fading light. He dropped the chill pack and enzymes off at the cheese shed for Sandy, who was probably making dinner.

  Inside the feed barn, Wally was leaning against the railing of one of the pens, watching the action. In the pen, Marco was holding a ewe by a tether and stroking her face with one hand. He held her tail stub up and out of the way so the ram had easy access. Both creatures were hot to rut and the ram demonstrated pinpoint accuracy.

  He took less than a minute, dismounted and went to a corner of the pen for water. Wally handed Marco a tag, which he pierced into the ewe’s ear to indicate which of the rams had sired her. Wally led the ewe out to join her sisters in a segregated pen.

  “That’s the last of them,” Marco sighed. “They’ve all been serviced now. Let’s see how well it takes.”

  “What say, give it a few days and I’ll run blood tests?” Wally asked.

  “Yes. I’m looking for a fertility rate above ninety percent, maybe forty-seven pregnant out of fifty.” Marco scratched his head. “Half the litters may be twins, so that will boost our numbers, and we’ll get a few triplets too.”