Five O'Clock Twist

by Joanne Pence

  She appeared to be in her forties or fifties, stood barely five feet tall, and was quite thin. Jang introduced her only as Little Squirrel. “She will lead you through the tunnels.”

  “But—” Rebecca thought he’d be amassing a minor army to help rescue Richie.

  “You will be safe with her,” Jang said.

  “I’m sure, but Richie—”

  “We will be sure he is safe, as long as he is not already dead.” With that, Jang bowed his head, as did Little Squirrel.

  Rebecca didn’t like any of this. “Maybe I should call—”

  “You will call no one. Follow Little Squirrel.”

  The woman, who had seemed meek and quiet up to that point, took hold of Rebecca’s arm with strong, claw-like fingers. She started pulling Rebecca towards the door. Rebecca yanked her arm to free herself, but it didn’t work. The woman stared at her, her eyes hard, and then let go.

  Rebecca turned and faced Jang. “I’ll go along with your plan because Richie considers you a friend. But if he was wrong to trust you, I won’t let you forget it.”

  Jang said nothing, and bowed his head.

  Little Squirrel opened the door and waited for Rebecca to go through it.

  In no time, they were back at the Jade Dragon, and down the stairs to the door that led to the tunnel.

  o0o

  Kreshmer heard a sound. He shut off his flashlight and turned towards the tunnel opening.

  “Don’t come here, Reb—” Richie shouted, but then Kreshmer spun around and smacked him in the face with the gun. Richie saw the swing coming and did his best to roll with it, but still ended up flat on the ground. He didn’t move and his ears rang from the blow.

  Kreshmer ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll in his pocket and slapped it over Richie’s mouth, then turned his back on him and peered down the main artery of the tunnel in the direction of the Jade Dragon. Richie waited a moment for his head to clear, and using the wall as leverage, quietly tried to get back onto his feet.

  o0o

  Little Squirrel used a flashlight to light the way as she entered the tunnel. The last thing Rebecca wanted to do was to join her. It was bad enough knowing about the rats and spiders, the mold and the mildew, but she remembered Jang’s words about the narrowness of the tunnel and it having few places to use as shelter.

  “Be careful,” Rebecca cautioned as she entered the tunnel behind Little Squirrel. She swallowed hard even as she reminded herself she had no choice. Richie was in there with a killer. “If he shoots at the flashlight, he could hit you.”

  They hurried along.

  After about five minutes, Little Squirrel stopped, and shut off the light.

  They were completely in the dark. With one hand on the tunnel wall as they went, the other on their firearms, they continued forward for several more minutes. Once the light was off, Rebecca could hear rats squeaking and running around, happy to be in the dark once more.

  Several times, Rebecca thought she heard a muted thudding, as if someone might be kicking a wall, kicking the ground, or something. But in the dark, she could see nothing.

  “Speak to him,” Little Squirrel said. “He is near.”

  “How do you know?” Rebecca asked.

  “I know.”

  “Kreshmer,” Rebecca called.

  No answer.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  Little Squirrel nodded.

  “Kreshmer, I know you’re here,” Rebecca called. “Give yourself up.”

  All remained quiet, and then she heard a man’s voice. “No. You’re the one who has to give up if you want to see your boyfriend live. I’m sick of both of you, but you’re the worst. You wouldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she called.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” he said. “I’m prepared for the consequences. You should be, too. You knew it would end this way.”

  Little Squirrel leaned close. “Say ‘you win. I’m coming right now.’”

  It went against all Rebecca’s training to do that, but she did. “You win. I’m coming right now.”

  With that, Little Squirrel grabbed Rebecca and flung her backwards as if she weighed no more than a child, and then Little Squirrel ran forward in the tunnel. At the same time, lights went on all around them, portable spotlights so bright Rebecca was temporarily blinded by them. But she saw a large, balding man put his hands up to his eyes a moment before he stepped back, as if disappearing into a wall. She realized it was Kreshmer and he had found a spot where the tunnel forked, and was hiding in one arm of it.

  He fired a shot in her direction, and at the same time, Richie barreled into his back. Kreshmer was shoved away from his place of shelter out into the main tunnel opening, while Richie dropped to the ground.

  Shots rang out all around her.

  Rebecca saw Little Squirrel on the ground and thought Kreshmer had hit her, but as quickly as it started, the gunfire stopped. Little Squirrel stood up and yelled something in high-pitched angry-sounding Chinese. A man’s voice answered, and then the lights went out just as Little Squirrel ran down the tunnel and disappeared.

  Rebecca pulled out her own flashlight and moved cautiously until she saw the top of Kreshmer’s head on the ground. From the way he lay, he was no longer a threat to her or anyone else.

  She ran forward, rounding a corner, and there, on the ground was Richie, struggling to get loose.

  She dropped to his side and ripped the tape from his mouth.

  “Ow!” he cried.

  She knelt beside him, seeing a gash on his cheek that was already starting to swell. “Are you all right?”

  “Get this damned tape off my wrists.”

  She smiled with relief. “You’re all right.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sean Hinkle thought about the strange blackmail note he’d received. He knew why he received it, but any evidence shouldn’t matter. He was no murderer. Other things, perhaps, but not a murderer. He hoped he’d managed to convince Rebecca and that Freddy Kruger-looking partner of hers of that.

  He sat in his apartment. He loved living on Telegraph Hill with a view of the bay. He loved looking out at the new Bay Bridge, the water, the lights of the city all around him, and to know that it was his city. He planned to become mayor some day, not just a staffer. With money and connections he could do it. He could do anything.

  The night seemed oddly silent. Usually the sound of cars, music, loud conversations, and even an occasional fog horn out on the bay could be heard. But not tonight. Tonight, he heard only the cool jazz he had coming through his sound system. He poured himself a glass of chardonnay, and went out onto the balcony. Out there, he could hear the city sounds. He relished them.

  He thought he heard a noise from inside his apartment, and spun around. He saw nothing. No one.

  It was probably the cat next door. An old gal kept one, and even though the condo had a no pets policy, he couldn’t turn her in. He was, after all, a nice guy.

  There was that sound again.

  He was no scaredy-cat. Cat, ha! Hell, horror films were his favorite, so why was he letting a strange noise bother him? But the sound seemed to have moved closer, and was now suspiciously like heavy breathing. A man’s heavy breathing. That was no cat.

  He spun around, but still saw nothing in his apartment. Was he hearing things?

  Then, from a dark corner of the balcony, a form walked towards him.

  “Who are you?”

  His gaze dropped to the knife in the other man’s hand.

  It took a moment for it all to register. A fatal moment. The man walked towards him, and he backed up until he was against the banister around his balcony. Then, with one hand still holding the knife, the stranger sprang towards Hinkle, dropping the knife at the last second to put both hands on Hinkle’s shoulders and shoving hard. Hinkle’s leaned far out over the railing, but his hands still gripping it until his attacker bent forward and gave one last force
ful push. Hinkle’s hands, his rather delicate hands, didn’t have the strength to hold the rail and to fight off the attack, not when gravity worked to pull him over the edge of the balcony.

  His own scream as he fell fourteen stories was the last sound he heard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  That night, Rebecca learned an interesting lesson about Chinatown.

  As she was helping Richie, to free him and make sure he hadn’t been hurt, someone quietly carried Kreshmer’s body out of the tunnel. As soon as she turned around to secure the crime scene and call for backup, she discovered she no longer had a crime scene.

  “What the hell!”

  “This way.” Richie took her hand and they ran out of the tunnel, back to the Jade Dragon, and then up the stairs and out to the alley.

  There, she saw Kreshmer’s body lying in the middle of the narrow alleyway, his gun by his hand.

  She was all but beside herself with fury. “Who did this?” she demanded. “Who moved that body?”

  A couple of uniformed officers who had been talking to witnesses, turned to see what she was saying.

  “Stop,” Richie said, pulling her away.

  “Let go!” she demanded.

  “Calm down and listen to what’s going on around you.” He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice low at the same time forcing her to pay attention to him.

  “Is there a problem, ma’am?” One of the officers came up to her and Richie.

  “I’m in Homicide,” Rebecca told him. Seeing his worried, skeptical expression, added, “I’m getting my badge now—and I’m armed.” She carefully removed the badge.

  He looked it over.

  “I was nearby,” she said.

  “Having dinner with me,” Richie added. “When we heard the commotion. I couldn’t keep her away.”

  She scowled at him, then turned back to the officer. “What’s going on here?”

  The officer explained that he and his partner were just a block away when a call came in to 9-1-1 about shots fired. When they arrived, they found the body in the alley. Witnesses told them the victim had stood in the alley waving a gun and making threats. A group of young men ran towards him and told him to go away, but he shot at them. They shot back, the man fell, and almost immediately died. The young men fled. No one saw which ones pulled the triggers, and it seems no one recognized any of the men who ran away.

  Rebecca was stunned as she listened to all this nonsense. She also had to admit she was impressed that someone had the presence of mind to move the casings from Kreshmer’s handgun into the alley for CSI to find.

  As the uniforms went back to securing the scene and writing down witnesses names, Richie led Rebecca away from them. “There’s nothing that connects you or me to Kreshmer’s death,” Richie said. “I suggest we leave it that way. In a sense, what the police were told was correct. A group of people from Chinatown did tell him to put down his gun, but he shot at them, and they shot back. No one knows who fired the fatal shot. What more do you want?”

  “Milton Jang might know.”

  “He might. But if he says he doesn’t?” Richie’s gaze was hard. “Then what?”

  Logic told her there was nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t used to police work like this. It wasn’t in the rules, not at all.

  “Let it go, Rebecca,” Richie urged. “Kreshmer confessed to Audrey and Inga’s killings, and he wanted to kill Kiki. What more do you need?” He gave her a quick run-down of all Kreshmer had told him.

  Rebecca was stunned. “So money, politics, and foreign intrigue had nothing to do with two people losing their lives,” she said. “Amazing.”

  “It happens,” Richie told her, and then said he was leaving.

  “No! Kreshmer confessed to you. You’ve got to report what he told you.”

  “I don’t like it. It opens up a can of worms.”

  Just then, the medical examiner and her team arrived. When Rebecca turned back to Richie, he was gone.

  She felt overwhelmed, confused, and also angry. She looked around, trying to decide how much she should say in her report, and how much she should ignore.

  Before making any decisions, she contacted Lt. Eastwood and told him Kreshmer was dead, and that she was at the crime scene. He sent Sutter to assist her in processing it, and said he wanted an explanation first thing in the morning.

  “Rebecca, I’ve got a problem.” Evelyn Ramirez called her over. “This body has been moved.”

  “Why do you say that?” Rebecca asked.

  “There’s not nearly enough blood here. No spatter from when the shots hit his torso.”

  “His jacket’s pretty bulky,” Rebecca said, wondering what was wrong with her. “Sometimes they absorb a lot more blood than we imagine they could.” Not only did she lie, now she embellished that lie. She felt sick.

  Ramirez frowned at the scene. “I’ve heard what was supposed to have happened here,” she said. “I guess all those people telling what they witnessed can’t be wrong.”

  “Who can say?” Rebecca asked.

  “True enough. And this is Chinatown.”

  A few minutes later, Sutter arrived. “Isn’t this the place I dropped you off earlier? And where Hinkle was asked to meet the blackmailer? It’s strange that this guy freaked out right here, of all places, and got himself killed.”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, wondering how much more of this she could handle. “It is.”

  Then, from behind her, she heard Richie speak. “I called him to meet me here.” She spun around, gaping at him. She thought he’d already left.

  “I know Rebecca was trying to keep me out of this,” he continued to Sutter. “But I was with her when the cocktail waitress at Pinocchio’s ID’d Kreshmer as the last person seen with Audrey Poole. Audrey was a friend of mine, and I wanted the bastard who killed her caught. I’d talked to Kreshmer in the past. He knew I’m a … shall we say ‘fixer,’ so when I told him I might be able to help get him out of these troubles, he came. We talked, and from what he said to me, I’m sure he killed Audrey and Inga. When I said he couldn’t bribe Rebecca, he ran off. Later, Rebecca showed up to meet me. Kreshmer must have realized everything was closing in around him and went nuts, and got killed for it. Who knows?”

  Sutter frowned. “So I’m supposed to believe that for no good reason he confessed to you?”

  “He thought I could influence Inspector Mayfield, which is only more evidence that the jerk had no understanding of women whatsoever.”

  “We’ll need your statement,” Sutter said. “In writing.”

  Richie nodded. “You’ll get it.”

  Sutter called over a CSI technician. “I want a gun powder residue test run on that man.” He pointed at Richie.

  Rebecca gawked at Sutter. “You can’t think Richie—”

  “Is there a problem with him taking the test?” Sutter asked.

  “Not at all,” Richie answered for her.

  Sutter glared at him. “And I want to see you in Homicide tomorrow to complete your statement.”

  “You’ll get it.” Richie faced Rebecca before he went off with the CSI tech. “See you tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  o0o

  Rebecca and Sutter worked through the night. When they returned to Homicide, Lt. Eastwood was there waiting. He called her into his office to give him the low down on Richie’s involvement as well as discuss the proofs they’d found in Kreshmer’s apartment.

  Eastwood seemed satisfied that Kreshmer was the killer—and Richie’s gunpowder residue test was negative.

  As they were finishing up, Eastwood received a call from Luis Calderon. During the night, he and Benson had been sent to a suspicious death on Telegraph Hill.

  Sean Hinkle was dead, Calderon said. In his apartment, the detectives found a suicide note. It appeared he had thrown himself off his fourteenth floor balcony.

  Rebecca was stunned by the news. She couldn’t believe it,
and neither could Sutter. Both suggested to Eastwood that Calderon and Benson search hard for anything wrong with the “apparent suicide” scenario.

  Before Eastwood allowed her to go back to her desk, he asked again why she and Richie happened to be in Chinatown last night. He was clearly digging.

  “To have dinner, as I said.”

  He nodded. “It had nothing, I expect, to do with the note the CSI found in one of Kreshmer’s pockets.” He laid the blackmail note, covered in plastic, on his desk. “It tells Kreshmer to meet someone in that very location.”

  “Oh?” she said. “I haven’t ever seen it before.”

  His gaze was hard and flat. “We’ll look for fingerprints or anything else that might give us some idea who wrote it.”

  She blanched. “Of course. It’s interesting that whoever wrote it knew Kreshmer was guilty.”

  “Maybe the author should be a detective instead of the staff I have.”

  She quickly left the office.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Rebecca had hoped to see Richie when he came into Homicide to give his written statement, but she was too tired to wait, and figured that if he was home sleeping, he wouldn’t get there until late afternoon.

  She did get a text from Vito that her SUV was in the Hall of Justice parking lot. She was grateful for that, and used it when she left work. She had one stop to make before she went home, and drove straight to the hospital to see Kiki.

  Sierra and Esteban were both with her. They were thrilled to report that the doctor was sending Kiki home the next day. As long as she took it very easy for the next few weeks, she should be fine.

  Rebecca’s news of all that had happened with Darryl Kreshmer was equally well received. They were relieved to know that Kiki was no longer in any danger.

  Kiki took a deep breath. “Love and death, they’re always linked in some way.”