Five O'Clock Twist (An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery)

by Joanne Pence

  “Aw,” he muttered, his round, fleshy face scrunching into a big but self-deprecating smile. “Just doin’ my job.”

  Rebecca reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Richie said. “We’ve got to figure out who’s behind this, and stop them. I’ve never come across anything quite like this.” He gave the other two a quick run-down of all Rebecca had experienced on the beach.

  “The most troubling was that someone could so realistically fake being a police dispatcher,” Rebecca said. “From the way the call looked on my phone, to the type of voice used, everything.”

  “Let me see your phone,” Shay said. She logged in and handed it over.

  “It’s got to be someone close to government,” she continued. “A former cop, or someone who knows a lot of cops and can talk to them using the right jargon, even the rapid-fire but cold, staccato way dispatch sounds when giving instructions.”

  “That means you’ve scared someone,” Richie said.

  “It’s a clone,” Shay said, giving Rebecca back her phone. “Just like spam can mimic the looks of a real bank or PayPal or whatever, this person mimicked the look of the dispatch calls. But under the shell that showed up on your phone, it went to a website—one of those internet voice phone sites. Most likely it’s been bounced around the globe and back several times to hide the place of origin.”

  “So whoever is behind this knows government, and has serious tech skills,” Richie said.

  Shay nodded.

  “Let’s go over what we know,” Rebecca said. “Audrey Poole was head of an offshore holding company that buys real estate for foreign investors. She was working with many such investors and was getting help from city officials to do it. Probably all of them were sharing in the profits. One of her big projects was being held up by Kiki Nuñez. Kiki was attacked, her assistant killed.”

  Rebecca continued. “We know Audrey got a phone call from the mayor’s chief of staff, Sean Hinkle, at eleven o’clock Wednesday night. She was seen at the Pinocchio Bar after that with a man, but the man wasn’t Hinkle. Sutter brought a picture of Hinkle to the cocktail waitress who remembered seeing Audrey at the bar. The waitress didn’t recognize Hinkle as the man with her. She thought he was older, for one thing. The bartender, too, didn’t remember seeing Hinkle in the place.”

  The three men nodded at that bit of new information.

  “Two hours later,” Rebecca continued, “Audrey was stabbed to death on the street a half-block from her condo—probably by someone she knew since there was no evidence of her putting up any defense, and the stab wounds were from the front, not behind. So who killed her? Was it Hinkle who probably knew she was at the bar and would walk home? Was it the man she was with, or someone else? And why was she killed?”

  All of them shook their heads.

  “I also have two new pieces of information,” Shay said. “First, Audrey Poole’s accountant drove off a cliff onto the rocky beach below in Sonoma County on Friday night. The authorities up there decided it was a single car accident, although everyone swore she was a very careful driver. The few friends she had said she seemed to become very nervous after hearing Audrey Poole had been murdered, and was going to a little house up the coast until things quieted down in the city. But she never made it.”

  “Christ,” Richie said. “Somebody’s even more desperate than we thought.”

  Rebecca shuddered, thinking how close she had come to being another victim of whatever was going on in this case.

  “And also,” Shay said, “I looked into Sean Hinkle. He was in financial trouble. It looks like when the market heated up in the city, he tried setting up an offshore holding company like Audrey’s, but he completely messed everything up and ended up owing a lot of big players money. It seems he was trying to put pressure on Audrey to help him get out from under. But she must have refused, because it never happened.”

  “So Hinkle might have killed her out of fury or spite,” Rebecca said, “but why go after Inga and Audrey? Not to mention me?”

  “Do women talk to their masseuses in the same way as they do with their hairdressers?” Richie asked. “Maybe Audrey said something to Inga that scared Hinkle and he decided both needed silencing.”

  “It’s possible,” Rebecca said. “But I used to know Sean fairly well and I just don’t see him as a crazed killer. A crook, yes, but a killer, no.”

  “People change,” Richie said, “and who knows what kind of pressure he was under.”

  “The fact that Audrey was a customer at Kiki’s spa must be connected to the attacks on Kiki and Inga,” Rebecca said. “But I’m not seeing a clear motive yet.”

  “Does Kiki know Sean Hinkle?” Shay asked.

  “She does like to talk about important people who go to her spa, and she does have a male clientele for the massages, but I don’t remember her ever mentioning him,” Rebecca said. “Although, she did once tell me the mayor’s wife went to her a couple of times for the works.”

  Shay and Richie caught each other’s eyes and quickly looked way.

  “What?” Rebecca asked.

  When neither man answered, Vito said, “They’re thinking about the mayor’s wife, and then thinking, ‘Didn’t help.’”

  Richie grinned at that but continued to say nothing.

  “Well, anyway,” Rebecca said, after giving them a withering stare, “I believe if we can find out why Kiki was a victim, we might be able to figure out who’s behind it. I need to try to talk to her again.”

  “You cannot go waltzing into that hospital,” Richie said. “It’s the first place whoever is trying to kill you will be watching. In fact, it’s time to say the hell with this. Let Sutter figure it out. We can find a place to hide out awhile. Or you, alone, if you’d prefer. I know someone with an empty house on an island near Seattle, and—”

  “No. I’m a cop, Richie. If you think I’m going to spend any more time hiding—”

  “I think,” Vito interrupted, his eyes darting between Rebecca and Richie, “I think I might have a solution so you both are happy. For a little while, at least.”

  o0o

  Complements of Vito’s cousin, Rebecca dressed in a nurse’s dark blue smock, matching blue slacks and white shoes. Richie bought her a wig of dark brown hair, and also had the presence of mind to include a dark brown eyebrow pencil and mascara. Last of all, he gave her a hospital badge to wear on a cord around her neck. It read “Nurse Amy Caldwell.”

  “Is that Vito’s cousin’s name?” she asked.

  “Hell, no. If you get caught, she doesn’t want anyone to look her way. I didn’t ask where she got it, but if she’s like Vito, it belongs to someone she hates and wouldn’t mind seeing get into trouble.”

  “Vendetta,” Rebecca said.

  “See, you do know some Italian!”

  When she finished dressing and then putting on the wig and eye make-up, she stepped back. She found it startling to see herself looking so very different, except for the big blue eyes and pointy chin. She never wore bangs, but the wig had bangs that hung down to her now darkened eyebrows. The rest of it was in a straight bob that reached her jaw line.

  She took a deep breath. She could do this.

  Richie drove her to the hospital, and then waited in the car. Someone might recognize him, he said, but not her.

  Just inside the hospital entrance, Rebecca found a stack of newspapers. She picked them up, trying to look important, as if she’d been assigned to judiciously dole out the papers to patients. She prayed there would be no medical emergency while she was in a hospital ward. The last thing she wanted was to endanger anyone.

  She went straight to Kiki’s room.

  Kiki was alone, her eyes shut.

  “Kiki, how are you doing?” Rebecca said softly.

  Kiki opened her eyes, but looked confused for just a moment. Then she smiled. “Becca! Look at you! Oh, my. I thought I was hearing things.”

  Rebecca couldn’t help but sm
ile. “I’m undercover.” Richie had told her he’d used that excuse with Bradley Frick. It was as good as any she could think of. “How do you feel? What do your doctors say?”

  “I’m getting better. The surgery saved the day. But healing takes so much time. I’m bored to death. Any luck finding out who did this? And who killed Inga?”

  “Not yet,” Rebecca admitted. “But I’m hoping you can help. Do you know a man named Sean Hinkle? Or if Inga ever dated a man by that name?”

  “Hinkle? No. I never heard of him.”

  “He works in City Hall, in the mayor’s office.”

  “Inga doesn’t like the mayor,” Kiki said. “If she was dating one of his people, she’d have told me.”

  Rebecca agreed with that reasoning. “I’ve got more questions about Audrey Poole. Do you remember when you last saw her? Did she seem the same as ever or at all troubled by something?”

  “The last time…” Kiki tried to think about it. “She’d come into the spa every two-three weeks for her hair and a massage. Oh, wait, that’s wrong. Inga and I saw her at Pinocchio’s. It’s a couple doors down from us. We went there on Friday night. We had a hard day—a bunch of bridesmaids and the bride showed up for facials and all before the wedding on Saturday. They were loud and giggly—really hard to take. But we knew Saturday would be worse—they’re always busy. So we decided to ‘de-stress.’ Anyway, Audrey was there. She barely said hello to us, and didn’t introduce the fellow she was with. It was awkward, but it’s not as if we’re friends. We’re hired help to her.”

  “The fellow who was with her—do you remember what he looked like?”

  “Not really. He was nothing special. I guess I thought she’d be with somebody better looking. He might have been a client, come to think of it.”

  “Can you describe him at all?”

  “He was sitting, but he seemed to be a big guy. Pudgy. I don’t know if his hair was thin or what—it didn’t show up much in the dark bar room lighting. He wasn’t especially good-looking or noticeable. Although …” She lightly touched her forehead. “I’m sorry. The old brain just doesn’t want to work very well. But now that I think about it, I remember that when he saw me he looked startled, as if he was afraid I’d recognize him. Almost like someone caught cheating on his wife. But I’m not sure why.”

  “Well, if you remember anything more about his looks, or why he might have looked familiar to you, call me. You said he was big, with little hair …” Rebecca paused. Why did that sound familiar to her? “Have you been able to remember anything more about the night you were attacked?”

  “Only that he was another big guy. I’m not small, but he was tall and heavy-set.”

  “One more thing puzzles me. How did your attacker get into your flat to begin with? I know you have an alarm system, and a good lock on your door.”

  “Yes, but I disarmed the alarm since I was home.”

  “And the lock?”

  Kiki looked puzzled. “He didn’t break in?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “There’s no indication of that.”

  Kiki gave a sad and guilty look. “I always keep a spare key to my flat in the spa. I keep it there in case I lose my keys or something—so I can still get inside my house. I wonder if you look for the key, if it’ll be gone.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Did anyone know about the extra key?”

  “I don’t think so, except for my kids, and probably my assistant, Inga. I think she might have seen me giving it to Esteban one time when he left his phone at my place and couldn’t wait until I went home from work to go get it. You know how kids are with their phones.”

  Again, Rebecca nodded, as her mind raced with possibilities. If Inga and Esteban knew, others might as well. And if her landlord wanted her out of the spa, and somehow knew she had a spare key to her home in the spa, he could easily have let himself in after hours to get the house key. Perhaps Inga caught him there and he killed her and then went after Kiki. It made sense … but why kill Audrey who was needed to complete the deal? Should she be looking for two killers after all?

  Rebecca soon realized there was nothing more that Kiki could add, and she decided it was time to leave. “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “One thing,” Kiki said. “I’m wondering if I’ll have a business when I leave here. Now that I’m not there to try to stop it, could you find out if my landlord is going to go ahead and sell? I know Audrey Poole was the realtor, but he could find someone else to handle the sale, I’m sure. And then where will I be?”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Rebecca said.

  “I spent a fortune on remodeling and permits for that spa. I don’t want to see all that money going to waste.”

  Permits. It struck her where she’d previously heard the description of the man with Audrey. But there were plenty of heavy-set balding men in the city. Thousands, probably. But how many would know both Kiki and Audrey?

  Rebecca sat back down. “I just thought of something,” she said, and gave Richie a call.

  In a matter of seconds, her phone vibrated. A photo had come through.

  She handed the phone to Kiki. “That’s the business card of a building inspector. Does his photo look familiar to you?”

  Kiki studied it. “He’s the man who inspected the building when we did our last remodel a few months back. We expanded the sauna area. And…yes, I’m sure of it. He’s the man I saw with Audrey at Pinocchio’s.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Is she still in the hospital?” Shay asked as he got into the passenger seat of Richie’s Porsche. Richie was still waiting in the parking lot of SF General, growing more impatient with each passing minute.

  “What the hell is she doing in there?” Richie wondered. He told Shay about her request to see the building inspector’s picture but that he hadn’t heard from her since. He stared out at the parking lot looking for her, his hands on the steering wheel and his fingers impatiently tapping it. “She trying to operate on her friend, or something? It should have been a quick in and out.”

  “She knows what she’s doing,” Shay’s voice was calm.

  “Like hell!”

  Shay rolled his eyes.

  “So, what are you doing here anyway?” Richie asked, still fidgeting. “Other than criticizing me.”

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Shay said. “I know things aren’t right between you and Mayfield. But it’s also clear that you two care about each other. You want to talk about it?”

  “Since when are you taking on the role of father confessor?” Richie asked, tugging an earlobe. “Especially in matters of the heart.”

  “Maybe I’m just a good observer of human nature,” Shay said with a bitter smile. “And I don’t like to see my paisan in pain.”

  Richie’s hands stilled as he studied his friend. “You’ve never spoken about any woman, but there is someone, isn’t there?”

  “No.” Shay’s response was too quick, and definitely too vehement. He then said, more calmly. “There isn’t anyone.”

  “Was there ever?”

  Shay shut his eyes a moment, then shook his head. Richie didn’t know if he meant “No, never,” or if it meant he simply refused to answer. Whatever it was, Richie knew Shay wasn’t a person to press for an answer. To do so could mean alienating him forever. But when he was ready to talk, Richie would be there to listen.

  “You’re right about Rebecca and me,” Richie admitted. “But I haven’t figured out what to do about it. To be with her is complicated, and that makes it tough.”

  Shay nodded. Richie thought he wasn’t going to comment, but he did, and his words were surprising. “There’s always a cost, Richie. In your case, you both know it right up front.”

  “Always a cost. Leave it to you to cheer me up,” Richie groused.

  Shay smirked. “All I know is you’re both unhappy. And I can’t stand it anymore.”

  “So, I should get together with Rebecca so you won’t be annoyed with
us?”

  “Exactly,” Shay said.

  Richie snorted. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. But, since you’re here,” he added, “there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Audrey told me something that’s been bothering me for days. It’s just between you and me, okay? Don’t say anything to Vito, to Rebecca, or anyone else.”

  Shay nodded his agreement.

  “Audrey said her holding company is with Superior Savings in the Marina.”

  “Wait,” Shay said. “Not the bank that Isabella—”

  “Yeah, the same.” Shay had been Richie’s friend a long time. He had known Richie’s fiancée, and he and Vito were the two guys that had pulled Richie out of the blackest, longest depression he had ever known after Isabella had been killed. “I’m sure there’s nothing to it, but Audrey said the bank handled her offshore holding company because they made so much money on foreign transactions fees. And you know Isabella’s job was as a loan officer. She had to look into accounts—the money that went into and out of them when anyone wanted to borrow or secure a loan, particularly when real estate was involved. It just gives me a bad feeling. I don’t want to think anything weird was going on at that bank, but at the same time, I can’t let Audrey’s words go.”

  “You don’t want to start seeing conspiracies and dirty-dealings under every mattress,” Shay said.

  “That’s pretty funny coming from you,” Richie told him.

  “It makes sense for me. Anyway, you know how closely bank transactions are regulated,” Shay said.

  “I know a lot of stuff, but it doesn’t mean I’m not surprised nearly every day by the shit people try, and often get away with. This thing has been niggling at me. I’m hoping, no, I’m praying that I’m wrong. But will you look into it?”

  “Isabella’s been gone four years,” Shay said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Are you sure you want to reopen all this up again?”

  “Here comes Rebecca,” Richie said, but quickly and quietly added, “I have no choice.”

  Shay nodded as he started out of the car. “It won’t be easy and it won’t be fast.”