Murder Served Hot

by Nancy Skopin

  “Would you have a problem with that?”

  “Where’s the journal?”

  “In my office safe.” I shot a glance at Brooke. Her mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. Robbyn was smiling behind the rim of her glass.

  “I’ll follow you back to your office,” said Faulkner.

  “Can’t. I have to stay with Brooke until my associate arrives.”

  “What time will that be?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  Faulkner looked from me to Brooke, and turned back to me again. “I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

  “What if I make you a copy?” I volunteered.

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Faulkner finished his coffee, set the delicate china cup and saucer in the sink, and headed for the door. I followed.

  He turned to face me before stepping outside. “I have new respect for Bill Anderson,” he said, and was gone.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding and bolted the door behind him.

  “I think I’ll have that margarita now,” I said to Robbyn.

  She laughed while filling a glass for me, and I took a long swallow, feeling the warmth of the tequila spread through my belly. Just what I needed.

  I described my plan to the two women as we sat around the kitchen island sipping our drinks.

  When I had finished, Brooke said, “That sounds really dangerous. What if the killer is at the meeting? Maybe we should go with you.”

  “Not a good idea,” I said. “I won’t be able to protect you and watch my own back at the same time.”

  “I was thinking we could watch your back.”

  “And what would you do if you saw this guy come up behind me?” I asked, holding up the identikit picture.

  Robbyn grinned. “Swift kick to the gonads should do the trick.” I looked at her. “I took a self-defense class back home,” she continued. “Did some serious damage to the instructor. We’d gone out a couple of times and he was not a gentleman. I managed to bruise his manhood even through all that padding.” She giggled and sipped her margarita.

  “Okay,” I said. “What about you, Brooke?”

  “I work out, but I don’t have any kind of training.” She got up and went into the living room, returning with her purse. She reached inside, “But I have one of these,” she said, taking out a small, pink stun gun.

  “Huh,” I said. “I may have underestimated you two. Okay, you can come with me but you have to stay in the back of the room and try to be inconspicuous. Where’s your computer?” I asked Brooke.

  “In the bedroom.”

  Brooke escorted me to a small desk facing the window in her bedroom. I logged onto Internet Explorer and did a Google search for the American Orchid Society in the San Francisco Bay area, and couldn’t find a listing. I tried a search using just the word ‘orchid’ and got hits for branches of the Orchid Society of California in Oakland and in San Francisco. I kept reading and finally found the Peninsula Orchid Society in San Mateo. Brooke said she thought the club meetings Stanley had attended were in San Mateo, so I hoped I’d found the right group.

  I dialed the number and spoke with a woman who told me that the next meeting would be Friday night, at the San Mateo Garden Center on Parkside Way. I asked if non-members would be allowed to attend and she said that prospective members could make a small donation at the door. Excellent.

  Chapter 20

  When the cleaning crew had finished their work they hauled their supplies back out through Nick Lawrence’s garage, loading everything into the van. The crew supervisor set the thumb lock and closed the door between the garage and the house. Once he was out in the driveway, he used a remote to close the overhead door. Nina wondered where Lawrence sequestered the children he’d purchased from Giordano when the cleaning service was in his home. Perhaps in a locked, soundproof space like a basement. That was a problem she’s have to leave for the police.

  Nina spent the rest of Tuesday morning and early afternoon in the garage, using her Android phone to Google her remaining targets. When Lawrence had been dispatched, only seven would remain from Fredo Giordano’s client list. She’d considered long and hard what she would do once every name on that list had been checked off. Maybe take a tropical vacation, or begin a new list using the Megan’s Law website. Nina knew she’d never abandon her mission. She was driven by the need to annihilate anyone who tortured innocent children the way she had been tortured by her own father. She couldn’t and wouldn’t stop… unless someone stopped her.

  At 5:15 she heard Lawrence’s car in the driveway just before the automatic door began to rise. Nina remained in her hiding place until he had parked the car, turned off the engine, and lowered the overhead door. Then she slowly rose to a standing position behind the storage boxes which had hidden her from view. The only illumination in the garage was the light box on the automatic door mechanism housed on the ceiling. Nina wore dark clothes, and she was halfway across the room before Lawrence even noticed her.

  His mouth opened in surprise as Nina hit him with the taser. She removed her new stiletto switchblade from her pocket and waited for his twitching to stop, then slid the razor-sharp knife into his solar plexus and, in a practiced motion, angled it upward into his heart.

  After retracting the blade, she wrapped the knife in a scarf she’d brought along, tucked it back into her pocket, and removed her latex gloves. Not having fingerprints was an advantage, but she didn’t want blood on her hands, and her scarred fingertips could potentially be used to link her to a crime scene if she was ever caught. Donning a clean pair of gloves, she approached the wall-mounted garage door control panel, and was about to press the button when she realized Lawrence’s body would be visible from the street. She found a folded tarp on a workbench and draped it over the body, making sure he was thoroughly covered, then pressed the button to open the overhead door. She waited until it was open, then hit the switch to close it again.

  Moving quickly, Nina dashed under the closing door, but as she passed through the opening the door suddenly came to a stop. Her body had tripped the automatic sensor which kept the door from closing. Nina decided to keep going rather than risk drawing attention to herself, or to the repeatedly opening and closing garage door. She moved casually down the street to her rental car and breathed a sigh of relief when no vehicles passed her as she drove away.

  Seven to go, she thought with satisfaction as she made the short drive back to her hotel.

  Chapter 21

  Jim called at 8:58 to tell me he was in the parking lot. I picked up the identikit drawing and asked Brooke if I could borrow it until tomorrow.

  She said, “Of course,” and took another sip of her third margarita.

  I hooked Buddy to his leash and slung my bag over my shoulder.

  Once I was outside and heard the deadbolt latch behind me, I dug the journal out of my purse and unzipped my fanny pack holster. I walked down the steps listening intently for any sound, watching Buddy for a startle response. When I reached the parking lot I spotted Jim’s Honda, but I didn’t acknowledge him, in case someone was watching.

  I drove to the marina keeping an eye on my rearview mirror. It was dark, but the streets were lit well enough for me to see make, model, and color of the other cars on the road. I didn’t spot a VW van.

  When we arrived home I walked Buddy around the marina grounds before unlocking the office. I poured him a bowl of kibble and freshened the water in his dish, then booted up the computer and checked my e-mail. I had a response from the International Orchid Show people with a short list of the members who had pre-registered to exhibit new hybrids. They had given me names and identified the chapter each belonged to, but there was no personal contact information. Brad Tomlinson and Beth Kilburn belonged to the Sa
n Francisco affiliate. Stanley Godard and Bernard Cross were members of the Peninsula Orchid Society. Bingo. Maybe I’d get a chance to meet Cross on Friday night.

  I Googled the three names and found articles published by Tomlinson and Kilburn, but nothing about Cross whatsoever. I checked the online white pages and got addresses and phone numbers for Tomlinson and Kilburn, but again nothing for Cross. If Cross was the guy I was looking for maybe he lived in his van.

  I printed Tomlinson and Kilburn’s contact data, then took out Stanley’s orchid journal and photocopied every page. This took a while. When I was done I made twenty copies of the identikit picture. I checked my watch. It was almost 11:00. I wondered if Bill was down on the boat. Probably not. I hadn’t seen his Mustang in the lot when we arrived, and Buddy would have reacted if he’d arrived after we did. When Buddy hears Bill’s car approaching he goes a little crazy. Of course, Bill could be driving one of the department’s unmarked cars. He does that when he expects to be called to a crime scene, even if he’s off-duty, because his own fire engine red Mustang is too recognizable.

  I locked the journal copy in my safe and tucked the original back in my purse, then Buddy and I locked up the office and walked down to the boat.

  The Cheoy Lee was empty and dark when we climbed aboard, and I went from room to room turning on lights. It was too late to call Elizabeth, so I made myself a chicken salad and turned on the news.

  At 11:45 Bill came in looking haggard. I took two bottles of Guinness out of the fridge and popped them open, handing one to him.

  “Tough day?”

  “This whole Nina Jezek thing is a can of worms. Another body was found today, on Mohican Way, garlic in the wound. His name was Edward Mitchell. A personal injury attorney, also with ties to Giordano.”

  “Is internal affairs getting involved again?”

  Nina had been a swing shift data entry clerk for the RCPD before it was discovered she was a homicidal maniac.

  “Naturally,” he said, and downed half his Stout.

  “Kind of muddies the water, doesn’t it?”

  He silently drank the remainder of his beer, and nodded.

  “So apparently Nina is targeting people who did business with Giordano. Is there any way to get a list of his clients?”

  “We’ve put in a request to the FBI VCAC unit, but there’s no telling how long they’ll take to respond.” He sighed.

  “Nothing you can do about that,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “So, let’s go to bed.”

  I figured sex would take his mind off his troubles, and I was right. Thirty minutes later Bill was sleeping soundly and I was wide awake, going over Brooke’s case in my mind. I needed to question Archer without Faulkner interfering, but when would I have the time to do that if I spent my days guarding Brooke? Maybe Jim could spare one of his agents to babysit Brooke for a few hours. But even if I had the time, how would I get in to see Archer? The research firm was like Fort Knox. If I had his home address I could corner him there, or I could arrive early at his office and wait for him to show up. That seemed like the best idea.

  Once I had Archer cornered, the problem would be convincing him to talk to me. I didn’t have anything to threaten him with, but he didn’t know that. I could tell him that Stanley kept a journal, which was true. Maybe I’d even show him the one that was in my purse and imply that there was something in it about him. That might work.

  I finally drifted off, only to be assaulted by dreams about Nina Jezek, who appeared in my subconscious alternately as a crazed killer and as an innocent child who had been abused.

  Chapter 22

  After dispatching Nick Lawrence on Tuesday afternoon Nina had immediately moved on to the next man on Giordano’s client list. Edward Mitchell was a personal injury lawyer with an office on Woodside Road in Redwood City. His previous purchases from Giordano showed that he favored boys between the ages of five and eight. He’d made seven purchases in the last nine years, the most recent being almost a year ago. Nina knew it was unlikely that little boy had survived his encounter with Mitchell. These well-to-do pedophiles could not afford to be identified, should their victims ever seek help from the authorities.

  She parked her rental car in the lot adjacent to Mitchell’s office, noting the lights in the suite were still on, and smiled to herself. She kept her eyes on the front door while removing the switchblade from the scarf in her pocket. Pulling a packet of wet wipes from her shoulder bag, she meticulously cleaned the weapon, then applied a fresh coat of garlic extract to the blade.

  Just as she was finishing her preparations, the door to Mitchell’s office opened and a man stepped outside, locking the door behind him. Nina checked the DMV photo of her target. Five-foot-nine, a hundred and eighty soft pounds, dark hair, and a goatee. With any luck at all she’d finish Mitchell off tonight, get a good night’s sleep, and move on to the final six tomorrow.

  Mitchell drove a black Range Rover Evoque with tinted windows. He used a remote to unlock and start the SUV, lit a cigar, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Nina followed as he exited the lot onto Woodside Road, her nondescript rental car making her all but invisible. Mitchell drove a few blocks and pulled into a restaurant parking lot. Nina had been to this restaurant before. In fact it was where she’d first made contact with Giordano, Mitchell’s supplier. She wondered if someone had taken Giordano’s place and was meeting Mitchell in order to sell him another innocent victim.

  Nina parked an aisle away from Mitchell and followed him into the restaurant, waiting patiently as the hostess seated him at a window table. When the hostess returned, Nina told her she didn’t have a reservation, but pointed to a vacant table near Mitchell. The hostess glanced at the reservations book, nodded, and picked up a menu.

  “Will you be dining alone tonight?”

  “Unless I get lucky,” Nina said, with a wink.

  The hostess blushed at Nina’s bold comment and led her to the table, handed her the menu, and returned to the podium. A busboy was filling a water goblet at Mitchell’s table while he read over the menu. Nina glanced at her own menu only long enough to determine that they served a Chef’s Salad. She continued to hold the menu, and watched Mitchell as he ordered his entrée.

  Mitchell took his time over dinner, and no one approached him other than the serving staff. When he ordered coffee, Nina motioned to the waiter and requested her check. She was in her car waiting when Mitchell came outside. Nina knew he lived on Mohican Way in Redwood City, but followed him nevertheless, in case he made another stop along the way.

  Mitchell drove directly to his luxury home, parked in the three-car garage, and closed the overhead door. Nina waited on the street as a few rooms in the house were illuminated. Six floor-to-ceiling windows faced a wraparound deck. After only a few minutes Mitchell came out onto the deck holding a rocks glass and talking on his cell phone.

  Nina stood in the shadows, watching, until he returned to the house leaving the French doors open behind him. She silently climbed the outer steps to the deck, taser in one hand, stiletto in the other.

  When Mitchell finished his call he refilled his glass and turned back toward the open doors. A gasp caught in his throat as Nina hit him with the taser. The rocks glass shattered on the tile floor and Mitchell collapsed at Nina’s feet. She dispatched him promptly, and made a point of turning off the lights before leaving.

  Six to go.

  Chapter 23

  When my bedside Dream Machine went off I lunged blindly for the snooze button. The next thing I knew Bill was standing by the bed, fully dressed, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked great, but it was the coffee that got my attention. He set the cup on the nightstand and said, “I have to go. Buddy’s already had his breakfast and a walk.”

  I struggled into a sitting position and tried to focus m
y eyes on the clock. “What time is it?”

  “Seven fifteen.”

  “Oh crap!” If I was going to catch Archer before work I’d have to skip my workout, again. I kissed Bill before he went out the door, grabbed the coffee, and took it with me into the shower.

  Buddy and I were on the road by 7:30. I called Jim on his cell and asked him to keep an eye on Brooke until I got there, telling him briefly what I planned to do. When I ended the call I turned off my cell and tossed it into my purse.

  At 7:45 Buddy and I were parked in the research firm lot next to Archer’s assigned parking space. I hadn’t noticed it when Faulkner and I were here before because the Benz was in the space, but there was a red ‘CFO’ painted on the macadam.

  My hair was wet and I didn’t have any make-up on, which made me feel defenseless. My mini cassette recorder was in the pocket of my shorts, set on voice activate. That made me feel only slightly more empowered.

  I hunted through my purse for lip-gloss as I watched employees arrive for work. When I found the lip-gloss I slathered some on, then started searching for mascara. I was putting on a second coat when Archer’s Mercedes pulled into the lot. As he parked in his spot I grabbed the journal, bolted out of my car, and hopped into Archer’s passenger seat. The look on his face was one of stunned disbelief.

  “Before you say anything,” I held up my hand like a stop sign, “you should know that I found Stanley Godard’s journal.” I showed him the leather bound notebook. “I haven’t taken it to the police yet because I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself first.”

  “I told that detective everything,” Archer sputtered.