Murder Served Hot

by Nancy Skopin

  “I can do that.” He smiled at Brooke. She blushed and quickly looked away.

  “Right,” I said. “Let’s go rent some ugly shoes.”

  The cousins and I had a wonderful time bowling, although none of us were any good. There were a lot of gutter balls, and a lot of laughter. Faulkner kept track of our scores, and kept looking at his watch. At 12:45 I approached Deanna, who was still working the counter.

  “What entrance does Bernie use,” I asked her, as I returned my rented shoes.

  “Back door,” she pointed toward the far right hand lanes. “There’s a store room back there, and a locked door to the parking lot.”

  “Thank you, Deanna.”

  I returned to Faulkner and the girls, and pointed out the door to the storage room.

  “We should probably try to catch him outside if we can,” Faulkner said.

  The establishment was emptying of patrons, except for the bar where a few teams were still hoisting beers. Brooke and Robbyn quickly returned their bowling shoes to Deanna. As we exited through the front I asked them to wait in my car with Buddy. After Faulkner squelched their objections they did as I asked, and he and I rounded the building, looking for an appropriate hiding place near the back door. Luckily, there was a dumpster to the right of the rear entrance. We’d just stepped behind the stinky container when I heard the rattle trap VW enter the lot.

  I put a hand on Faulkner’s arm and nodded, letting him know what that sound was. He pulled his Glock out of its holster and whispered, “Stay here.”

  I nodded and covertly slipped my hand into my fanny pack, releasing the snap on the internal holster. We heard the van engine rattle to a stop, and the slam of a car door. Faulkner inched his way closer to the back door of the bowling alley, his muscles tensed, the Glock at his side pointing toward the ground. I stayed behind, my Ruger at the ready in case he needed back-up.

  We listened to shuffling steps approaching our hiding place, and then Faulkner stepped out into the open, raising his weapon.

  “Bernard Cross,” he shouted. “Stop where you are. Hands on your head.”

  I had a feeling Cross would be uncooperative, so I moved swiftly around the other side of the dumpster and stepped up behind him. When he turned away from Faulkner to make a run for his van, I executed a roundhouse kick, knocking him on his ass. Faulkner cuffed his hands behind his back while muttering under his breath that he’d told me to stay put.

  “Yeah, I heard you,” I said. “And you’re welcome, again.”

  Once Faulkner had handcuffed Cross, I reached into his jacket pocket and snatched the keys to his van. Before Faulkner could stop me, I’d unlocked the side door of the van and leaned inside. Stanley’s prized orchid hybrid was nestled between two small pillows in a sturdy wooden box. I leaned in and carefully lifted the box out.

  Faulkner stood next to me, and I said, “I’d like to show this to Brooke, if you don’t mind.” He did mind, but I went ahead anyway, and Brooke was able to identify the stolen orchid.

  I asked Robbyn to give Buddy a quick walk when they got back to Brooke’s condo, and Faulkner and I escorted Cross, and the orchid, to the San Carlos Police station in the Chevy.

  Chapter 29

  Nina spent Wednesday and Thursday studying her next target. This one would be more difficult. He appeared nervous, always looking over his shoulder or checking the rear view mirrors of the luxury car he drove. Nina decided to rent a second car and wear a wig when she followed him on Friday.

  He worked at a firm in San Carlos that was inaccessible, his house in the Belmont Hills was gated, and he didn’t use a cleaning service. This was a very private man. His background showed that he’d never been married or even engaged, which was not surprising, but many wealthy and active pedophiles dated at least occasionally, in order to appear normal.

  Early Friday morning Nina donned a red pixie cut wig and drove her new rental car to San Carlos. She hoped that her prey would arrive before the other employees, but even if there were a few around, they’d be unable to identify her later. By 10:00 a.m. he still hadn’t entered the lot. She considered going to his house and attempting to gain entry, even though it was likely to be equipped with an alarm system.

  By noon her frustration level compelled her to move forward. She drove to the Belmont Hills address and parked her rental car on the street above his house. She looked through her binoculars, scanning the grounds for any weakness, but the fence appeared to be continuous. There was only one possibility. An old oak tree stood close enough to the fence to be used as a jumping off point. Nina climbed out of the rental car and took a walk.

  Picking her way carefully down the hill through the rich vegetation, Nina made her way to the oak. It was just close enough to the fence, and some of the branches were low. She tossed a twig at the fence, tensing instinctively at the spark of electricity the contact caused. Interesting. The grounds were surrounded with an electrified fence. Nina wondered if the extreme security measures were intended to keep prowlers out, or to keep victims from escaping.

  This man’s most recent purchase from Fredo Giordano had been only four months ago. There was a possibility the little girl was still alive, and somewhere inside the house. That would complicate things, since Nina planned to kill the man. No one would be able to get onto the property if they were looking for him so, if the child was trapped inside, no one would find her.

  Nina climbed back up the hill to the rental car, and waited.

  As the sun began to set she once again trained her binoculars on the house, and sure enough, lights began to come on. First in what appeared to be an office, then in the kitchen windows.

  Nina drove to a restaurant in downtown Belmont, ordered a crab salad, and used the facilities. She ate some of the salad, drank a glass of water, and paid her tab.

  Returning to the hillside above the house she continued watching until only one light remained on. A second floor room she assumed was a bedroom. When that light finally went out, she slipped on her gloves, checked her pockets, making sure the taser and switchblade were with her, and climbed down the hill again. It was 2:00 a.m., and the neighborhood was silent.

  Nina had no difficulty climbing the oak tree and dropped to the ground inside the fenced yard with ease. She’d always been athletic. She moved around the periphery of the yard, staying in the shadows near the fence until she was close to a pair of French doors. No motion-activated flood lights came on. Nina used a mini flashlight to check the door frames, looking for wires and cameras, but there didn’t appear to be any alarm or surveillance systems in place. Maybe the owner considered the electrified fence and locked gate security enough.

  She withdrew a small set of lock picks from her back pocket and went to work. Three minutes later she was inside. Using the flashlight she found her way to the stairs. She climbed them slowly, staying close to the wall to avoid treading on any squeaky steps. When she’d reached the landing she used her light briefly to locate the room she assumed was the predator’s bedroom. Her blood began to thrum as she approached his lair. Moving swiftly now, in case she’d triggered a silent alarm, Nina pulled the taser out of her jacket pocket and held it ready.

  The bedroom door was unlocked. She eased it open and moved into the room, leaving the door open behind her. A bedside lamp illuminated the sleeping man. Nina was at his side in a flash and pressed the taser to his exposed chest. The man jerked awake, breaking the connection, and lunged under his pillow retrieving a Sig Sauer P220. Nina pushed his gun hand aside and leaned back in with the taser, but the first jolt had only made the big man twitchy. He quickly raised the gun and fired before she could move out of the way. Luckily his aim was off, and he only nicked her left shoulder. Nina snatched the gun out of his hand and shot Geoffrey Archer pointblank in the forehead. Blood and brain matter drenched the pillows behind him.

 
Nina tossed the gun on the floor and was about to make her escape when she heard a child crying softly somewhere nearby. She turned in a slow circle trying to identify where the sound was coming from. There were two closed doors in the bedroom. Nina opened the first to find a huge walk-in closet, complete with a mirrored dressing area. The second door revealed the master bathroom. The sound of crying grew faint as she entered the lavish bathroom, so she went back into the closet. Moving beyond the dressing area she found another door, this one locked. She rattled the doorknob and the crying abruptly stopped.

  Nina went back into Archer’s bedroom and searched the pockets of the pants he’d draped over a chair. She located his keys and returned to the closet. She tried each key until she found the one that fit the lock, and eased open the door.

  What she saw made her blood run cold, and she wished Archer was still alive so she could kill him again. A small Asian girl was curled in a tight ball of fear in the corner of the room. She appeared to be around eight years old. The room also contained a princess-style child’s bed, complete with a gauzy pink canopy. Several stuffed animals lay atop the bed, but the terrified child held no toy to comfort herself. She stared at Nina, a look of disbelief on her tearstained face.

  “Do you speak English?” Nina asked.

  “Yes. I learn English in orphanage,” the child replied, her voice trembling.

  “Good. The man who hurt you is dead. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need a minute to cover my shoulder first. Do you understand?” Nina knew her HIV positive blood was a danger to anyone who came in contact with it, and the last thing she wanted to do was cause additional harm to this helpless child.

  “I understand,” came the soft reply.

  Nina found a heavy Gortex jacket and pulled it on over her wounded shoulder. The waterproof fabric would keep the blood inside the jacket. She zipped it up to her neck, cinched it with a drawstring at the hips, and tightened the Velcro cuff straps around her wrists.

  Nina returned to the child, who wore a pink, baby-doll nightgown. “Do you have any other clothes?” she asked.

  Chapter 30

  This time Faulkner allowed me to be in the interview room with him; probably because it was the middle of the night and no one else would know. Cross was cuffed to a bracket set into the steel table. As his venomous glare settled on me I realized that he had a wandering eye. That explained the description we’d gotten from Kopelin. Cross’s eyes appeared to be looking in different directions. That wasn’t creepy at all.

  Faulkner began the questions by asking about the day of Stanley’s death. He asked Cross why he’d been at Stanley’s office. Cross turned his angry gaze on Faulkner, but said nothing.

  “You might as well confess,” Faulkner said. “We know you broke into Godard’s greenhouse and swiped his hybrid orchid, and we know you were at his office when he was shot and killed. The DA will go easier on you if you cooperate.”

  Cross finally spoke. His voice was an incongruous soft, velvety baritone. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, his eyes filled with malice. “I just wanted to make sure he was in his office before I went to his house. All I wanted was the damn plant.”

  Elizabeth had been right!

  “Okay,” Faulkner said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I knocked on the back door of his office. I was gonna hide behind a bush and wait to see if he answered his door, but then I heard the gunshot and I got the hell out of there.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You knocked on the door and then you heard a gunshot?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  I turned to Faulkner. “Where have I heard this before?” It was Archer’s story all over again, but from a different angle.

  “Anyway,” Cross continued, “I ran back to my van and took off. This asshole in a Mercedes almost broadsided me coming out of Godard’s lot. If he was in that office with Godard, he’s who you should be looking at.”

  “Fine,” said Faulkner. “Then what did you do?”

  “I went to Godard’s place and broke into the greenhouse. I searched both the greenhouse and the house, but I couldn’t find his journal. I knew he kept one, because he used to bring it to meetings with him, but I couldn’t find the damn thing, so I just took the orchid and left. Then you,” he said, turning back to me, “showed up with his journal. Where the hell did you get it?” He spit out the words with obvious rage.

  I said nothing.

  “Why did you shoot at the man who followed you from the Garden Center?” Faulkner asked.

  Cross thought about that for a minute before he said, “I was afraid he was trying to steal the orchid from me.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Is that also why you took a shot at me?”

  “I want a lawyer,” Cross said, and that was the end of the interrogation.

  We left Cross alone in the interview room, and Faulkner led me to a break room where he made a fresh pot of coffee.

  “You want a cup?”

  “Oh God, yes,” I said. “We need to take another run at Archer.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  “Hey, you wouldn’t even have known about Archer and Cross if it wasn’t for me.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You owe me, Faulkner. I promised Brooke I’d try to find out who killed Stanley. If Cross is telling the truth, then it was Archer who shot Stanley in the head and blew up his office. There were probably just a few bills in that suitcase along with the bomb, and when Cross knocked on the back door, Archer panicked, shot Stanley, and ran. The bomb might have been on a timer, or he might have used a remote detonator, but he’s the guy. Do you have a home address for him?”

  “I do, but I’m not going to give it to you.”

  Feeling enormously frustrated, I allowed Faulkner to send me home in a squad car. At least the uniform assigned to drive me allowed me to sit in the front seat. As we pulled out of the SCPD garage I remembered Brooke and Robbyn had my car and my dog, so I asked the uniform if he’d take me to Redwood Shores. He didn’t have a problem with that, since it was closer than the marina anyway.

  Once we were on the road I pulled out my cell and called Brooke. A quick glance at my watch told me it was 2:30 in the morning.

  Brooke picked up on the fourth ring, sounding sleepy.

  “Nikki? What’s going on?”

  “Sorry to wake you, Brooke. I need to get Buddy and my car back. I hope you don’t mind if I drop by long enough to pick them up.”

  “Of course not. Should I make coffee?”

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll fill you and Robbyn in on everything in the morning.”

  “Okay. When will you be here?”

  We’d just exited the freeway.

  “Maybe three minutes?”

  “Okay,” she said, and disconnected.

  Poor baby, with all that had been happening she must be exhausted.

  The uniform dropped me in the lot of Brooke’s complex. I thanked him politely for the ride, and entered Brooke’s building. I still had an adrenaline rush going from the take-down at the bowling alley, and jogged up to the second floor landing. Brooke opened the door before I could knock.

  She had my keys in her hand. Buddy nudged her aside so he could get to me, and stood up on his hind legs, putting his forepaws on my shoulders, the better to wash my face. Being a gracious Southern belle, Brooke asked if I’d like to come in.

  “No thanks,” I said, accepting my key ring. “I’m sure Jim is somewhere in your lot, in a new nondescript car, keeping an eye on you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  My cell rang before I made it down the steps.

  “Who’s your new chauffer?” Jim asked, a smile in his voice.

  “I didn’t get his name or his badge number. I had to lend
Brooke my car after we caught Cross, so I could sit in on the interview with Faulkner. Bullet wasn’t a match, by the way.”

  “Wait, you caught the guy? Where?”

  “San Mateo Bowling Center. He’s the night janitor.”

  “Good job. I assume he’s being held for shooting out my tire.”

  “And for stealing Stanley’s orchid. He’s in lock-up at the SCPD at the moment. He insists he didn’t kill Stanley, but just knocked on his back door to make sure he was there. Says he heard a gunshot immediately after knocking, so he took off.”

  “You believe him?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. We need to take another look at Archer, and Faulkner won’t give me his home address. When I get back to the office I’ll wake my friend Michael up and see if he can get it for me.”

  “You’re not planning on confronting Archer alone are you?”

  “Um, no, probably not.”

  “Be careful, Nikki.”

  “You betcha. See you in the morning.”

  Chapter 31

  I drove to the marina and, after a quick walk, Buddy and I unlocked the office. Buddy drank some water from his bowl and sank to the ground, instantly asleep. I wish I had that ability.

  I tossed my fanny pack onto one of the visitor’s chairs and speed dialed my friend Michael, white hat hacker extraordinaire, and listened as his phone rang once then was picked up by voicemail. Damn!

  “Hey, Michael, it’s Nikki. I need a home address on Geoffrey Archer. I don’t have a social, but he’s a CFO at a pharmaceutical research company on Old County Road in San Carlos.” I left a brief description of Archer, then replaced the phone in the cradle.