Killer Karma

20

Finding Razor was no problem. At six he came on duty at the Central Division Station. Cole just needed to intercept him.

Cole tried for a ziptrip…pinpointing the station on his mental map, concentrating on feeling the location as he pictured it, Vallejo Street outside, and Columbus and Broadway within sight east and south.

The mental image became reality. He stood in the middle of Vallejo. In celebration, he let several vehicles run through him before trotting around to the rear entrance. Minutes later Razor came toward the door, too. Unfortunately a uniformed officer followed him from the parking area and two more came out the rear entrance.

Razor flicked Cole an acknowledging glance and tipped his head toward the door. Cole followed him inside to the bullpen.

The fax from L.A. lay on Razor’s desk. Razor carried it to an interview room and spread it on the table. “It looks like Carrasco had a fair number of buddies.” He kept his voice low. “If we had probable cause for getting Irah’s phone records, I could cross-reference it with these. Have you come across anything interesting?”

“Oh, yeah…but nothing you can use yet.” Cole reported Irah’s confession.

Razor swore softly. “This is like standing in front of a candy store with the damn door locked.”

“I’m working on the lock.” He gave Razor a rundown on all of Round One.

Razor grinned. “This might just work. Now what?”

“I’m off to Round Two.”

Or Round One-B, Cole reflected a short time later, reaching Seacliff via the Dunavan Diagonal and line-of-sight zipping. Standing on the arc of Flaxx’s driveway, he stared up at the Mediterranean wedding cake…white stucco, red tile roof, arched windows with embellished casings, main floor windows opening onto mini-terrace balconies. He had no idea how freely Earl Lamper visited here. Presumably Flaxx invited him from time to time to maintain the appearance of a friendship, but was Lamper welcome to show up uninvited?

Cole climbed to the front door but before trying the bell — if a TV remote and computer worked for him, the bell should, too — he passed through the door to scope out the house. Without surprise, he found that in the entry hall, Flaxx had gone for the most ostentation he could afford…black and white marble floor, a grand sweep of staircase, an elaborate chandelier hanging from a soaring ceiling.

Cole turned toward the broad arched entrance of the nearest room, then heard voices farther back in the house. The sound led him to the dining room, where he found Flaxx — business suit traded for casual slacks and a turtleneck sweater — eating dinner with his wife and one daughter. The older one attended an exclusive women’s college in Virginia, Cole remembered Jessie telling him…the same one her mother graduated from. Always one to cut corners, Flaxx picked a trophy wife for his first marriage…Virginia aristocracy and a reputed descendant of General Robert E. Lee. Though Maitland Flaxx was not his type, Cole admired her classic beauty. She could counter any threat to her marriage from some twentysomething arm candy by making them look like mere glossy plastic. The question, he mused as he turned away, was what Maitland had seen in Flaxx worth marrying.

While Flaxx ate, Cole explored the house. If Lamper knew his way around, a counterfeit Lamper could not afford ignorance. He took time to absorb the feel of location, too…orienting himself for future ziptrips.

Back in the dining room, the meal wore on…nearly silent. What a difference from the mealtime circus at home, he reflected. They always had several conversations crossing each other amid wisecracks and occasional disputes. Tiger sat like a sphinx in the arch between livingroom and dining room, gaze zeroed on Sherrie and him, poised for a “hoover” command that would let him charge in to clean up bits of food Hannah dropped. Cole ached to be there tonight.

Maybe the mood of this dinner came from Flaxx. He wore the frown and inward-focused expression of someone lost in unpleasant thoughts, discouraging chit-chat. Thinking about the conversations with Irah and Lamper this afternoon? Cole hoped so.

A trip out to the kitchen found the cook cutting a cake. He hurried back to the front hall. If they were coming up on dessert, he needed to get ready. After one more glance around himself to be sure he had his coordinates here, he trotted outside where he had a line-of-sight to the Golden Gate Bridge.

Cole grinned. Feast time. Northbound lanes, already clogged with outbound traffic, slowed still more with reduced visibility from fog coming in across the middle of the bridge. Southbound lanes backed up at the toll booths.

Working both north lanes and toll booth traffic, he counted time in his head, trying to estimate when Flaxx would finish dinner. After sucking up heat for as long as he could, not sure how long he might have to maintain the materialization, he finally decided to head back. If Flaxx became involved in something for the evening, he might be impatient with a visitor.

Cole zipped to the front hall and walked on back to the dining room. Empty. So where might Flaxx have gone? He checked the library. Which actually deserved the name, though the tidy shelves and rows of matched bindings suggested some decorator had provided the books, buying them by the yard.

Pay dirt. Flaxx stood at a section of bookcase that had been turned into a liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels. He carried his drink to one of the big leather chairs that faced each other in front of the fireplace, sat down, and took a cigar from a humidor on the side table.

Watching Flaxx clip off the cigar’s end in a miniature guillotine beside the humidor, Cole frowned. Even if Flaxx heard the doorbell, he would expect the maid to answer it. Was there a way to make Flaxx answer it? The fewer witnesses to the materializations, the less chance of including someone who was ghost blind, but no witnesses meant no corroboration for these encounters.

Flaxx picked up the a big silver-cased lighter beside the humidor and flicked it on. Cole closed his hand over the flame. It snuffed out. Flaxx flicked it on again, and again, Cole killed it. After three more tries, and growing more irritated with each failure, Flaxx slapped the lighter back on the table and jerked open a drawer. Pocket-sized boxes of matches lay inside. Flaxx struck a match from one of them.

After three matches failed to stay lit, he tried matches from a second box, and then from the third.

“Son of a bitch!”

He stalked out of the library turned down the hall. Maybe headed for the kitchen in hope of finding a match there that worked.

Cole raced out through the front door and put his finger through the doorbell button. When the bell sounded inside, he concentrated on shaping himself into Lamper. Now if only he had not irritated Flaxx too much.

A frowning Flaxx jerked the door open. The frown turned into astonishment. “Earl? What are you doing here?”

So he looked believable. And Flaxx’s tone answered Cole’s question about Lamper showing up uninvited. That would be no. So he needed to explain this behavior.

“I…I’m sorry.” Cole hunched his shoulders as he had seen Lamper do. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you just call…or wait until morning?” Irritation ran under the polite tone.

Cole licked his lips. “Well…it — it just seemed like something I ought to talk to you about right away, in person and not on the phone.” He paused as though gathering himself, then blurted, “Irah called me at home.”

Flaxx eyed him a moment, then stepped aside. “Come on in.”

Cole backed against the balustrade. “I won’t take long. I’m fine out here.” Safe from meeting Maitland or the daughter.

Flaxx forced a smile. “Whatever you like.” He clamped the unlit cigar between his teeth and sat down on the top step. “Now, what about Irah’s call.”

Cole sat down at the far end of the step, where he ran no danger of Flaxx touching him. “It didn’t make sense. She said that pretending innocence and whining to you about her coming after me in the men’s room wasn’t going to save me. She said you both believe I pulled that stunt outside the washroom…because it couldn’t be anyone else…and now you think I’m scheming against you.” He leaned toward Flaxx. “Donald, you don’t believe that, do you? You know this company is my life, the way it’s yours.”

Flaxx, listening deadpan, chewed on the cigar for a moment before replying. “I know how loyal you are.”

“Then she talked about how since I have knowledge of…” He lowered his voice. “…of certainly burglaries and fires — that’s why I didn’t want to say anything on the phone — I’d better not be losing my nerve. That it’s so easy for someone to disappear and never be seen again.” He hunched his shoulders. “That sounded threatening again.”

The real Lamper could not have heard Flaxx swear under his breath. Cole did. Aloud, Flaxx used a reassuring tone. “Relax.” He stood up. “I’ll put a stop to it. I won’t let her do anything to you.”

Remembering the arm across the shoulders at the office, Cole move down a step as he stood. “Thank you. You’ve always taken good care of me.”

Flaxx looked past him at the drive and street. “I don’t see a cab. Don’t tell me you came over by bus.”

Oops. He forgot about transportation for Lamper. The bus trip would have been a long one, with several transfers. Cole shook his head. “I took a cab. But I’ll catch the bus back. The stop isn’t too far from here.” Even as he said it he winced inwardly. Right, a man who had abdominal surgery a week ago was willing to walk two or three blocks to a bus stop.

Flaxx stared at him. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll call you a cab.”

There was no way to maintain the materialization even long enough for the cab to arrive. “No, really, that isn’t necessary. I’ve been recovering very fast. The doctor said mild exercise is good.” He headed down the steps.

Flaxx frowned after him until he reached the bottom, then wheeled and went inside.

Cole let go of Lamper and raced after Flaxx.

Inside, Flaxx headed to the library and the cordless phone on the desk. After punching in a number, he carried the receiver to the side table and picked up his drink.

An answering machine clicked on at the other end. A voice that sounded like Jack Nicholson said, “You have reached the Carrasco residence. We’re unavailable at the moment so you’ll have to leave a message. If your call is urgent, don’t have a cow. Try our cell phone.”

It was a great imitation, Cole mused. Since Irah did not give the cell phone number, presumably anyone who mattered was already supposed to know it.

Flaxx did. He punched in another number without looking it up…took a swallow of his drink while it rang.

This time Irah herself answered…shouting to be audible above juke box music and a roar of voices.

Flaxx wasted no time on pleasantries. “I thought I told you to leave Earl alone!”

In the pause before she answered, Cole pictured Irah’s brows lifting. He expected her to ask for an explanation. Instead, she said, “All this yelling can’t be good for your blood pressure.”

A male voice close to her said, “I hope that isn’t a husband or boyfriend.”

“No, just my brother.”

“Who’s that?” Flaxx demanded.

“Oh…a gorgeous motor officer who’s offering to let me play with his throttle and ride his machine.”

Motor officer! Ice shot through Cole. Could she be out to repeat the thrill of cop killing? “Where are you?” Cole whispered in Flaxx’s ear.

“Are you at the same cop bar you were before!”

Shit. Not the question he wanted Flaxx to ask. He needed more than a yes or no answer.

“What is it with you…threatening Earl again, then playing with cops! Are you trying — ”

Irah broke in. “Wait! Let me go somewhere I can hear you better. Guys, if you’ll let me out, please. Oooh, is that your backup weapon? Don’t lose it. I’ll be right back.”

The quality of the sounds coming through the phone changed shortly, reducing to quieter street noises. None of them distinctive enough to pinpoint the bar’s location.

“That’s better,” Irah said. “First of all, playing with cops is as much business as pleasure. I’ve learned that a certain detective’s car has been found…with his blood type in it…and the number one suspect is our own Sara Benay. A lover’s quarrel gone bad. So sad. Now…” Her voice sharpened. “What’s this about threatening Earl again?”

Flaxx reported the visit. While he did, he picked up the lighter and flicked it…shook his head irritably as it worked…lit the cigar.

“That’s a flat out lie,” she said when he finished. “I came here from the office about five-thirty, which Officer Mazzucco can verify, if you want me to put him on.”

Mazzucco. The name rang no bells.

“I certainly wouldn’t have called Earl while sitting in the booth with Mazzucco and his buddies.”

Flaxx chewed the cigar. “You could have done what you’re doing now, step outside for a minute.”

“I didn’t.” Cole heard her breath hiss. “Earl’s lying…just like he’s lying about the men’s room incident.”

Flaxx scowled. “Earl has no reason to- ”

“No apparent one, maybe, but…something’s going on. Why else would he come to your place, out of the blue, to tell you something it would be a hell of a lot more convenient, and easier on him, to call you about.”

“He explained he wanted avoid mentioning certain business strategies on the phone.”

“When you were just able to do so without naming them?”

Flaxx’s expression went uncertain.

Cole eyed him with satisfaction. Were we starting to wonder about good dog Earl? He hoped so.

“You still there? Maybe considering that worms do turn?”

Cole grinned. Very good. He leaned close to Flaxx’s ear. “She might have a point.”

Flaxx stiffened. “Not Earl!”

Was it arrogance, or stubbornness, refusing to believe he might be losing control of Lamper?

“So keep away from him! Is that clear!”

As Flaxx broke the connection, Cole pictured Irah mockingly mimicking her brother’s words. Damn! Where was she? “If she kills another cop, I’m holding you responsible.”

Frowning, Flaxx returned the phone to its base station.

Cole wished he could read Flaxx’s thoughts. Lacking that, maybe he could add something more to think about. He moved up to Flaxx’s ear again. “She’s crazy. Earl turning on me? Impossible. Still, it won’t hurt to keep an eye on him. For damn sure I need to watch Irah. Did she even bother listening to me just now? She’s never listened to anyone…except maybe her precious Scott. Maybe I better call her back and find out exactly where she is, to make sure she isn’t her way right now to confront Earl again.”

To Cole’s frustration, this time Flaxx gave no sign of hearing. He turned away from the phone and threw himself in a chair, where he finished his cigar and drink, then shaking his head like someone trying to clear away fog, left the library.

Cole stared after him, thinking about Irah. Was it possible she might confront Lamper? In her place, he would be upset at being lied about twice. Going after Lamper would certainly help his cause. And mean the motor cop was safe.

Lamper’s address put him in Potrero. Cole ziptripped to the nearest location there he knew, San Francisco General, then worked his way to Lamper’s house. Staring up the steps from the street, he appreciated being a ghost. Any living person climbing those needed to be part mountain goat, and carry oxygen.

Inside, the house surprised him, yet seemed right for Lamper…a mixture of art deco and oriental, almost monastic in its simplicity and tidiness. Judging by the classic Eames chair, though, no expense had been spared on individual pieces. Or on his hobby. Cole counted eighteen chess sets on the glass shelves of a large art deco etagere. Which Lamper obviously did more than look at. The top shelf displayed chess trophies with dates ranging back to when he would have been in high school.

Cole found Lamper himself in the one lighted room in the house, a spare bedroom turned into an office, where a custom desk stretched along most of one wall to accommodate two computers and their peripherals. A digital chess board filled the monitor of one computer. Lamper, now wearing a Mr. Rogers cardigan over his turtleneck, gripped the mouse. Whether he played against the machine or someone online, Cole could not tell…but he saw that Lamper had more on his mind than the game. His eyes kept wandering from the monitor to a cordless phone lying beside it. Was Lamper waiting for a call…or debating calling someone? Which ever it was affected Lamper’s concentration. After agonizing over a move, he made it, then groaned almost immediately…and groaned again at the answering move.

The phone warbled. Lamper jumped. He reached for it, then hesitated. The phone rang a second time, then a third, while Lamper’s hand hovered over it.

As it started to ring a fourth time, he snatched it up. “Hello? Oh, hello, Inspector.”

Inspector? Cole moved closer.

On the other end Hamada’s voice said, “You left a message saying you have a question?”

Well, well. How interesting.

Lamper took a breath. “Yes. Have you located Miss Benay yet?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Inspector Dunavan doesn’t know where she is?”

Hamada’s voice remained even. “No. Have you thought of something that might help us?”

Wheels turned visibly behind the magnified eyes. Cole held mental breath. Could Lamper be about to say something connecting Sara to Irah?

To his disappointment, Lamper shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. I just — I just wanted to see if you’d learned anything. It worries me that she’d go off and not tell someone where she is…Kenisha Hayes, at least. You — you don’t suppose something’s…happened to her?”

Great question, Earl. Thank you. He had hoped the men’s room conversation would start Lamper thinking about darker possibilities in Sara’s disappearance.

Hamada paused before answering. “We have no evidence of that.”

Lamper sighed. “That’s a relief. Thank you for calling back.”

Cole pictured Hamada hanging up the phone and thinking Lamper knew something he was not ready to talk about yet. At this end, now would be a perfect time for Irah to show up and wipe out that relief by dropping more dark hints about Sara. Perfect as long as the real Irah did not arrive or call.

He checked the time on the computer. It had been nearly half an hour since Flaxx talked to Irah. Cole decided that if she made no move this direction by the time he could materialize, he would risk it.

After walking out onto Lamper’s front porch and orienting it on his internal map, he zipped to the Embarcadero intersection he used this afternoon. It should still have enough traffic to let him accumulate the heat he needed in a reasonable time.

It did, and since Lamper’s place was a new destination, he crossed his fingers before trying to zip there. It worked without a hitch.

Now the question was whether Irah made contact in the meantime. In the office, the chess board remained on the one monitor, but Lamper had moved to the other computer, typing e-mail. Nothing in his expression or body language showed distress that might be attributable to a call from Irah. Great.

Cole returned to the porch and prepared to materialize and hit the door bell. Then rear vision caught a Mustang GT cruising by in the street below.

His antenna shot up. Not just because of the car’s suspiciously slow speed. The vehicle itself rang a bell. Scott Carrasco’s funeral urn was a model Mustang GT…and Irah had a photograph of that model and color car on her shrine wall.

He zipped to the street ahead of the car, where he could check out the driver as the car passed him. Irah sat behind the wheel…wearing a black turtleneck, her hair covered by a black watch cap. Cole leaped to the roof of the car and slid down through it into the passenger seat to study her. She also wore black running tights, the thin-soled shoes of rock climbers, and a black fanny pack. He smiled. This looked very interesting.

It became even more so. She drove around the block and parked one street over from Lamper’s. Cole followed as she slipped between two houses there and over the back fence into Lamper’s postage stamp yard.

Did she intend to burgle Lamper? He grinned. Perfect! Once she was inside, he would head for the Bayview Station. Materialized as Joe Citizen, he could report that a friend he was just talking to on his cell phone saw someone breaking into a house. They would catch Irah in the act. With her under arrest for burglary, they had probable cause for searching her house and car. Razor needed to be alerted so he could be on hand to recognize the Kijurian clothing and the items they found in the makeup table as evidence of another crime.

Except…the house had evidence of only arson and burglary. Even if they found the tweaker clothing and Elvis mask in her car, only Razor would recognize them as evidence, and he had no way to explain that knowledge. Nor did the presence of a Glock in her gun safe — assuming she still had the weapon and they were allowed to open the safe and find it — give them grounds to compare bullets from it to the one that killed him.

Angrily he abandoned the idea of having her arrested at Lamper’s place. If she walked on the murders, what good was nailing her for burglary and arson? Nothing else mattered if Sara went without justice.

But maybe he could still make use of the burglary.