Killer Karma

29

Zipping to Homicide, Cole found that news of the assault and escape had reached there. Hamada stood outside the interview room in his shirt sleeves, a tower of frustration amid a cluster of detectives. “Son of a bitch! She’s slipperier than a greased pig!”

Beyond the group, their television monitor on its tall stand had an image of Flaxx sitting at the table in the interview room. The man with him Cole guessed would be Wayne Kaslin, Flaxx’s favorite attorney in the big law firm three floors below the Flaxx offices. Lieutenant Madrid’s presence in the group told Cole that he pulled Hamada out of the interrogation to hear about Irah.

“Was there a gun in the purse?” Hamada asked.

Dennis shrugged. “The sergeant who called didn’t say.”

Hamada snapped, “Someone find out.”

“Galentree and Willner,” Lieutenant Madrid said. “If there’s a gun, get it to the crime lab. And pick up that cape, too. She had to buy it in Embarcadero Center. Maybe she paid for it with a nice new credit card she’ll use again so we can track her.” As the detectives headed for the door, he turned to Razor. “How are you coming on the phone records and that delivery receipt?”

Razor had his coat off, too. He pointed to a desk near the TV monitor, where a Rolodex and phone company printout sat beside a bag of shredded paper and a partial reconstruction of a delivery confirmation receipt. “Thursday she made five calls to the L.A. area on her cell phone. They all match entries in her Rolodex. There’s one to her from L.A. at 6:30, a different number that I can’t find in the Rolodex.”

L.A. area. Cole trailed a finger down the printout. Razor had written names by five circled numbers. He bet if they ran the names, the computer would spit back criminal records. These had to be some of her old buddies, called to ask if they knew anyone in this area who could help her with a disposal problem.

Razor continued, “I’ve got three quarters of the receipt pieced together, enough to know that she mailed the whatever on Saturday but didn’t fill out who it went to.”

“Keep working on it.”

Hamada also went back to work…disappearing into the interview room. Madrid and a detective Cole recognized from Fraud — Maurice Lima — stood watching the TV monitor. Razor kept glancing up at the monitor, too, while he dug through the bag of shreds.

“How’s it going with Flaxx?” Cole asked.

Razor grimaced. “Only the lawyer is talking, and of course, according to him, Flaxx knows nothing about any burglaries or arson, and is shocked, shocked to hear that his sister is suspected of murdering two people.”

Lima looked around. “Do you always talk to yourself, Razor?”

Razor shrugged. “That way I’m assured of an audience. I won’t worry unless it isn’t my own voice I’m hearing.”

“If you don’t mind,” Madrid said, “there are voices I’d like to hear…those.” He pointed at the monitor.

Hamada had rejoined the interview. Across the table from him, beside Flaxx, the lawyer said, “Inspector, this has gone far enough. I demand to know what alleged evidence you think justifies these charges. Because you know that any seemingly incriminating information obtained from Inspector Dunavan sleeping with one of Mr. Flaxx’s Bookkeeping staff is fruit of the poisoned tree.”

Flaxx smirked.

Cole felt his ears burn. Anger at himself hissed through him all over again.

Hamada drawled, “Counselor, any relationship between Miss Benay and Inspector Dunavan, if it existed, is irrelevant.” The camera caught just the back of Hamada’s head but Cole heard a thin smile in the words. “Because the charges are based on a statement made by Mr. Earl Lamper.”

Flaxx came out of his chair. “What! That’s bullshit. What would Earl have to tell you. Unless you coerced him, of course.”

“Why don’t we let y’all judge for yourselves.” Hamada rose to his feet. “If y’all’ll come with me?” He ushered them out into the office, to the TV monitor.

Lima pulled chairs over for them while Madrid stopped the recorder and ejected the tape that had been recording Flaxx’s interview. They replaced it with another tape.

When he punched Play, the interview room came up on the monitor again. This time with Lamper behind the table, facing Willner.

Lamper shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I’m incriminating myself. This has to be stopped somehow. It’s gone all too far.”

“What has?” Willner asked.

“The burglaries, the arson, the fraud. Irah. Her especially. It was all her idea to start with. She talked Donald into it.”

Flaxx froze.

“Now it’s out of control. She’s out of control.” Lamper shook his head. “God. Poor Sara! I don’t understand why- ”

“When you say she ‘talked Mr. Flaxx into it’, what do you mean, exactly?”

Lamper hesitated and licked his lips, then sighed. “Irah talked him into burglarizing — that is, into letting her burglarize some of our businesses, and later set fire to others.”

Flaxx stared. “I don’t believe this! It’s faked!” But as the tape rolled on and Lamper told about altering the books of faltering stores, ordered to do so by Flaxx, the color drained out of Flaxx’s face. Then his face hardened. “I’ve seen enough! Shut it off. I can’t believe it. After all I’ve done for him. That bastard. That lying, underhanded, sneaking son of a bitch!” He scowled up at Hamada in righteous indignation. “It’s all lies…from beginning to end.”

“Donald,” Kaslin said in a warning voice.

Flaxx seemed not to hear him. “Now I understand some things that didn’t make sense before, why more and more of my stores have been burglarized…despite Irah’s supposed security improvements. He and Irah were ripping me off!”

“Donald, be quiet.”

Cole almost wanted him to. After all the years of encouraging crooks to give each other up, and despite working the Flaxx crew to make this happen, Flaxx’s instant turn on his faithful dog disgusted him. Even though the dog had turned on Flaxx first.

“It must be terrible realizing you’ve lost control of your company like this,” Hamada said.

Flaxx stiffened. Red boiled up his neck.

“Donald, don’t say another word, damn it!”

This time Flaxx heard. His mouth snapped shut.

Kaslin stood up. “We’re done here. Book Mr. Flaxx and let’s see a judge about bail.”

“Let me show you one more thing first,” Hamada said. He ran the tape forward.

By this time the questions had turned to murder, and they watched Lamper repeat the conversation where Cole, as Irah, accused Flaxx of double murder.

Flaxx’s expression went incredulous, then furious. “That bitch!” He turned to Hamada. “I don’t know why she told him that story but she’s lying! I don’t know anything about it, and I couldn’t have killed them. I have an alibi for Wednesday evening.”

“Donald…” Kaslin’s hand flexed as if he wanted to slap it over Flaxx’s mouth. “For God’s sake shut up! If you’re refuse to follow my advice, why the hell am I wasting my time here?”

Flaxx’s jaw jutted. “I’m not going to let them pin a cop killing on me. I didn’t shoot Dunavan!”

Kaslin swore.

Flaxx frowned. “What.” Then glanced up and noticed the deadpan faces around him. “What!”

“Shoot him, Mr. Flaxx?” Hamada drawled. “No one has said anything about how Inspector Dunavan died.”

Flaxx stared at him, pupils dilating. He turned to Kaslin. “Conference.”

They walked to a far corner of the room.

Hamada eyed them. “Flaxx reminds me of some dogs. They charge the fence barking and snarling like they’ll tear you apart, but you walk on into the yard and they roll over on their backs peeing themselves in submission.”

Lima wiggled his brows. “And guess who he’s going to roll over on.”

Thinking of Irah…Cole said, “I’d love to stick around for Flaxx peeing himself, Razor, but Irah’s still running loose. I have to go find her.”

“Wait!” Razor said. He laid down the last strip of the confirmation receipt. “I’ve got it.”

After scribbling down the confirmation number on a message pad, he hurried to the computer. Everyone followed. Cole climbed a virtual ladder to peer down past them at the monitor while Razor brought up the Post Office internet site and typed the number into the tracking window.

Cole stared at the delivery results. Son of a bitch.

“Colma?” Dennis grinned. “Well, I’d wonder if she mailed the bodies, except they’d have to go parcel post instead of priority.”

Colma. Where everyone in San Francisco went to be buried. “Razor, when Flaxx fretted about cops digging around the company for clues to my death, Irah treated it like a joke. She said they wouldn’t know where to dig.”

Razor sucked air through his teeth. “What’s the area code there? The same as Daly City, right…650?”

He raced back to the desk where he had been working. Carefully, he set aside the report form with the assembled confirmation receipt on it and dumped the whole bag of shreds on the desk.

“What do you have?” Madrid asked.

“There was something handwritten, in a kind of purple ink…torn into pieces, not shredded.” Razor pawed through the shred strips. “I saw a piece with the numbers 650.”

Hamada, Dennis, and Lima joined him sorting the shreds. When they found a promising piece, however, no one touched it. Using the eraser ends of two pencils like chopsticks, Razor picked the piece up and transferred it to where he was assembling the note. Protecting any fingerprints on it. Slowly, pieces fit together, revealing the beginning of a phone number and the beginning and last letters of a name.

A throat cleared behind them. Kaslin said, “Although Mr. Flaxx had absolutely nothing to do with either murder, some time after the fact he came into possession of information about them. In return for that information, I want any charges relating to the murders dropped against Mr. Flaxx.”

“Dream on,” Hamada said.

Kaslin just smiled. “Get someone from the DA’s office in here and he and I will talk.”

Madrid picked up a phone. “Take your client into the interview room.”

Waiting for the Assistant DA, they continued hunting pieces of the note in purple ink. Shortly after the ADA’s arrival and her disappearance into the interview room with Hamada, Razor completed the note…giving them a phone number and single name: Tankersley.

While Razor checked Irah’s phone records, Dennis grabbed a phone book. “Bingo,” he said shortly. “There’s just one Tankersley in Colma…Gilbert Tankersley.” He headed for the computer. It gave him a hit. “Tankersley did a stretch for forgery.” He took the news in to Madrid, who had returned to his office.

Irah had mailed something to an ex-con living in the cemetery city. Payment for services rendered? A current of hope rippled through Cole. Could they be close to finding Sara and his bodies?

“There’s no record of a call from either Carrasco’s home or cell phone to that number,” Razor said.

She had to call it from somewhere. “Razor, if she didn’t want to risk a link to that number by using her own phone, maybe she went to a- ”

“Pay phone!” Razor finished. “Would you…”

“I’m on my way.”

From a ziptrip to Irah’s house, Cole hopped line-of-sight south to Golden Gate Park and north to Geary in search of pay phones. A few still existed. He brought Razor back numbers for two.

Razor pretended to learn them in a phone call and passed them on to Dennis, who rolled a form into his typewriter to start warrants for the pay phone records.

Razor lowered his voice. “Galentree called while you were gone. No gun in the purse. They did find where she bought the cape and the rest of her getup…with a credit card…but it was Benay’s.”

Cole gritted his teeth. “I’ve got to go find her.”

“Looking where? Even as a ghost you can only be one place at a time. We’ll get her eventually. Now that she’s identified as a cop killer, can’t you leave her to us?”

Cole explored himself for an answer. The leaden discomfort of guilt and unfinished business remained. “I think I have to see her locked up. And find Sara’s and my bodies…to give everyone closure.”

And what about Sherrie? he wondered bleakly. The thought of leaving without getting straight with her wrenched.

Madrid came out of his office smiling. “Good news. The cruiser Carrasco stole has been located at Union Square. Willner and Galentree are on there way over.”

Union square! Cole groaned. “Dying’s turned me stupid, Razor. I should have thought of that.” What better place to go…the parking underground out of sight with every major department store in America around it. In fifteen minutes she could buy herself an entirely new appearance. Alternatively, from there she could just disappear into the Tenderloin. At least it gave him a place to try picking up her trail. “See you later.”

“Wait,” Razor whispered. “I’ll come, too. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and I can carry a radio so you’ll know if Irah’s sighted.”

A good point, Cole reflected. He missed having communications.

Madrid called Hamada out of the interview room and told him about Tankersley. “I just talked to the Colma PD. He’s kept his nose clean there but they know him. Get this. He operates heavy equipment for the Pacific Hills Memorial Gardens. That includes their backhoe.”

Backhoe! So Tankersley could be involved in disposing of the bodies.

Razor shrugged into his coat. “Lieutenant, Hamada, I think I’ll go give Willner and Galentree a hand at Union Square.”

Nodding absently, Madrid asked Hamada, “How’s it going with Flaxx?”

As he and Razor headed for the door, Cole listened to Hamada grunt. “The ADA is dropping all charges related to Dunavan and Benay’s murders in return for Flaxx confessing to the burglaries and arson, and spilling everything Carrasco told him about the murders.”

“Let him spill to Lima and Dennis. You go down to Colma. The CPD is picking up Tankersley. Lean on him to get an admission that Carrasco brought him bodies to dispose of, and find out where they are.”

Cole thought again of the ghost airmen movie. As their bodies were recovered, they faded away. Despite wanting his and Sara’s bodies found, anxiety chilled him. If this did work like that movie, catching up with Irah ASAP became more important than ever.