Killer Karma

4

Going down his porch steps, Cole eyed the twilight sky, considering where to start looking for Benay. The Flaxx Enterprises office in Embarcadero Center where she worked, or her apartment? The office, he decided. She had been there when he called her…and the garage under 2EC where they arranged to meet was where he died.

He started to loosen his tie some more for the run, then wondered, did he have to run to Embarcadero Center? He glanced back at the house. Coming here had been incredible…in front of the Hall one minute, in his own hall the next. Instant travel was the way to go. He just needed to figure out how he did it. All he remembered was feeling desperate to be home…then here he was.

Was a desperate desire to be at a particular destination what it took to instant travel? He had no trouble with the desperation part…just focus on the urgency in himself. Let it overwhelm him. Benay disappeared…when? Maybe Wednesday? He had a cold trail going colder by the minute!

“I have to get the Flaxx office!” He pictured the reception area in his head. “I have to get there now!”

Nothing happened. He remained on the sidewalk in front of his house. So…it took something more. He had been tearing out of the Hall before. Maybe he needed to be in motion? He launched into a run, then tried again.

Still no luck.

Cole set his jaw. What happened once should work again. Until it did, he kept moving. Every block or so he made another attempt…ramping up emotion to near frenzy and picturing different sections of the Flaxx office where he had been…reception, Bookkeeping, Flaxx’s personal office.

None of it kicked in the instant travel.

Along Castro, the number of pedestrians out enjoying the evening forced him to pay attention to avoid walk-throughs. The dogs being walked avoided him. A few breezed by with just a sidestep around him. More slowed long enough to eye him or lift their heads for a sniff…and the sniffers either looked baffled, or they bristled and growled.

“What do you see, boy?” those owners asked. Except one woman, who smiled down at her Lab and ruffled his fur. “Oooh, is it ghosts?”

Despite her light tone, it sparked hope in Cole. Might she believe in the possibility and be persuaded to see him? It was worth a try. He stepped in front of her. “As a matter of fact, he is seeing a ghost. Me. You try to see me, too.”

She just tugged at the dog’s leash and walked on, forcing him to jump out of her way.

“I see you,” said a voice off to his side.

Cole whirled in search of the speaker, and found a rail-thin fiftyish woman lounging in a canvas chair behind the grille of a doorway alcove. He grinned at her. “Those have to be the sweetest words I’ve heard in my li- heard today.” Since she saw him…could he make use of that to contact…Razor probably, to report the details of his murder. “My name is- ”

“How’d you die?”

Her interruption and childlike abruptness set off a warning bell. Was she just short on social skills or did he have a problem here? “Ah…I was shot in the head.”

She leaned forward and peered at him. “I don’t see any bullet hole. Are you sure you’re a ghost? Princess Di glows.”

The warning bell turned into a sinking feeling. “You’ve seen Princess Di’s ghost, too?”

She sighed. “Not as much since I started medication.”

Shit. She was a nut case. He fought disappointment to keep his tone polite. “Did you happen to skip your meds today?”

The woman glanced behind her toward the door, giving him a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t tell my daughter. I never take them on Sunday. I don’t want to miss seeing Jesus if He comes by.”

Terrific, Cole reflected, leaving her. He was visible to dogs, a toddler, and a wacko. Why were they the only ones? Frustration pushed him into an even harder run. What made them different from everyone else.?

Half a block later the answer hit him. No reality check. They had nothing in them declaring this or that as imaginary. So did it take someone with their reality detector missing or out of whack to see him? Hopefully not. He could just imagine trying to find Benay and straighten things out with Sherrie using, say, the Princess Fan as an intermediary. Would Razor even listen to her claim of having information the ghost of Cole Dunavan had asked her to pass on? The chances with one of those so-called psychics who purported to commune with the dead were just as bad. Even if he found a genuine one, Cole doubted Razor would consider her or him any more credible. He better find out if anyone of sound mind could see him.

He slowed to a jog and began hailing people he met, greeting them like a old friend. Going on the theory that even without recognizing someone, people respond to an individual who appears to know them. If they saw him. “Hi there. It’s been a while. Yo, dude, it’s good to see you again.”

After a block and a half, only a dog had reacted, wagging its tail. Cole kept waving. Before worrying, he needed what the statisticians called a significant sampling.

Then the back of a women jogging down the block ahead of him wiped out all thought of statistics. Excitement leaped in him. It looked like Benay! Right height, right build, blonde… and the portion of her shoulder bared by her tank top revealed a butterfly tattoo.

“Sara! Sara Benay!” Cole charged after her. Not bothering to dodge people now…running through them. Leaving them, rear vision showed him, staring around themselves in startled bewilderment. “Sorry,” he called back, then yelled at the woman again. “Hey, Sara, wait up!”

She did not respond, and as he came up behind her, expectation turned into wrenching disappointment. It was not Benay. Close up, this tattoo was even different.

Swerving around the jogger, Cole raced on down Castro and reflected wryly, no wonder he saw butterflies even when he remembered nothing else. Benay had them everywhere in her apartment. Ceramic figurines and sun-catchers, on candles, sofa pillows, lamps, and switch plates. And on her. Not just the one on her shoulder…a flock, each in a different style, fluttering down across her breasts and flat belly to a elaborate art deco one perched on her blonde pubic thatch.

He shook his head in anger at himself. He might not have slept with Benay, but he still had plenty of reason for guilt. He had known why she invited him to the apartment for coffee. He had still gone, thinking he could back out before things went too far. Yeah, right! It took the skin show, which should not have caught him by surprise, to jolt him into retreat. Being so hot for the information Benay had access to made him stupid, stupid, stupid!

Not telling Sherrie was just as stupid. What kept him from it? Reluctance to admit being a jerk? Or alarm at how close he came to the point of no retreat, and fear that Sherrie might doubt he managed a retreat. She thought he was jumpy? More like sweating blood, worrying if a justifiably furious Benay was pissed off enough file a complaint against him…or drop a note to Sherrie. He had wanted nothing more than to never hear from her again.

If only.

For her sake as well as his.

He reached Market and while his body headed for the Financial District, his mind went back to Wednesday night.

Leaving the Hall after working late on reports, he turned on his phone and found two voice mail messages.

“Call back as soon as you can.” the first began. “This is Sara.”

The sound of her voice hit his gut like lead.

“Surprised? Me, too. I was really steamed at being turned down that way. But after I cooled down I realized you weren’t any more manipulative that I was. Then I got to thinking. You obviously believe that both the burglaries and fires the company’s had are inside jobs. I checked the Chronicle’s web site for stories on the fires and — I never realized the firefighter killed in the Woodworks fire was a woman with a new baby at home! That’s terrible! So I decided to go ahead and do what we never talked about in that conversation we never had. Because of the firefighter and her baby. And I think I’ve found proof you’re right. Of course, if solving your case makes gratitude overwhelm your scruples about extra-marital recreation, I certainly won’t complain.”

Exultation swept away his discomfort at hearing from her. This was what he had been waiting for! Finally…after six years long years…hard evidence against her boss Donald Flaxx. Proof Flaxx shored up sagging bottom lines, first by having his own stores burglarized, then torching six others of his last month. The insurance money plus what Flaxx collected from selling off the “lost” goods added up to a tidy sum. Until now there had been only Cole’s gut feeling and circumstantial evidence…burglaries in a number out of proportion to the law of averages and owners of neighboring businesses saying the victim stores seemed to be doing poorly. Despite the profits showing in the superficial look at the books Flaxx allowed without a warrant. Most annoying of all…Donald Flaxx’s attitude, so cocksure, sneering behind a mask of politeness.

It was a case he had no luck making with Lieutenant Lafferty. She just pointed out that an average had extremes on either side, that Flaxx Enterprises owned dozens of little stores, and that the burglaries were committed with a variety of MO’s. Meaning multiple perpetrators.

As for the fires…the Arson Task Force had a suspect — now Homicide’s, since arson made the firefighter’s death murder — a supposed fired employee named Luther Thomas Kijurian. Cole did not believe in Kijurian any more than he did in Flaxx as an unfortunate favorite target of burglars. Now he would have something solid to show everyone!

Then the second message played. It froze him halfway into the car.

The words slurred. Benay sounded drunk. But that did not diminish the fury and fear in her voice. “Damn it; why don’t you have your phone on! I need you. That bitch caught me leaving the other message for you and tortured me into telling her everything. She held my- ” Then in the background a door clicked open, and the line went dead.

Alarms screamed in Cole. He hurriedly punched in number shown on caller ID. Would she answer? She had been tortured, she said. What happened after that disconnect? Whatever happened, it was his fault for encouraging her to pry in those files.

Three rings went unanswered. Cold ran down his spine. Come on, woman, come on! It rang for the fourth time.

“Hello?”

He let his breath out in relief. “I got your messages. Are you all right?”

“I was afraid I wasn’t going to reach you.” She sounded in tears. “I’m sorry I let myself get caught. Now you probably can’t use any of the information.”

No, but… “Never mind that. What’s important is that you’re all right.” He hoped she was. “Who tortured you? What did they do?”

“Didn’t I say before?” She caught a ragged breath. “This is like a nightmare. It was Mrs. Gao.”

Cole blinked in disbelief. “Gao?” Doris Gao, second in command of Bookkeeping, was an officious bitch, yes, but…a torturer? She came barely to his armpits. And Benay never sounded afraid of her before.

“Please.” The word had the whimper of a frighten child. “Can you come and get me?”

He started the engine. “Where are you?”

“Hiding in men’s room. I’m hoping it’s the last place she’ll look for a woman.”

“Give me fifteen minutes then head for the reception room. I’ll meet you there at the front door.”

“No!” The fear in her voice rose. “They’re locked. I can’t get out before she catches me. I’ll sneak down the emergency stairs. Just park on the upper level if you can and stand by your car so I can see where you are. Please hurry!”

“I’m on my way.”

Instead of her, he met a bullet. It made him wonder…was he set up?