Retribution ("M" Mystery) (9 page)

“What’s the question mark by Kitting’s name?” M said.

“It appears that someone was up in the dunes watching her murder, we’re still waiting for word from forensics. Buck said that you recognized your attacker?”

“Yeah, I’d seen him around town dressed like a street person.”

Ramos made note on a pad.

”I’ll put an APB out for every homeless person in town.” He turned to the blackboard and wrote the word “geeree”. “Any idea what that means?”

She stood up and walked around to lean on the back of her chair.

“It’s actually spelled Giri and usually refers to Honor.”

“An elderly couple, staying at the Dungeness Hotel were accosted by an Asian man wearing all black and carrying a long sword. Said he was on a mission of Giri. Any idea if the character at the murder sites can be linked with this?”

“Giri is honor. The characters in blood mean Retribution. Historically, where you find one you usually find the other. Both are verbs and call for some kind of action.”

She walked back around and sat in the chair.

Ramos suddenly looked past her, at the door.

Buck followed his boss’s gaze and turned in his chair as the secretary stepped into the room. Before Ramos could protest the interruption she produced a sheet of paper.

“I think you’d better have a look at this, sir. Results from the finger prints taken off the Kitting vehicle.”

Buck stepped up and took the printout.

“Thank you.” After reading for a moment he looked up. “This changes everything.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Deep in the basement
of the Dungeness Hotel, within the dark confines of the old heating boiler, Peter opened his eyes. Not sure where he was he closed them until he remembered, then lurched to a sitting position. He rotated his arm forward then back, pleased with the painless range of motion, his hand felt better too. He opened and closed his fingers making a tight fist each time. The clock glowed six, reminding him that he wanted to get to the dive shop before it opened.

Nikki Adams rolled her shoulders, turning her head, first left then right with a quick movement that produced a sharp crack. She’d been filling air tanks for the past twenty minutes, hefting them into the water trough to keep them from heating up as they filled with air, then pulling them out and placing them in the rack. Some of the old steel tanks could weigh up to thirty pounds.

The Bamboo Reef was the only dive shop in Dungeness Bay. It was constructed entirely of cinder blocks with two small windows and a steel door, front and back. The inside was circled with dive tanks of every size and color along the wall. Three shelves dividing the floor space displayed fins, masks and spearguns. Underwater cameras, dive watches and breathing apparatus were under glass in the only display case. There was no bathroom and the office was the size of a closet. Nikki kept both front and back doors open to help with ventilation; when they were shut locals knew she was probably closed. The shop had belonged to her father, a retired WWII frogman. When he had died suddenly, everyone had expected her to sell, but living on the coast and diving was the only life she knew.

Nikki had just placed the last tank in the rack when she heard the scraping. Because the front door was always open, she kept the office door closed. When she heard the sound of metal on metal she knew somebody was opening the office door. She stepped into the store expecting to see someone peeking into the office looking for her, and was about to call out. But when she saw the shadowy figure disappear into the office she bit her tongue. Barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt, she moved easily between shelves until she had line of sight into her office. The black clad figure began rifling through a file drawer.

Silently she grabbed a spear gun holding it against her right leg.

“Hey,” she yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

In a blur the figure turned and charged. With deliberate intent, she raised the spear gun and fired from the hip. Amazed that the figure kept coming, she stepped back and pulled down the over loaded shelf of fins and masks, just before being slammed into the back wall of wet suits.

He made his way out the back door and up the dune into the cypress, continuing until he reached Bay View road, and jogged south until he came to the rusted Gremlin parked a hundred yards up an old logging road. He opened the top of his black karate uniform and eyed the hole in his side. Grabbing some newspaper from the back seat, he pressed it against the wound. He reached into his inside pocket, and pulled out the folded job application.

“Mary Margaret Malmstrom, 522-68-1175. At last, the final piece of the puzzle.”

***

“Card Services. May I have the last name of the card holder and your Social Security number?”

“The last name is Malmstrom,” he said, spelling it out so there wouldn’t be a problem. “Social security is 522-68-1175.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malmstrom. How may I help you?”

Ten minutes later Peter hung up the phone and stood holding a hand over the saturated gauze pad he applied to the hole in his side. He felt light headed and leaned against the wall until his vision cleared. He walked into the bathroom where he took off his pants, stepped into the bathtub, tossed the used pad into the trash and poured peroxide over the wound until it stopped bubbling. He had to hurry. There was still one more call to make.

***

“Good morning, Guaranteed Workouts and Equipment. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I placed an order and just discovered that I’ve made an error.”

“That would be sales, one minute please.”

As he listened to the canned music, he played with the tape that held the bandage in place.

“This is sales, can I help you?”

“Hello, this is the Black Dragon Studio and Gym. I placed an order for some equipment and I’m afraid I’ve made an error.”

“OK. I’ve got your order in front of me, what’s the problem?”

“Well see, I’ve expanded my facility...”

Peter hung up the phone. With any luck he’d be in San Francisco when the machines arrived. But first he had to kill Octavio Ramos.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ramos slammed a fist i
nto an open hand “I can’t believe this. It’s Ed Platte. DNA samples and fingerprints match exactly. The man must be sick.”

Buck was already on his feet, headed for the door.

“We’ve got to get an all-points out.” He looked over at his boss realizing that he might be out of line.

Ramos pointed at the door. “Pull the cruiser out front. I’ll get Molly to issue the APB and meet you.” He looked back at M who was now on her feet. “C’mon, you’re still on the case.”

She felt unsteady but wasn’t about to let on. Taking a deep breath, she lurched through the door following Buck into the gated lot where they’d left the cruiser. When she climbed in the back seat he turned around.

“You feel up to this?”

“Let’s just get the son-of–a-bitch.”

He pulled up in front of the automatic gate, anxiously waiting for it to open. With inches to spare, he squeezed through, accelerating around to the front of the building.

Ramos climbed in handing a sheet of paper to Buck as he buckled up.

“I called his office, he hasn’t been in yet.”

Buck looked at the address on the paper. “You think he’s home?”

“That’s my best guess,” Ramos said. “Anybody who would leave so much evidence at the scene of a crime must think they’re untouchable.”

Buck seethed. “Or thinks the police force is a bunch of idiots.”

M leaned over the back of the seat. “Don’t we need a warrant or something?”

Ramos turned to face her. “I have a feeling that mister Platte is going to invite us in.”

“And if he doesn’t?” M said.

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.”

Twenty minutes from when they left the police station Buck pulled up to the curb below Barnacle Court. M walked the two blocks to Platte’s house, pausing to make a show of checking the address on the blank piece of paper she pulled out of her pocket. She confidently walked up the steps, pulled open the screen and knocked.

“Who is it?”

She couldn’t determine what part of the house the voice came from.

“It’s Mary, Amy’s friend.”

She could hear someone coming. The door opened and Platte leaned against the doorframe.

“What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for being Amy’s friend.” She nearly choked on the words.

He stepped out onto the porch and looked up and down the street. “She isn’t here with you?”

She couldn’t believe the charade Platte was going through.

“She doesn’t know I’m here. But I saw how you were with her at the Greens’ crime scene, that being her first really gruesome shot and all.”

She knew that she had to be invited into the house, but that was only the half of it. She’d have to goad Platte into making a pass, or make him mad enough to hit her. Then Ramos and Buck would barge in. If it went to court they’d explain that they had the evidence on Platte and were going to meet M on his porch and attempt to talk him into surrendering. Try for a peaceful solution, instead of getting a warrant, barging in and using force. They heard M cry for help and reacted with her safety in mind. After all, this guy was a murderer.

“She’s new, probably a little nervous. I was glad to help her along.”

It didn’t look as though Platte was going to invite her in.

“She said she’d meet me here.” M looked down the street. “She should be along any minute now.”

She watched Platte for any sign of surprise, but there was none. He must have a heart of ice. She was about to make an excuse to leave when he stepped back from the door. “You might as well come in and wait.”

She followed him in, shutting the door behind her. Once in the house Ramos and Buck moved onto the porch, waiting for her call for help.

Platte walked to the hall. “You’ll have to excuse me for just a minute, make yourself at home.”

M looked around the room. The mantel over the fireplace had no pictures. Where there might have been a television there was a large computer center. She stepped around the captain’s chair and tapped the space bar on the keyboard. The screen came alive. She reached for the mouse but stopped and turned when she heard Platte enter.

“I hope you don’t mind, I was going to check my email”

Platte seemed totally unruffled. “I’m going to put on some coffee, would you like some?”

She shook her head. “No. thanks.”

Platte was wearing a robe. When she turned back to the computer the screensaver was a montage of pornographic stills.

“I hope one of those has given you some ideas,” Platte said.

M stepped around the captain’s chair. “Ideas for what?”

“It’s obvious that Amy was too shy to come here and thank me in person so she sent you.”

M didn’t feel threatened but wondered if just maybe this man believed what he was saying.

“Tell me again why Amy is grateful?” M said.

“You were there. You must have seen how I prevented her from tripping and falling onto the blood splatter. Tessu would have fired her on the spot for destroying evidence,” Platte said, taking a step closer.

She placed a hand on the back of the captain’s chair. “You’ve got to be kidding. Do you really think that Amy is going to express her gratitude with sex?”

Platte took on a look of surprise, and raised a hand to his face. “She never told you? We’ve been living together almost from the moment she joined the crime scene team, we just broke up.”

She had to remind herself of the evidence. For a minute he almost had her convinced he hadn’t killed her and that he didn’t know she was dead.

“No, she never said a word.”

“I know that she felt guilty, it was such a silly argument.” Platte seemed suddenly aware of his dress, pulling the robe together so that it overlapped, he tightened the belt.

“Oh my God, those pictures and this robe, it’s not what it seems.”

She didn’t want to call out. She didn’t want Buck and Ramos rushing in. She wanted to find out how far Platte would carry this charade, if indeed it was.

“Maybe you’d like to explain,” M said.

It was as though she hadn’t said a word. She realized he hadn’t really stopped explaining, but had only paused in his narrative as if to recall a moment.

Platte smiled. “Amy enjoyed our love making, those pictures were her idea. She loved to have sex in different places. Do you know we once made love in the back of her VW right on the beach?”

He giggled at the pretended memory. It was when he didn’t stop that she walked to the front door and opened it. Buck and Ramos stepped up, guns at the ready, as if to go into the house, but she blocked their way.

“I’d like you to put your guns away,” she said.

The men peered around her at the man now facing the computer, leaning over the back of the captain’s chair, alternately giggling and crying. They holstered their weapons. Ramos sent Buck to the cruiser to radio for an ambulance.

“Is he coherent enough to answer questions?” Ramos said.

She just shook her head and walked out the front door.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

M had reached the end
of the walk when Buck pulled up and leaned out of the car without shutting off the engine.

“Got a call there’s been a break-in at the Bamboo Reef. Dispatch said the intruder was described as wearing all black--sounds like our guy has struck again.” She just stood for a moment still caught up in Platte. “C’mon, get in.”

She could feel herself change gears. She didn’t know Nikki all that well. They were the same age and had met in junior high a couple of times. She had met her for the second time when she began diving. By then, Nikki’s father had passed away and she was running the dive shop.

“Was she hurt?”

Buck looked over at M.