Kill Signal, page 15
part #1 of Marko Bell Series
She called Shake and told him about the kid and the note. He tried to argue that he should meet her at the new location, but Karen insisted she do it alone.
“I don’t want to spook him, Shake,” she said. “Besides, earlier we agreed we’d follow his directions.”
“That was when he was meeting you in a public place. Now he’s taking you out to the marshes. It’s isolated. There’s not gonna be a soul within a mile of you. I don’t like it at all.”
“It’ll be fine.”
Now she was turning left off Third Street, driving through the point, going as far east as you could possibly go in San Francisco, to a part of town she’d never been to.
“What’s at Heron’s Head Park?”
“Not much,” Shake said. “Just an old PG&E power plant and a spit of land that juts out into the water, with a nice view of the less photogenic part of the Bay. When we were kids it was just rubble and we’d go out there to drink Thunderbird wine. Now I don’t think anybody goes out there, not at night anyway.”
“Which Marko undoubtedly knows.”
“Undoubtedly.”
She drove through dark industrial streets. In her rearview mirror the lights of downtown San Francisco seemed like another world. She came to a visitors parking lot and saw a walking trail out into the wetlands. She parked her car and got out.
“I’ll be fine, Shake,” she said, but she couldn’t deny her heart was beating faster than normal. There was little moonlight and she moved slowly up the trail. She could hear crickets, frogs and other sounds in the dark around her.
“Be ready,” Shake said, and suddenly she flashed back to being in the doorway to Dontae Atkins’ apartment. It was only four days ago but it seemed much longer. She didn’t think Marko was a threat to her, but they couldn’t be sure. She unholstered her weapon.
“I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“If you don’t call me back in a half-hour, I’m on my way there.”
She was about to protest but agreed it was a reasonable safety measure. “Okay, she said. Talk to you soon.”
She hung up. She came to the end of the trail, which was at the end of the spit of land. Bay water lapped around her, and in the dark she though if she took another step she might step into marshy wetness.
Suddenly Karen realized how isolated and vulnerable she really was. In fact, there was no guarantee it was even Marko who had sent her here. She was sure it was his voice on the phone. But who knew what had happened to him since then, or who had given the directions to the law student at the BART station. The description sounded like Marko. But that was all she knew.
In the darkness she could make out the outline of something coming toward her, right along the shoreline.
It was a boat, with no lights on.
Suddenly a spotlight came on, blinding her and causing her to shield her eyes.
Something landed at her feet with a soft thud. It was a life preserver, with a ziploc bag attached to it. The boat had crept closer and Karen saw it was a small fishing boat, about fifteen feet long.
“Put your gun and your phone in the bag and throw it in the water.”
It was Marko shouting over the boat’s motor. For a moment she stood there, not moving.
“I can’t do that.”
“That’s the only way this is going to happen.”
Shake would never let a murder suspect dictate terms, and he most definitely wouldn’t hand over his gun.
She was glad he wasn’t there.
Because there’s no way she could have explained to him why she was putting her gun and cellphone in the bag, zipping it up and tossing it back into the water.
The spotlight was still shining in her eyes and she could barely see Marko leaning over the boat, pulling in the bag and examining it. The boat motor turned off. It was quiet again. The boat was about twenty feet from her, floating in the bay.
“You might have an extra gun on you,” Marko said, his voice more intimate now. “Don’t get any thoughts about using it. I can see you, and I know you can’t see me. I can also see anyone coming up the trail, so I hope you weren’t dumb enough to try any surprises. If I see anything I don’t like, I take off in this boat and I’ll be gone. Within minutes I’ll be climbing ashore at any one of a hundred spots around the bay, with no way for you to call in police boats quickly enough to find me. ”
“I didn’t know you were good with boats.”
“Something I picked up as a kid.”
Maybe there was a chance to build on the rapport she felt with Marko earlier. “Where did you grow up?”
“Not important.”
She decided to lean on the plan she and Shake had discussed.
“It’s incumbent upon me to tell you you’re a suspect in the murders of Maurice Weathersby, Luis Gonsalves, Rafe Strauss, Gabriella Ortmayer and Walter Roark,” she said.
Chapter 23
“I didn’t kill those people,” Marko called out.
Karen heard the desperation in his voice, still echoing in the dark. She believed him, or thought she did. She hoped she wasn’t kidding herself and making the rookie mistake of overlooking the obvious.
“So come on in and prove it to us.”
“What evidence have you got?”
“A service revolver was used to kill Strauss and Ortmayer.”
“That means nothing.”
“Hair and fibers at Walter’s place.”
“A couple hairs on the couch? I’ve been to Walter’s apartment. I’m guessing there’s no blood, no DNA.”
Karen’s silence gave him his answer.
“So you’ve got nothing.”
“You argued with Walter at the Chinatown bar and damn near killed him, after he told you something you didn’t want to hear. He wrote up a memo about it, just before he was found dead.”
“Who’s pushing for my arrest? Cuddy?”
“Nobody’s pushing for it. The evidence suggests you’re the prime suspect. Put yourself in our shoes. You’d think the same thing.”
Marko was silent for a moment. Then:
“You said ‘incumbent.’”
“What do you mean?”
“‘It’s incumbent upon me to tell you you’re a suspect in the murders of…’” Marko said. “That’s the first thing you said to me. The phrasing is awkward. Like you’re saying something you’re supposed to say but don’t really believe.”
“What I think doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it? You gave me your gun, your phone. You met me out here alone. There’s something you need from me.”
“I told you what I wanted to know. About your wife. About La Traviata.”
“Why, so you can retaliate against Danny Cannon?”
“No,” she called out, still shielding her eyes from the spotlight. “It might have started out that way. But it’s not about that anymore.”
He turned off the spotlight, which came as a relief. She could see him a little better, standing behind the wheel of the boat, but he was still more of a shadowy image.
“I told you to talk to your partner.”
Karen felt loyalties pulling at her. She didn’t want to discuss Shake with Marko, or express doubt about him. But Shake hadn’t been totally honest with her.
“Why don’t you tell me instead?”
Marko jiggled the keys in his hand. She feared he would start up the motor and roar off. Instead he laughed.
“What would you do if you were in my position? Would you turn yourself in? Would you count on the justice system to keep you safe? Would you trust in the rightness of the universe to make things come out the way they’re supposed to?”
“If I was truly innocent, then yes.”
“Then you’re more naive than I thought you were.”
“If you tell me who’s working against you, maybe I can better understand.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I want to know the truth.”
“You want to know the truth? Alright, I’ll tell you the truth. My wife died because a bunch of people in the department were taking fistfuls of cash and looking the other way while gangsters operated freely in North Beach. Some of those people are people you know. Some of them are bosses of ours. And keep one thing in mind at all times: Partners always know.”
“Just like you knew about Walter? Is that why you were angry with him? Because he was on the take in North Beach and you partially blame him for the massacre that took your wife from you?”
“Nice try, detective. But you’re missing the point. I know you’re new here. Wet behind the ears. But I was under the impression Chicago was a big city. Please don’t tell me you can’t look a little closer to home.”
It took Karen a moment to catch his meaning, and when it did, faint stirrings and half-formed thoughts that she hadn’t fully allowed herself to acknowledge in the previous two days coalesced to form a clear picture.
“It’s easy to make accusations,” she said, feeling the need to defend Shake, even though it was all becoming clear to her now. Her partner was a man of many small evasions and a weightiness that he seemed to carry just under his mask of good cheer.
“It’s especially easy when they’re true. And remember it goes deeper than the rank and file.”
Another piece falling into place.
Some of them are bosses of ours…Partners always know.
It explained the bond between Shake and Cuddy, which was more impenetrable than run-of-the-mill cop friendship. That sense of a shared secret between them always made her feel excluded.
“Does it go deeper than the homicide bureau?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that why you were talking to Frank Flanagan?”
Marko was silent. Again, Karen was afraid she had pushed too far.
“Maybe we’re both not sure what we’re up against,” Karen continued. “And we’re both grasping at straws. Or maybe we aren’t even sure if there are straws. But we both know there are secrets, maybe really big ones. And we don’t know how to untangle it all.”
She heard Marko scoff in the dark. “Is this where you give the rah-rah speech about how we each can’t do it alone, but if we work together we can move mountains?”
“Go ahead and make a joke out of it if you want. If being cynical makes it go down easier, then be cynical.”
“You didn’t have to go through what I went through.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
In the marshy stirrings, Karen thought she heard in Marko’s silence the beginnings of a grudging respect.
“Alright, so ask me what you want to ask me,” he said.
“Did you kill Maurice Weathersby and his boyfriend?”
“No. And unless somebody planted evidence, I’m guessing there’s nothing tying me to the scene.”
Karen gave tacit confirmation by moving on to the next question.
“Did you kill Rafe Strauss and the young woman he picked up that night?”
“No. And think about how stupid I’d have to be to shoot them with my service revolver. For no known motive that I can see.”
“The motive was revenge. Irrational fury, because Rafe was Maurice’s right-hand man and helped him with his escort business.” Karen paused, knowing she was treading on dangerous turf and not wanting to lose Marko. “And Walter had informed you that he had information related to your wife’s role in that business.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you denying that Walter told you that?”
“He told me that, but he made it up. I’ll bet his little memo was vague on how he obtained that information, right?”
Once again, Karen signaled confirmation by moving on to the next question.
“Why would Walter make up something like that?”
“Because he was dirty. Because my investigation of Roland Solorzano’s death led me toward information about La Traviata. That threatened Walter because he was on the take and got off scot-free. Along with some other detectives I know.”
She let slide the veiled jab at Shake.
“Did you kill Walter Roark?”
“I told you, I’d been to Walter’s house plenty of times. That so-called evidence is less than weak.”
“If all this is true, no matter how dirty the department might be, the D.A would never bring charges against you. And even if it somehow reached trial, a good lawyer could surely convince a jury there was plenty of reasonable doubt.”
“Your faith in the legal system is touching.”
“Alright, I can understand why you went into hiding. I’m working with you here, Marko. I even gave you my gun, because I trust you and think we can help each other.”
“Does that mean you don’t think I’m a murderer? That you wouldn’t arrest me if you had the chance?”
Karen paused. An internal battle roiled within her. She wanted to believe Marko was innocent, and that he could help her solve the puzzle of who murdered the Fieldings. But she couldn’t be sure, not yet.
“As I said, you’re the main suspect. I’d be derelict in my duties if I didn’t bring you in.”
“Derelict in your duties, huh? And it’s incumbent upon you to inform me, blah blah blah.”
She pushed herself to be as open as she could. She sensed Marko was not just mistrustful of her, but of everyone. Maybe total honesty was the only way to get him to open up.
“You’re right, Marko. I’m using these awkward phrases because I know what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to arrest you. And yet here I am. Coming alone, as you wanted. Giving you my gun. Trusting you. I’m torn. I want to believe you. But I can’t if you don’t tell me more of what you know.”
“I’ve told you.”
“You haven’t told me about Donna. She was studying childhood development at USF, according to Danny Cannon. He seemed to think there was some connection between that and the Fielding murders. Why would he think that, Marko?”
“Screw Cannon. He’s a scumbag.”
“Agreed. But he knows something. Or suspects something. Look past your hatred of him and ask yourself what the connection might be.”
“I don’t care about the Fieldings. Whoever they are.”
“What do you care about?”
“You really want to know? Because as soon as I tell you, you’ll know it too. And maybe that puts you at risk.”
“Are you at risk?”
Marko laughed. “Look at me. Do I seem like a guy who’s at ease? Who doesn’t have to look over his shoulder? I’m being accused of murders I didn’t commit. And it’s all because I started asking questions about La Traviata.”
“That proves my point that there’s some connection, Marko. I’m already at risk. And as far as I know it’s got nothing to do with La Traviata. It’s because I’m looking into the Fielding murders.”
He scoffed again. “You? What makes you think you have anything to worry about?”
She imagined him out on the water, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Yes, he had her gun. For the moment he was in control. But the idea that she was also in danger must have struck him as ridiculous.
“A few hours ago, Shake and I were driving on the backstreets near the ballpark,” Karen said. “Someone drove up behind us and tried to kill us. I saw him just in time to swerve and make him miss.”
He was silent for a few seconds, taking it in. Then he said, “I’m glad you’re OK. But I’m not sure how what that has to do with me.”
“I saw the shooter in my rearview mirror. Not much. Just a quick glimpse. But I described him to Shake. We think it’s Wayne Bordelay.”
Again he was silent, as though he wanted badly to trust her but couldn’t be sure.
“That’s a link, Marko,” she continued, in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the rustling of the reeds and the lapping water. “Wayne’s role in La Traviata was well-documented. It was in all the newspapers. And as soon as I start asking questions about the Fielding murders, he comes after me.”
“Maybe he was coming after Shake,” he said quickly.
She had no answer. She couldn’t be sure whom Bordelay was targeting. And since Shake hadn’t come clean with her about his role in La Traviata, she had no way of knowing why he’d be a threat.
“That’s only one link. There are two others. Frank Flanagan was the responding officer in the Fielding murders. And Roland Solorzano’s last conversation with Maurice suggests he had something to do with La Traviata. Maybe Flanagan knew something, maybe even knew it was going to happen before it happened. What did Flanagan say when you asked him about it, Marko? That must have been why you saw him at City Hall yesterday. He was a mentor of yours. You had that access to him. You must have asked him about what Roland said.”
“He said Roland thought he might be fired and was in need of a story to peddle for cash.”
“It’s a reasonable defense. Flanagan’s not stupid. It makes sense that he’d spin it that way. But you don’t believe him, do you? You think Roland was telling the truth.”
“You don’t need to know what I believe. You’re not my partner. And you came here to arrest me.”
“I’m doing a damn poor job of arresting you, by the looks of it. Trust me, Marko. Work with me.”
“I can’t trust anyone. That’s the only thing I know.”
She heard his keys jiggle and then the boat engine revved to life, scattering birds and disrupting the quiet night.
Karen shouted over the sound. “What was Donna studying, Marko? If she had done research into the death of the Fieldings’ little daughter, that would make it the third link. Flanagan, Bordelay and Donna. And that would be too much to chalk up to coincidence.”
“I don’t know what she was studying,” he shouted as he maneuvered the boat toward the open bay.
“Did you keep any of her papers? Any of her research notes?”
“They were all in her backpack.”
“Where is the backpack?”
“I don’t know. She was mugged and the thief stole her backpack. Just a few nights before La Traviata.”
Marko flung something off the boat, slammed the motor into gear and fishtailed out of the marshes. Within seconds he was out of sight on the dark bay. At her feet was the ziploc bag with her gun and phone.
