Circling the Runway (Jake Diamond Mysteries Book 4) Page 17

“The bad guys never rest, Laura.”

  “Tell me about it. What can I do for you?”

  “Does the name Carmine Cicero ring any bells?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He usually causes trouble in my neighborhood, but he was spotted in Oakland earlier today and may have been involved in a homicide. I talked to Don Folgueras,” Boyle said. “I’d like you and Folgueras to keep an eye out for Cicero, in case he has reason to stick around the Bay area.”

  “I can put the word out, Ray. Do you want him picked up?”

  “No. I just want to know where he is, Laura. I’m hoping to follow him to a bigger fish.”

  “We’ll do what we can.”

  “Thanks. I’ll send a mug shot over.”

  “I’ll pass it around,” Lopez said.

  Relieved that his bullshit duties in San Francisco were done, at least for the day, Marco Weido hurried over the Bay Bridge to his favorite watering hole.

  Built from the timbers of a whaling ship, the First and Last Chance Saloon on Webster in Oakland had been a landmark drinking establishment since 1883.

  Marco was a regular. Very regular. If you had the need to find Weido on any given evening, your chances were good at the saloon. And the saloon was where Ralph Morrison had been waiting since seven with the hope of finding the detective.

  Marco entered the saloon and grabbed a stool at the bar.

  The Grinch was at Weido’s elbow in no time.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Detective,” Morrison said.

  “And here I am. If you have something to say, say it, and then give me some breathing room to enjoy my drink.”

  Ralph told Weido what he had learned from Officer Perry.

  About Blake Sanchez, the unlucky kid who had tried to rob a liquor store and landed in the hospital.

  About the gun he used, and how it might be connected to the Sal DiMarco homicide in San Francisco.

  About how they were hoping Sanchez would survive to tell them where he got the gun.

  “The kid is in real bad shape, he may not make it, and he hasn’t been able to say a word,” Ralph said.

  “What in the world would make anyone think it was the same gun,” Weido asked, as much aloud to himself as to Ralph.

  “It’s the sergeant from San Francisco who I told you about earlier, the one who found the Zippo with the Oakland PD logo at the DiMarco scene. I’m guessing this Sergeant Johnson has no good leads and he’s stabbing in the dark. It would be a miracle if there was a connection.”

  “And you say this kid isn’t talking.”

  “Like I said, not a word.”

  “Can you do me a favor, Ralph?”

  “Sure. I would like that.”

  “Hang around the hospital, and let me know the minute it looks like Sanchez might be able to speak,” Weido said. “I met Sergeant Johnson earlier today. He’s dreaming, but I liked the guy and wouldn’t mind giving him a hand if I can.”

  “Would you mind if I sit for a while and have a drink with you?” Morrison asked.

  “Why don’t you get over to the hospital instead, Ralph.”

  Weido watched Ralph leave the saloon. He knocked down the rest of his drink and slammed his glass on the bar.

  Goddamn fucking son-of-a-bitch.

  “Did you say something, Marco?” the bartender asked.

  “Bring me another scotch,” Weido said. “Better make it a double.”

  Jake Diamond and Joe Vongoli sat at the dining room table.

  Darlene and Angela were preparing coffee and plating the Zeppole di San Giuseppe.

  Watching Angela do her magic around food was the only time Darlene forgot how much she was offended by the adage a woman’s place is in the kitchen.

  “It’s hard to believe Bobo Bigelow won’t be dropping in unwelcomed anymore,” Jake said.

  “I’m surprised he lasted this long,” Joey offered. “He was very good at making enemies. Are you sure it was Carmine Cicero?”

  “I saw him coming out. It took me awhile to place him, I’d only had the displeasure of seeing him a few times—and that was three years ago when he was knocking people around for Al Pazzo, and before he dropped the dime on Crazy Al to cut a deal for himself. Luckily, Carmine and Al never learned we’d set them up.”

  “And Boyle thinks if he can get his hands on Cicero, the ape will give up his new boss?”

  “Ray is counting on Carmine to be true to his nature.”

  Angela Vongoli carried a large tray into the dining room. A pot of espresso, four demitasse cups with saucers and spoons, a sugar bowl, and four plates holding the beautiful St. Joseph Day pastries.

  “Joey,” she said, “do you think you can get out of that chair long enough to fetch the anisette?”

  Darlene had to suppress a smile.

  When Ralph Morrison arrived at the hospital he spotted a young boy sitting on the front steps.

  The kid was visibly shaken.

  “Are you alright, son,” he asked the boy.

  “My brother died,” the boy said, looking up at Ralph.

  “Jeez, that’s tough. I’m sorry.”

  “I told him not to try it, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He said, mind your business, small fry, and don’t tell Mom.”

  “Where are your mother and father?” Morrison asked.

  “I have no father,” the boy answered. “Mom is in there. I’m waiting for the police.”

  “I’m the police,” Ralph said. It just came out of his mouth without thought. He liked the sound of it.

  “I know where Blake found the gun,” the kid said.

  “Blake Sanchez?”

  “Yes. My brother, Blake. I know where he got the gun, but I want money before I tell.”

  “How much money?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  Morrison pulled out his wallet and checked the contents.

  “Would you settle for sixty dollars?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  Ralph handed the boy three twenties.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “From under the porch of a house in our neighborhood.”

  “Do you know who lives in the house?”

  “He’s a cop, like you,” Raul Sanchez said.

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Everybody knows his name, and nobody likes him. He’s a real asshole. His name is Weido. We all call him Weirdo behind his back.”

  The blood ran out of Morrison’s face.

  “Are you okay?” Raul asked, thinking maybe he should have waited for a policeman with more pocket cash.

  “I’m fine,” Ralph managed to answer. “Do you think you can keep this between you and me?”

  “Do you think you can get me more money?”

  “Sure. I can meet you back here with forty dollars more,” Ralph said. “How about ten tomorrow morning?”

  “Okay,” Raul said. “I better go in to be with my mom.”

  Morrison watched as the boy walked into the hospital.

  Ralph was not quite sure about what to do next.

  After dropping Theresa Sandoval off at the Hilton, Johnson headed to Vallejo Street to meet Lopez.

  The sergeant stopped at his desk and found a message that Folgueras had called from Oakland.

  “I can cut the gun loose. I can have Officer Perry bring it over to you first thing in the morning,” Folgueras said.

  “I forgot all about it. I’m sure it’s a waste of time.”

  “You may as well follow it through,” Folgueras said. “If only to get it out of the way so you can move on.”

  “You’re right. Have Perry deliver the gun to Yeatman at our ballistics department. It won’t take him long to run the comparison. We’ll get the weapon back to you as soon as we can. Yeatman should be there by seven.”

  “Will do. There’s something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “Blake Sanchez didn’t make it,” Folgueras said. “He died earlier this evening. He was never abl
e to talk.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  The sergeant put down the telephone receiver and walked over to see Lieutenant Lopez.

  “Did Mrs. Sandoval say anything?” Lopez asked when he walked into her office.

  “Aside from thanking me, she said exactly one word. No.”

  “No?”

  “I asked her the obligatory question,” Johnson said.

  “Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to harm your husband?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That it is quite a coincidence Theresa Sandoval lost her key?”

  “Yes. And there’s something else.”

  Isn’t there always, Johnson thought.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Sandoval was originally scheduled to come back from Italy early Wednesday morning,” Lopez explained. “She was set to accompany her husband to the event he attended the night he was killed. At the last minute she cancelled her return flight and delayed it until today.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I made a few calls. The airlines confirmed the flight cancellation and reschedule. An organizer for the Crossroads Irish American Festival fundraiser said she was on the guest list.”

  “Are you going to question her?”

  “I don’t know that I can,” Lopez said. “Her husband was very popular and influential, and so is she. Duffey will not allow her to be interrogated unless we have a lot more to go on. I think all we can do for now is to keep an eye on her.”

  “Terrific. What made you think to look into her itinerary?”

  “Something you said when we talked about the shoe in the apartment door. How it was lucky Mrs. Sandoval didn’t return in time to find her husband’s body. What I failed to mention then is I knew she wouldn’t be returning until today.”

  “How would you have known that?”

  “Roberto Sandoval told me,” Lopez said. “I think it’s time you see this.”

  The lieutenant removed a plastic evidence bag containing a white letter-sized envelope from her desk drawer and handed it across to Johnson.

  The sergeant removed a hand written letter from the envelope.

  After reading it, he gently placed the bag, the envelope and the letter onto the desk.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I met Roberto Sandoval eleven years ago. He was brilliant, and handsome. We were both studying at Berkeley. Roberto was a pre-law student. I was among the many students with no idea what they wanted to be when they grew up. Roberto was the son of a diplomat and I was the daughter of an Oakland cop. It was love at first sight.”

  Lopez rose from her chair and began pacing. Johnson sat and listened.

  “When Roberto was accepted to Yale Law School it was an offer he could not refuse. He asked me to go east with him. At the time, my father was not doing very well. I felt I couldn’t leave him behind. On top of that, I was too much a California girl to believe I could survive in Connecticut. And that was that.

  “Five years later Roberto returned to California, with a beautiful wife in tow, to take the job with the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office. By then, I was a proud member of the Oakland Police Department, struggling to overtake all the boys in the race for a detective’s badge.

  “I ran into Roberto from time to time after I came over to the SFPD. We treated each other like old friends who were now colleagues in the fight against crime. We were what you might call mutually respectful.

  “This past Sunday evening I was tired of sitting in my place, alone. I decided to run out for a drink. I ran into Roberto at the bar. He spotted me, so I walked over to say hello. He was sitting alone at a booth. I could tell he had already had a few. He asked if I would join him. So I did. He told me over several glasses of scotch he was having marital problems, and it was getting more and more difficult to pretend. He said he had brought up the subject of divorce and Theresa tried to talk him out of it. He had announced his intention of running for Duffey’s office and she felt a separation could hurt his chances in the election. She recommended they think it over for a while, and decided to take the trip to Italy to give it some time. By then, we had both had too much to drink. We wound up at my place. He stayed until morning. I woke up knowing it had been a big mistake. I rushed him out—claiming I needed to hurry to work.

  “He began calling me. A lot. When I couldn’t dodge the calls, I told him it was no good. Wednesday, when I got home after work, I found that letter in my mailbox.”

  “He was going to tell his wife,” Johnson said.

  “You read what I wrote on the bottom, insisting it would not work between us, that I had no interest in pursuing it, and he needed to forget about it. I went over to his building with the letter. I covered up my appearance a bit. I intended to leave it with the doorman. But when I arrived the security desk was unattended, so I took the elevator up and I slipped the letter under his door. As I left the building, I nearly collided with Ethan Lloyd and his obnoxious dog.

  “I saw no reason for anyone to see that letter. Sandoval was gone, and it would only serve to blemish his legacy. And there was no reason for his wife to see the letter. When I spotted it on a table in an evidence bag the next day, I picked it up and put it in my pocket. It was an impulsive action.”

  “Do you think Sandoval’s wife had anything to do with his death?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Lopez said.

  “Well, then, what we need to do is try to find out. And, Laura.”

  “Yes?”

  “I agree. There is absolutely no reason for anyone to see that letter.”

  “Thank you, Rocky.”

  There was a light tapping at the office door.

  “Come,” Lopez called.

  Officer Knapik entered with a photograph in her hand.

  “This just came in from Lieutenant Boyle in Los Angeles,” she said, handing the photo to Lopez.

  “Thank you, Officer,” Lopez said, and Knapik left.

  “What is it?” Johnson asked.

  “A mug shot. Carmine Cicero. Boyle asked if we could keep an eye out for the man.”

  Lopez studied the photo and then hurried to her computer.

  “Son of a bitch,” she said after a moment.

  Johnson walked up behind her and looked at the computer monitor.

  “Earlier today a man claiming to be one of ours came into the D.A.’s office asking about Justin Walker,” Lopez said.

  “Who is Justin Walker?”

  “I don’t really know. I only know he was scheduled to meet Roberto Sandoval the day after Sandoval was killed.”

  “Okay.”

  “Duffey’s receptionist thought something was fishy about the guy, so she took this photograph of him when he left the building.”

  “Okay,” Johnson repeated.

  “Look at this,” Lopez said, handing Johnson the mug shot Boyle had sent.

  Johnson looked back and forth between the monitor and the mug shot.

  “Is it the same guy?”

  “It sure looks like the same guy.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch. Are we trying to find Walker?”

  “I put Weido on it, more to get him out of my hair than anything else. I would like you to get on it yourself first thing tomorrow.”

  “Sure.”

  “I doubt we’d accomplish much tonight. I think we both need to call it a day.”

  “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I had an appointment for later tonight that I meant to cancel and I never got around to it.”

  “Something important?” Lopez asked.

  “It’s not important anymore,” he said, knowing how angry Lopez would be if she knew he was thinking of asking Jake Diamond to spy on her.

  Lopez was not a huge Jake Diamond fan.

  “Ge
t some rest,” she said. “We’ll hit it hard tomorrow.”

  “Sure. Good night,” Johnson said, and left the office.

  He tried calling Diamond, but got no answer.

  Johnson decided he may as well keep the appointment. Tell Jake face-to-face the business with Lopez had been a misunderstanding.

  The sergeant would not be needing Diamond’s help after all.

  San Francisco District Attorney Liam Duffey stood out in front of the Downtown Hilton, trying to decide whether to stay or leave. In normal circumstances, the fact the woman was now a widow should have made it much simpler, but that was far from the case.

  Duffey finally admitted he needed to see her, that he could not wait any longer.

  He pushed through the hotel entrance and into the lobby. He knew the room number, and headed straight for the elevators.

  San Francisco private investigator Tom Romano followed Duffey into the building, watched him enter an elevator, noted the floor where the lift stopped, pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet, and approached the young man at the reservations desk.

  Jake Diamond pulled the Chevy up in front of Darlene’s house just past nine-thirty.

  “Exactly how many meatballs did you devour?” Darlene asked.

  “I wasn’t counting. It would have slowed me down. Is Detective Nicolace in there?”

  “She should be watching us from my bedroom.”

  “I can’t see her,” Jake said, looking up to the window.

  “That’s the idea, Jake. Are you going to tell me what your mysterious meeting is all about?”

  “Eventually. I’ll wait until you get inside. Be careful.”

  “Thanks for taking me with you tonight.”

  “Thanks for coming. See you tomorrow.”

  Jake watched Darlene enter the house before pulling away.

  Norman Hall watched them both.

  TWENTY FOUR

  I dropped Darlene off at her house and headed over to my place in the Presidio.

  Parking a car in North Beach on a Friday night would be impossible at best, so I decided to take a cab to the office.

  Travis Duncan would be picking me up there at eleven and he could drop me back home after our date with Manny Sandoval.