Mac is short and round and bald. He has a thick face and a misshapen nose that was rearranged three times when he was a not very good boxer in the Marines. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and a striped tie. “You know I just saw a re-run of Kojak last week. You’re looking more and more like him every day.” I sat down in the slat backed oak chair across from his desk in his office.
“That’s very original.”
“You’ve heard it before.”
“You done?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know Lucky, when you first asked me about the Rhodes thing the other day, I think I asked you to not stir up trouble. I say something like that? I think I did. I’m pretty sure I did.”
“It’s amazing Mac, listening to you. You ask questions, answer them, and then validate those answers all by yourself. You don’t need another person to have a conversation.”
“I wish I wasn’t having this conversation. Which I wouldn’t be having if I wasn’t such a nice guy. Considerate even.”
“You’re a peach Mac.”
He laughed, “Yeah that’s me alright. Anyway, Rhodes was brought in early this morning. As far as I know he hasn’t said anything. Only that he didn’t do anything to anybody. That and he hollered for his lawyer. Convenient that he already has one, huh?”
“What brought the arrest?”
“Clerk at the hotel. Detectives showed him some photographs of guys connected in some way with victim. Known associates type of line-up. Guys he was in prison with or arrested with before. Old guy pointed at your buddy.”
I recalled Ray telling me the desk clerk had not seen him and I wondered if he’d been lying or just missed it.
“Has he been charged?”
“Not yet. He’s going to be. There are fingerprints in the room and on the knife they think is the murder weapon.”
“Where did they find the knife?”
“In a dumpster in an alley behind the hotel. Big six inch blade Buck knife.”
“Fixed with the victim’s blood and Rhode’s fingerprints. That what you’re saying?”
“You’re not losing a step in your retirement are you?”
“So he kills the guy and then dumps the knife right outside in an alley?”
“You were a cop. Brains aren’t something all these guys got in excess. Maybe your pal is one of the not so bright ones. Maybe he panicked. Hell, I don’t know. I’m not a shrink. But there’s a connection between them from prison. Maybe there was an old grudge, something lingering that went wrong between them.”
“You’re saying there’s no motive yet. That right?”
“I’m saying they don’t have one yet. Right now, no. Doesn’t mean they won’t find one.”
“Keep me posted?” I asked.
“Nothing is more important.”
I left his office and stopped by the water cooler for a drink. Two cops came around a corner and walked toward me. The older cop was plain clothes in a shirt and tie with a shoulder holster and a badge clipped to his belt, and the younger cop was in uniform. The older cop had his arm draped casually across the shoulders of the younger man. They were laughing, and when they got close to me it was the young cop who spoke.
“Looks like more trouble for your friend Rhodes,” Marty Milner said.
“Yeah, it does.”
“I know you,” the older cop said. He removed his arm from Milner’s shoulders and got a paper cup and drew some water from the cooler.
“Yeah we met.”
“You’re a friend of the guy arrested for the hotel murder?”
“Sort of,” I said, but I had the uneasy feeling that Officer Frank Cole knew the answer to his question before he asked.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I was waking to my car when my cell phone rang.
“It’s Tetlow.”
“Morning.”
“Sorry I missed your earlier ca…calls. They ab…about Ray?”
“You heard?”
“I’m on my way to s…s…see him.”
“Okay. You know there’s something else. Just learned. It’s two cops. Connected to Ray and to Ramus and to each other. One is Milner, the young cop who originally busted Ray, and who I met and spoke with. Other one is an older, veteran guy. Officer Frank Cole. Cole was the first cop on the scene after I called in the Ramus mess. He was also the officer involved in the robbery case against Ramus. The one where the charges were dropped. This morning I learned they’re buddies.”
“Yeah? Interesting, b…b…but maybe not unusual. C…c…cops are connected in lots of ways. Co…coincidental is my guess.”
“Probably,” I said. “Let’s talk later.”
“Bye.”
I had the Ramus file in my car and re-read the report on the jewelry robbery. I wanted to pull a bit on the string that connected Ramus and Cole. The store Ramus had hit was the Lee Wong Jewelry Store on Grant near Jackson in Chinatown. I headed in that direction.Wong’s place wasn’t going to be open for another hour so I found a café and ordered a couple eggs, a bagel with raspberry jam and coffee. I bought a paper, read the sports section, and worked the daily chess problem until my coffee was cold and my frustration level with the chess solution high. As I walked back to Wong’s, I telephoned Kathleen.
Keith answered the other end. “Hey Dad.”
“What are you doing home? Don’t you have young minds to corrupt this morning? ”
“A flexible schedule is a teacher’s luxury.”
“One of the few, I’d say.”
“You’re right about that. What’s up?”
“Looking for Kathy. Got some news.”
“Actually she just left for San Francisco. Had some meeting at the zoo, and then she was hoping to find you. She called you at home this morning but you didn’t pick up. I’m sure she’ll try again on your cell. She’s wondering about her friend.”
“Well, her friend is in more trouble.”
“What else?”
“He’s been arrested again. This time for murder.”
“Holy shit.”
“I’ll fill you in later. When I know more.”
“Dad, you know you can pull out of this thing. You don’t have to do this. You don’t even know the guy.”
“I know. Unfortunately, I know your wife, and I said I’d look into it. Didn’t expect it would spin out like this.”
“Well, it’s your call.”
“How’s the kids?”
“Good. I just got back from taking them to school.”
“Later, then.”
I pocketed my cell phone just as I arrived at the front door of the Lee Wong Jewelry Store. Mr. Wong was a small man with glasses, bent over almost in half from a lifetime of working buckled over at jeweler’s bench. As the first customer of the day, I was warmly greeted, but his smiled faded immediately when I explained I wanted to talk about the recent robbery at his store.
“That all over,” he said, waving his hand in the air for emphasis.
“I know that,” I said. “But…”
“All done, now,” he said. He moved behind a glass display case and pretended to be rearranging the necklaces on view.
“Mr. Wong, I’m just curious why the case was dismissed. Did you have anything to do with that?”
Wong looked up at me from his crouched position behind the display case. “All finished, I said. Don’t want any more. Don’t want go to court. Nothing. I drop the charges, okay. I keep my part of the deal.”
“What deal?”
Wong stood up. “What you mean?” he asked. “Who are you? You cop? I have work to do.” Wong turned away and slipped behind a navy blue velvet curtain separating the customer’s half of the store from the workshop in the back. As I was wondering what part of what deal Wong felt he had kept, a couple of new customers entered the store.
“Hello,” the man said.
“Hi, the owner should be right with you. He’s in the back. Feel free to look aro
und.”
“Why thank you,” the wife said.
“Not at all,” I said, and moved to the front door.
“Look, Grace, here’s some necklaces with rubies,” the husband said, already looking to buy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was concerned about Carol, with Ray back in jail, and drove to her Divisadero Street apartment. She didn’t answer the door, so I went back to my car, dropped down the few blocks to The Penthouse, and parked in the loading zone in front a few minutes after eleven. The front door was propped open for the morning customers, and the blue haired cashier had been replaced by a beefy thick necked buster with acne who looked like he might have played football at some point and lived on a diet of ice cream and steroids. He had a big unnatural sized head and the cartoon shaped muscle definition of a former weight lifter. Probably hired to bounce randy customers getting too friendly and touchy feely with the girls. This morning he drew the door and the cash register.
“Twenty dollars,” he said as I approached. A little red cardboard sign on the counter explained that I was fortunate enough to get the Early Bird rate. The mid-day prices jumped to twenty-five and the evening price was thirty dollars.
“Are the evening shows more exciting?” I asked.
“What do you mean?
“Different pricing.”
“Buy a ticket now and it’s good all day. Then you can decide.”
“Wow. That’s a deal.”
Thick neck looked at me like I was an idiot.
“So, you want a ticket?”
“I’m not sure. I’m looking for a friend. Girl who works here. Carol Rhodes.”
“You’re friends with one of the girls, huh,” he asked with a sneer.
“That’s right.”
“You a father looking for his stray?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, there’s no girl…no Carol works here.”
“You know all the girls?”
“Of course,” he said proudly.
“Well she works here,” I said, and described her.
“That’s Devin,” he said.
“Ah, the theatrical stage name,” I said.
“Oh yeah? That’s not her real name.” He nodded his head as if he’d just learned some important new piece of information. “Well, whatever her name. She ain’t here.”
From behind a mirrored door to my right a girl came out dressed in a yellow satin bikini with sequins glittering on the small triangle at her crotch. She had on four inch heels and was carrying a pack of Salem’s and a thin silver lighter.
“Hi Ronnie,” she said to steroid boy.
“Hi Amanda.” Ronnie drooled after Amanda as she moved down the hall and disappeared behind a curtain.
“Ronnie, help me out here. When is she scheduled to work?” I took a ten dollar bill from my wallet and slid it across the counter. “Carol. Or Devin.”
“Carol?” he looked perplexed, and I wondered if Ronnie might have just reached the top of his achievement level at The Penthouse, but then his thick paw moved for the money. Maybe he wasn’t as slow as he appeared. He smiled and reached below the counter and came up with a clipboard. He turned the top page and ran his finger down the page. “Here it is. Six tonight. Six to midnight.”
“You got a cell number for her by any chance.”
“Sure, but you can’t have that. Lot of wackos work on chasing these girls, you know. Can’t give out that kind of stuff.”
I showed Ronnie another ten.
“No way, man. Not worth it. I’d get fired.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“So you’re not coming in?” he asked as I turned and walked out.
Back outside, I immediately had my attention focused on the Meter Maid about to write me a parking ticket.
“Hey, wait a minute,” I hollered.
She turned toward the sound of my voice.
“Official business,” I said.
“Yeah?” She dropped her hands to her hips and struck a pose. “What kind of official business? Are you an official pervert?”
“I’m a cop,” I lied and quickly flipped open my wallet and flashed my badge.
“Think I’m an idiot? That’s not SFPD.”
“Pasadena. I’m working on something, an investigation that brought me here. This place.”
“Uh, huh.” She was not impressed.
“Come on now, give me a break. You know Lieutenant McNamara?”
“McNamara works at Bryant Street?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yeah, I know him.”
Thinking we now shared a bond, I smiled. “You also a friend?”
“No, not really. In fact, I wrote up his wife a month ago, after she also tried to use his name to get out of her ticket. I got lit up about it from my boss. So, no I wouldn’t call him my friend.”
“Oh, sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are. But I don’t want to hear it again, so you get a pass. But be careful with your official investigation. You could catch an official disease.”
She was pleased with her little joke and turned away. As she pulled away from the curb the sputtering vehicle coughed and spit and sent clouds of black and grey smoke back in my direction.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Happy to have escaped a fifty dollar parking ticket, I got back in the car and drove to Ramus’ hotel. The old guy at the desk had identified Rhodes, though Ray said he didn’t think he’d been seen. I figured I’d check on the old guy’s memory.
The lobby of the hotel was quiet and empty. The sound of the television was absent and I didn’t see anyone sitting behind the reception counter. After a minute the elevator started making ancient metal commotions and came down to the lobby from the upper floors. The metal grate slid back away from the latch and the distinguished looking black man I’d met before stepped from the elevator. Beside him was a young scrawny kid in his early twenties with a bad haircut and tattoos on both forearms. They both paused momentarily when they saw me, the kid turning briefly to close the elevator grate.
“Hi,” I said.
“Yeah? Can I help you?” the kid asked.
“I don’t know.” I made eye contact with the black man who nodded a greeting. “I was looking for the guy who works behind the reception desk. Elderly man.”
“That’s Henry,” the kid said. “Not here today. Doctor’s appointment or something. I’m your huckleberry. You need something?”
“Maybe. Maybe, you both can help me. I’m working on the homicide from the other day,” I said, hoping my tone and carriage would lead them to assume I was SFPD.
“Oh, yeah?” the kid’s energy level lifted, and the black man eyed me with a new curiosity.
“An arrest’s been made. Henry identified one guy. But maybe you guys know things, too. You know Ramus at all? Friendly with him? Ever speak with him?”
“Not me,” the kid said. “I remember thinking when I heard about it, I don’t even know this guy. Asked Henry about him, after it happened. Name on the register. That’s it to me. Just a name. Nothing more. Must have missed him the shifts I was working.”
“We were on the same floor,” the black man said. “Third floor. He was just down the hall. But I didn’t know him. Maybe once or twice he said something to me. Once he asked me for a cigarette, I think. I don’t smoke. Seen his type though. All my life seen this guy. Trouble on him like a suit of clothes.”
“How about visitors? People who might have come to see him? People asking about him? People not residents here in the hotel?”
The black man tilted his head, as if a recollection had returned to snuggle in the forefront of his brain. “Seems like I remember seeing you here before,” he said with a small smile. “Showed you about the elevator catch. You’re not a resident.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” I had no reason to believe he knew I was the one who found Ramus’ body, or was previously looking for him. I described Rhodes to them. “That sound lik
e anyone you might have seen before?”
“Lots of people in and out of this hotel, sir,” the black man said. “Lots of types.”
“I understand.”
“That could fit lots of guys around here.” the kid said. “Hell, around anywhere.”
“Could be that sounds familiar,” the black man said, after re-thinking my question. “When you say the thick black oily hair. That rings a bell. See a guy like that. Don’t know about that day, though. Or when it might have been. Don’t know that.”
“I think I might have seen that guy, too. Now that George says that,” the kid added. “Hair combed kind of high. Like a pompadour. A rock-a-billy cat.”
Having two more witnesses who could identify Ray having been at the hotel was not the best news. Hoping to call into question Henry’s memory, I accomplished little except to add more of Ray’s meat to the pot. I figured my best move might be to leave. So I did.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kathleen was sitting in a metal rocking chair on my front porch drinking a soda when I pulled in my driveway. Lou was beside her, but jumped up off the porch to greet me. Unconditional love.
“Hi Lucky,” Kathleen said. She stretched her arms high above her head and got up from the chair.
“Kathleen. Been waiting long?”
“I don’t think so. Sort of lost track of the time in the peace and quiet. It’s a rare treat for me.”
“Someday you may have more than you want,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a kiss of the cheek. I unlocked the front door, and as we entered the house, Lou ran past us toward his water dish in the kitchen.
Kathleen drifted toward the couch and dropped her purse on the floor.
“You don’t get lonely do you? I think of you as the self-sufficient type. The rock of independence.” She sat down on the couch, glanced at the cover of a coffee table book about the history of San Francisco, and then shifted her attention to the brass framed photograph of my wife Patti. She ran a finger around the edge of the frame like a caress.
“I don’t mind being alone,” I said. “But everybody gets lonely at times.”