Cooking Spirits

Chapter 3

3

Homicide was located on the fourth floor of San Francisco’s Hall of Justice building, a massive gray structure near freeway crossings in the city’s South of Market area.

That morning, Paavo and Yosh were at their desks going over what little information they had turned up so far on the dead body. Right now, the only thing they could say with certainty was that the victim wasn’t homeless—he wore shoes and socks far too expensive for that possibility.

Uniformed officers were going door-to-door asking questions, and one of them might come up with some findings to help them get started. He and Yosh would be joining them as soon as they finished briefing their boss, Lieutenant James Philip Eastwood.

The phone rang. He expected it to be Eastwood, but to his surprise, his fiancée was on the line.

“I’m sorry to call,” Angie said, “but I’m worried about you. You sounded upset on the phone last night. Is everything all right?”

“Fine.”

She waited a moment. “Oh?”

“Really.”

“Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, I called because I’ve been thinking about our living arrangements after the wedding. I know you agreed to move into my apartment, but what if we found a house we could afford to buy? What if I went house-hunting?”

Of all the things he believed might worry her about with their upcoming wedding, their living arrangement wasn’t one of them. “House-hunting? Why?”

“I want to be sure staying in my apartment is right for us,” she said.

He didn't know if he should be relieved or not. He owned a small bungalow in San Francisco’s outer Richmond district that he bought at a decent price because it had no garage, no view, needed work, and was tiny. Angie’s shoes couldn’t fit in it, let alone the rest of her possessions. She had a much larger apartment, but it was in her father’s building. And Salvatore Amalfi didn’t like his baby girl marrying a cop. He wanted her to marry a doctor, a lawyer, or—god-forbid—a political up-and-comer. Anyone but a guy who ran around the streets of San Francisco with a gun and a target on his back.

Sal was even unhappier about their relationship since Angie had a propensity for putting herself in danger because of Paavo’s cases. “What’s this new concern, Angie? Where did it come from?”

“Nowhere,” she said.

He didn’t believe that one bit.

She continued, “I’m open to change, that’s all. This may be a good time to buy. Do you object?”

“Of course not, if that’s what you want to do.” The high price of San Francisco property mixed with Angie's expensive taste flashed before his eyes, making him glad debtor’s prison was a thing of the past. “But we’ve got to be able to afford what you find. Us, Angie, not your wealthy father.”

“Good. I'll get Cat to help me. I love you and want you to be happy. You know that don’t you?”

“Of course, and I want the same for you.” They soon said their goodbyes.

Paavo shuddered at the thought of Angie and Caterina, her realtor sister, together. They rarely saw eye-to-eye, but when they agreed, anything could happen.

“What’s going on, Paavo?” Yosh asked. “You look worried. Is Angie already spending all your money? You aren’t even married yet.” Yosh, a six-foot tall Japanese-American, built like a sumo wrestler, had married his first love when in his early twenties.

“She’s going house-hunting,” Paavo answered.

“I thought your living arrangements were settled.”

“Did you say house-hunting?” Bo Benson spun his chair around to face Paavo and then leaned back in it.

“I’m afraid so,” Paavo replied.

Bo and Paavo had been the confirmed bachelors of the group. Bo loved women and loved dating. Date many and often was his way of thinking. In his early thirties, smart, good looking, African-American, a sharp dresser, he hadn’t been tied down yet, and had no plans to be. He liked to joke that Angie had worn Paavo down. Not exactly, but even when Paavo tried to break it off, Angie kept coming around. She was convinced he needed her, and a convinced Angie was a force of nature.

Not that he minded if truth be told.

“You had a good deal going, moving into Angie’s fancy penthouse,” Bo said. “Why blow it?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be a kept man,” Luis Calderon chimed in. One marriage, one divorce, and he had been miserable ever since. Calderon, in his late 40's, was sour before the divorce; after it ended, he made pickles seem sweet. “Moving into her place isn’t the best way to start a marriage. Gives the woman too much power. That never works out. You got to show her who’s in charge, put her in her place right from day one.”

“‘Put her in her place?’” Rebecca Mayfield echoed, disgust dripping as she faced Calderon. Rebecca, in her early thirties, had never married. She dated occasionally, but hadn’t been serious about anyone as long as Paavo had known her… except maybe him. She and others in the squad often hinted that she was much more ‘right’ for him than Angelina Amalfi. Tall, blonde, buxom, serious, a crack shot, she was an absolute straight arrow when it came to policy and procedure, and always said what she meant.

Quite the opposite was Angie. Short, dark hair, with a slight build, she skirted the law or anything else that stood in her way and readily skewed, if not skewered, the truth. All the Amalfis were that way. There was the ‘real’ world, and then the world according to the Amalfis.

Given all that, Paavo had to admit his cohorts were right. And yet, while Rebecca might be more his type than Angie, she didn't stir his blood, and around her he never did foolish things. He had never met anyone like Angie. Staying away from Angie would have been the rational thing to do, but he couldn't. The heart wasn’t rational, and his heart was lost to one petite Italian-American who somehow managed to wrap him around her fancy French-manicured little finger.

Rebecca was still reaming Calderon out for his statement. “I’m amazed your marriage lasted as long as it did!” she said. “Just because Angie is willing to give Paavo a corner of her lavish, expensive apartment in a building owned by her father, who has ultimate control over where the couple lives and how they live, and probably what they do and how they spend their money, that doesn’t mean Paavo would be 'a kept' anything!”

Paavo looked at Rebecca and winced. He hoped she was joking because if that’s what she really thought, he was in trouble.

"Angie basically lives rent free." Yosh teetered on his chair’s back legs, hands resting on his protruding stomach. "If Paavo moves in with her and sells his place, think of all the money he’ll save. He could invest it, maybe buy his own apartment building in time. In fact, I can’t help but wonder when he’s going to quit police work to become a real estate magnate. Everyone knows Angie and her father consider his job way too dangerous. Instead of doing this, he can become a property mogul, like Donald Trump was before, well, you know."

The others all laughed.

“Can’t wait to see Paavo with a fancy, hair-sprayed comb-over,” Bo chortled.

“Paavo is not going bald!” Rebecca said.

“Not yet,” Calderon muttered with a growl. “Just wait until he’s married and has all the Amalfi women ordering him around.”

The only detective who hadn’t said a word during all this was Rebecca’s partner, Bill Sutter. He’d been nicknamed ‘Never-Take-A-Chance’ because he was always super cautious on the job. Retirement had been on his mind for some time, but nightmares about being killed a few days before he started collecting his pension had scared him. He couldn't yet bring himself to turn in his paperwork.

But even he was about to offer his two cents when, mercifully, Paavo’s phone rang again. Lt. Eastwood was ready for the briefing.

Paavo couldn’t remember ever being so happy to hear from his boss.