The Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Box Set 1

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

THE SANTAS WERE STANDING outside the Fior d’Italia restaurant waiting to meet the woman Joe the Pistol had phoned. To their surprise, as they cheerfully wished Christmas greetings to passers-by, people kept handing them money.

They took it.

Then, a little boy and girl went walking by. The boy looked about seven and the girl six. They stopped, glared at the Santas and stuck out their tongues.

As they started to walk away, Guido Cucumber limped after them. "What’s the matter with you kids?" he yelled. "Don’t you know better than to treat Santa Claus that way?"

"We hate Santa," the boy said.

"Yeah, we hate you," the girl chimed, but her blue eyes filled with tears.

"Hey, what’s wrong? Santa didn’t do nothing to you," Guido protested.

"You aren’t coming to our house," the boy said. "Daddy’s sick and can’t work. We wanted bikes, but Daddy said no way. Santa doesn’t give things like that to poor kids. Seems to me, the rich kids could get their parents to pay for things, so it’s the poor ones Santa should help."

The Cucumber nodded. "Well, your Daddy may be right most of the time, but there’s twelve of us Santas here, and maybe we can work something out. You tell me where you live, so I won’t have trouble finding the right house, and maybe between the twelve of us, we’ll be able to help you."

The kids looked wary. "I thought Santa Claus knows where everybody lives," the boy said.

"Well, yeah, but look at us, we’re getting old. You know old people are forgetful sometimes."

The kids gave their address, and all the Santas wished them Merry Christmas as they left.

"What are we gonna do?" one of the Joes asked.

"Think guys. Who do we know who can help?" Guido looked from one to the other.

"Santa's dead," Peewee said remorsefully. "We know all about it."

"Where's Santa's bed?" Frankie, formerly "the Ear," shouted. "I'm ready to lay down. All this is a lotta work!"

They ignored him, as usual.

"No problem. I know someone," Joe the Pistol said with a big smile. "Big Leo's kid, Punk Leo. He sells toys and all kinds of stuff. I’m going to his house tomorrow for Christmas dinner. We can call him."

Joey Zoom stared at him, annoyed. "Did you tell him we was all coming here today? We weren't supposed to tell no one."

"What's the big deal? He’s expecting me," the Pistol argued. "His wife’s aunt’s husband was my wife's brother-in-law, God rest his soul, so we're related. I told Punk Leo not to worry, that we was all dressed in Santa costumes so nobody’d recognize us."

"I hope you’re right," Guido Cucumber said, "and I hope he knows enough to keep his mouth shut."

"Sure he does. Let’s go find a pay phone. I’ll call him. You’ll see. Punk Leo’s a nice guy, despite what everybody says about him. He’ll get some bikes and deliver them to those kids. No problem."

"Hey, wait a minute," Lorenzo the Slug said, his bushy eyebrows knitted with suspicion. He'd come in late to the conversation since he was using the snazzy facilities at Fior d'Italia. "If you talked to Punk Leo, how come you didn’t know Big Leo’s dead?"

Joe the Pistol shrugged. "I ain’t talked to Big Leo since the summer of eighty-three. We had a fight. I was gonna ask Punk Leo about him when we got together. Don’t need to now."

"What was the fight about?" Lorenzo asked.

Joe looked remorseful. "Damned if I can remember."

o0o

"You were talking about Stonestown," Richie said after a long silent period punctuated only by curses as more time elapsed without a van sighting. It was nearly seven-thirty. "I remember that Punk Leo runs an import-export business. Furniture, toys, all kinds of stuff. I'm pretty sure his warehouse is right by Stonestown."

Rebecca’s head snapped toward him. "That means he probably ships furniture around the country, or the world. He would have access to large crates, easily big enough for a body."

"Exactly," Richie said.

The more Rebecca thought about it, the more sense it made. Wrap the body up good, pack it in a furniture crate, put on a sticker to Madagascar, and then pay a few bribes once it arrives. Who’d know? Or, even simpler, ship it to Las Vegas and pay some friends down there to create another lump out in the desert far from town. Easy. But, why?

And, if someone were trying to get Cockeyed Lanigan’s body to Leo’s shop, what if they freaked out at all the security around the mall due to Christmas, dumped the body and took off?

"Let’s go check the place out," she said.

"I don't think so." Richie looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. "My guys won’t be at Leo’s business."

"How do you know?" she retorted. "He acted more than a little suspicious. He clearly knows more than he’s saying."

There was more under-the-breath muttering about women and cops. "All right, Inspector. We’ll take a quick look, then we’re out of there and back to North Beach. I’ve got the feeling they aren’t far away."

Stonestown was almost completely deserted since it closed early on Christmas Eve. They found Punk Leo’s import-export business, then drove to the loading dock area in back of the building. All the lights were out. It looked quiet and empty.

Richie parked along the side of the building, then they tried the doors, hoping to find one open and something going on in the warehouse. They didn’t.

"Well, it was worth a try," Richie said, dejected. "I should give this up. I don’t know where else to look, what else to do. I guess it’s time for me to face the music."

"Which means what? Are you in trouble? We’ve spent the whole day searching, Richie, and I don’t even know why."

For a moment, the way he gazed at her, she thought he might open up. He didn't. "You don’t want to know. Trust me. I’m supposed to deliver them somewhere. That’s all there is to it."

They started to walk back to his car. "Well, maybe they’ll go there on their own," she consoled.

"They don’t know where it is. It’s a secret." He glanced over his shoulder a moment. "I’m sure they expect someone will help them, but I can’t if I don’t know where they are."

"That makes no sense," she insisted.

"It doesn’t, except that they’re old guys who are used to others looking out for them."

"As in, they’ve been in jail most of their lives?" Rebecca asked suspiciously.

"As in ... you might be right about that. Whatever it means, I lost them, and I’ll have to pay the consequences."

"You make it sound as if the consequences are dangerous." They parted and he walked toward the driver’s side, she to the passenger’s.

He looked upward. The stars shone brightly in the clear night sky, the moon just rising over the mountains. "I'll find out," he said.

He was maddening. It was like talking to a cipher. "Well, you might be wise to worry." She faced him over the top of the car. "A killer is out there somewhere. Maybe he’s hunting down your Santas—maybe not. But he’s there, and if you’re involved, you could be in danger as well."

"Me? I never do anything dangerous. I’m allergic to it."

Just then a shot rang out. Richie ducked after feeling the bullet whistle by his head. Rebecca dropped behind the Porsche. A dumpster was behind her and she ran to it, curled between the trash bin and the wall, waving for Richie to follow. He did.

As far as she knew, Richie Amalfi wasn't armed. But she was. She slid the gun from the special pocket in her handbag. She thumbed the safety off and waited. One more shot, and she’d see where the shooter was hiding.

"Cover me," he whispered.

"They only do that in movies," she hissed and made a grab for him.

She was too late. He sprinted off in the direction of the shooter and stood behind a telephone pole. Another building was beside the import-export loading dock, and that one also had a large parking area with pillars and ramps. Richie headed for it.

With a curse, she followed. Spotting a smashed beer can, she grabbed and tossed the can far as she could toward her right, hoping the sound as it landed would draw fire and she’d be able to spot the gunman.

It didn’t.

She scrambled after Richie. She had no idea where he’d disappeared to, only that he needed some protection ... and she needed to catch a killer.

She heard a "thump" then an "Oomph!" followed by another "whack, thump, blam." Quickly, she followed the sounds. Two men held Richie while Punk Leo pummeled him … again.

She stretched out her arms, a two-handed grip on her gun. "Stop right now, Leo!" she shouted loud to make herself heard over the swearing, punching, and Richie’s grunts of pain. "I don’t miss when I shoot!"

Leo’s arm was high when he looked over and saw the barrel of a powerful Glock facing him. It wasn’t some wimpy twenty-two. It was big. A cop’s gun.

The two guys with him decided to show respect for a serious firearm. They let go of Richie and ran. She let them go. It was Leo she was after.

"So, your girlfriend’s a cop," he said, his voice sneering as he faced Richie who was sitting on the ground rubbing his ribs and stomach. "What were you thinking bringing a cop to my house? Here, to my business? I told you to keep away from me, but you wouldn’t listen! This isn’t over, Richie."

"Yes, it is," Rebecca said, showing her badge. "I’m bringing you in for questioning about the death of"—she hesitated, but it was the only name she knew—"Cockeyed Lanigan. You’re not under arrest yet, but you come quietly or you’ll be charged with assault and battery."

"I didn’t hurt Lanigan! I was trying to stop him from ..." Suddenly, he shut his mouth. "I know nothing. I want to talk to my lawyer. I won’t answer any more questions."

She knew enough about the law and lawyers to know there was no way she was going to be allowed to interrogate Leo on Christmas Eve after he’d asked for a lawyer. Probably not Christmas Day, either. She didn’t have enough probable cause to go after an arrest warrant. Not yet, anyway. "You’ll have plenty of chance for that," she said. Let him stew awhile, she thought, as she turned her attention on Richie. "Are you all right? Do you want to go to a hospital?"

"I don’t need a hospital." He got up and walked to her side as he felt the damage done to his bleeding lip. "I just need my handkerchief back. And I want Leo to tell me where the old Santas are." He faced Leo. "I know you know about them."

"Sure," Leo said eying the two. "I just got a couple of kid’s bikes and I need to make a delivery for them. That’s why I’m out here and saw you two sneaking around my warehouse. Why?" Slowly the light seemed to dawn. "Is that what this is about? You’re trying to find them? You’re the transport, right? And you lost them." He chuckled. "I was wondering about that. Well, I’ll be damned!"

"Where are they?" Richie demanded again.

Leo folded his arms. "No way, Richie. You ruin my Christmas, I’ll ruin yours."

"Damn you!" Richie moved forward.

Rebecca put an arm out, stopping him.

"Eat me," Leo said with a nasty smirk.

"Cool it, you two." Rebecca put her gun in the handbag and handed Richie the handkerchief, then faced Leo. "Why did you shoot at us? And why beat up Richie?"

He looked disgusted. "The first was to scare you away. How was I supposed to know who it was around my warehouse? The second was to show what happens to somebody too stupid to run after being shot at. Officially, however, I thought he was a burglar."

Rebecca had to admit to a certain logic to that. "I’ll let you go tonight, but stay close to home and to your phone. We can talk tomorrow—"

"But it’s Christmas!"

"At eleven in the morning. Have your attorney call me. And don't forget. I don't like it when people forget to do what I tell them."

Even in the dark, she could see Leo turn pale. She knew his attorney would call and say he and Leo couldn’t be there until December 26th at earliest, but it was okay. Leo wasn’t going anywhere, and her gut feeling told her he wasn’t a murderer.

Crooked, yes. Murderer, no.

She did suspect, however, that he knew a lot more about the dead Santa than he was willing to say without some major threats. Too much "coincidence" was going on here. Once she got Punk Leo and his attorney into the intimidating location otherwise known as Homicide's interrogation room, she felt pretty certain he would open up. "What is it they call you?" she asked, directing her question at her so-so suspect. "Punk Leo? Very appropriate, if you ask me. Get out of here now."

He ran to his car, casting aspersions on Richie’s manhood the entire way.