Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

“Lemme think, um… Well, she had brown, wavy hair that came down to right below her shoulders. She had light brown eyes and some color in her skin. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup, only lipstick and a little mascara.”

“Was she Caucasian?”

“Yes.”

“How tall was she? Can you describe her body style?”

“I would say she was about five feet, seven inches. She looked to be in shape… Maybe there was a small pooch.”

“Do you remember what she was wearing?”

Judy crinkled her eyebrows as she looked away for a moment. “I believe she had on khaki shorts. She had on a pink and white jacket with a tank top underneath.” Judy leaned in and whispered, “She was spilling out of it if you know what I mean.” She brought her hands up to her chest for emphasis.

“Anything else?”

“A light blue backpack—a small one.”

“That’s a pretty good description.”

“Well, I spoke to her for a tiny bit. She wanted to know if it were possible to wave a cab down around here. They had plans to go to Muir Woods.”

“Did you talk to them about anything else or hear them talk about anything?”

She shook her head. “It was just the cab. We were pretty busy that day.”

“Do you know where they caught the cab?”

“Outside my shop, and it was a Yellow Cab.”

“Are you sure of that?” Kang asked as he jotted it down on a small notepad.

“Absolutely. I gave them the number for the company.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about this woman?”

Judy leaned in once more as her eyes shifted between Kang and me. In a hushed tone, she asked, “Is this woman a suspect?”

“She’s a person of interest,” I whispered back.

“You know, I have this way of knowing if things are okay or not. Just do. I got that feeling about her. Also, it was strange that they were together.”

“Why is that?”

“Well it seemed an odd pairing. She felt a little too old to be palling around with the younger girl, and I didn’t get the feeling they were family.”

“Anything else?”

“My store has a surveillance system.”

Chapter 22

They say luck is nothing more than hard work crossing paths with opportunity. I guess we found the intersection that day. Fifteen minutes later, we had a digital screen grab of the mystery woman.

We thanked Judy and left our cards with her in case she remembered more. Kang emailed the picture to Sokolov and asked him to put an APB out on this woman while I had my office circulate the picture with the media, hoping for airtime. It was imperative we got the word out. Most of the people in that park or in Sausalito on that day were probably tourists and could be leaving the city at any moment.

Kang scuffed his shoes against the pavement as we walked back to his car. He looked to be as confused as I was about the recent revelation of our killer. “A woman, huh?” He finally said. “I thought for sure we were chasing a guy. You think that changes anything?”

“No. We stick with what we know, and we know Piper left the hostel alone, but when she arrived at the candy shop, she already had a friend. So they either met on the ferry ride over to Sausalito or at the ferry building.”

Golden Gate Ferry is a city-run company that manages the commuter ferries traveling back and forth across the Bay. The San Francisco/Sausalito route, with eleven crossings daily, was their most popular route. Neither of us could recall if the ports or the ferries had surveillance systems installed, but we intended to find out.

Because Yellow Cab was located south of San Francisco in Potrero Hills, we opted to pay a visit to the ferry company first. Their headquarters was located in Larkspur, about a fifteen-minute drive north from our location.

We identified ourselves to the woman at the reception desk and waited a few minutes before a white man in jeans and a polo shirt walked toward us. He seemed cheery for someone who was just told the FBI wanted to question him. He stuck out his hand with a sense of confidence and authority. “Hi, I’m Dan Harper. I understand you need information.”

“That’s correct. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Harper led us down a short corridor and into his office. If he was bothered by our presence, he didn’t let on. “Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing to two chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the picture of our victim. “That’s Piper Taylor. She was found dead on Mount Tamalpais over the weekend.”

“That’s terrible,” he said, scrunching his face.

I showed him the second picture of the mystery woman. “We believe this woman was with Piper shortly before her death. We’re trying to ascertain if the two of them arrived in Sausalito together via your ferry.”

Harper’s head swayed from side to side as he let out a breath. “Wow, if you’re wondering if a ticket seller might remember them, that’s going to be a tough one, because there are so many locations you can buy a ticket, not to mention the Internet.”

“We figured as much. We were more interested in knowing if any of your ferries have cameras or if the ports have them.”

Harper shook his head. “The ferries don’t, but the ports do. Unfortunately, we don’t control those cameras. You would have to talk to the Port Authority for access.”

We thanked Harper and exited the building. We were wasting our time following up small leads that may or may not turn up any useful information. I put a call in to Reilly and told him we needed help chasing down info.

“I have just the agent for you, Abby. Agent Austin Tucker joined us recently from Quantico and is eager to get his hands dirty.”

Tucker turned out to be the nervous agent who’d stopped me at the elevators the other day. I took five minutes to brief him over the phone about the Port Authority lead and thanked him for helping out. When I finished my call, I joined Kang inside the car.

“Yellow Cab?” he suggested.

I nodded. “Let’s hope we have better luck there.”

Chapter 23

On our way over to Potrero Hill, we stopped off in the Mission for a quick lunch. We were craving decent Mexican food and had El Farolito in our sights. The place was a known haven for finger lickin’ and belly fillin’ food and always had a line out the door. Luckily, we missed the lunch crowd and only seven people were in front of us. I ordered a carne asada quesadilla and an horchata to wash it down. Kang settled on a carnitas super burrito and an aguas frescas. We were both starving and managed to mow through half our meals before coming up for air.

Still chewing a big bite, Kang made the first effort to speak. Fail.

He took a few more bites and another swallow before trying again. “You think if we find the driver and they remember Piper, anything will come of it?” he asked, wiping salsa from the sides of his mouth.

I shrugged to buy myself more time to chew. “I’m not sure,” I said after swallowing. “I’m hoping that while they talked, he listened. Some of these cabbies pick up on every word their customers say.”

“I’ve been thinking about our list.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Chinatown is so synonymous with San Francisco. I feel like the killer might try to do something with it—maybe a tie-in with a dancing dragon or fireworks, or even Chinese food. Dim sum, perhaps.”

“What’s the body part associated with it?”

“You know, we may not need one. Your vic remained fully intact. He used her entire body as his performance piece.”

“The Golden Gate Bridge is another large icon of San Francisco. Maybe
she
might throw someone over,” I added.

“Are we officially switching from he to she?”

“I think so.”

“There’s no way for us to prevent
her
from throwing someone off the bridge. We would need round-the-clock surveillance.”

I sipped my horchata and nodded my agreement. “Maybe we’re still coming at it wrong, thinking too grand. Remember, everything she did was understated, almost hidden.”

We were walking in circles when it came to figuring out where our killer might strike next. I was running out of ideas, and we were running out of time.

As I picked at my food, I started wondering what our next move would be if the picture of the mystery woman drew no tips from the public. The future looked dim. I tried to concentrate, but I could sense Kang’s eyes boring into my skull. “What?” I finally asked.

He shrugged. “You have a healthy appetite.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, finishing the last of my meal and wiping my hands.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve known a lot of women who were picky eaters or were full after a grape.”

“Well, that’s not me.” I stood and grabbed my purse. “Come on; there’s a cab driver we need to speak to.”

A longer-than-expected drive later—Kang had gotten us lost, and I had put us back on track with the map on my phone—we arrived outside the Yellow Cab Company. We pulled into a parking lot and faced a sea of yellow. “Apparently, this is where all the cabs are when you need them,” I joked as we climbed out of the car.

Kang chuckled.

We headed toward the large, white building, devoid of windows except one near the door. Attached to the building was a garage area where mechanics were busy working on cars. A short, stocky man in baggy jeans and a blue sweater walked our way.

“We don’t do cab service here. You have to call.”

“We’re not here for a cab. We’re here for one of your cabbies,” I said.

Kang and I made our introductions to the man.

“Did one of my guys do something wrong? Which one was it?”

“Actually, we think one of your guys can help us with a case. What’s your name?” I asked.

“My name is Rod Warner,” he said, pulling up his jeans. “I’m the shift manager on duty.” He had Popeye forearms, except his tattoos were faded.

I produced Piper’s picture and showed it to Warner. “Her name is Piper Taylor, and her body was found Sunday morning on Mount Tamalpais. A witness tells us that a Yellow Cab picked her up in Sausalito on Saturday and drove her and a friend to Muir Park.”

“How can this witness be so sure it was one of our cabs? There are other cabbies out there with yellow cars.”

“This witness gave our victim the number for your cab company.”

“Oh.” Warner rubbed the stubble on his chin. His fingernails and cuticles were stained with grime, yet clearly bitten down, which grossed me out more than a little.

“The call should be in the log book. Follow me.”

Warner led us to a small office that looked more like a junk closet. There were stuffed filing cabinets that couldn’t close completely and stacks of banker boxes filled with what I could only imagine was crap. “Have a seat,” he said as he pointed to two mismatched plastic chairs. “I’ll be back with the book.”

Honestly, I wanted to douse the chair in hand sanitizer. The place disgusted me—especially his desk, which had a layer of everything old piled high on it. There had to be at least five empty coffee cups bunched together—one being used as an ashtray.

A few seconds later, Warner returned and sat in the cracked leather seat behind the desk. “All righty,” he said as he flipped through a large, plastic binder. “Saturday… Saturday… Okay, here we go.” He ran is stubby finger down the page. “Ah ha. Got it. Pick up at Sausalito pier in front of the Naturally Sweet store.” He looked up at me. “That sound about right?”

I nodded. “You got a name?”

“Yeah. Vitaly Scherbo. Russian guy. Been with us for about six months. Looks like he hasn’t been around since.”

“Is that normal?”

“Some of these guys work a few days out of the week and that’s it.” Warner ripped some paper off an old McDonald’s bag and wrote a phone number and address down. He offered it to me, but I motioned for Kang to grab it.

We thanked Warner for his time, and I called Vitaly as soon as we exited the building. An old woman answered.

“Phone’s no good. Let’s hope the address is real,” I said as I pulled the car door open.

Chapter 24

It was a forty-minute drive across town, again. Vitaly’s address was in the Inner Richmond neighborhood. His place of residence was on 18th Street between Geary and Anza—smack dab in the middle of San Francisco’s Russian community.

Old row homes lined the street. The address led us to a light blue one that had a unit on top and one on the bottom—Vitaly’s. Kang knocked on the door and took a step back. We waited a bit before he knocked once more, this time louder. I moved over to a curtained window to see if I could see inside, but the material was too thick and pushed tightly against the glass.

“Looks like he’s not home,” Kang said.

“Either that, or he doesn’t want to talk to us.”

I tried the latch on the wooden gate that separated Vitaly’s building from the next. It was open.

“We don’t have a warrant,” Kang reminded me.

“We just want to talk.” I pushed it open and entered the narrow space between the two homes. Behind the house was a small fenced yard with a few stubbles of grass making a go at life. A narrow slab of cement masqueraded as a patio and hosted a couple of beach chairs, and a bunch of empty Vodka bottles surrounded an overturned milk crate that played table to an overflowing ashtray.

“Looks like somebody had a party,” Kang said from behind me.

Vitaly had the curtains drawn at every window, so I couldn’t see inside from the yard, either. “This guy allergic to the sun?”

I stood off to the side of the glass door and knocked on it. A beat later, we heard the front door slam. We both spun on our heels and raced back to the front in time to see a man running away.

Kang and I gave chase and gained on him fairly quickly. I picked up the scent of stale alcohol being left in his wake. He was probably still drunk.

He cut across the street to the other side and was nearing busy Geary Avenue.

“Vitaly,” I called out, “we only want to talk to you.”

He didn’t respond and continued running, now pushing people out of the way. He rounded the corner onto Geary. We followed and were both almost in reach when I heard Kang call out, “It’s okay. I got him.”