To Catch a Cook: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (21 page)

“I do!”

“Lady, you know what they say about death and taxes? Well, guess what—you don’t have to worry about taxes anymore.”

The woman watched the cop leave the hospital and get into his car. She smiled grimly as she started the engine and followed.

“They aren’t here!” Bond was furious.

“They are! You just missed them. Let me look.” She grabbed the papers he’d already gone through, shoved them back into her tote bag, and pulled it toward her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bond yanked one handle from her grasp and tugged it back. “You’ve just made it worse. Let go!”

“Worse?” She pulled the tote toward herself again. “I don’t think so! Everyone knows about these ticket stubs, and everyone knows I have them, so if anything happens to me, they’ll come looking for you.”

“And I’ll deny it.” He tugged back, being careful not to let the bag spill. He wouldn’t want the wind to catch the ticket stubs—he wanted them safely in hand so he could burn them.

“There’s proof out there, and you know it or you
wouldn’t care.” Angie spat the words at him. “Who has the proof, Bond? Is it Sawyer? Did he know you killed Mika and Cecily? Is that why he’s been hiding? We found him, you know. I spoke with him.”

“I don’t believe you!” Bond gave a hard yank and pulled the tote from her hands.

“Steel-gray eyes, six three, stocky, his hair was probably sandy brown when you two worked together.”

“Damn you and your mouth! I’ll shoot you right now!”

Paavo found the silver SUV off-road in a remote area of the Presidio. Angie wasn’t in it, and as he scanned the too-quiet landscape, his skin turned icy. Here were fifteen hundred acres of cypress, eucalyptus, and pine forests along the Pacific to the Golden Gate, filled with empty officer housing, barracks, and other structures brought about by the end of over two hundred years of military occupation. Countless possibilities existed to hide a person—or to bury a body.

His heart dropped. What was she doing here? She couldn’t have come here on her own—someone brought her to this remote place. Who? Why? He feared whoever did it had but one purpose in mind, to kill her. Paavo couldn’t imagine him waiting. He would shoot, then dump her body.

He remembered the guard saying Bond had left with a young woman who fit Angie’s description. There were hundreds of young women Bond could have left with—no reason to think Angie had gone to see him, was there? She didn’t know Bond…did she? But if she had questions about the movie tickets…and had used logic…

Whoever brought her here might want to use the SUV for his own getaway. So there was some chance that whoever came with her was still nearby. That she was still alive. That he could find her in time.

He had never been to this part of the Presidio before, and wasn’t sure which way to go. Instinctively he walked away from the road and toward the ocean.

The lights of the roadway quickly dimmed, but up ahead the full moon lit an old gun battlement like a ghostly theater. Built along the edge of a bluff, it was about one and a half stories tall, a massive concrete structure upon which, at one time, heavy guns had been mounted to defend the coast against battleship and cruiser attack. Concrete stairs were built into it, and at the top of each staircase was a gun mount. Protecting the guns on the ocean, left, and right sides were tall, wide concrete platforms. Metal ladders led to the tops of the platforms where artillerymen stood with a clear view of the ocean to direct and service the guns. At the lower levels were small rooms where men worked and for gunpowder and artillery storage. Long ago the guns had been dismounted, and now the battlement stood like haunted monuments to a bygone era.

Moonlight on the salt-air-weathered concrete gave the structure an eerie, whitish glow.

He walked up a hill to get a better view of the battlement before him, and when he did, he could have shouted his despair.

Snaking along the edge of the coast, hidden from view of the road, were more and more of the concrete structures, with steps going up two stories to the gun mounts, and little rooms and tunnels tucked throughout.

How was he going to find Angie in there? And if he found her, would she still be alive?

In a fit, Bond threw her cell phone, Palm, address book, electronic planner, tapes, and even her camcorder over the edge. Angie had no idea what the structure was, only that they had walked up narrow staircases and tunnels and ladders to the top, and now sat face-to-face near the precipice, pieces of her tote bag and belongings spread all around Tucker Bond. As his frustration grew, so did his anger.

She heard her belongings crack and bounce on the rocks as they plunged toward the water. The thought that she might be next was the only thing that kept her focused on keeping Bond talking, keeping him distracted and interested in her and her questions. At this point she truly had no idea where the ticket stubs were, and gave thanks that Bond kept searching for them. The gun was at Bond’s side, and she knew there was no way she could stand up and run before he’d pull the trigger and roll her off the ledge to follow her Palm. One way or the other, she’d end up dead.

“I still don’t understand your role in this,” she said, trying to ease herself away from him. She knew she was on the Presidio—maybe some MP patrols might come by, unless they, too, had been decommissioned. If she could hold out, someone would help her. She had to believe that. “Did you work for Partridge?”

“
Me
work for him? Hah!” His hands shook as he shredded her leather-bound pocket notebook, fastidiously ripping out gold-edged page after gold-edged page. “I was one of the few with the insight, the prescience, to see the promise in Silicon Valley, the future wealth there. He just needed a little help, that’s all. The Finns approached him with the idea of swapping computer technology for Russian art
work. He had everything—and was too stupid to see it.”

She remembered Paavo’s description of his meeting with Weston. “You were the one who realized the possibility of combining some of the innovations of Soviet technology with Partridge’s company, right?” His expression told her she was on the right track. “But the Soviet government controlled the technology. To get the Soviets to work with you and Partridge, you had to give them something in return, didn’t you?”

“Think, Miss Amalfi! Where are the tickets?” He ripped the pages, his hands fisting around each sheet, his hysteria building.

“The Soviets wanted more than anything to stop the dissidents in their country,” Angie said, guessing, trying to come up with some scenario to capture Bond’s interest. “That was where Cecily came in. She could give you the names of dissidents in Russia and Finland with West Coast ties. She was young, innocent, and stupid enough to supply you with what you needed.”

“She wasn’t stupid—she was smart and ambitious,” Bond said. “She could have become a special agent, or grown rich working with me and Partridge.”

“Was that where the brooch came in?” Angie asked.

“Exactly,” Bond said. “I was going along, just doing my boring, low-pay job, and then one day Partridge told me about the Tsarina cameo. Suddenly the whole idea came to me, full-blown. I knew Partridge wanted the cameo, but he
needed
Soviet technology to get a jump on his competitors, to become a power in Silicon Valley with me as his very silent partner. I also knew the Soviets hadn’t been able to infiltrate the particular cadre of dissi
dents and smugglers working with the Finns, and Partridge and I could help them find those men. So we each had something the other desperately wanted.”

“I was told the cameo had been used to capture a bunch of dissidents and smugglers,” Angie said. “But I don’t see how.”

Bond snorted. “It was easy. Since the brooch was distinctive and extraordinarily valuable, and since Partridge was working with the Finns to buy valuable pieces for his collection, he asked for them to get it for him. He offered two hundred thousand dollars—which was worth at least five times that in today’s money. Sam Vanse jumped at the chance, and moved heaven and earth setting his contacts in motion.

“At the same time, I went to the Soviets and offered them the people they wanted in exchange for the technology Partridge needed. The Soviets agreed. They then watched and waited, and when the time was right, moved in and rounded up all the dissidents and smugglers who took part in one fell swoop.”

“So that was why the Finns got the blame,” Angie said. “The Russian smugglers thought one of them leaked the information to the Soviet government. Or”—she was aghast—“you planted the story that the Finns betrayed them.”

Bond smirked. “Now you do understand.”

“But the brooch ended up in this country…,” Angie said, trying to piece together this last twist.

“Go on, Miss Amalfi,” Bond said with a sneer. “Since you’re so smart, then what?”

Paavo eased himself through the rugged land to the east of the battlements. He looked for light or movement, listened hard for any sound while staying
within the shadows of the trees and brush, hoping against hope that he hadn’t misread the situation.

Quietly he called Yosh on his cell phone. He needed backup, but not anyone charging in, setting Angie’s kidnapper off, possibly hurting Angie if, in fact, she was here somewhere…and she was still alive….

“When Partridge called you and said the brooch had reappeared,” Angie said, racking her brain, “he was afraid the story might come out—that you and he were the ones who betrayed the Russians, not the Finns. I’m still missing something, though. I don’t see how the brooch ended up in this country….” She thought back to the information the museum curator had given her.

“Partridge was in a panic,” Bond said. “He was always a skittish fool.”

“Did Rosinsky try to blackmail Partridge? Was that it? I suspect he was going to have Jakob Platnikov make a fake to give me, so I’d be happy and not make waves. Did Partridge call you, Bond, telling you about Rosinsky’s phone call? Did you kill Rosinsky and Platnikov to keep them quiet? You knew Paavo and I didn’t have the brooch. Did you go after Aulis, thinking he had it?”

“I’m tired. You ask too many questions.” Bond’s eyes were wild.

“He’s just a sweet old man.” Her throat tightened. “Why did you try to kill him? He couldn’t hurt you.”

“He might have, if he told the cop what he knew.” Bond sounded bitter and disgusted, and Angie realized the coma might have been Aulis’s salvation.

He kicked the tote. “Enough of this!”

The woman silently crawled over the battlements, hidden in the dark by her black clothes. She knew
this area well. It was a place she’d come years ago, a good spot to meet in secret. She didn’t know where the cop was now. He’d taken a look at it and turned away.

She wasn’t about to turn. She could smell her prey. She’d find him now. The weapon in her hand directed the way. For the first time in years she felt a frisson of excitement. Of triumph.

“You worked with one of the Soviets to sell the brooch ultimately to Partridge. Perhaps a corrupt official who caused the brooch to vanish while the smugglers were being arrested?” Angie stared at Bond as, horrified, she didn’t have to guess any longer, but saw the steps, one after the other, that led to the tragedy. Fear left her and rooted; she gave him her vision.

Bond, equally fixated, listened with growing fury.

“Sam found out,” she said, her voice hushed. “Sure—Sam, with all his contacts. They put their information together and must have realized it was an inside job. And when the brooch disappeared, Sam probably thought he knew where it was, with the man who wanted it, the one who put the whole mess into play—Partridge. Is that what happened?”

“Sam talked to Partridge by phone, and Partridge called me, terrified that Sam had figured it all out. Sam showed up at Partridge’s home with a gun, demanding the brooch, believing it would be proof that the Finns hadn’t betrayed the Russian smugglers. He took it and as he was leaving, Partridge shot him.”

“Partridge did?” Angie asked. “But Mika would have recognized him, he owned Omega Corporation where Mika worked.” The death report Paavo had relayed was making more sense. “Sam had a superficial wound to his arm—that was from Par
tridge, wasn’t it? And since Mika didn’t recognize Sam’s killer, it couldn’t have been Partridge. It was you, wasn’t it, Bond? You went there after getting Partridge’s phone call, and hid, waiting to see what happened. And ended up murdering Sam. I bet you never told Partridge, but let him think he was the killer. Was that part of the hold you had over him?”

“You’re raving!” Bond cried.

Angie’s eyes never left his. “Mika tried to get Sam to the hospital. He gave Mika the brooch, but didn’t live to tell him its significance. You must have gone half-crazy trying to find the brooch. Searching crime scenes—probably even the evidence from Mika and Sam’s murder. Did you finally assume it ended up on the bottom of the ocean with Cecily?

“She knew about a safe house.” Angie could scarcely go on as the full force of Bond’s evil turned her stomach. “She told Mika to go to the Cypress Motel while she met with you in secret, her children in the loges or elsewhere in the theater. She trusted you, Bond, told you about Sam and Mika, and the result was, her husband died.”

The quiet roll of the surf could be heard in the distance.

“You killed them both, didn’t you?” Angie asked, heartsick.

“Partridge called me in sheer terror, ready to crack.” His voice was emotionless. “I assured him I would take care of it. After all, the Finns were mostly here on student and work visas; a word from the FBI ought to send them back to Finland where the mob would have a hard time finding them.”

Angie stared at Bond. “But something went wrong.”

Bond snorted. “That asshole shot Vanse. I was outside when it happened. Vanse came out of the
house, wounded, and I knew then it wouldn’t be possible to convince him to keep his mouth shut. I had to save Partridge’s ass. So I followed him.”

Angie cringed at the visions Bond’s words conjured, feeling them as body blows. “You shot Sam in a spurt of anger—and Mika saw you!”

Bond smiled mirthlessly as he picked up the gun at his side. “I didn’t know he was there. Partridge thought Vanse was alone. Up to that night, Vanse apparently hadn’t told anyone Partridge was his contact in this. I was caught off-guard, and had to get away. But then I found Turunen. I had no choice, you see. Just like now.”

A cold voice came out of the darkness. “All those years. I never knew why you killed them.”

Bond’s face went white, his eyes dilated as they searched the darkness. With a half sob, half laugh, he lunged at Angie and, as she screamed, whirled her around, pulling her to her feet in a stranglehold, her arm twisted and her spine tight against his chest.