Too Many Cooks Page 24

  “Yes?”

  Paavo rubbed his jaw. “Dustman had Wielund’s notes and recipes. Nona Farraday wrote an article on Wielund that said he worked on new recipes at home, not at his restaurant.”

  “He did?”

  Paavo stood and began pacing back and forth in the small office. “And Wielund’s landlord, looking in the kitchen, said the place looked like it was missing something. Like it’d been cleaned up.” Paavo stopped and faced Henry. “Wielund’s notebook! The one with his recipes! The killer would have been the one with the time and opportunity to take it.”

  Henry also stood. “Dustman?”

  “But Dustman had an alibi. He went to work, showed up in the kitchen, got everything started, then went into the office and handled Eileen Powell’s work all day. It might be that no one actually saw him, only saw the light on in the office, assumed he was there working, and didn’t dare disturb him. He could have killed Wielund and driven up to the Sierras in three hours in Wielund’s car. After rolling the car with Wielund’s body off the cliff, he could have walked a short distance and then hitched a ride. There’s an airport in Tahoe. To fly back takes less than an hour. He’d still have been back in time to put the finishing touches on the dinner menu. But why?”

  The shrill ring of the phone startled them both. Henry picked it up and in a moment handed it to Paavo.

  “Smith here.”

  “Sorry to bother you,” Yosh said, “but there’s something you need to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “Angie called. She told me to tell you she’d be doing Henry’s radio show today since he was with you. I thought I’d turn it on and listen to her. But something’s wrong. Do you have a radio there?”

  Paavo motioned to Henry to turn on the radio. The dial was located properly for KYME, but instead of Angie talking about cooking, warbling over the air was the mellifluous voice of Doris Day, singing “Que Sera, Sera.”

  24

  “Don’t shoot, please,” Angie cried, her arms outstretched imploringly. “Please, Lacy!”

  “You’ve got to believe me, Angie! You’re my only hope.”

  Angie’s throat seemed to close. She didn’t know what to say.

  “This is the gun that killed Chick,” Lacy said. “I heard him confront Mark Dustman in LaTour’s kitchen about giving us Karl’s recipe. Mark tried to deny it, but he couldn’t explain how we could have gotten it, if not from him. Next thing I knew, Chick was dead.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Mark planted the gun on me. He said everyone would think I killed Wielund and then Chick. And you do think that, don’t you? Mark was right!”

  “No. I never did. I thought—” She stopped, suddenly realizing how foolish it was of her to ever suspect poor, bumbling Henry of such crimes. She bit her bottom lip. “Please, Lacy, put the gun down. Please.”

  “You couldn’t possibly have suspected Henry, could you?”

  She took in Lacy’s earnest gaze. “Only after the threat came over the radio. It seemed too phony, too much of a setup to throw suspicion away from Henry and not at all in keeping with the rest of the killer’s style.”

  Lacy shook her head, and her arms dropped to her sides. “That was me. I called. I did it to throw suspicion away from Henry and me. If anyone suspected us, if they looked into my past, they’d find out about my films, and Axel, and maybe even Sheila Danning. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Angie nodded, not saying a word.

  “But then Mark told me you were going to tell your friend the cop that Henry or I did it,” Lacy explained. “When your friend came and arrested Henry, I realized that all the other stuff—the films, and even introducing Sheila to Axel—were nothing compared to this, to murder! I had to see you, to explain. To tell you Henry and I are innocent.”

  “Mark Dustman!” Angie whispered.

  Lacy’s weary tear-streaked eyes met hers. “Yes.”

  “Oh, my God!” Angie stepped to Lacy’s opposite side from where she held the gun, and grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here! Paavo didn’t arrest Henry; they’re just talking. They’ve gone to LaTour’s. Dustman usually shows up there a little after twelve. If he sees the two of them together, he might start to worry and go looking for you. If he realizes you’re here, with me, where we could have talked this through—” She shivered.

  The two hurried out of the studio and nearly stumbled over the station engineer, lying unconscious on the floor just outside his console. He was breathing, but just barely. The back of his head was a bloody mass.

  “Dustman’s here already,” Angie whispered. “Get down.” She tugged on Lacy’s arm. They dropped to the floor, below the glass surrounding the console.

  Lacy looked ready to faint from fear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait. He’s got to be hiding somewhere.”

  “I’ve got a gun,” Lacy said, suddenly recalling the weapon she still held in her hand.

  “That’s probably why he didn’t burst in on us. He wants to be able to take it away from you.”

  Lacy inched forward, peeked around the console, and looked back at Angie. “All clear. Let’s run to the door and get out of here.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go in the engineer’s console, lock the door, and call nine-one-one. It’s too risky to run. He might be hiding anywhere.”

  “I’m not letting myself get trapped in there!” Lacy’s whisper was harsh. “I’m getting out!” She stood up slowly, waving the gun from side to side. All remained quiet. She took a step, then another and another.

  Angie didn’t know what to do. If she stayed here, she was unprotected, but following Lacy also scared her to death. Holding her breath, expecting Mark to leap out at her at any moment, she crawled in the direction Lacy had gone.

  Lacy had almost reached the door that led to the outside corridor when, from behind a metal file cabinet, Mark Dustman reached out and grabbed her hand.

  He twisted her arm. The gun dropped, and he threw the terrified Lacy to the floor.

  Angie darted past them toward the door. She hadn’t even reached it when she was slammed against the wall. Her breath came out in a painful whoosh. A hard arm went around her waist; cold metal pressed against her temple. “I can shoot you here if I have to. It’d just be a little quieter in a sound-proof booth.” Dustman chuckled.

  “Why, Mark?” Angie cried.

  “Shut up!” He dragged Angie closer to Lacy. “Get up.”

  Lacy cried. “I can’t. I think you broke my arm.”

  He shoved the fallen woman with his foot. “Move it! You’re going to shoot Angie and the engineer and then, in remorse, you’re going to kill yourself. Now get the hell up!”

  Lacy sobbed hysterically. In disgust, Dustman pushed Angie aside hard, knocking her into a supply cabinet, then reached down for Lacy, grabbing her hair to pull her to her feet. She screamed.

  Paavo and Henry stepped off the elevator. A scream pierced the air, and Henry began to run.

  “Stay back!” Paavo ordered.

  Henry didn’t listen but burst into the radio station. “Lacy!”

  Paavo first saw Angie, leaning against a cabinet, her face terror-stricken, and then Mark Dustman. Dustman let go of Lacy’s hair and spun around, his arm outstretched, in his hand a .38 caliber revolver.

  Paavo grabbed the back of Henry’s suit jacket and yanked him back as hard as he could, into the corridor, just as a shot rang out. Henry cried out, falling and landing hard against Paavo’s bad shoulder. A mind-numbing pain went through Paavo as he pulled out his gun. Dustman’s frantic gaze met his.

  Suddenly, Angie hurled herself hard against Dustman’s back, shoving him with all her strength. Dustman stumbled forward as his gun went off, the bullet wild and wide of the mark. Instantly, Paavo was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground and taking his gun.

  As he locked the handcuffs on Dustman, Paavo’s eyes caught Angie’s. His heart was still in his throat as he thought of the
chance she’d taken, throwing herself at the gunman. He smiled. “Good job,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Her voice quivered. Nervously rocking back and forth on her heels, she looked from Henry, who was sitting on the floor looking at a bullet wound in his leg, to Lacy, still crying, to the bloodied engineer, to Dustman lying there handcuffed, and back to Paavo. Then she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

  25

  Angie sat quietly on a metal chair and watched the proceedings. Yosh had been right behind Paavo and Henry, so he could help Paavo deal with the crime unit, the paramedics, the patrol officers who came to take Dustman in and book him, and Angie.

  Paavo, always the consummate professional, had left her pretty much on her own once he saw she was all right. He had worked with the other officers, talked to Henry and the engineer, calmed Lacy, and made sure he read Dustman every right he had coming. No way was Paavo going to let this guy walk on some technicality.

  At a point where the others quieted down a bit, Paavo walked over to Angie and held out his hand. She took it, and he led her into the corridor, backing her against a wall, his large frame shielding her from the curious stares of anyone who might wander into the hallway. His hands traced over her arms and shoulders. “You’re so pale,” he said.

  “I’m okay,” she answered softly. “I thought he was a friend, though. It’s hard….” She bowed her head, unable to say more.

  His fingers lightly stroked her cheek as his thumb outlined her brow, her chin; then, tipping her head upward, he lowered his mouth to hers in a light kiss.

  She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He held her close, until some warmth once again flowed through her veins and the shivering she hadn’t even been aware of ceased. When she felt strong again, she straightened and pulled back from him, knowing he still had a lot of work to do.

  He stepped back, seemingly ready to go inside, but then, surprising even himself, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a long heart-stopping kiss. She held him tight, kissing him back, loving him with all her heart.

  A slight cough, then another, caused him to look up. Yosh stood in the corridor. “The paramedics are ready to take Henry, Lacy, and the engineer to the hospital. How about I go with them to get Lacy’s and the engineer’s statements?”

  Paavo stepped away from Angie, trying unsuccessfully to appear nonchalant. “Sure. I’ll deal with Dustman and get Angie’s statement.”

  Yosh nodded. “Seem to be doing that already,” he murmured, then he turned and headed back inside.

  Paavo adjusted his tie and led Angie, who couldn’t help but smile, back into the radio station.

  As the officers hauled Dustman away, Angie told Paavo all that had happened and all that had been said.

  She insisted on going down to Homicide with Paavo when his work was completed at the studio. The way her adrenaline was pumping, sitting quietly at home was the last thing she wanted to do. She might even think of something more to tell him.

  Instead, she spent two hours sitting alone in the reception area. Finally she walked over to Yoshiwara’s desk.

  Yosh glanced at her. “I guess Paavo will be through interrogating Dustman sometime soon. I’ll sure be interested in hearing why Dustman killed all those people.”

  “Me, too.” Angie sighed. “I can only think of one reason, and it goes back to the first speech he made at Karl’s funeral.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Well, Mark kept talking about the restaurant as if it had been theirs—his and Karl’s. And he said he’d been the one who talked Karl into coming to San Francisco in the first place.”

  “So?”

  “Well, Wielund’s was on the verge of being number one in the city, a world-class restaurant. But everyone knows that to be a world-class restaurant, you absolutely must have a world-class chef. It’s ironic, but quite often the cook who brings a restaurant up to a certain level of prominence isn’t the one who continues to run it. Instead, as it nears the top, its owner looks for someone with a big reputation to give it a final boost. Karl knew this. So did Mark. I’d never actually heard that Karl was looking for a new chef, but with the money he was getting from Lacy, he would have been able to afford one of the best.”

  “Interesting.”

  “If Mark heard anything about Karl planning to throw him over for another chef, well—”

  “Eileen Powell!” Yosh cried.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’d gone to Paris. What better place to look for a new chef?” He raised his eyebrows in satisfaction.

  “That’s right.” A thought struck Angie. “I wonder if Eileen didn’t suspect something like this, and that’s why she got away from all these people.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Yosh said. “But now I have a question for you. Whatever made you tackle Dustman like you did?”

  A shudder went through her. She remembered seeing Dustman pull the trigger and hit Henry; she remembered Paavo’s wince as Henry’s head banged into his shoulder, and how Dustman shifted his gun toward Paavo. She fought the dryness in her mouth as she looked up at Yosh. “I’ve seen Paavo shot once,” she said softly. “I wasn’t about to chance seeing it again.”

  Yosh nodded approvingly. “Got it.”

  She ran her fingers over the side of her hair, pushing it back behind her ears. “I wonder why Paavo’s taking so long?”

  “I don’t know. It can’t be much longer. I expect he’ll be back any minute.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why don’t you go home, Angie? I can have him call you.”

  She thought of how strained their relationship had been lately, until he showed her, at the radio station, that he still cared. She didn’t want him to lose that feeling. “I’ll wait a little while longer.”

  She wandered over to Paavo’s desk and sat in his chair.

  “Sitting here, I can see what it’s like working in Homicide. Maybe it’ll help me understand him a little, right?”

  Yosh smiled. “I think you understand him a lot better than you realize, Angie. Better than he realizes, too.”

  Angie looked at the papers on his desk. Most were carefully placed in manila folders. A glance at Yosh’s desk told her that not all detectives did that. Yosh’s desk looked like a blizzard had struck it. She should have known Paavo was a neatness fanatic, organized and orderly. Maybe that was why she drove him so crazy.

  She thumbed through the carefully labeled and alphabetized folders on the stand-up rack at the side of his desk: DANNING, GREUBER, KLAW, MARCUCCIO, WIELUND. Klaw? The others were all murder victims. But Klaw was still alive. She pulled the folder out of the rack.

  “That’s confidential, Angie,” Yosh said. “Not for the public. Sorry.”

  “Oh, of course.” She pushed the folder aside, away from her, and folded her hands, waiting.

  About ten minutes later, Yosh turned to her once more. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Love some.”

  He went out to the coffee machine. Quickly, she slid her fingers inside the folder, grabbed the top pages, and pulled them out. Riffling through them, she came across a history of Klaw’s prior arrests. She slid the other sheets back into the folder and placed the history—a rap sheet, she thought it was called—on top of the folder. She folded her hands again.

  Yosh came back into the squad room. Jumping up from Paavo’s desk, she hurried over and took the coffee he’d bought for her. Thanking him, she returned to Paavo’s desk. After a few sips of dirty dishwater posing as coffee, and a few smiles at Yoshiwara, she put the coffee down again, sidled a bit closer to the rap sheet, and, not touching it, began to read.

  Klaw had been given only one conviction—heroin possession—with a suspended sentence if he’d enter a methadone program. She glanced over the page until her eye caught a name, then a date, twenty years earlier.

  Axel Klaw, who at the time was still using his real name of Alexander Clausen, had been questioned c
oncerning the death by heroin overdose of nineteen-year-old Jessica Smith. Angie stopped reading and shut her eyes briefly, her heart pounding. Then she read on.

  Clausen, age twenty-five, was suspected of being a dealer, of introducing young people to drugs. But the police couldn’t find anyone willing to testify against him. Clausen had been seen with Smith at local bars throughout the evening. Smith’s family, a stepfather and young brother, swore she’d never used drugs before. She was found by her brother in Clausen’s apartment. For lack of evidence, no charges were brought against Clausen. A reference was made to Jessica Smith’s own file, where more detail of the investigation into her death could be found.

  Angie carefully slid the rap sheet back in the file, then sat unmoving for a moment. Finally she picked up the coffee, leaned back in her chair, and then spun it around so that she could stare out the window, lost in thought.

  “Well, well, why do we have the honor of her presence?”

  Angie looked up to see Inspector Luis Calderon talking to Yoshiwara. Yosh cast a reassuring glance at Angie before answering. “She’s waiting for Paavo. I think he’s wrapping up some interviews.”

  Calderon grinned. “She’s gonna have a long wait. I passed him driving down the street as I headed back here. He turned onto the Bay Bridge.”

  Angie frowned. The Bay Bridge led to Berkeley—and Axel Klaw. She jumped to her feet. “Yosh, will you come with me? I think I know where he’s gone.”

  Astonished, Calderon yelled, “You can’t let her drag you around, man. You got work to do. Paavo’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

  “She’s not dragging anyone anywhere, Luis. She did a damn fine job today for all of us. I think you owe her an apology. And I think you owe Paavo one as well.”

  Angie wasn’t about to wait. The thought of Paavo going off alone to face Klaw made her nerve endings do handsprings. Grabbing her purse, she ran to the elevator and pushed the down button again and again. Before the elevator arrived, Yosh was at her side.