Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

that as soon as I unearth any more information, you will be the first—” He gave an ingratiating smile. “—perhaps the second, to know.”

“We appreciate it, Baxter.”

Back down in the searing glare of the afternoon sun, I climbed in behind the wheel, and Dehan put the air-con on. I fired up the engine, and we started back toward the 43rd.

“I don’t know about you, Dehan, but I am having trouble visualizing this whole situation.”

She nodded. “Yup, me too.”

“Talk me through it.”

“Okay, here is Steve the yegg…”

“Yegg?” I laughed. “You have been reading Mickey Spillane.”

“I love Mickey Spillane. So here is Steve, a small-time yegg. He’s in his apartment. Maybe Tammy is there with him, over from Frisco for some reason.” I smiled at her, but she ignored me. “There is a hammering at the door, and one of them opens it. Maybe Tammy. And the boys come in. Let’s say for now it’s the Sureños. Maybe he burgled some place for them, or he stole something that belongs to them. Whatever the case, they either want it or they want to know where it is. Okay so far?”

“Keep shingin’, shweetheart, you’re doing fine.”

“So they slap him around a bit. They tie him to the chair, and they lay into him. What’s she doing meantime? She’s crying, ‘don’t hurt him, don’t kill him,’ yadda yadda. Then what? She’s getting on the Sureños’ nerves and they shoot her? They threaten him, if he doesn’t talk they shoot her? Maybe she tried to protect him. Point is, for some reason they shoot her…” She sighed and shook her head. “But it doesn’t make any sense. The report says the two shots were close together. So, what, they shot her and then shot him? Why, if they were after information that one of them had? Why kill both? Maybe they got the information and decided to kill them both, but then why take her away with them and leave him?” She stared at me through her aviators. “Shooting her doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s the bit I’m having trouble visualizing.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We need more background. We need to carry out research.”

“What kind of research?”

I looked out at the oppressive, sweltering city outside. I turned to her and grinned. “You know? San Francisco rarely rises above sixty-eight Fahrenheit, even at the height of summer.”

Three

Back at the station, the air-con still wasn’t fixed. Dehan grabbed a bottle of cold water from the dispenser and set herself to doing a background check on Tamara Gunthersen. I went to have a chat with the captain.

He scowled out of the open window from his desk, and the ventilator moved his hair on its steady sweep across the room. He had his jacket slung on the back of his chair, and I could see the damp patches on his shirt under his arms.

“San Francisco, huh? How long for?”

“I wouldn’t think more than a day or two at most.”

He turned a smile on me that was less a smile than a malevolent leer. “This wouldn’t be just an excuse, would it, John? I wouldn’t mind a couple of days in the Bay myself—get away from this infernal heat!”

“No, sir, but I do think it is important to get the background on Tamara Gunthersen. At the moment, the whole case seems to revolve around her. It seems Baxter’s client is trying to find out what happened to her. Her past may hold the key to what she was doing here, and why they were both killed.”

“Hmm… well, if you think it’s essential. But just a couple of days, John, and try to keep your expenses down, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

I skipped down the stairs feeling somewhat buoyed and found Dehan at her desk, on the phone. She hung up as I sat down.

“Tamara Gunthersen has no police record. Information available on her—” She tapped at her computer and brought up the research she’d done while I was talking to the captain. “She was a homeowner; property is a house on Brooks Street, San Mateo. There is no foreclosure notice on it, so I’m guessing the mortgage was all paid up. She had a credit card, and she is listed as having defaulted on payments for the last two years. She has a bank account with First Republic that is in credit. That’s what I have been able to find out so far.”

“Good work.”

“I also called the lab and asked them if they had taken samples of the blood on the floor. He wasn’t sure, so I asked him to find out. I also asked him, if they had, to please analyze it and compare it with Stephen’s. And if it wasn’t his, to run it through the system.”

“Great. Good work.” I gazed out the window. The long dusk was settling outside, preparatory to a muggy, sultry evening. “We’ll need to look inside her house. I’ll get the captain to clear it with the San Mateo PD.” I turned to face her. “Book us on the first flight out of here, Dehan. Then let’s go pack.”

We touched down at San Francisco International Airport at eleven a.m. the following morning. The sun was bright, but the temperature was an agreeable sixty-eight degrees. I had rented a Mustang V8 convertible, because I like to have a good car, and we turned left out of the airport along the Bayshore Freeway, with the wind in our hair, and headed for San Mateo.

Dehan had booked us a couple of rooms at the Hillsdale Inn, which was about a mile and a half from Brooks Street, where Tamara had her house. The hotel was remarkable for being completely unremarkable, and also for having a parking lot the size of an international airport. We checked into our rooms, which were functional, and Dehan called