Chapter 16
Dvora and Jack walked the eight blocks to the police station. He worked to keep up with her as those tireless dancer’s legs reached out. He watched the bunch and flow of the Gluteus Maximus under her slacks as she slid through the crowd like an otter in a river. He felt too big and too clumsy and uneasy as he watched her and thought about Lee. Not uneasy enough to stop him from watching her ass, though.
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He slowed as they turned the corner to enter the station. During his deformative years he had a number of run-ins with John Law, some quite heated. He’d never killed anybody in his youth, but it had been a close thing and mostly luck. He did a conscious attitude adjustment before he started up the steps.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
“You know I had what could be charitably described as a misguided youth. Cops still make me nervous, even though I pay enough local taxes to fund a big chunk of this station.”
“It’s nice to know you can be nervous about something.”
He was still trying to figure out what that meant on the way up the steps. The cop behind the raised bulletproof dais became very attentive when she realized who they were.
“Captain Yan is expecting you, Ms. Schacter, Mr. McDonald. Please follow Sergeant Washington back.”
Jack turned to discover that a huge cop stood directly behind them. No one ever snuck up on him. Ever. The guy was big, at least four inches taller than Jack and maybe forty pounds heavier. It looked like most of the man was muscle, or maybe flexible mahogany.
“Ms. Schacter, Mr. McDonald, I am Sergeant Rudolph Washington. I will take you to see Captain Yan. Follow me please.” His voice was well-modulated, educated, and as calm as a Yoga instructor’s. He managed to walk in front of them while keeping them completely in his vision the whole time. They walked to the left of the dais, through a door marked staff only and down a narrow hallway. The hallway narrowed even more because of pillars containing metal detectors. They put keys, phones and such in the doggy dish. He beeped when he walked through.
“It’s shrapnel from the war in my lower back.”
Sergeant Washington didn’t bother to wand him. Maybe he already had intelligence that confirmed Jack’s story. Maybe he figured that no weapon Jack could lift and carry would make him a threat. Maybe both.
The detectors in the pillars on either side of the cones passed Dvora without comment.
Sergeant Washington walked in front then, casually snapping the big button down on the holster of his H & K. As they walked through the police station, Jack breathed calming breaths, visualizing green good air in and red toxins of fear and tension flowing out. He asked his muscles to be smooth and loose, like well-used rubber. His muscles listened. He visualized a breeze stirring tall pines on a crisp late April day on the way to Feather Falls.
Then Jack was open enough to notice things. The things he expected and that were missing stood out more than the things that were there. The whores and pimps and dealers would throw out a ‘Mother-fucking’ this or ‘Mother-fucking’ that. The cops didn’t put up with it for long. And, he didn’t hear so much as a “Shit!” from a cop. Someone ran a very tight ship. They walked into a big room, a hundred feet square maybe and full of low cubes. Most of the men and women stared at them. No-they mostly stared at Dvora. He was a handsome, charismatic man and used to more than his share of looks. This was more.
Jack knew the effect Dvora once had on him. He hadn’t paid much attention to her power over others, until now. A guy who looked more like a research assistant than a cop entered numbers into a spreadsheet. The cop glanced up with the curiosity of peripheral vision. Then he smiled the smile of someone who unexpectedly sees a flower blooming in winter or a good painting through a dirty shop window. His look changed to longing and then resignation when he realized he couldn’t have the Mona Lisa. Jack knew how he felt.
They stopped in front of an unassuming office at the back. Another huge cop stood and twisted his face into an uncomfortable looking expression that was probably supposed to be a smile.
“I am Sergeant Armando Gutierrez. Captain Yan will be out shortly. He asked me to apologize for the wait. Can I get you coffee, latte, tea, or perhaps juice?”
Sergeant Gutierrez, Mondo to his friends, made very good coffee. The beans, probably Costa Rican, were fresh ground and the old-fashioned, highly polished pot held enough for refills. They sat drinking the legal stimulant, hot enough to sip. Walls and cubes held diplomas and plaques. There were the expected Bachelor’s from state colleges in Criminal Justice, and some unexpected degrees too.
Why would licensed clinical social workers work at a cop shop in the City? In an alcove near the door, six awards occupied a place of honor. The list included best squad, marksman, crime-scene team, and so on, for the City and County of San Francisco. Above the six plaques a banner, red to stand out, big, but not big enough to overwhelm said: This is the year we take all seven.
Jack was still fighting his prejudices when the door behind him opened. Many of the cops smiled. The mood in the room, which had been professional and relaxed to start with, focused even more. He turned to see what caused the change.
Captain Yan looked up at them over his half-glasses and asked in a clear, quiet voice, devoid of any accent Jack could hear, pitched higher in the scale, “Ms. Schacter, Mr. McDonald, would you come in, please?”
Yan motioned them toward his office. Yan looked like a kindly college professor or a good psychologist, the kind where you feel good just knowing they are in the room. His gray slacks broke across black loafers. He had rolled the sleeves up on his powder-blue oxford shirt to reveal muscled forearms. Even the knot on his rep tie, Irish Horse Guards, was somehow comforting. The only thing missing was a pipe.
Yan’s office was elegantly furnished in a style more out of an English drawing room than an office in the City. Jack sat in the leather, hunter green, wing-back chair to the right after Dvora sat in the one on the left. Captain Yan smiled again. Yan’s handshake had been subtle, not weak or firm. Jack wondered how many people noticed the callus pads on his knuckles or the old scars on his cheeks and in his brows. Yan’s relaxed walk was an attempt to hide an athlete’s body. When Yan held his half-glasses up to the light to clean them, Jack saw there was little, if any, correction. He spotted a combat-shooting trophy in the far corner of the bookcase behind Yan.
“Mr. McDonald. Ms. Schacter. I am so sorry about Ms. McDonald. I do not know Ms. McDonald personally, but we share associates and even a few friends. These people tell me she is a fine young woman. I have a daughter near her age. Rest assured, we will find the men who did this and bring them to trial,” he said.
“Thank you, Captain,” Dvora said.
Yan opened his mouth when his phone gently chirped. He stared down at it like a judge observing a three-time loser. He picked it up and answered the questions they couldn’t hear in monosyllables before saying, “Excuse me, Madam. I know this story is very important to your readers. When we have any useful facts to report, our public relations department will send out a press release and schedule a press conference.” Yan paused and made a notation in his old-fashioned Franklin planner. “I have made myself a note to see that you are invited. Good day.”
Yan pushed the do-not-disturb button on his phone, apologized for the interruption, and started his interrogation.
“Now Ms. Schacter, have you remembered anything else about the attack? Anything you could not remember to tell my detectives three days ago?” he asked gently.
“No.”
“I am going to ask you a number of questions that may not appear to have, at first blush, any bearing on the case. My purpose is to help focus your memory of many seeming unrelated facts from that morning. Many times we have found this to be useful in helping people remember facts that do have a bearing on the case. Now, please remember how you were feeling that day, your mood. Had anything happened to lift your spirits? Had anything depressed you? Did you hear a bit of good news, perhaps? Has someone you know had good or bad luck in business? Was someone you know ill?”
“Nothing unusual. I just can’t remember the morning. We were excited to have Jack over for breakfast. It had been a while, and he always comes back from his trips with great stories.”
Next he asked, “What was the texture of your bag? Was it leather?”
“That morning I was carrying my gym bag. It’s rip stop nylon, worn and black.”
Yan asked, “What about the feel of the clothes you were wearing that day. Were they new and stiff, or loose-fitting, comfortable and familiar?”
Dvora didn’t look happy about answering Yan’s questions, but she did. “I was wearing a leotard; Yoga clothes, really, comfortable, Lululemon brand because I sweat a lot and they wear forever, black again, with an old, gray sweat shirt, actually one Jack’s old sweatshirts, way too big, of course, more like a coat.”
“Was it dry or wet, cold or warm, was there a wind, and if so, from what direction?”
Jack watched in admiration. Yan touched on all of her senses, pulled memories from deep within her mind, and never interrupted her answers.
“Ms. Schacter, I have talked to many people who have had similar injuries cause blocks to their memories. This is a natural phenomenon. Not remembering does not mean you are somehow bad, weak or afraid. It simply is. Now, let’s talk about what you heard. Was there road construction outside that day, any loud mechanical noises such as a big truck’s low rumble, or the sound of a jet flying overhead? Did the door to your home open smoothly, or was there a squeak as if a hinge might need oil?”
Over and over, with patience Jack knew he could never match, Yan questioned, amplifying each detail. Yan mirrored Dvora naturally, comforting, nurturing in tone, body language, and speech. He hung on every word, as if he had nothing else in the world to think about and if he did, what she had to say was so much more important.
Jack had been on the receiving end of expert interrogation, or he thought he had, until this masterful performance. Yan’s listening skills alone would have made him a great salesman. If his other cop skills were equal to this, then he must be, as Bob said, the best there was. Then he realized Yan had a gift too. He was a truth finder.
“Ms. Schacter, you were quite understandably not able to talk to my detectives earlier about which items were missing from your home. If I were to show you a list of items we have compiled, do you think you could help us now?”
Yan placed the lists upside down on the clean desk slightly closer to Dvora than to Jack. There were three lists. The first was a list of contents alphabetically by room. Under bathroom, master, the first listing was for Ampoule, anti-venom, bee. This was followed by a description. Then Amulet, amber, mounted in beaten copper, with a braided copper chain. Weight approximately 1.7 ounces. Small brown spider trapped in amber. The second list was strictly alphabetical and the last list was by function and alphabetical under that. The number of man-hours committed to compiling the database was staggering.
“Are you all right, Ms. Schacter?” the Captain asked as she began to cry quietly.
Yan reached over and patted her hand. She attempted a small smile. It seemed his care comforted. “I’ll be okay. It’s just going over a list of our things, things we bought together, gifts we’d given each other… I’m sorry,” she said.
Yan smiled gently at her, nodding slowly, acting as if he understood completely. Maybe he did. Dvora spent the next few minutes going over the lists and making one of her own. The Captain looked at the list she made and compared it to a fourth list, then checked each of the first six items on her list against the one he held. The last three items on her list were not on his and he wrote them down.
Yan said, “We are fortunate that you and Ms. McDonald updated your insurance policies only seventeen days ago. It is unusual to find an inventory of valuables as comprehensive and up to date as this. What caused you to update your insurance policies so recently?”
Jack managed not to look up or sit forward in his chair and kept his breathing as steady as he could. Dvora didn’t seem to place any importance on the direction of the question and answered it. “We bought three paintings a few years ago by an American impressionist, Jackie Carroll. Recently, we found they had appreciated nicely. Also my grandmother’s estate finally cleared probate, and the jewelry she gave me arrived.”
Jack had been watching the Captain while Yan watched and listened to Dvora. Before she had even finished her answer, Yan appeared to relax.
“Why do you ask that particular question, Captain Yan?” Jack asked.
Captain Yan focused his mild, brown eyes on him, registering and filing. The look reminded Jack of another look. It was years ago, when he still made time for such things. He had been stalking big, fat trout in Alaska, following along the bank of a stream. He knew they were off to feed and he wanted to be there when they stopped. He had his fly rod in his right hand, using his left hand to balance and grab as he walked along the rocky bank in the neoprene waders. He didn’t see the bear until he was right on her. She had managed to ambush a few of the biggest trout crossing shallows. She stopped eating for a moment and looked at him with the same mild brown gaze from a distance of less than thirty feet. In a microsecond she must have decided trout tasted better than he would and went back to feeding.
He retreated as calmly and quickly as he could, glad he wasn’t a trout. He was glad he wasn’t one of the men Captain Yan was looking for. He thought he would have had a better chance against the bear.
“As a matter of course, if insurance is recently increased or changed, and a robbery takes place, I ask these questions. Would you like to look more closely at the lists, Mr. McDonald?”
He looked at the list of missing items first. First were two laptop computers, one PowerBook, the other a Toshiba, replacement value $6,500, and two Apple AirPort Time Capsules, replacement value $1000. Next was Silver antique flatware, a service for eight, serving utensils not taken, value $6,000. Set of diamond dinner ring, earrings, pendant, and tennis bracelet, value $42,000, Gym bag, value $100, and Music CDs, various artists, value unknown. It looked like a pretty good take for a thief. Even if a fence only gave them fifteen cents on the dollar, they still had a good take.
Then he looked at the list of what was not taken. He knew he had kept his expression blank and not changed his body language or breathing. And, he could feel Captain Yan’s laser-sharp attention focus even more. Yan was indeed a reader, and a superb one.
Not taken were a coin collection and two very small gold replica Mayan statues. The coin collection had been in the display case in an alcove near the entry door. The replica statues had been on display in the sitting room. The sitting room was the room in the house closest to the entry door.
“Did you see something that piqued your interest Mr. McDonald?”
“Why would a thief bother with Music CDs, value unknown, and walk by a Coin collection, 1788 Spanish Gold Escudos, (Doubloons) eleven in total, insured value $21,500 not to mention the gold statues? Is there anything else you haven’t told us that would pique my interest Captain Yan?”
Yan sat back in his chair. He switched his pencil to a drummer’s grip, grabbed another from the jar on his desk and laid down a rock beat. Then he put the pencils down, clasped his hands in front of him and said, “There are questions for which I do not have answers. These questions make me uneasy. First, how was the very good security system of the building breached? Second, how was the even better security system your friend Robert E. Lee White installed in Ms. McDonald’s and Ms. Schacter’s home bypassed? Third, why was the beating of Ms. McDonald so severe, so at odds with the professionalism of the break-in? Fourth, why was such a careful robbery the site of so much physical evidence in the form of hair, fiber and skin? And, finally, why have my informants given me no information in so many days?”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Dvora asked, springing to her feet to stand leaning forward over the desk, towering above the still seated Captain.
Captain Yan stood, too and said, “I myself would also like to know what is going on here. I have committed a huge part of our available resources to this case. I do not need my department politicized. If these questions had not come up, the resources would not have been committed, no matter the ‘suggestions’ of my boss. Now if you will please sit down, we may continue.”
Dvora sat, still visibly upset.
“What can we do to help?” Jack asked.
Yan considered his question for a few moments before he said, “First, please do not share anything I tell you about the investigation with anyone. I have talked to people I know and respect about both of you and you share many attributes. One of them is a very old-fashioned regard for the truth. I do not know how familiar you are with police work. It is nothing like the sentimental, action-filled entertainment you see on television, films, or for that matter, read in books. Police work is detail and time. It is hundreds of hours of questions. More questions are asked after answers are collected and compared. Most crimes are solved with the aid of informants. Informants are paid either in favors or in cash. This police department has limited resources. Sometimes private citizens will ask to help defray costs associated with acquiring information and, as a result, speed the resolution of a case.”
Dvora tossed a black American Express card on the table and asked, “How fast would information flow if defrayed at $500K?”
Yan smiled gently. “$500K would cause such a surplus of information we would have great difficulty separating the wheat from the chaff. Perhaps ten thousand dollars would be more useful as a start, and you could post a reward for any information leading to arrest of these criminals. Perhaps, $200K?” He wrote briefly on the back of a card and then handed it over the table to them.
San Francisco Police Department: Witness Assistance Program.
The card listed bank account, including web site, branch name, address, telephone, routing numbers, and instructions for mail payment. The card also stated that contributions could be made on any major credit card, PayPal, or by electronic check.
Yan said, “The number I have written on the back is the case number. Make sure you note this number in your communication with us. We will make sure every penny goes to this case, give you an accounting of your fund’s use, less any information that would put our informants at risk of course, and return any moneys not used.”
Soon after, Yan politely dismissed them. They walked back to the hospital, lost in thought. He hadn’t met intelligence like Captain Yan’s in a long time. He’d never met anyone as smart as Yan who wasn’t in the private sector. Not quite true. Jack had met brilliant politicians, and savants like physicists, but never civil servants, leaders or managers with his brain power-until today.
“Damn, he’s smart,” Dvora said.
“It’s been a long time since I met anybody who made me feel thick.” Jack walked on, but had to stop when he realized she wasn’t following.
“What?” he asked.
“I knew you were smart. I wouldn’t have been attracted to you if you weren’t. I always thought you were a little over-billed by Meghan, hero worship for big brother and all that, but the last few days opened my eyes. You thought something was wrong about the robbery right away didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Something wasn’t right and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I had heard from Hong Lee, she’s my…” He had to stop. She’s my what? He thought. Is she the woman of my dreams, the woman who replaced you in my dreams, the woman who completes me?
“Well, I can’t quite describe what she is right now, but she shared rumors about trades in high-tech stocks, biotech and more specifically genetic engineering, that might be worth looking at.” He told her about his original conversation with Lee, back in Hong Kong. Only four days ago! It felt like months.
“I don’t know why, but my intuition bell was ringing so I asked my friend Bob White, who is the name in corporate security, to have his people guard Meghan while we check things out.”
Dvora listened calmly, nodding occasionally or asking him to repeat something, as they walked and stopped and dodged the crowd. When he was done she said, “Wait a minute,” and motioned him to bend his head down.
She whispered so he had to listen. “I know you care about Meghan. I care about her too. Don’t keep anything else from me. Do you understand?”
He had hurt her by trying to shield her. It was the wrong approach.
“How far do you want in?” He asked.
“All the way.”
He nodded, looking as contrite as he knew how, and said, “okay” with what he hoped was tremendous conviction. He needed her to believe that he would do as she asked. They walked back to the hospital.
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