A Slight Case of Death

Chapter 5

I've been a bit sick. Sorry for the delay.

Two days later, I found out what happened to Palmetto. Headlines splashed across the top of the Chronicle's front page told me, along with everyone else in the Bay Area. Mobster's Nephew Found Dead of Apparent Overdose The story mentioned that the body of a prostitute was found near Palmetto, but gave no name. I read the story through and then again, line by line. There was no mention of Randi, no mention of Rorche or Fats. In fact, there was no mention of anyone else who should be involved in the story—at least as far as I thought. It said the bodies turned up in an alley off the Tenderloin, near Golden Gate and Leavenworth. I shook my head. That was one tough area, especially at night. You have to wonder about a neighborhood when even the hotels have locking iron gates over their front doors.

I read the article one more time, trying to find something I could grab. I put the paper down with the distinct feeling I had missed something. The feeling continued to nag at me as I showered and dressed. I was nearly ready to leave when it hit me. Randi's trail remained as cold as yesterday's cod, and since that last call where Roxanne hung up on me, every phone call I made trying to reach her also ran into a blank wall. As far as I could tell, both girls were now among the missing.

I broke all sorts of land speed records getting back to the paper. Rifling through the sections, I found it. There—buried down below the main story was the short blurb about the unnamed hooker's body found next to Palmetto's corpse. The cop interviewed for the article described her as NHI, copper slang for "No Human Involved". The next line sent a chill down my spine; the hooker was a redhead. Palmetto had been seen leaving the Summersault with a certain redhead—Randi. Sometimes I hate having that sixth sense.

I picked up the phone and made a call to Pat Monahan. Luck was with me and I caught him at his desk.

"Pat, it's Tony Mandolin."

I heard a pause and then a sigh. Yep, Pat was a real friend.

"Pat, I...

"...need a favor," he finished for me.

"This one will help you get that gold badge, Pat. I'm serious."

"Yeah, right."

"What do you know about the Driver family?"

That caught him off guard. I could practically hear him blink. "What?"

"You heard me, what do you know about Randall Driver's family?"

"You don't sound it, Mandolin, but you must have been hitting the bottle early today. Tell you what, I'll meet you at Paddy's after my shift ends, and I'll help you finish what you started."

I took in a breath. "Lieutenant Monahan, you might be interested in knowing that the hooker they found next to Palmetto's body just might be one of Randall Driver's daughters, Randi Driver."

There was no answer. I couldn't even hear any breathing.

"Pat?"

"Get your ass down here, Mandolin. Come in by the side entrance. I'll make sure the Desk Sergeant buzzes you through."

"I don't drive." Only idiots and the suicidal drove willingly in San Francisco.

"So take a bus. Get down here." He hung up.

Monahan did not react that way, ever. The man had over twenty years under his belt as a city cop. Something I had said rattled him. That thought stayed with me as I went out the door. Before I left, I made a point of dropping the silk scrap into a Ziploc and slipping it into my pocket.

Monahan worked out of the Central Division, a gray blockhouse of a building a couple blocks south of Union Square on Vallejo. I caught the Stockton bus to Vallejo and walked the block to Central. When I reached the side entrance, the rain had started. The Desk Sergeant let me in just like Monahan promised, but he had his own fun at my expense by waiting until I was soaked. His chuckles at my soggy condition followed me all the way up the stairs.

Like I said earlier, my puss wasn't all that welcome in the cop shop. The sight of me squishing down that hall cheered up many a blue shirt.

Monahan wasn't much better. "You decide to swim here?" He looked up at my approach with a snarky smile.

"Glad to brighten your day," I said, as a gust of wind sent a sheet of rain against the window.

Monahan waved a hand at the chair across from his desk. He made up for his lousy joke with, "Coffee?"

"Thanks." I decided to jump in with both feet. "What's going on, Monahan? Why the rush to get me down here? If you have info, you could have told me over the phone and I'd still be dry."

Monahan gave me the fish eye and pulled open a drawer. "I shouldn't be showing you this. If the Captain finds out, I'll be spending my last few years before retirement ticketing people in the park for not picking up after their dogs." He tossed a manila envelope onto the desk. "Go ahead, open it."

My head swam with questions. Taking the easy way out, I picked up the envelope. Inside were a few sheets of typewritten paper and a couple of photos. Pulling out the photos, I looked at them. The red hair was familiar. Monahan just sat there watching me.

I put the photos back into the envelope. "No wonder she hasn't called."

That got me a raised eyebrow.

"Roxanne Driver was a client of mine. This is her, I think. Identical twins; you ran the ID?"

Monahan grunted and then continued to wait.

"She hired me to find her sister. All I have been doing is spinning my wheels. I couldn't find her sister. Hell, I couldn't even find her after a while. Now I know why. I also have a feeling I know where Randi is. Pity..."

Monahan raised the other eyebrow. "Why?" Typical cop question, loaded.

I was beginning to dry out. "You get me that coffee and we'll talk."

Being in a building populated by police, I expected the coffee to be bad. Not much of a problem there, I was used to bad coffee. Mine usually fit that description. However, Monahan managed to find a brew so putrid even I had a hard time choking it down. After the first taste, I looked at my cup of carbon remover and shook my head.

Monahan sipped his. "Not bad today." There's no accounting for taste. "All right Tony, what's this about Driver's other daughter? Are you telling me that the man who's bringing down three kinds of hell in the commissioner's office is going to have to be told that we not only have no clue as to who did in his girl, but that he has now lost both of them, and we didn't know about it?"

I sipped again. It got better...or maybe my taste buds were being erased. "Not in so many words, but you've got the essence of it."

"Great God Almighty." Monahan ran a hand through his thinning hair. "How can you be sure?"

"I can't." I put the cup down on his desk. A glance told me the brew wasn't dissolving the Styrofoam. "Not until I check out the body of that so-called hooker that came in with Luccesi's nephew last night," I told Monahan about my conversation with Tommy Chang and my little run-in with Rorche and Fats. I finished up with Tommy's description of Brandon Palmetto and his redheaded date.

"Taking on Rorche, that was stupid." Monahan shook his head. "The Lieutenant has contacts and if he's inclined, you could suffer a nasty accident."

I pressed my point. "You boys in blue are such a loving family. Witnesses saw Randi Driver leaving with Palmetto. Palmetto's a...was a known dealer. I found a used syringe, a couple of empty dime bags and a scrap of silk that could match what the woman's body is wearing... if she's who I think she is." I held up the Ziploc with the fabric sample.

"You are a piece of work, Mandolin," Monahan muttered as he picked up the phone. He said something into the handset I could not hear. Setting the phone down, he climbed to his feet. "Come on."

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