Face of a Killer

38

Becky Lynn McKnight did not live in the nicest part of Sausalito, though Sydney wasn’t sure there was a bad part. Perhaps a more apt description was that Becky Lynn didn’t have a commanding bay view, which probably knocked off a cool million or so from the price of her home. Its very location, however, made the otherwise quaint, but pedestrian, single-story, stucco-sided home worth a veritable fortune.

“You sure this is the right place?” Sydney asked, as Carillo slowed near the listed address. “Pretty damned nice, considering.”

“Considering we have her flagged for OC, it fits. You don’t live in houses this nice if you’ve got no job and no income. It’s the one listed on our files, and the DMV shows that white Lexus in the driveway is registered to her.”

“What’s that old saying…?” Sydney asked. “You’ve come a long way, baby?”

“She wasn’t always a white-bread girl?”

“I was pretty young at the time, but looking back, she had all the earmarks of a con. Sort of just breezed in one day, and next thing I knew, she was running the pizza parlor and my dad was helping her move her things from some dive bar to a nicer apartment.”

“So she was a bad stray? Or just went bad?”

“Who knows? I mean, if she’s flagged by our guys, what did my father really know about her?” And what did Sydney really know about her father…?

They walked up the porch steps, and Carillo nodded in approval. “You know, government salary aside, if I got transferred to, like, Idaho, I could afford a little place like this and a Lexus.”

“Even paying alimony to Sheila?”

“Okay, maybe just the Lexus, but I bet the seats stretch out nice.”

They stood to either side of the door, and Sydney knocked. A moment later, it was opened by Becky Lynn, now middleaged, but looking very elegant in her navy slacks and white sweater that seemed so… country club chic. Definitely not the blue-jean, sweatshirt-wearing woman who had come into the east-side pizza parlor each night when Sydney was a kid. Her shoulder-length, once-bleached-blond hair was now dyed a dark auburn, and her face was expertly made up. Perhaps she was on her way to a lunch date. She’d aged, of course, with the telltale crow’s-feet around her brown eyes, and the over-forty laugh lines and hint of jowls haunting her mouth, which pressed together with tension, before turning up into a strained smile on seeing and no doubt recognizing Sydney. “Oh my gosh. Little Sydney?” She smiled, looked a bit too cheerful. “What a wonderful surprise!”

She did not, however, invite them in.

“Hi, Becky Lynn,” Sydney said, trying to keep things casual. “I was hoping I might ask you a couple questions about my father.”

“I was on my way to a lunch date. Can it wait?”

“Actually, no. May we come in?”

Becky Lynn glanced at Carillo, and Sydney figured she was trying to determine his part in all this. “I guess. If it doesn’t take too long.” She stepped aside and allowed them entry. The gleaming hardwood floor was covered by a large Oriental rug that muted their steps as she led them into the front room decorated in light cherry. The decor was exquisite, and quite different from the Becky Lynn that Sydney remembered, a woman who thought that red flocked wallpaper would be perfect for the ladies’ room, until Sydney’s mother put the nix on that idea.

“What is it I can help you with?” Becky Lynn folded her hands in her lap, attempting, no doubt, to look calmer than she felt-a fact easy to discern from the strong and fast pulse in her carotid. She never asked who Carillo was, something Sydney found a bit odd. Maybe she knew Sydney’s profession and didn’t need to ask. Either way, they weren’t about to pull out their creds and make this an official visit.

“I have some questions about my father… money he might have demanded from your late ex-husband. And a photograph I’d like you to look at.”

“Oh? Is that all?” Her smile grew so relaxed at that point, Sydney figured she’d somehow missed something very big, something else she was worried about. “I do vaguely recall him contacting Will about money. It could have something to do with some irregularities I remember seeing in your father’s books, but those were destroyed in the fire.”

“What sort of irregularities?”

“He seemed to be in the habit of ordering large quantities of goods, goods that weren’t delivered, or were delivered damaged and were returned for a refund. Odd things like that. I needed the money, so I wasn’t about to rock the boat and let on I saw anything.”

“Can you name any specific examples?”

“It’s been so long, and really I put it from my mind once he died. I didn’t think it was the thing to do, pointing my finger at… your father, after his death.”

“And I appreciate your concern,” Sydney said. Not. “But if you could try to remember anyway.”

“Well, there was all that hamburger he ordered. I’m pretty sure we didn’t serve hamburgers,” she offered, and Sydney refrained from commenting that she was only thirteen, wasn’t there every day, and could have told her the same. “There may have even been some orders for liquor, where some whiskey or gin came in damaged, but maybe I’m remembering another place.”

And that did send alarm bells ringing. Beer and wine were all her father’s liquor license allowed. Hard liquor being delivered, damaged, smacked of organized crime. But was this her father’s business, or was this Becky Lynn’s doing? She was, after all, the one currently being looked at for organized crime dealings. But Sydney kept her expression as neutral as she could, as though none of this meant anything to her. “Any visitors, anyone who came by that shouldn’t have been there?”

“Heavens, Sydney. It was a pizza place just off the freeway. There were always people dropping by we didn’t know.”

“Did you and my father have an affair?”

She seemed slightly surprised by the question, but not overly so. “Did your mother say that? What a horrid thing to do. I’d think she’d want you to remember-”

“I’m quite sure she has no idea I suspect a thing,” Sydney said, in her mother’s defense. “Did you?”

“Not with your father. No.”

Sydney took that to mean she’d had an affair with someone. “Robert Orozco, perhaps?”

“I’m sure I never met the man.”

“And yet you’ve been calling him down in Baja”-she turned to Carillo-“for how many years now?”

“A lot,” he said.

Sydney eyed Becky Lynn. “If I’m not mistaken, the most recent calls were right before your ex-husband killed himself, then right after…” She had no idea on the times, but figured it was a safe guess. Someone had contacted Orozco about the suicide, and he’d made it no secret that Becky Lynn was his contact.

When Becky Lynn shifted uncomfortably, Sydney figured she’d guessed right on. “He was a friend of Will’s. I thought he should know that Will was having problems.”

“But you don’t know him personally?”

“No. I helped him out years ago by getting him some fake ID to leave the country.” She gave a saccharine smile, then glanced at her watch. “Now if you have no further questions?” she said, glancing at her watch.

“Just a photo I need you to look at.”

Sydney had tucked it in her purse; took it out of the envelope and handed it to Becky Lynn, who raised her brows, and immediately began shaking her head. “No… no. Except for your father, and my ex, I really don’t see anyone in there I know.”

“How about the guy in uniform?”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t recognize Senator Gnoble?”

“ That’s Senator Gnoble? I guess I didn’t recognize him without that goatee. Or in uniform, for that matter. He looks so much younger than the pictures I’ve seen of him in the paper. Are we finished?”

Sydney pointed to Orozco. “And Robert?”

“So that’s what he looks like. He’s always just been a voice on the phone.”

Right. “And this man,” she said, pointing to who they thought was Wheeler’s father. “Frank White?”

“No. Name doesn’t ring a bell, and I can’t say I’ve ever met him. Really, is there a point to any of this?”

“Just trying to figure the connection between my father, your ex, and the restaurant,” Sydney said, now just fishing for answers, because, frankly, she’d gotten nothing. “Especially any references to Cisco’s Kid.”

Becky Lynn’s face paled. She sat up, brushed at her slacks, then crossed her legs, as though trying to appear far more relaxed than she was. “Cisco’s Kid?” she said, sounding, or trying to sound, confused. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“My father’s boat?”

The woman narrowed her gaze. “A boat?” And then she smiled, truly relaxed, and Sydney realized she’d missed something critical. “You’re asking me about a boat? I’ve never seen your father’s boat. I’m sure I didn’t even know he had one.” Becky Lynn reached across and grasped her hand, and Sydney could smell the alcohol on her breath, see that her eyes were somewhat bloodshot. That brought a vague recollection of the woman making drunken phone calls periodically to Sydney’s mother. What they talked about, why her mother never discussed it, Sydney didn’t know. Becky Lynn gave a sigh, exaggerated for her benefit, no doubt, and said, “I really wish I could stay and chat some more, but I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late. It was so good to see you again, Sydney. I hope your mother is doing well.”

Carillo and Sydney stood, and she walked them to the door, holding it open for them. Sydney paused on the threshold, looked out at the Lexus, and thought how much Becky Lynn had changed since the days of the pizza place…

“You know,” Sydney said, her foot against the door. “I forgot to mention how sorry I was that your husband died.”

“That’s right,” Carillo said. “We wanted to pass on our condolences.”

“Thank you,” Becky Lynn replied, her saccharine smile back in place.

And Sydney said, “You don’t happen to know what he was so upset about? I heard they found something in his background.”

“I have no idea.”

“Something to do with…” She looked at Carillo. “What was it again?”

“That old banking scandal.”

“That’s right. BICTT. Isn’t that the one where the guys all got together, and if something happened to one of them, they had all these safeguards set up? Sort of as protection? Like that photo being mailed to me.”

“Makes you wonder what the other safeguards were… Who else will get implicated,” Carillo said.

They both turned toward Becky Lynn, who gripped the door, and clearly looked like she would’ve shut it on them if she could have somehow dislodged Sydney’s foot. “Whatever my husband was involved in, I have no idea. And if that’s why he killed himself, then so be it. Between him and his business ventures, they nearly bankrupted me.”

Sydney gave a pointed look to the house. “Seems you recovered quite nicely. But thanks for your time,” she said, as she followed Carillo down the steps. And Becky Lynn looked vastly relieved, until Sydney added, “You’ve been more of a help than you realize.”

They continued their way down the sidewalk, hearing the door shut firmly behind them. When they walked past the Lexus, Sydney looked down the long driveway that led to the back of the house, a deep and narrow lot, like many Bay Area properties. “You think she looked a little rattled when we left?”

“Rattled? Why, Pollyanna. You’re not thinking anything untoward, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m simply concerned enough to make sure she doesn’t faint, maybe need medical attention when she calls whoever she calls?”

Carillo smiled. “I’m starting to like you more and more. Let’s just hope your damned shadows don’t get all antsy.”

Sydney glanced down the street, gave a cheery wave to the men, hoping they’d stay put in the car, just before she and Carillo casually walked down the drive, until they were out of sight. She noticed the blinds were still closed, then moved up alongside the house, wedging herself between a camellia bush and the brick porch, just beneath the window on the side yard. Carillo went farther down, standing beneath another window. Their efforts paid off, because Sydney could just make out her voice, shrill enough to be overheard through the closed window, which, on this older house, was not double-paned. Apparently they had more than rattled her cage. Sydney could hear her pacing on the subflooring, since she was standing beside a vent, but caught only parts, as Becky Lynn wouldn’t stand still. “… Do you know who…” Then, “Yes. Here. And she had your…”

Your what? Sydney wanted to shout. Apparently she was on her cell phone, because suddenly Sydney heard the back door unlocking. Sydney glanced at Carillo, who was on the other side of the porch. They ducked. The camellia branches scraped her neck and face on one side as she went down, wedged herself between the bush and the much rougher brick siding on the porch. She only hoped Becky Lynn was so involved in her conversation that she wasn’t looking around her. The back door swung open. “Goddamn, Robert. She was here. And I will not- Damn it, my keys.”

She turned, retraced her steps, leaving the back door open. Sydney hunkered down farther, tried to become one with the bush. A moment later she heard Becky Lynn’s returning footsteps, just before she stepped out onto the porch. Slammed her back door shut. “No, you shut up and listen,” she said, hurrying down the three porch steps. “I’m not sitting in some goddamned jail cell because your head is too far up your ass to see what’s going on, you bastard. You told me you had it all under control. I’ve got a life here and I want to keep it.”

She walked past Sydney, cell phone to her ear, purse over her arm, and keys and remote in her other hand. She strode up the driveway to the Lexus, and Sydney heard the sound of the car door unlocking by remote. “… All I can say is you better deal with it. And now.”

Even after she got in her car and drove off, Sydney and Carillo didn’t move until they were absolutely certain she wasn’t returning for something else forgotten in her haste to get out of there. Finally they emerged from either side of the porch, Sydney brushing the cobwebs and dust from her clothes. “You get the feeling that we’re overlooking something really, really obvious?”

“Yeah. She looked ready to puke when you brought up your father’s boat. And then a second later, she knew we didn’t know whatever the hell it was we were supposed to know about it.”

They walked to their car, waved at Scotty’s men parked farther down the street. And Sydney said, “Do you think she was talking to Robert or about Robert?”

“Could’ve been either. But whoever it was, she wasn’t happy. Time to head back to the city, hit that Taco Bell before we visit Wheeler’s aunt, so I can at least say I went to lunch.”