Trouble in Mendocino: Jack Beckett Book Six

1

Jack Beckett was on Hwy 1 just south of Mendocino, California. The winding two-lane hugs the rocky coastline all the way to Bodega Bay where it’s possible to cut back to Hwy 101 and then south to the Golden Gate Bridge. Beckett was on his way back to San Francisco after visiting an old friend in Oregon. Jake Duncan was his sparring partner when Beckett first became a professional boxer. Now both men were retired from boxing and doing other things.

Beckett was traveling around the country, something he always wanted to do. His dad’s inheritance of six million made that possible. And his dad’s classic ’68 GT Mustang simply added a little spice. Duncan had surprised his family and friends by becoming a school teacher after his boxing days were over. Now he taught high school math and was a wrestling coach. Beckett teased him during his visit by telling his old friend that he boxed like a wrestler. They ended up doing a little shadow boxing after a few beers one night, and Beckett let his old friend win.

It was good for Beckett to get away after two back-to-back cases, one in Chicago and one in Santa Cruz, that left him exhausted. He needed a break and seeing Duncan for a few days was just what the doctor ordered. Now he wondered what was next.

He barely got that thought out when his phone rang. He had installed a blue tooth in the old Mustang, so he merely pressed a button on his steering wheel to answer.

Beckett here.

Yes, hello, Mr. Beckett, my name is Karen Myers. We have a mutual friend I believe, Mary Garret.

Yes, Beckett said. How is Mary?

She’s fine. She said to say hello if I got in touch with you.

How can I help you, Karen?

This is still hard to talk about, Mr. Beckett. You’ll excuse me if I pause. I’ve been crying on and off.

You can call me Beckett, Karen. Everyone does. Please, take your time. I’m in my car just watching the scenery go by.

Ok, thanks. My niece died a few days ago. Actually, I’m unsure when she died. Her body washed ashore at the foot of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. A hiker found her body on the rocks near the end of Burma Road.

I’m truly sorry to hear that. Do you know how it happened?

I don’t, and that is one reason I’m calling. I’ve called the police to get more information, and then I got a call that really rattled me. It was a man, and he told me to back off with the police, or I'd end up just like my niece.

That is strange, Beckett said. How did he know you were calling the police?

I have no idea, she said. All I know is that it upset me. I’m 48 and have lived a fairly normal life. I’ve never been threatened before.

I’m on my way to San Francisco. Where do you live?

I live in the Oakland hills, she said.

I’d like to meet you, Karen. We should talk about this if you are up to it.

I was hoping you’d say that. By the way, why don’t you use Jack?

Habit, I guess. People called me Beckett, and it stuck.

Karen Myers said, I’m up for meeting you. Can I buy you dinner tonight?

Sounds good, he said. I’ll call you when I get back to the City.

I’m calling on my cell. You can reach me there. Talk in a bit.

Beckett made it back to the City, took a shower, and called Karen. She suggested a place in Jack London Square, an area on the waterfront in Oakland. Beckett agreed and admitted he had yet to make it over to Oakland. They met at Rick's Seafood, a favorite restaurant with the locals. She told him she would be wearing black and he said he was tall. They met in the lobby at 7 pm.

Beckett was a little surprised when he walked into the lobby. She was 6 feet tall, lean in an athletic way, and she wore her auburn hair shoulder length. Her black dress came to her knees, and she wore a stylish jacket since the October night would turn cool. Beckett had on black jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt. His boots made him 6’6". A few heads turned as they were seated.

Thanks for coming, she said after they were seated.

Mary is a good friend. I’m happy to help out if I can. Sorry for your loss. I’m sure it’s hard.

Thank you, Karen said, my niece, was only 22. Her life had just begun. We were close after my sister, who was her mother, passed away. I promised my sister I’d look after her. I guess I failed.

I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. These things never are. Have the police told you the results of the autopsy?

They say she was strangled, then dumped into the bay. The tide brought her to that small chunk of land at the foot of the bridge.

She paused and collected herself.

The police have not been helpful.

Tell me about it, Beckett said.

"I had reported Rachel missing a week ago. A detective by the name of Lou Williams called me back, and I gave him as much information as I had. He told me we needed to be patient. A woman her age often took off on some adventure unannounced and then showed up a few days later. I told him Rachel was not like that. She would never do such a thing. I’m sure he had heard that before.

"And then three days ago he called. They found a body near the foot of the Bay Bridge, and she matched Rachel's description. Would I come in and help identify her?

I said I would, but my heart was full of dread. I wasn’t sure how I could manage. That’s a tough thing to do alone. But I went to the morgue and met with the detective. The coroner showed me photos. Her face was bloated, but still recognizable. It was her. I nearly fainted, something I’ve never done before.

Then what?

"I called the detective the next day wanting to know if he had made any progress in finding out what happened to Rachel. He was abrupt, almost rude. He said these things take time and he would contact me when he knew something.

A few hours later I got the phone call warning me to back off. The voice was detached, cold. The voice sounded evil. It sounded like someone who had killed before. An hour later I called Mary. She's been one of my best friends for years. I needed someone to lean on. After we talked for a while, she said I should call you. She said you might be able to help me.

They had ordered before the conversation began, and the waiter brought their meals. They ate in quiet for a few minutes, and then Beckett broke the silence.

I’ll help you, Karen. I’ll begin by talking with Detective Williams. I want to see his reaction when he learns that someone contacted you so soon after you had called him. Things are not adding up.

Thank you, Beckett. I can pay you, but I don’t have a lot of money. Perhaps you can get to the bottom of this quickly.

You don’t need to pay me.

Then why would you help me?

Beckett paused, looked at her for just a second. Because it’s the right thing to do.

2

The next morning Beckett called the San Francisco PD and asked for Detective Lou Williams. He was transferred without a string of questions.

A voice answered after the transfer.

Williams here.

Detective, my name is Jack Beckett. I’d like to come in and talk to you about a case your department is working on.

Which case?

I can’t say over the phone.

Why not?

I’m concerned about security.

You’re starting to talk in riddles, Mr. Beckett. Just spell it out.

I’d rather discuss this in person.

I’m a busy man, Beckett. Spell it out or get off the phone.

Beckett wasn’t planning to play his FBI card, but Williams was leaving him little choice.

Look, detective, I can bring the FBI in on this, and they can call your commander. That’s the hard way to get in front of you, but I will if necessary.

Williams chucked. Hardball, is it? Ok, Beckett, this better be good. When can you get down here?

I can be there in thirty minutes.

Detective Williams was with the Homicide Detail in the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. The building had seen better days, and the city was working to move everyone to a new location. Until then, everyone made do.

Beckett arrived as planned in a half hour. He asked for Williams at the main information desk and mentioned he had an appointment. Five minutes later a uniformed officer came down to the lobby to escort Beckett to a meeting room Williams had reserved. No one was in the small room which had a round wooden table and four chairs and no windows. A credenza was against one wall and held a pitcher of water and paper cups. The officer told Beckett to have a seat and Williams would join him shortly.

Beckett figured Williams would keep him waiting as some form of payback for Beckett's hardball tactics, but he was wrong. A muscular middle-aged man walked into the room a few minutes later. He wore a buzz cut and had a scar on his right cheek. He was ramrod straight and had blue eyes. He looked like a no-bullshit kind of guy.

I’m Detective Williams, he said. You must be Beckett.

I am. Thanks for seeing me, detective.

Williams took a seat directly across from Beckett. He had a pad of paper and a pen.

Ok, shoot. What have you got?

I’m a friend of Karen Myers. Her niece washed up in the bay, as you know. She identified her at the morgue, and then called you the next day to get more information. An hour later she received a death threat if she didn’t back off. In my book, detective, that shouldn’t have happened. Either someone in this department knew she was pursuing the case, or someone leaked it. Which is it?

Beckett watched Williams’ face for a reaction. He didn’t flinch. Nor did he say anything right away. It took him a whole 15 seconds.

I agree. Never should have happened. I can tell you no one in this department would make such a call. Unheard of. It’s never happened.

Somehow the information got out, Beckett said. I don’t believe in mental telepathy. Someone made a call to someone, wouldn’t you agree?

I’m stumped, Williams said. And I want to get to the bottom of it. Don’t take this the wrong way, Beckett, but I don’t know you. How do I know you’re not making this up?

Good point, detective. Call Special Agent Cunningham at the FBI office here in town. He's the special agent in charge, and he will vouch for me.

I’ll do that.

The other question I have is why would anyone want Karen Myers to back off? The dead girl was her niece. She obviously wanted to get some answers about what happened.

I can only guess, Williams said. Could be they wanted the case to stay on the back burner a while longer. The squeaky wheel gets the grease first.

Anything about this case I should know? What can you tell me about it?

Rachel Collins was the third young woman to wash up in the last six weeks. All had been strangled, and all had been raped.

Karen didn’t tell me she had been raped.

She may have pushed it out of her mind. It’s not something most people want to think about. She took it very hard when we showed her the photos.

Both men were quiet for a minute.

Beckett stood up. I appreciate your time, detective. If you need to reach me, you can leave a message with Karen Myers.

I’ll do that, and I’ll call your friend at the FBI.

Beckett walked out of the room followed by Detective Williams.

Here’s my card, he said. Call me if you learn anything I should know.

Beckett walked to his car. It had a ticket on the windshield. He picked it up and laughed. Maybe his new friend in the PD could take care of it. His gut feeling was Williams was telling the truth. He didn’t know someone had called Myers and he didn't know the source of the leaked information. But Beckett was sure the detective was thinking hard about finding out who the leaker might be.

He decided to call Riley O’Connor. It would be nice to catch up. He would also ask her to give Cunningham a heads up that someone would ask about Beckett. He got into the Mustang and pulled out into traffic, then he used the bluetooth to call his contact list. Riley O'Connor was on the list, and he merely said, call O'Connor. A moment later her phone rang.

Hey Beckett, how are you?

Good, Riley. Just got back from Oregon. Saw my old friend for a few days. It was a good trip. How about you?

I took a few days off after we wrapped up that case in Santa Cruz. I was running on adrenalin while it was going on, and when it was done, I came back to earth. Cunningham wanted me to take time off. In fact, he ordered me to take time off. I flew down to LA and met with an old friend from college. She lives near Venice beach. I hung out on the beach and watched the crazies go by. Very entertaining. We ate at some nice restaurants, and I drank some good wine. I'm glad I went. Got my batteries charged again.

I’m happy to hear that, he said. I knew you were pushing it in Santa Cruz, but I would have done the same thing, so I wasn’t going to tell you to slow down.

We’re alike in that way.

I’m calling for another reason. I’m helping a friend who lost her niece and suddenly got a death threat. I just came from the SFPD. I talked with a detective by the name of Williams. He wanted a reference, so I told him to call Cunningham. Can you give him a heads up?

Yeah, sure, she said. What do you want Cunningham to say? She laughed.

Beckett laughed too. I suppose he could say anything. Maybe he just needs to say he knows me and doesn’t believe I'm an axe murderer in my spare time.

I’ll do that for a price.

What’s that?

Have dinner with me tonight.

Detective Williams went back to his office and sat behind his desk. He looked at his phone for a long minute, thought about picking it up, then decided it would be better to walk down the hall and stick his head into another office.

He arrived at the door of Lieutenant Jessica Langley’s office. She was an investigator in the Homicide Detail and worked with Williams on some major investigations. He poked his head in her door and noticed she was just hanging up from a call.

Jessica, can I have a minute of your time?

Sure, she said.

Somewhat awkwardly he said, Join me out here.

She got up and walked into the hall where Williams was already waiting.

I think our phones are bugged.

She looked at him incredulously. You’re kidding, right?

No, I’m serious, but I hope I’m wrong. Let's take a walk outside, and I'll fill you in.

3

Awhite Chevy van was parked 200 yards from Beckett on Bryant Street, and when he pulled into traffic, the white van followed. Two men were in the van. One was the driver, and the other was seated in the back at a console that controlled an over-the-air phone taping software module capable of picking up the conversation of any mobile phone within a two-mile radius. All the operator needed to do was enter