Bay of Deception Read online

  “Stupidity, that’s what happened.” He turned to face Oliver.

  “Tilson and Roberts were on shift with Mrs. McKenny and apparently Robert's fell asleep watching television. Tilson went to the bathroom, however by the time he came out, Mrs. McKenny was gone. Seems he enjoyed a magazine for at least fifteen minutes while taking care of business.”

  Standing with both his hands huddled in their respective pockets, Williams' face showed the years of running a small town police department. Tall and balding with more beak than nose on his weathered face, his profile fit that of a wanted poster except for his unusual glasses. Rounded with thin wire frames, the pair of spectacles represented optometry from the previous century, if not earlier and lent the man an air of studied intelligence.

  Oliver was quickly beginning to understand the man’s frustration and knew beyond a doubt that Roberts and Tilson would be doing the worst kind of police work for at least six months. One might even be temporarily transferred to Pacific Grove Transportation to do a little ticket giving and the other to the local high school as School Resource Officer. For a minute, neither of them said much as a stream of cops began to make their way out of the old stone house, all looking tired and not a little irritated.

  Oliver said hello to a few as they passed on the way to their cars, then turned back to Williams. “What time did she leave?”

  With a shake of his head, Williams seemed to deflate, shrinking somehow as he joined Oliver in leaning against the still warm hood.

  “Tilson says he last saw her about 12:35am, but that was when she went to bed, and it wasn’t till he went to check on her at 2:15am that he found her missing...” Williams’ vulture-like face screwed up tightly and, with a burst of irritation, he pushed off the hood to stare up at the crisp, clear nighttime sky.

  Just as he did, two cops appeared in the doorway. With an inward groan Oliver saw it was Tilson and Roberts and marveled at their poor timing. They also sensed it was not a good time and Tilson halted abruptly as if trying to go into reverse, causing a collision with Roberts which was enough to bring them to Williams' attention.

  As if in slow-motion, Williams' gaze shifted from the sky overhead to the frozen pair of cops from the Beevis and Butthead school of Police work. Oliver quickly realized he wanted an exit at this point and slid off the hood in order to begin the process. Williams, without looking his way raised an arm until it came to rest on Oliver’s shoulder, denying him an easy escape. The two cops attempted to casually walk down the path toward Oliver, only managing to look all the stiffer for it. Williams allowed them to walk almost the entire length of the path before he slowly raised his hand and with a single forefinger, motioned them over.

  Both Tilson and Roberts suddenly looked stricken, their eyes just a little too wide for the time of night as they came to stop before Williams. Each had the look of a small animal caught in the on-coming headlights of a very large vehicle.

  “Hi, uh, Chief,” the two cops mouthed more than spoke. Oliver noticed Roberts’ twitching eye and saw how scared he was. He remembered the man had been on the force less than a year and sympathized with him; to be a rookie cop with this incident on your record was bad. Real bad.

  “I want to see you both in my office tomorrow morning at 6:00am...” Williams began, then stopped himself, as if afraid he might tear the two cops apart. “However, I expect both your reports on my desk before you go home tonight. Is that clear?” Both nodded quickly. Williams again paused, then hissed, "Now get out of my sight!”

  Both cops actually seemed to kick up sand as they scrambled for their unmarked police car and a minute later, he and Williams watched them pull away.

  Oliver was stunned and stepped around to face his boss. “You let them off pretty easy.”

  “What good would yelling do?” He waved toward the few houses nearby. “Except wake the neighbors and have them call the police. I’ll deal with those two nincompoops tomorrow morning, don’t you worry. Roberts will be going over to the local Junior. high for a while and Tilson, being that he was the senior officer on duty will spend six months handing out parking tickets starting Monday.” Oliver smiled inwardly but Williams caught it.

  “What...?”

  “Nothing, Chief,” he said, still smiling. “I just know you fairly well.” Oliver looked at his watch and saw it read 3:01am.

  Williams looked at his own watch, then at Oliver, pausing before he spoke.

  “You can’t go after her, Ollie, she made a choice to leave our protection and though it was a stupid decision, you can’t use work time to try and find her. If she returns willingly, it goes back to the way it was and I’ll find someone better than those two yahoos to watch over her.”

  He’d known such a speech was coming and though they both knew the policy, Oliver opted for honey, rather than vinegar in this situation.

  “That’s fine, chief." He nodded. "I just want your go ahead to follow up on the killing of Carol Montoya, and if somehow it's connected to Mrs. McKenny, I'll go after her as well.”

  Williams couldn’t fault his logic and Oliver knew the Chief knew it.

  After a moment, a weary smile spread across Williams' face and he placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder.

  “Go ahead, Ollie, go find your killer, and the girl. I just hope the one doesn’t catch up with the other!”

  Williams gave him a gentle pat on the back, pulled open his car door and stepped inside. A moment later, Williams drove off, his tail lights winking out as he turned the corner and was gone.

  Oliver walked the few paces to his own car and leaned against it, listening as the surf's roar built every ten seconds or so, only to die away just as suddenly. Thoughts of Jenny ran through his mind and though he had a few guesses, her reasons for taking off pretty much left him stumped. Eventually the cold forced an end to such musings and Oliver climbed back into his cruiser. He groaned aloud as he saw the clock click over to read 3:29am. It would be close to four when he climbed into bed and knew as surely as the sun would rise, the following day would be fueled by caffeine.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Get up, McKenny!”

  Sergeant Enrique Valarez spat out at the inert mountain of flesh sprawled over the nearly hidden steel bed, the man's overly large legs and arms draped and falling everywhere.

  “Your bail's been paid so it's check-out time and the judge has set your court date for next week.”

  A few moments passed with no response and Valarez placed his right foot onto the bed's metal frame and shoved, his effort causing little more than a slight shiver to run through it. It was however, enough.

  “DON’T DO! THAT!” Hissed the pained voice of the bed's hulking occupant.

  “Welcome back, McKenny,” Valarez said, not moving his foot off the bed frame.

  “You gotta talk that loud, you stupid Mexican,” McKenny hissed up at him. “Can’t you see I got a hangover?”

  “Tell me something I care about,” Valarez said, his tone dripping acid. ”You come into my town last night insult every Hispanic within earshot before picking a fight with someone half your weight. Then you resist arrest and put one of my deputies in the hospital.”

  McKenny grunted, turned slowly onto his back with a care that spoke of pain at every movement. When the Sergeant finally stood looking down at McKenny’s pale face, his eyes displayed only disgust.

  “Go back to Monterey, Mr. Pro-football and stay out of my town. King City has enough manure around it already and we don’t need your brand of shit as well.”

  Placing his foot on the bed, Valarez gave it a satisfyingly forceful shove which caused the former halfback to erupt into a long string of curses, even as he gripped his head with both hands.

  A few minutes later, McKenny stumbled out of the holding cell and Valarez guessed him to be at least three hundred pounds but in his slept-in-clothes, the disheveled giant appeared to weigh closer to three fifty and stood well over six feet nine inches. Not the largest man the Sergeant had ever seen, bu
t close.

  As his Deputy dumped McKenny’s personal belongings onto the counter, Valarez watched as the former football star signed the personal possessions form without bothering to check his wallet.

  “Who paid my bail?" McKenny asked, not bothering to look up at the Sergeant.

  “Man named Jenel, waitin’ outside last I saw.” Valarez eyed the station’s front doors and saw that the shiny black Hummer was no longer out front.

  When he turned back, McKenny looked as if he might pass out and wondered if the previous night’s drinking had caught up with him. Then a look of fear so cold passed over McKenny's face it seemed the football player might break down right there at the front counter.

  “I... I gotta make a phone call,” McKenny said, reaching for the phone on the counter.

  “Official use only,” Valarez said icily, covering the receiver with his hand. “Have a nice day.”

  Valarez expected a protest, perhaps even a slur, but the stricken looking McKenny only turned and walked out, barely pushing the two front doors wide enough to slip through. Valarez wondered what could produce such fear in someone McKenny’s size, then recalled the slick, dark haired man who’d bailed McKenny out.

  Outside the police station, McKenny slumped against its wall, sweat beading down his neck and forehead despite the early morning cold.

  McKenny searched through his pockets for his cell phone and vaguely remembered leaving it in his Porsche. Pushing himself upright, McKenny kept one hand touching the stone wall as he started down the block, looking for a phone booth. Though shaky, he managed to find one three blocks away and pushing open the folding door, squeezed a portion of himself inside. A few seconds of fumbling in his pockets retrieved a worn quarter and soon he heard the phone connect and begin ringing.

  “What...” a deep voice spat from the other end.

  “Which one did you fail to kill?" McKenny hissed into the phone. Only silence responded until finally the voice on the other end spoke.

  "Your wife."

  Rage swept through McKenny and he was tempted to break the phone in two, something he'd done a number of times.

  "You were paid to kill both of them," McKenny spat out after several solid kicks to the booth, breaking several plastic panes in the process. "Don't expect to get the other half unless you do, so either finish the job or don’t plan on living long.” He didn’t wait to hear the response and slammed the phone into its cradle before stepping back out into the cold morning air.

  He looked up, then down the street, finally focusing on the ‘Main Street’ sign at the corner. The bar he’d been arrested in couldn’t be too far away in such a one-horse town and with luck, his Porsche would be close by. Assuming it hadn’t been stripped or stolen that was. He began walking south toward the largest group of buildings and fifteen minutes later, was doing eighty-five mph up highway 101 toward Monterey.

  McKenny discovered his Alpine stereo had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole in the dash but it was his words to the hired assassin that played over and over in his mind: ‘Either finish the job or don’t plan on living long.’

  Cruising past the city of Gonzales, McKenny understood that Jenel wouldn't have bailed him out personally if both had been killed, his boss rarely allowing a single mistake such as this. With her knowledge about JenelCo, either his bitch of a wife would be dead by tomorrow morning, or he would.

  The obnoxious clanging of his new alarm clock finally pulled Oliver awake and with a well-aimed swipe, sent it tumbling to the floor. Damn, he thought, sleepily. I broke another one. He slid over to the bed's edge, listening for any indication that another clock wouldn't be on his weekly shopping list and was rewarded by a steady ticking from the floor. Mildly relieved, he rolled onto his back and for a minute thought about the previous day's events. Why would someone kill Carol Montoya? Who would attempt to kill Jenny and why would this beautiful woman leave without a trace? All he had were questions and absolutely no answers. Hopefully, he thought, that will change today.

  Pulling himself upright, Oliver swung both legs onto the floor and debated on his method of surviving on only three hours of sleep. Cold showers, he’d decided long ago, were not for sane individuals simply because more civilized methods of achieving clarity of mind existed. Copious amounts of coffee being his favorite. Time, however, was a factor this morning and he realized a cold shower was unavoidable. Mustering what little resolve he held for what lay ahead, he stumbled reluctantly toward the bathroom.

  Five minutes later he performed a hasty retreat, dressed with the speed of one nearing frostbite and exited his apartment at almost his normal departure time. Which meant he had two minutes for a drive that took ten.

  What universal law is it, he wondered, that says the closer one lives to work, the more likely you are to be late? Since moving into the small house on David Avenue, he doubted he’d been on time once since returning to duty.

  True to form, he quietly slipped into the briefing room at least four minutes late and listened as Williams was finishing up a brief account of the previous night’s charade for the other three detectives and assorted officers going on duty. The edge of frustration was still evident in his voice and Ollie suspected, would be for days. After that, Williams outlined who would be investigating the Montoya murder (himself and Collinson). The other two detectives would follow up on the shooting at the McKenny residence followed by the tactics the Chief wanted on each.

  As all filed from the meeting, Williams waved both he and Collinson into his office and closed the door. Not a good sign. The captain’s office and desk looked as immaculate as usual and Oliver had no doubt the man’s home looked just as organized.

  “Morning, Ollie,” Williams said casually as he sat down behind his desk. “Missed you at the start of the morning’s briefing.” Three years of working for Williams had taught Ollie to resist such bait

  “Anyway," the Chief continued. "I wanted to let you know I took the liberty of checking on the APB you put out for Collin McKenny. Don’t bother, he’s clear.”

  Collinson and he looked at each other, than back at Williams. “Where was he?” They asked with a single voice.

  Williams seemed to think for a moment as if remembering some key detail.

  “Well, it would seem Mr. McKenny was in King City yesterday; got himself into a bar fight around 4:30pm, breaking a few noses in the process. If that wasn’t enough, he resisted arrest and spent the night locked up where his presence was checked on every couple of hours.”

  “Convenient,” Collinson remarked. “When was he released?”

  “About an hour ago, probably just getting back home now and if he wants to play the scene out completely, he’ll call up here in a few minutes about the damage to his house.”

  “So we’re back to square one on the Montoya case,” Oliver stated pessimistically.

  “That’s where all good detectives start, Ollie." Williams said. "Then you go to square two, then square three.” Williams looked at both of them momentarily before pulling a report from a near perfect stack of them and began to read.

  Collinson and he took this as their exit and headed toward the door, agreeing to meet in Collinson’s office in ten minutes to discuss the investigation. He turned and watched Collinson walk casually down the hall, as if on a stroll in a park. He, however, smelled a civilized state of mind brewing in the break room and once there, hunted for the largest among the abandoned coffee mugs every work place in America collects.

  Ollie settled on one labeled, MonsterMug, its lettering stretched out across the inside. It was a large blackish thing that wore a twisted face which sprouted from the container’s side. A Halloween gift brought to work no doubt and he could understand why no one wanted such an eyesore decorating their home cupboard. The protruding chin and hooked nose provided a convenient handle, giving the uneasy impression a stray finger could be lost if not careful in handling the thing. A fault he could overlook in light of the sixteen plus ounces of coffee it now h
eld. Something he desperately needed to face the paint drying, thrill-a-minute meeting he was about to have with Collinson.”

  Serving for the past nine years as a detective on the Pacific Grove Police Department made John Collinson its veteran Detective, complete with an extra window in his office and fifty bucks more a month. Technically his superior, Collinson was happy to let the window and extra cash be the only distinctions of rank and for Oliver and the other detectives on the force, this seemed just fine. The truth was, all had different methods and styles of pursuing a case and Collinson’s was simply to follow the book. Literally.

  That first year he made detective, it was not unusual for Collinson pull out one of his Police Academy textbooks on an investigation. Whatever karma he’d picked up in one of his previous lives had managed to get him partnered with Collinson in this one. Seven months passed before he was able to convince Collinson to try something not mentioned in the Police Bible of Investigation.

  Not that he didn’t respect the detective’s style, far from it. Several times Collinson had discovered case-busting evidence which he'd missed in what Collinson referred to as his, Hurry Scurry method of detective work. Eventually both had developed a respect for each other’s methods, if perhaps not an appreciation. Though he knew exactly what strategy Collinson would suggest, the meeting itself was important and armed with MonsterMug, Oliver made his way toward almost certain boredom.

  Four hours later Oliver pulled into the large striped parking lot of JenelCo, hoping to fill in a few pieces regarding Carol Montoya’s work life, and if lucky, perhaps her death. Parking in one of the guest spaces, he noticed immediately the wide selection of imported luxury vehicles around the imposing grayish structure. As he stepped through the large glass entrance, he was greeted with an ornate round fountain located in the center of the large marbled foyer.

  He made his way toward the receptionist’s desk located at the far end of the oval shaped entrance area. The receptionist was much like the fountain and the term ‘Drop-dead gorgeous’ flashed through his mind as she ended a call and replaced the receiver. ‘Dominique’ as her nametag read, had long brown lustrous hair, classic lines of beauty and as he stared into her utterly green eyes, Oliver hastily pulled on his best detective veneer.