A Killing in China Basin

TWENTY-NINE


Raveneau didn’t inform the Oakland detectives, nor had Becker, but for the past two days an undercover team from San Francisco’s Special Investigation Division, SID, had covered Stoltz. Right now, a black limo was in the driveway with the trunk up. Four pieces of high quality black plastic luggage, neither masculine nor feminine looking, that could belong to either Stoltz or his mother, had just been loaded into the trunk. Somebody was taking a trip.

Yesterday they learned that Stoltz had a route where he came through the garden, alongside the guest house, past the tennis courts and pool, and in through the doors of a sunroom at the rear of mom’s place. Stoltz alternated his daily routes and Mike Malloy, the Special Investigations Division officer watching, wondered as he had several times in the last forty-eight hours whether Stoltz knew he was under surveillance.

They had learned a fair amount about him in the last two days and Malloy was somewhat impressed. Stoltz had a gift and reputation for pattern recognition. Yesterday afternoon they watched him knock out a book of Sudoku puzzles over a latte at a Starbucks. Among his friends, and this guy did have friends – he wasn’t isolated even if he lived on the estate with mom – he was known as ‘The Engineer.’ Ordinary enough nickname and otherwise corny, but not so much since it came from guys who also spent their lives in front of a computer. Stoltz probably could have gone somewhere much bigger with his life if he hadn’t f*cked up. He had a few strange habits but nothing too out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing like some of the people they watched.

Outside of what they’d gotten from Homicide, the SID team had questioned a number of people on their own, including a goofball named Chulie who’d been Stoltz’s cellmate. Chulie remembered Stoltz wanting to even the score with SF Homicide, but he also wanted something in return for remembering.

Malloy knew the mother lived with only a housekeeper who served as cook and caretaker. The mother was seventy-five but looked and sounded like a hardened sixty. Cosmetic surgeries had turned her face into a tanned ping-pong ball. Malloy watched her get in the car. Then Stoltz walked out of the house. He strode across the stone porch and down the steps with a light linen sport coat draped over one arm. He got in behind the driver, the whole move over in less than ten seconds.

‘Suspect is in the vehicle and the vehicle is moving.’

SID leapfrogged the limo as it drove to SFO. When it pulled up to the domestic terminal they’d already had two officers stationed inside, who then watched them check into first class at the United counter. Malloy went through special security with another officer and saw them board. He’d bet a beer on Hawaii, based on the way Stoltz was dressed. He’d hoped for Hawaii. If it had been, he’d be getting on the same plane or the one after it.

But it wasn’t Hawaii. It was LA, and LAPD would catch them on the other side, as Malloy and another officer followed on a later plane. The United supervisor they talked to was hesitant before divulging Mrs Stoltz’s itinerary. She showed an Irene and Cody Stoltz flying first class to LAX, and Irene Stoltz continuing on to Cabo San Lucas four days from now.

‘Do you show Cody Stoltz on the Cabo leg?’

‘No, sir, and I don’t show any return flights with him.’ She pivoted the screen so he could read, adding, ‘He must have other plans.’