“Sure. It’s scary.”
“It sucks, is what it is.”
“Getting old ain’t for sissies,” I said.
“Tell me about it. Pisses me off.”
I finally turned and looked at her. “Is there anything I can do?”
After a swift, searching glance at me, she said, “You’re kidding, right? You were ready to tear the skin off my face a minute ago, and now you’re offering help and consolation?”
“Hey, I have a soft spot for you.” I patted the top of my head.
She chuckled.
“I shouldn’t have gotten in your face,” I said, “but it’s my best friend you’re screwing with.”
“I get that.” She nodded, took a sip of coffee, and stared out the window again. “She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”
“I tell her that all the time.”
Lee snorted. “Bet you do.”
She finished off her coffee and handed me the mug. “By the way. Your version of ‘in my face,’ Wainwright?”
“Yeah?”
“Lame. Really lame.”
I laughed. “We’re going to be sitting around drinking wine later. Why don’t you come over after you clock out?”
She tried for a sneer but her eyes betrayed her interest. “You gonna be swilling that sissy white zinfandel crap?”
It was my turn to make a face. “Okay, now you’re just trying to piss me off.”
Chapter 7
As soon as Inspector Lee agreed to come by later for a glass of wine, she groaned and admitted she couldn’t socialize while Robin was officially a suspect. But she took a rain check on the assumption that we wouldn’t always be surrounded by dead bodies and suspicious circumstances. I considered it a good first step to friendship.
While I’d been doing what I could to schmooze Inspector Lee into a better mood so she wouldn’t drag Robin off to jail, Derek and Robin were obtaining the real scoop from Inspector Jaglom. They gave me the whole story later as I loaded all the coffee mugs into the dishwasher.
The police had managed to track down Alex’s apartment in the Richmond District, thanks to the information Robin had given them yesterday. Specifically, his name, Alexei Mikhail Pavlenko.
Jaglom reported that whoever had trashed Robin’s apartment and killed Alex had also trashed Alex’s apartment.
“How can they tell it was the same guy?” I asked.
Derek handed me another mug. “The search was systematic and thorough. Nothing was destroyed, exactly, but things were upturned or tossed on the floor.”
“Boy, first they kill the guy, then turn his place upside down. Seems rude, doesn’t it?”
“To say the least,” Robin agreed.
“But while the police were sifting through Alex’s property,” Derek said, “one of his neighbors showed up and inquired as to what had happened. When the fellow found out Alex had been killed, he jogged back to his apartment and came back with something Inspector Jaglom found rather interesting.”
“What was it?”
“A small strongbox,” he said. “Alex had given it to him and asked him to keep it in a safe place.”
I halted in mid–dishwasher loading. “Oh, my God, do you know what that means?”
“Yes,” Robin said. “He must’ve known he was in danger.”
“Exactly,” Derek remarked. “Which means he knowingly put you in danger.”
I exchanged a meaningful glance with Robin, who frowned. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Well, you should,” I said, squeezing her shoulder in sympathy. “It’ll keep you angry and alive.”
If Alex weren’t already dead, I’d have killed him myself. He could have gotten Robin murdered. The thought of that made me want to hug my best friend and kick a dead man.
“Did Jaglom tell you what they found in the box?” I asked.
Derek leaned against the post at the edge of the kitchen. “Various personal papers. And his passport.”
“And?”
“He was indeed Ukrainian,” Derek said.
Robin leaned against the sink. “And Inspector Lee was totally pissed off about it.”
“Why?”
Derek explained that there was a turf war bubbling up among the Russian, Ukrainian, and Georgian neighborhoods of the Outer Richmond. This was the area of the city north of Golden Gate Park that included Lincoln Park and the beautiful Palace of the Legion of Honor. The Richmond extended all the way out to the Great Highway that ran along the beach. It was as well known for its influx of Eastern European immigrants as it was for the heavy blanket of fog that seemed to swallow it up most days around three o’clock.
Jaglom had confided that Inspector Lee had a low opinion of any kind of ethnic turf wars after living through a decade of Chinatown gang warfare in the eighties.
“Oh, come on.” I looked at Derek skeptically. “They don’t really think this was as simple as Robin being caught in a battle between rival gang members, do they?”
“It’s absurd,” Robin said. “He wasn’t a gang member.”
“Russian Mafia?” I suggested.