Shauf slumped back against the driver’s door, blond curls flattened from the headrest, a Diet Coke resting on her left thigh. Selke and a San Francisco homicide inspector were up on August’s porch. Two SFPD patrol units were on the street, their light bars reflecting off the white-painted stairs. Getting to the on-call judge and getting a warrant had delayed Selke’s arrival, and lights were no longer on in the front rooms of the apartment. Through binoculars Marquez watched Selke hit the bell a second time.
“Selke called me on his way here,” Shauf said. She took a sip of Coke. “He wanted to know if you and Anna have something going on.”
“He’s got to ask.”
“Not the way he does it.”
The front door opened, and August moved onto the threshold, silhouetted by the light from behind him. Selke badged him, showed him the warrant, and August handed it back to him. He stroked his goatee and smiled.
“Why does he remind me of the devil?” Shauf asked as August stepped aside and ushered the detectives in. “The woman he came home with is also in there. She looks like a kid, but he had his arm around her when they went up the stairs, and I think I’ve seen her in his store here. I’m pretty sure she works there. She’s got a little ruby stud in her nose.” After a pause, Shauf added, “The guy is a scuzzball.”
The door closed and Marquez laid the binoculars down. The street was mostly commercial buildings, shops, boutiques, a Tully’s Coffee at the corner. Two blocks down the street was August Foods, the neon script with the store name not unlike the neon over his wife’s two coffee bars, Presto on Union and Presto on Spear, a third about to open down near the wharf.
“Did you talk to Chief Bell?” Shauf asked.
“Yeah, after the BOLO went out.”
“How’d he take it?”
Bell had immediately assumed it was their fault, that the be on the lookout for going out meant the SOU had somehow screwed up. But Marquez didn’t volunteer that yet. It was the kind of information Shauf was fishing for, and he didn’t want to get into that with her tonight.
“He wants me in his office tomorrow morning.”
“He’s going to say the operation is blown.”
He’d all but said it tonight.
The front door opened and they watched Selke come back outside alone. He held his cell phone under the porch light to punch in numbers. Seconds later Marquez’s phone rang.
“Does Anna Burdovsky have a cat?” Selke asked.
“She does.”
“Could you describe it?”
Marquez pictured the cat. He’d been to her apartment here in San Francisco after she’d called CalTIP saying she might have information on sturgeon poachers. But that was about four months ago.
“It’s black and white, a male, it looks a little like a Holstein cow. The name is Jim or Pete, something like that.”
“Bob.”
“That’s right, it’s Bob. What does the cat have to do with anything?”
Selke turned to face the street. He seemed to like delivering the bombshell.
“Mr. August says Burdovsky and her cat have stayed here for the last week. He told her she could stay with him a week or two and showed us the room she’s been staying in. The cat is part of the deal and I don’t know what else is, though August’s friend here is sure she knows and she wants to leave, but we’re holding her because we want to get a statement, otherwise you’d see her stomp down the stairs. Have you ever been up here?”
“No.”
“Do you know, he’s got four bedrooms? How much money is this guy making? This place has to be worth a couple million bucks minimum. It looks like a magazine and I can see why Burdovsky would want to stay here. There are clothes and items he says belong to her and we’re welcome to take. He also admits talking to her today but it was closer to noon and they argued because he told her he wanted her stuff and the cat out today. He told me the cat’s next home is the Humane Society if she doesn’t show up by tomorrow. Is any of this making sense to you?”
Marquez didn’t have to answer that.
“Well then, try on this idea, Burdovsky isn’t who you thought she was. Mr. August is very cooperative. Anything we want we can have. Even the sheets off the bed or his phone records, whatever we want. Hell, he’d give us the cat if we had a carrier. He’s also coming in tonight to sit in an interview box.”
“Where?”
“The Richmond Station.” Selke waited a beat then continued. “The young lady he’s with works at his store here in the city and told us August was in the store from 10:00 this morning forward. I don’t think she’s lying, particularly since she can’t wait to get out of here. Either way it’s easy to check. She says they left the store together and went to a bar at around 5:30.”
Selke walked over to the edge of the porch and looked down the street, perhaps trying to locate them.
“I also called the number you gave me for the apartment Burdovsky is moving out of and got the ex-roommate who just got back from Chile two weeks ago. She’s not a big fan of Burdovsky. She told me she got back from Chile and found the cat in her bedroom with a litter box and food. Apparently, whenever Burdovsky was gone for a day or two she put the cat there. The room smelled like a litter box and the rent hadn’t been paid in two months. She claims Burdovsky lied about paying it, was supposed to have sent the check and didn’t do it because she didn’t have her half. There was an eviction letter on the kitchen table, and Burdovsky had some story about her employer owing for the rent. She’s thinking of taking Burdovsky to small claims court, so she’s right there with you, she wants her found.”
“We’ll see you at the Richmond Station,” Marquez said.
“Sure, you’re welcome to listen in.”
At the Richmond Police Station they watched Selke and the SFPD homicide inspector go into an interview box where August was already waiting. Coffee sat untouched in front of August, and he’d changed clothes. He wore a dark green cashmere sweater, gray slacks, polished loafers.
“My ex-wife loves your store,” Selke said. “She always ran up a big bill. I ought to lock you up just for that.” The SF inspector laughed. August smiled. Selke smiled back at him.
“We appreciate you coming in.”
“Frankly, detective, I think you know I only came down here because I lied to you earlier. You asked if I was sleeping with her, and I couldn’t tell you with Dara there.”
“So you were sleeping with Ms. Burdovsky?”
“Yes, but I told her yesterday I wasn’t interested in continuing the relationship. She got hysterical and told me she was falling in love with me, so maybe you ought to dredge the river. Maybe she got lovesick and threw herself in.”
Selke walked August through the past few days, where he’d been, whom he’d talked to, who else knew anything about his relationship with Anna. The interview ended at 12:17. Shauf left to drive back to Sacramento, and Marquez stayed to talk with Selke and the SFPD inspector.
“It’s going to turn out that she was staying there,” Selke said. “We’ve got a downstairs neighbor that recognizes her and has seen her come and go with August. We showed the neighbor photos, and she said they had their hands all over each other. You’ve got to face the very strong possibility Burdovsky burned you.” Selke looked at the SFPD inspector, then back at Marquez. “We have to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“How is it she’s staying with your suspect and you don’t know about it?”
It was a fair question and not easy for Marquez to answer. Watching August interviewed he’d realized Anna most likely had burned them.
“My team is down to three wardens, and we’ve had our hands full in the delta.”
Selke nodded. Sure, that explained it. The SFPD inspector nodded in understanding, but the answer didn’t cut it for either of them. It stank of incompetence. Selke studied his face, looking for a further answer there, then backed off.
“What is it about sturgeon?” Selke asked, smiling again. “Isn’t that what Scott Peterson said he was doing that night, going sturgeon fishing Christmas Eve?”
Selke and the SF inspector had a laugh over that. Marquez left them there, the two of them still joking about Peterson and sturgeon fishing as he walked down the corridor and out the door.