Gage called Spike at SFPD Homicide after an hour working through Charlie’s records with Alex Z. He knew he wasn’t seeing something in the mass of data lying before them, but he didn’t yet have the means to recognize it.
“What happened at Porzolkiewski’s arraignment?” Gage asked.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“He wouldn’t say a word. Refused to enter a plea. Refused to talk to the public defender. The judge sent him off to the funny farm. Smart move on Porzolkiewski’s part. He’s just delaying the inevitable, but smart move anyway.”
“Are you going to ship him off for trial first in Contra Costa?”
“We were until he admitted to you he went to Charlie’s. Now the case here is as strong as the one there. Might as well do this one.” Spike chuckled. “You ought to keep visiting the guy. Every time he opens his mouth he digs himself in a little deeper. What do you think he’s doing?”
“He’s just like all the shrewd crooks,” Gage said. “Build your defense around what you can’t deny and what’s sure to be found out anyway.”
“Well, I’ve got something else he won’t be able to deny.” Gage heard Spike shuffle papers on his desk. “I just received Porzolkiewski’s cell phone records. It has calls to the Mariner Hotel where Viz had followed Boots Marnin. Four calls during the week after Charlie got shot. We can’t trace them to his exact room, but the jury won’t care. If Marnin had worked a little smarter in India, there could’ve been a third body.”
The gears caught again. Porzolkiewski had claimed he sold the wallet for ten thousand dollars to two men claiming to represent Meyer. Maybe the calls to Boots were the negotiations, and maybe there was evidence to confirm it.
“Have you gone over everything seized from Porzolkiewski’s house?”
“Not yet. The prize was the sodium monofluoroacetate from the store. In fact-more shuffling-“the evidence sheet shows the officers only took flour containers from the house and cleaning powders from the garage.” Spike paused. More shuffling. “Beyond that, only some indicia to prove in court he had control of the house: telephone and electric bills, and his wallet.”
“Porzolkiewski’s wallet? That doesn’t sound right. He would’ve had it with him at the store.”
More shuffling. “There’s a wallet listed on his jail property sheet, too. Let me call you back.”
S pike called back fifteen minutes later.
“You may want to drop by. I’ve got two wallets sitting on my desk and one of them doesn’t belong to Porzolkiewski… and there’s some really strange stuff in it.”