Blood for Wine Read online

“Okay, my friend, we can do this, and I am coming myself. I will need a suitable car, a used pickup truck would be best. My Lexus will stand out.”

  I told him I’d take care of the truck and got Hiram Pritchard’s agreement that Nando could use his old Ford 150 that he drove to work and back. An hour later Nando sat across from me with one of his investigators, a small, wiry man named Miguel Fuentes. I pulled a map of the Dundee Hills up on Google Earth and showed them where Rolling Hills Estate was located. “It’s still early,” I said. “If we’re lucky, he hasn’t left to go anywhere yet.”

  “We will station ourselves well down the road on either side of his drive, here and here” Nando said, pointing to two spots where the road curved sharply. “We will not miss him.”

  “Good. I want to know where he goes today, how long he stays there, and anything he does that looks out of the ordinary.” I showed them where Candice’s condo was next. “If I’m right about this guy,” I went on, “he might head there after dark to case the place. She’s not there, so there’s no danger.”

  Nando fixed me with his gaze. “What about you? Are you a target?

  “Possibly.” I smiled. “I’ve got your Glock to keep me company. I’ll be fine.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Be sure to load it, Calvin.” I got no respect when it came to gun knowhow.

  “Can you do this around the clock?” I asked.

  Nando looked insulted. “Of course. Tonight, one of us will watch for his headlights and one will sleep. If he slips out, we will know.”

  After they left, I sat there drumming my fingers on my desk. I knew it was a weak plan and with two people on the clock, expensive. My only hope was that Daniels’ movements would reveal something, a man who was panicked at what Candice and I knew, or a man who urgently needed to talk to someone, a co-conspirator, perhaps. The spring of hope bubbled on.

  I worked through lunch that day, stopping only to take Archie out for a short walk. It was dry, and the only evidence of the sun was a diffuse silver glow backlighting the mottled cloud cover. Archie sniffed the southerly breeze, catching, I imagined, notes from the river that were not accessible to my nose. We were on our way back when Nando called to tell me Daniels was on the move. “Good,” I said. “Stay in touch.”

  Early that afternoon Helen Berkowitz called. After an icy greeting she said, “I’ve spoken to Detective Ballard about the Amis’ murder and your conduct in the investigation.” She paused for effect. “I’m a little disturbed by what I heard and would like to talk to you about that.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to three. “Ballard has both of my statements, Helen. The blackmail case was ancient history when he interviewed me.”

  She laughed. “Ancient history? Sure it was. Shall we set a date?”

  I pushed the date off a week and couldn’t resist leaving her with a parting shot. “You know, Helen,” I said, “in the midst of all these distractions I’ve got a solid alternate theory of the Lori Kavanaugh murder. I’m looking forward to the trial.” Okay, it wasn’t solid, but I felt like things were finally moving. And, damn it, it felt good to say that.

  An hour later I got a call from Nando. Daniels had driven to McMinnville and gone into a building on NE 6th Street. He gave me the address, and I immediately recognized it as the law office of Comey and Burns, a couple of well-known attorneys. Hmm, I thought, the actions of someone worried about being arrested? Could be. There was another possibility. Daniels was exploring how to haul Candice and me into civil court for invasion of privacy. After all, we’d provided him with a pretty explicit text trail. I judged that a long shot, although some people have an insatiable appetite for litigation.

  Nando called again, a little more than two hours later. “He’s at Candice Roberts’ condo,” he reported, his voice elevated noticeably. “I’m watching him with my binoculars. He just put something in her mailbox, and now he’s leaving. I can have Miguel follow him while I retrieve whatever it is.”

  “Okay, but be careful it’s not a bomb or a snake.”

  Nando called back five minutes later. “It’s an envelope with a badly smashed cell phone in it.”

  “Bring it with you.” I chuckled. “I assume he removed the SIM card before he smashed it.”

  Nando called again twenty minutes later. By this time the sun had set behind a thickening cloud cover, and the skies had opened up. “It looked like he was headed back to Dundee, but we lost him. A truck jackknifed on 99W and all traffic is blocked. As soon as this clears, I’ll send Miguel to Rolling Hills to see if he can pick him up again, and I’ll check in at your office.”

  It wasn’t long after that call that I heard a sharp rap on my backdoor. Archie grumbled a bark, stretched, and got up from his corner perch. I stood and removed the Glock from a desk drawer, tucked it into my belt at the small of my back, and pulled my sweater back down to conceal it. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as I switched on the back light and opened the door.

  “Evening, counselor.” Blake Daniels stood in the rain in front of me, his hands plunged into the deep pockets of his Gore-Tex rain gear, his eyes narrowed and his face taut as a drumskin.

  “Hello, Blake,” I said, without stepping back to grant him entry. “What can I do for you?”

  He glared at me for a moment. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s wet out here.”

  “Sure,” I said, and stepped aside, watching with relief as his hands came out of his coat empty. I gestured to Archie, who went back to his corner, then pointed at the coatrack. “You can hang your gear there.” He doffed his raincoat, and I didn’t see the telltale sag of a weapon. He took a seat, and I returned to my desk, the Glock uncomfortable but reassuring at my back and my dog watching with interest from his perch.

  He squared his shoulders and met my gaze with his hawk eyes. “So, you decided to run a little scam on me, and you recruited that bitch Roberts to help you.” He laughed bitterly. “Too bad she wasn’t a better lay.”

  “Funny, that’s what she said about you.”

  He laughed. It was laced with bitterness, and his eyes flashed anger.

  “What do you want, Blake?”

  He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up on either arm unconsciously and leaned forward. A vein had popped out on his neck that was almost as prominent as the ones on his thick forearms. “I want to know what the hell’s going on. I’ve already talked to my lawyers, and if I don’t get some answers I’m going to sue your ass into oblivion.”

  I nodded and held his gaze. “I see. You’re anxious to have your drug addiction and alcoholism come to light?”

  His eyes flashed again. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, Blake. It’s just a fact. You need to get some help.”

  “Fuck you, Claxton. I take Klonopin for anxiety, and I drink like most people in this world. I own a winery, for Christ sake.”

  I nodded. “Okay, but you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  He leaned back, and his eyes narrowed down to dark slits. “I know you’ll do anything to get your buddy Kavanaugh off, but you’re not going to mix me up in this thing.”

  “You were having an affair with Lori after she left Kavanaugh. I’d say you mixed yourself up.”

  His eyes registered no surprise. He’d obviously discovered that his birthday card was missing. He hesitated for a couple of beats. “So what if I was. That doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  “If you’ve got nothing to hide, why didn’t you come forward with this?”

  He glared at me, the anger back in his eyes. “I didn’t want to get involved, that’s why. It looked unseemly, particularly for Lori. And I didn’t know anything that would help, anyway.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “Where were you the night she was killed?”

  His eyes fixed me again, and he allowed the slightest smile. “I was with another woman. It meant nothi
ng, just habit.” His eyes softened. “Lori was different.”

  “You can prove you were with someone on the night of October third?”

  “Sure. I was with a woman named Gloria Bertolli, at her place. Check it out. She lives in Newberg.”

  I jotted the name down and took another tack. “You were getting your Klonopin from Richard Amis, right?”

  He averted my gaze. “I told you, I suffer from anxiety. Richard was, uh, treating me informally. You know, we met on the wine circuit, and I didn’t have time for any of that psycho babble”

  “Informally? You mean he was supplying you with drugs without really treating you?”

  He shifted in his seat. “I’m not saying anything more about that.”

  “Where were you last Sunday when he was killed?”

  “I was with Gloria.”

  “Of course you were.”

  We sat there looking at each, the space between us crackling with tension. Suddenly the back door burst open, and Nando came in with his right hand poised on his left side, ready to draw. Archie sprang to his feet in full alert. “Nando,” I said, putting up a hand to calm him and my dog, “it’s okay. Mr. Daniels was just leaving.”

  Daniels had swung around, and when he got up Nando shot him a look that dripped with malevolence. He glanced at me, then back at Daniels. “You are sure?”

  “Yes, it’s okay. We’re done for now.”

  “For now?” Daniels said. “Bullshit. You’ve got nothing on me. We’re done unless you’re craving a lawsuit.”

  I turned to Nando. “Did you bring the cell phone?”

  “Yes.” He stepped forward, retrieved the envelope from his coat pocket, and placed it on my desk. I opened it and spread out the contents.

  Daniels looked at the mangled parts, then raised his eyes to mine. I said, “That’s the end of it between you and Candice Roberts. She was trying to help an innocent man who’s being framed for murder.” I glanced at Nando and then looked back at Daniels. “If you even look at her cross-eyed you are going to have a world of hurt. Are we clear?”

  He laughed with a bravado that sounded forced. “Don’t worry. I’m through with that bitch.” He started for the door but turned back, his face a mix of anger and something else, maybe sadness. “You’re defending a killer, Claxton. Kavanaugh killed Lori because he was afraid she’d force him to sell his precious Le Petit Truc. How can you live with yourself?”

  “Don’t forget your coat on the way out,” I replied.

  When the back door shut, I looked up at Nando. He said, “So, he walks away?’

  I shrugged. “I got nothing on him except proof that he was Lori’s lover, proof I can’t use in court. My cover was blown to hell when he found that phone, and now yours is, too.”

  Nando shook his head. “This is the two pounds of shit in a one pound bag I have heard about.”

  “Yep. That about sums it up.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  I laid Nando’s Glock on the desk and retrieved a half full bottle of Rémy Martin and two glasses from the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. “I need a drink, and so do you,” I said, as I poured us each three fingers. By this time, the rain was drumming on my flat roof with an intensity I knew would have consequences. I got up and put a bucket in the washroom, directly below a discolored spot on the ceiling that I knew from experience would leak. “Can’t find the source of that damn leak,” I said as I sat back down.

  “I have a good roof man,” Nando replied. “I will send him to fix it. A leaky roof in Oregon is not a good thing.”

  We raised our glasses out of friendship and drank. I welcomed the soft burn of the amber liquid as it found its way into my stomach. “I thought you were going to shoot him right on the spot.”

  Nando laughed. “Yes. When I saw his car parked in your lot, I became worried for your safety.” He opened his coat to display his shoulder holster and smiled in that wily way of his. “I am packing the heat,” he said. “What about Miguel? Shall I call him off?”

  “Yeah. Surveillance is out of the question now.” After Nando made the call, I took him through my encounter with Daniels and answered some questions. When I finished, he drained his Rémy, wiped his bottom lip with a fingertip, and said, “You still believe this man is the murderer?”

  I nodded. “He’s the best lead I’ve got. Why else would he lie about being Lori’s lover?”

  My friend shrugged. “People lie about affairs all the time, Calvin. Perhaps he was trying to protect her honor like he suggested to you.”

  “Fat chance. This guy’s no knight in shining armor.”

  Nando nodded. “Okay. What is it you want to do next?”

  I drained my glass, set it down, and chuckled. “I seem to be in perpetual search of women. I need a line on Gloria Bertolli now. She lives in Newberg.” I paused for a moment and met his eyes. “And I don’t want you to give up on Isabel Rufino. Add Miguel to the effort if it’ll help. This case’s riding on it.”

  We had another glass of Rémy, and our conversation drifted off to other, less immediate subjects, like soccer for Nando and for me the fact that winter steelhead were arriving, and I didn’t have time to get my line wet. After he left, I sat there thinking about my friend and his improbable journey from Cuba to Florida to Portland and his wholehearted embrace of everything American—the good, the bad, the ugly. Nando’s character was complex, but I knew there was always one thing I could depend on—his loyal friendship.

  I was tired and Archie needed to be fed, so instead of stopping by Le Petit Truc, I called Jim and Candice to bring them up to date. “This thing’s still in flux,” I told them, “so stay on your toes. Let me check his alibi out before we do anything.”

  Jim stayed silent at this, but Candice said, “I don’t care what that woman says, Cal. He did it. I know he did.”

  The next morning my divorce-case client arrived for his scheduled meeting right on time. I listened patiently and jotted a few notes while he droned on about how his wife wanted everything, the wine and cheese shop, the house, the dog. He looked at me at one point and said, “I used to love that woman, and now I could kill her.” That’s a human enough response, I thought, but one normal people don’t act on. I thought of what Blake Daniels had said about Jim, and I admit it gave me the slightest pause. Was Jim in the normal category? Yes, I told myself, he is. How could I believe otherwise at this juncture?

  Nando called later that morning and gave me Gloria Bertolli’s address, cell phone number, and place of employment. An hour later I was standing at the counter of the Radiant Glow tanning salon in Wilsonville. I rang a bell, and a young woman came through a beaded curtain. She was blond, but her skin was a deep brown, almost mahogany, a combination that did not occur in nature. I wanted to scream “haven’t you heard of melanoma?” but, instead, introduced myself and asked for Gloria Bertolli.

  She smiled, flashing teeth so white they were bluish. “I’m Gloria.”

  “I was wondering if we might chat for a few minutes, or later if that works better.”

  “What’s this about?”

  I explained the situation, and she agreed to talk, suggesting the Starbucks down the street. It didn’t surprise me that she seemed to expect my visit, since Daniels would have given her a heads-up. No surprise either that she confirmed being with him the night of October third and the afternoon of November thirteenth. After all, Daniels had told me she would. “Where were you two during these, uh, dates?” I asked.

  She blushed through her tan. “At my apartment in Newberg both times.”

  “Anyone see you there?”

  She paused for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Her responses seemed perfunctory, like they were rehearsed. When we finished, I thanked her, then said, “You know, Gloria, you might get subpoenaed to be a witness in a murder trial. If you are and you tes
tify, you’ll be under oath and subject to cross-examination. If you lie, it’s a felony, and you’ll do jail time. Think about it.”

  I left her sitting with her coffee, an unsettled look on her face. When I got to the car, I said to Arch, “It’s still early, Big Boy. Time for one more stop.” I took the I-5 north and thirty minutes later was maneuvering into a parking space a block down from the Smiling Leaf pot shop. I figured my best bet to engage Aaron Abernathy would be at the coffee shop across the street. I glanced at my watch. It was 2:05. He liked his coffee breaks. I just might get lucky. I had no agenda, but it seemed every time I talked to my hipster friend I learned something, and God knows I could use some new information.

  I was starving, so I ordered a double cap and a scrambled egg served up on a croissant. I just finished my sandwich when Abernathy strolled in. He hesitated at the door when he saw me, then averted his gaze and entered, as if by not looking at me I would go away. He was in full uniform—the ever-present retro shades, plaid shirt, skinny jeans, and two-tone suede shoes. His ear lobes seemed to sag even more, as if he’d gone up a size in the silver gauges adorning them. Bigger is better, right?

  He sat with his coffee three tables down from me. “Jesus, Claxton, what do you want now?” he said as I joined him.

  “I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I might catch you. How’s the pot business?”

  He scoffed at me and motioned in the direction of the Smiling Leaf across the street. “Those losers don’t know the first thing about running a weed business. I’ve got a hundred better ideas.”

  “Still want your own shop, huh?”

  He shot me an incredulous look. “Who doesn’t?”

  I nodded. In his world, I guessed, everyone aspired to owning a weed shop. I took out a notepad for effect. “I’m filling in some details here. Wondering where you were the afternoon your stepmother was cremated?”

  His look slid from annoyed to angry. “I don’t have to tell you shit.”

  I smiled. “Well, you can take that position, but I can make you testify under oath. Doing it over coffee is a lot less stressful, trust me.”