Resolution

By Dianne Kaye

Read Resolution, sequel to Misled.

Three years have passed, and Nadine Jaden Hawke (a.k.a. Jade Anne) believes she has recovered from the trauma of betrayal, a murder trial, and Dr. Mounds’ effort to help her break a negative soul-tie—until she receives a call from her attorney. Jaden is retriggered when she hears three gold bracteates have been found in San Francisco, and she is forced to confront her past.
Newly appointed police inspector Sgt. Crystal Snow and investigative reporter Declan Stone believe the coins are connected to the old Seattle murder case. Lt. Mitchell Drummond and the RAND service track a suspicious antique dealer to the Mexican border while defense attorney Kale Davenport and Jaden’s ex-boyfriend Stephan Peltzini pursue the stolen Hawke family fortune.
Does Stephan finally redeem himself in Jaden’s eyes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796098556

Dianne Kaye

DIANNE KAYE lives in the Pacific Northwest and draws inspiration to write from the many courageous people she has met during her twenty years of human services as youth worker, addiction counselor, family therapist, and HIV case manager. Kaye has published her first novel, Misled, in 2016 and attended the Hollywood Book-to-Screen Pitch Fest in November. Several production companies have recommended the story for adaptation to a studio feature film, independent film, HBO series, or television series. Global Summit House, New York has partnered with Universal Studios to release the screenplay for Misled. Kaye patiently awaits an option from Hollywood.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Dianne Kaye.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/15/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

PART ONE

GOLD COINS CASE

Chapter 1 San Francisco, California

Chapter 2 Lemon Grove, California

Chapter 3 Bainbridge Island, Washington

Chapter 4 China Basin, San Francisco

Chapter 5 South Beach, San Francisco

Chapter 6 San Francisco Southern Station

Chapter 7 Mediterranean Sea

Chapter 8 Seattle, Washington

Chapter 9 San Francisco, California

Chapter 10 Lemon Grove, California

Chapter 11 San Francisco AIDS Foundation

Chapter 12 Santee, California

Chapter 13 K. K. Davenport’s Office

Chapter 14 Mission District

Chapter 15 Nice, France

Chapter 16 Nob Hill Penthouse

Chapter 17 Lemon Grove, California

Chapter 18 Southeastern France

Chapter 19 Fisherman’s Wharf

Chapter 20 Bainbridge Island, Washington

Chapter 21 Nob Hill Penthouse

Chapter 22 South Beach

Chapter 23 West Germany

Chapter 24 Golden Gate Park

Chapter 25 Corner of Columbus and Clay

PART TWO

TRIPLE PURSUIT

Chapter 26 SWAT Raid

Chapter 27 Lemon Grove

Chapter 28 K. K. Davenport’s Office

Chapter 29 Bainbridge Island, Washington

Chapter 30 Old Town, Seattle

Chapter 31 Bonn, Germany

Chapter 32 North of Los Angeles, California

Chapter 33 Southern California

Chapter 34 On the Road Again

Chapter 35 San Francisco Justice Hall

Chapter 36 SFPD Headquarters

Chapter 37 Castro District

Chapter 38 San Diego, California

Chapter 39 The Mexican Border

Chapter 40 South of San Diego

Chapter 41 North Beach, San Francisco

Chapter 42 Fisherman’s Wharf Holiday Inn

Chapter 43 Bainbridge Island Retreat

Chapter 44 San Francisco International Airport

Chapter 45 Bonn, Germany

Chapter 46 Ellis Island, 1892

Chapter 47 Rheinisches Landesmuseum, Bonn

Chapter 48 San Francisco County Jail

Chapter 49 Fisherman’s Wharf Holiday Inn

Chapter 50 Stone’s Condo

Chapter 51 Outside Lefty O’Doul’s

Chapter 52 SFPD Southern Station

PART THREE

GOOD INTENTIONS

Chapter 53 Bonn, Germany

Chapter 54 K. K. Davenport’s Office

Chapter 55 Nob Hill Penthouse

Chapter 56 UCSF Medical Center

Chapter 57 K. K. Davenport’s Office

Chapter 58 Bainbridge Island Retreat

Chapter 59 Old Town, Seattle

Chapter 60 UCSF Medical Center

Chapter 61 Davenport’s Town House

Chapter 62 Jaden’s Place

Chapter 63 SFPD Headquarters

Chapter 64 Headquarters Conference Room

Chapter 65 Mr. Cotton and Stone

Chapter 66 Fisherman’s Wharf

Chapter 67 UCFS Medical Center

Chapter 68 Medical Center Parking Garage

Chapter 69 Declan Stone’s Condo

Chapter 70 San Francisco Airport

Chapter 71 Old Town, Seattle

Chapter 72 Island Retreat

Chapter 73 Golden Gate Park

Chapter 74 Dumpster Diving

Chapter 75 Another Trip to Europe

Chapter 76 From Paris to Nanteuil, France

Chapter 77 Bed-and-Breakfast in France

Chapter 78 Train Ride from France to Germany

Chapter 79 Mixing Business with Pleasure

Chapter 80 Trip to the Deutsche Bank

Chapter 81 Medical Center Parking Garage

Epilogue

Author’s Note

For Scott James:

Country disc jockey for KZLA in Hollywood, 1997–2001.

May he rest in peace in our Father’s loving arms.

Woe unto them that call evil good and good evil, that put darkness for light and light for darkness, that put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter.

—Isaiah 5:20

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The motivation for writing a sequel lies in the loose ends left in Misled. For example, the worthless Kassierer Scheck without international authorization, a missing German Bankier along with the Hawke family fortune, the aftermath of a murder trial that has left a woman with a fragmented heart, and a bitter split between the two main characters. Good intentions gone awry.

Resolution picks the story up three years later at a murder scene in San Francisco. Two new characters, a female police officer and a journalist, bring some charm into the narrative. My characters appear to take on a life of their own. As soon as I’ve given them a name, assigned personality traits, and created some dialogue, they create the story themselves. As an author, that is an amazing process to watch unfold and a motivation to keep writing.

It took seven years to write Misled, only three years to write Resolution, and the characters have given me some ideas for a third book, entitled Jaden’s Grace. I’ve included a sneak preview in the back of this book.

I’ve dreamed of being a writer since a teenager. Xlibris has helped me reach that goal. My gratitude goes to Travis Black, publishing consultant supervisor at Xlibris, for his unending patience. Thanks goes to Angelique and Mark, for their assistance with the submission process, JM for copyediting the manuscript, and Emman for formatting and production. Kudos to the rest of the staff at Xlibris and Author Solutions. I give a shout out to Leif Photography for making me look like someone who writes suspense fiction.

My son, Mike, has been most helpful with character development and the story line. I’ve described scenes to him and he has recommended some great plot twists. He suggested an explosion of fire for an eye-catching cover.

Barb, my proofreader, catches my punctuation errors and misspelled words. I thank my lucky stars for her assistance. She called me bright and early one morning, saying she dreamed about a red question mark and a way of making the cover pop. I added the image of a gold bracteate. I give Mike, Barb, Getty Images, and Wikipedia credit for the cover design. I’ve googled Wikipedia for most of the historical background for both books.

My dear friends, Jim and Roger helped me, as well. Jim lived in San Francisco and has given me pointers on various locations there. Jim read the first two parts and said, I couldn’t put it down. Roger was stationed in Germany during his military service. He sent me a book, D!rty German: Everyday Slang from What’s Up? to F*%# Off! It was most helpful with dialogue. Roger said: The villain is totally believable.

Simone read the edited copy, and I quote: I loved proof/editing this masterpiece for you! Rather than devouring it, I got into the action, hearing the dialog, heart racing.

I appreciate all my family, friends, assistants, and faithful readers who have lavished me with their support and encouragement. Positive feedback is my inspiration.

My gratitude is overflowing. Dianne Kaye

PROLOGUE

The man with three names, the one the general and CIA called Fox, stood outside the King County Courthouse in Seattle. He watched the black limousine carry the love of his life away. He called her Naddie—but she had screamed at him, I’m not your Naddie anymore! Who could blame her? She’d narrowly escaped being convicted of conspiracy to murder. Had it not been for supportive testimony, Nadine Jade Anne Hawke might be behind bars right now.

Fox had used the name Stephan Peltzini when they had first met. He’d also used the name William Camperelli in Germany. When he testified on Nadine’s behalf, his real name, Antonio Ray Fellini, was revealed; a life he’d left behind long ago.

Nadine showed Stephan unconditional love—right up until he turned into the assassin he was trained to be. As Fox, he had a job to do. He misled her about a family fortune, used her as bait, and set her up to witness a murder. He had kick-started the legal wheels that finally rolled in her direction. He had killed her love as sure as he’d killed the victim. He understood fully why she would never be able to trust him again. It was the price he paid for living a double life.

D. J. Caldwell’s Southern drawl caught the edge of Fox’s attention. The two men faced each other—no need for words. The general had flown to Seattle to testify on Stephan’s behalf. They both had waived their Fifth Amendment rights and testified to prove Ms. Hawke’s innocence. As a result, the case against her had been dismissed.

The victim had been a real badass, a man with a long criminal history driven by revenge. Intelligence had confirmed that the target had international ties with terrorist cells and KKK aspirations. He’d been at the top of the defense department’s watch list, but he was an American citizen. They had carried out a covert operation to eliminate a threat to national security. So General Caldwell and Captain Peltzini still had to answer to the powers that be in Washington.

The general led the weary field officer down the steps of the courthouse toward the armored SUV. Fox longed for the days when he was free to sail the Vagabond across the Mediterranean Sea. He dreamed of days without the rope of military codes wrapped around his neck and the threat of a court-martial hanging over his head. He wanted to run, go AWOL again, but he had some loose ends to tie. His sailor’s heart cried out for atonement.

PART ONE

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GOLD COINS CASE

CHAPTER ONE

San Francisco, California

"Attention, all available units. Officer down. Repeat, officer down at 8565 Zork Avenue. First responder is on the scene."

The dispatcher’s voice rang out above the static on the police scanner from the dashboard of Declan Stone’s vintage Karmann Ghia. The investigative reporter turned the scanner’s volume down and waited for a cable car to pass. He wheeled the Volkswagen onto Van Ness Avenue toward the Mission District in pursuit of the next headline for his underground rag he had dubbed the Whisperer.

After graduating with a degree in journalism, Declan worked as a freelance writer for the San Francisco BEAM (Business, Entertainment, Arts, and Music). He had earned his living by reading daily police reports, chasing patrol cars and proverbial ambulances, and following the latest Bay City gossip. It didn’t take him long to gain enough inside resources to develop his own publication. He was compelled to follow the Constitutional Journalist’s Pledge to deliver the truth to his sixty-thousand readers.

Declan Stone was also driven by a particular interest in the dark side of the world since he had lost his younger brother to AIDS. Kelly Stone was too young and too trusting and chose a gay lifestyle—only to discover the Stone family’s worst nightmare. Declan knew that not everyone was like his brother, just looking for someone who would accept him for who he was and love him anyway. But Kelly was enraptured by the glitz and glamour of the gay pride movement.

Now Declan was in pursuit of an understanding. Fifteen years in the field, and he had found no answers to why people did the things they did to each other and what made human beings tend to self-destruct. A bleeding-heart liberal, more spiritual than religious, Declan could not wrap his mind around the concept. Nonetheless, he kept searching for an explanation. Or maybe he was after some closure.

The reporter relied on the beings that wandered about the underworld for the backstory and for his understanding. Stone’s search led him to the drug world—deep and dark places most people would not go. He often looked in the mirror at his gray hair and mumbled the cliché, I’m getting too old for this shit. But he kept pursuing those stories as if it would bring his little brother back.

Stone parked across the street from the dilapidated old house on Zork Avenue and walked down the sidewalk. One San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) patrol car sat in the driveway. Its flashing lights threw circular patterns on the other houses of this block. The worn picket fence was broken in several places and parts of it were lying on the ground. The gate was off its hinges and had to be lifted off what was left of the sidewalk. He climbed the wooden stairs, skipping over missing steps. A feeling of foreboding washed over him.

Black garbage sacks spilled out of the front door and onto the porch. An old washing machine and dryer and several rusty lawn mowers sat on one side of the porch. Various tools were strewn all over the floor as if the small engines would be repaired someday. Floorboards were missing on the other side of the porch. Someone had tried to build a fire there. Scorched floorboards displayed the evidence.

As Stone stepped through the front door and entered the crime scene, the smell of gunpowder and the stench of death slapped him in the face. The front room was decorated with old lawn furniture, piles of litter, and rat droppings. Random graffiti covered the walls; ragged blankets draped the windows. Declan knew instantly this was a drug house—a haven for crack cocaine, methamphetamine, and heroin use.

A young and obviously inexperienced police officer lay face-down on the floor beside the door, blue uniform splattered in blood, handgun missing from its holster. His right arm was stretched out, with his hand still holding a badge. A swarm of flies hovered over the remains.

The reporter stepped around the body and was relieved to find a familiar officer in the kitchen. The first responder on the scene was Sgt. Crystal Snow, a newly appointed inspector from the San Francisco Police Department. She was a good friend of Declan’s.

Crystal Snow was a tall platinum blonde with a lovely tanned face. She obviously spent her leisure hours lying on sandy beaches in the sunshine. She looked out of place in a blue police uniform, bulletproof vest, baton, and SIG Sauer P226 on her hip. But she was tough as nails. Declan Stone knew better than to ever piss her off. The rumors circulating the locker room at the Southern Station said, Don’t ever ruffle Sergeant Snow’s feathers. She’ll hand you your balls in a handbasket.

Sergeant Snow hovered over the kitchen table full of packaged and dirty syringes, little tin cups, tiny cotton balls, some rubber ties, and three resin-blackened glass pipes. She looked up from the evidence on the table and waved. What we have here is courtesy of some needle exchange program. Any user or drug abuser can exchange dirty needles for clean ones along with all the works you see here, no questions asked. Advocates claim it minimizes the risks of spreading communicable diseases like hepatitis C and HIV. But no sign of a condom or a dental dam, not even any plastic wrap. What do you think, Stoney?

Declan Stone eyed the naked, dead man slumped in the corner on the kitchen floor and nodded toward the body. I don’t think that guy will have to worry about catching any diseases now.

Jeez, that was callous, Declan. Missed your calling. Should have been a cop.

Nah, thank you. Just wearing my protective armor today. Got one of my feelings about this story.

Well, keep it to yourself until the autopsies and toxicology reports are completed. Wait until the coroner files the death certificates and we hear from forensics services.

No problem. Where is your partner, Sergeant?

He is talking to the neighbors. You know you should not be in here.

With that cue, Stone turned around and headed toward the front door. He stepped around the body on the floor. Looks like the officer down was a rookie.

The cop followed the journalist to the front porch. They sat down on the porch rail. Snow explained what she knew so far. His badge says Officer Jeffery Long. He graduated just six months ago. Veteran officers try to attend the recruits’ ceremonies whenever we can. I was there. Bright kid, graduated from the academy with honors. Should have known better than to approach a suspicious scene without backup. He was shot at close range. I don’t understand why he was alone. His cruiser is nowhere in sight, and his partner is missing.

Stone scribbled on a notepad while Snow continued her report. The officer was shot early this morning. Neighbors heard the shots and called it in. He must have happened on suspicious behavior and walked into a drug deal gone bad or something worse.

As an investigative reporter, Stone knew this was going to be one hell of a story. Maybe we’ll know soon. I hear sirens. Stone sighed heavily. This story might be too damn close to home.

He walked out to the curb to breathe some fresh air and to wait for the critical incidence response team to arrive. It would take CIRT no time to set up a command post. A missing officer and cruiser and a dead rookie would quickly become top priority to SFPD Headquarters.

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After they left the crime scene, the reporter met the police officer upstairs at the hall of justice in the county medical examiner’s office. Sergeant Snow stepped toward the reporter and handed him an open bottle of menthol salve. She was exactly the same height at five foot ten. Here, Stoney. Rub this under your nose. It will help with the odor.

Thanks, Crystal.

They stepped through the door labeled Autopsies. They stood in the corner of the room. Stone asked, What is happening here?

Snow reported, The coroner is trying to determine the time and cause of death of the naked man. He still had a tourniquet on his arm. Could be a drug overdose. Could be a homicide. He has been dead several days. Maggots will tell forensic etymologists the exact time of death.

Stone was curious. How does that work?

Well, they start with identifying the species of the fly so they can determine the life cycle of the larva. When they know what stage of development the maggots are in or how old they are, then they will know exactly when they started to grow. And that gives them the time of death or TOD.

I wanted to be a crime scene investigator until I found out what they had to deal with. What do they know so far?

When CIRT worked the house, they found a bunch of gay porn in the back room. I won’t elaborate. They brushed for prints, used infrared lighting, and performed a luminol sweep. They found bodily fluids and blood samples. There should be some rich DNA there. When we run the samples through CODIS, we may have some leads.

What’s with all the garbage bags?

Snow answered, They collected the garbage bags and searched cupboards, kitchen drawers, and the contents of the refrigerator. A search of the freezer compartment revealed a dozen amber stones frozen into ice cubes. A plastic bag was found taped to the back side of the kitchen sink. It contained three large antique gold coins. I heard someone call them bracteates.

When Stone heard Snow say something about bracteates, it triggered his memory. What did you say?

The cop turned toward Stone and asked, Does that mean something to you?

"It sure does. I remember reading something in the San Francisco Chronicle. He stepped closer to Snow and lowered his voice. I think it was a murder case in Germany but tried in Seattle about three years back. It stuck in my head because it was the first time I heard about gold and silver coins called bracteates. And I recall something about amber trinkets."

Stone rubbed his chin. The case was about a family fortune containing some coins and amber jewelry found in a bank in Germany, in Düsseldorf. If I remember right, there was a connection between a double agent and some woman in Seattle. The case created a rift between the FBI and CIA because a covert operation was made public, and one of their field officers was outed. The story made national headlines.

Sergeant Snow looked interested. "You just got my attention, Stoney. I’m impressed with your memory. Can you research the archives at the Chronicle and get that article to me?"

Stone nodded. Piece of cake. A private investigator in San Diego ran point on the case. He is a good friend of mine. I’ll see what I can do.

Crystal flashed Declan a familiar smile. What a small world we live in, huh?

Maybe we can make it quid pro quo, he said. I would like to know more about those bracteates and amber stones. The police inspector and the investigative reporter bumped knuckles in agreement.

Sergeant Snow was summoned by the group of investigators to examine the naked body. Stone watched photographers from forensics services finish taking snapshots of both victims. He waited until the coroner’s aides bagged both bodies before they were sent to the San Francisco County Morgue.

Declan Stone stepped out of the gruesome scene, eager to begin his research. He rushed to the Ghia and opened his laptop. He googled the San Francisco Chronicle, searched the archives, and found the article he’d remembered reading. He printed it out and made a note to himself to fax Snow a copy. Then Stone placed a call to his old friend Mitchell Drummond.

CHAPTER TWO

Lemon Grove, California

Lt. Mitchell Drummond pulled his long blond hair into a ponytail, picked up his smartphone, and found his old friend Declan Stone on the other end. Hey, Stone, how goes it in foggy Frisco?

The wind blew it away today, but it will be back tomorrow. What’s the news on the latest firestorm in smoky California?

There’s smoke blowing in from the burn north of LA that leveled hundreds of homes. The Santa Ana winds blew in greenhouse gases and helped spread it. The six-year drought didn’t help. They’ve scrambled to evacuate people and get stock and pets to safety. I heard that another burn near Redding closed I-5 for a time. Several firefighters lost their lives this year, and the death tolls are in the hundreds. Fires burned over 850,000 acres. California has experienced the worst wildfires in history.

Stone decided that he would rather deal with fog and wind instead of smoke and fire. But lack of water in California gave him nightmares. And they keep fracking and wasting the very thing we and all other life-forms cannot survive without. And the White House does not believe in climate change and has been stripping our environmental protections. Man, don’t get me started. I could write a great rant-and-rave piece about that subject. But that is not why I called.

The private investigator took note of his friend’s subtle change of the subject. What can I do for you, my friend?

It’s more what I can do for you, Drum. I’m working on this new story, another murder case. A cop was killed this time. I have an inside source for information. You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you. Investigators found some gold coins. My informant called them bracteates. They also found some amber stones, and I recalled your Seattle case from three years ago.

Drummond’s heart rate doubled. He suddenly remembered the Seattle case too and the pretty and fragile woman who called herself Jade Anne. Are you bullshitting me, Stone?

No, man, I kid you not. I was hoping we could trade information on these cases. I think there is some kind of link, and we might be able to help homicide connect the dots. I promise it’s off the record.

Oh, I see. You are hoping to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Drummond chuckled. Help recover some woman’s fortune and bring a murderer to justice. It would make one hell of a story, right, Stone?

You know me, Drum. Journalism always comes first.

Drummond hesitated, trying to sift through his memory banks. When he recalled some of the details of the case and the image of the double agent with three names, he responded, Okay, I’m hooked. I’ll contact K. K. Davenport, the criminal attorney who defended the case. We’ll need a release of information from the client to share info. I’ll get back to you.

Thanks, Drum. I’m looking forward to working with you. I’ll keep you posted on any new developments on our end as well.

The private investigator closed off his conversation with the journalist and dialed Kale Davenport’s office in Seattle. The paralegal transferred the call to the attorney. Hey, Kale, how’s the weather in Seattle?

Lieutenant, what a bloomin’ surprise. It’s smoky up here due to a forest fire to the east. I hear you have smoke drifting from LA into San Diego.

Yes, I’m afraid the Pacific Northwest is going to just burn up.

Davenport’s British accent emphasized her response. Aye, and some people say there is nothing to this bloody global warming.

Right. Denial runs rampant. Listen up, I just got off the phone with my old friend, Declan Stone. He is an investigative reporter in San Francisco. I called to let you know that some gold bracteates have turned up. Three gold coins along with some amber stones were found at a murder scene. We suspect it might be connected to the Hawke case. Stone has an informant on the inside who wants to exchange information.

Blimey, who would have guessed anything from the Hawke fortune would turn up in the States? In San Francisco no less. I’ll try to contact the client. She might not want to open this can of worms again. Can you blame her?

She might be interested if it meant getting her hands on that fortune.

All I can do is ask her.

Drummond responded in the affirmative. I’ll wait to hear from you.

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Mitchell Drummond turned his attention to his sidekicks, the Recovery Agents and Neutral Detection (RAND) team. They were a bodyguard/chauffeur and a bounty hunter/informant, Rand Mann and Barry Sparks or Sparky. They worked undercover and provided unbiased information. Drummond had long-term and loyal ties with them and trusted them completely. The RAND service provided vital information in the Seattle case. He left Sparky a message to give them notice about the possibility of reopening an old case.

CHAPTER THREE

Bainbridge Island, Washington

Jaden Hawke left King County and the three-year-old memories of the murder trial behind. She’d sold her cabin that sat in the foothills north of Seattle and moved to Kitsap County. A refurbished Craftsman bungalow on a large lot served as a new beginning. She sat in her favorite lawn chair on the back deck, watching the hawks fly overhead. The birds dodged each other while their giant shadows flashed across the yard. A late summer breeze blew across the Puget Sound.

Her best friend, the German shepherd named Shadow, sat by her side. His ears perked when the phone rang because it hardly ever rang these days. Jaden left the comfort of the easy chair and stepped back into the house to listen to the message. When she heard the attorney’s British accent, she was instantly sorry.

Suddenly dragged back in time to 2015 in Düsseldorf, Germany, she was riddled with the memory of a dead man on the ground. Her psyche was flooded with the real-life image of her lover hovering over the body, changing into a trained assassin. The room began to spin and her stomach rolled over. Tears welled in her eyes.

Jaden ran to the bathroom and wiped her face with a wet cloth to wash away her tears and ease the nausea. It made her sick to remember