Racehorse Red and the Chief

A baffling fire results in the death of the daughter of a powerful businessman in Marin County. Authorities call in Brian Gilbert, macro-forensics expert, to investigate. The investigation takes him from Marin County to the hollers of West Virginia as he tracks down the clues. Along the way, he stumbles across the girl of his dreams. Will h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marjorie Daley
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088119402

Book preview

1

Chapter 1

You’ve said you want to know how the whole thing started, so I’ll do my best to explicate. Since you’re my oldest child, you can carry the burden of clarifying things and elaborating to your siblings, if it becomes necessary. Your mother’s version of things will differ from mine because it always does. Please bear with me. And with your mother. If I can do it, so can you.

It was a long time ago, and memory does fail me at times, so you’ll have to be patient. It was early in 1976, and Vietnam was no more than a memory. A bad memory, but that’s all. None of the flashbacks or nightmares that some guys were having. And it had been almost two years since my ex-wife Aimee had told me she wanted a divorce –to find herself. That’s the kind of thing people said back then. I was pretty well on my way to stability. The company was established, the government contracts were bringing in good money, and I had no real problems. In fact, I was getting to be kind of smug and self-satisfied. Always a dangerous situation.

I got up that fateful morning feeling good. It had rained the night before, one of the last storms of the spring, and the sky was a crisp Wedgwood kind of blue with very little wind. I was looking forward to a busy day and a swim in the bay afterward. The water temperature was still in the low 50s, but in those days, I didn’t care what the temp was. Well, not much, anyway.

There was no traffic going over to Berkeley (this was 1976, remember) and I breezed into the office with a smile on my face for the whole human race. Well, most of it, anyway. The Honorable Shimamoto-Sama was at her desk, right in her place with her bright shining face, intently scanning an accounting sheet.

You’re late, she said without looking up. I did my best to look tolerant, but it was wasted. She never glanced up from what she was reading.

The big boss can never be late, by definition. Anyway, it isn’t even nine yet, I said.

Three phone messages from people who have to work for a living. And Jerry Jennings wants you to call him ASAP. She finally looked up. And it’s nice to see you’re back to shaving regularly. She gave a little smile and went back to the scanning sheet.

I gave my best muted sigh of long-suffering martyrdom and went into my private office. The number for Jerry was in Marin County instead of Oakland, but I hardly gave it a thought. Probably a field investigation. When he came on, I gave him my best cheerful salutation.

Hello, Lieutenant. What can I do for you this morning? And what are you doing in Marin County? Is crime fighting taking you that far afield? There are no criminals in Marin County. They have an ordinance forbidding that kind of person.

For your information, I’m busy working at my new job. And the title is Captain; I’m not a Lieutenant anymore. I’m now the Chief of Police of the City of San Cimino. So, you can start by showing me a little respect, since I outrank you now. And snap to it, or I’ll put you on report.

It took me a few seconds to digest this. But then I came through, with no more than the brief taste of a foot in my mouth.

I confess, I am amazed - Captain. How in the hell did that happen? A man of your pigmentation hired to be a police chief in Marin County? In the city of San Cimino? The enormity of that boggles the mind. At least it does mine. What in the hell is going on over there?

As it happens, diversity is the flavor of the month over here. They were looking for somebody like me. Turns out I was tailor-made to fit their profile. A veteran, wounded, decorated, brown, almost certainly exploited, and the epitome of moral fiber and conspicuous integrity.

Wow. Well, sure, if you say so. But Marin was at the forefront of protests against our war. It was called a total abomination; illegal, immoral, despicable, and many other things too vile to be mentioned. So how the hell did that figure into the thinking? Do they give you free watermelons too?

He gave a sigh. You’re talking like a mossback ofay, my man. Times have changed, and it would pay you to change your stultified thinking. Or at least pretend to.

Stultified thinking? Jesus H. Christ. What the hell has happened to you? Are you on drugs, like everybody else over there? Never mind, don’t answer that. Let’s just move on. How you been keeping? How’s Laetitia and the kids? Are you still living in Oakland? Or did Laetitia find a place suitable for a captain’s wife in Marin County?

Fine, thanks again, no, and yes. You can come over and see for yourself. I might be able to persuade her to put some ribs on for you, seeing as how you’re her favorite honky. And besides, I have a case giving me problems. The word is you’re getting a big old reputation these days, so you just might be able to help me out. And I can even get authorization to pay you.

You need my help? Why didn’t you say so?

I’ve been trying to, but you never shut up. You know where the town hall is?

Sure. It’s pretty hard to miss, being the tallest building in town. Excuse me, in the city. And looking so much like a church. Makes me want to stop in and offer up a prayer every time I pass by.

That’s known as Mission Noveau architecture, my man. And the police station is in the back; the entrance is right off the parking lot. Wear a clean shirt, if you have one, and try not to get stopped for speeding coming through town. And he hung up, just like that.

Same old Jerome. Mission Noveau my ass.

There was no traffic going across both bridges, so I made it there in less than an hour. The town hall was still there, all cream-colored stucco with bell towers, topped with red terra-cotta tiles and looking even more like a church than I remembered. It was still the tallest building in town in 1976.

Coming in from the parking lot in back, the police station interior was a fairly grand little affair, all big glass doors, and teak and stainless steel furniture. Everything was up to date in San Cimino. One of the two receptionists asked me my business, then told me the chief would be right out. I had expected to see the man in his office because that’s where I always get to see people – kind of gives them a territorial advantage. Or something. Even the ones you know well like Jerry.

A few minutes later, Jerry appeared, big and brown and brawny and businesslike in a crisp khaki uniform with short sleeves, and a folder tucked under one arm. He didn’t bother to shake hands, just nodded to the receptionists and said, Car number four. He looked just like the linebacker he used to be.

My car’s outside. We can talk on the way. He handed me the folder and said, You can read the vitals on the way, and ask me any questions you have. Sorry to be in a hurry, but when I explain, I think you’ll understand.

Same old Jerry. First things first, and a minimum of small talk, as always. He actually had a driver for Car Number Four, a kid in uniform who looked like he was fresh out of the Police Academy. He had buzz-cut blond hair and blue eyes and a very serious aspect. I got the impression that he was about to salute whenever he looked at Jerry. All qualities that are highly desirable in a subordinate.

We got into the back seat while the young cop drove. We moved slowly down Sir Francis Drake Boulevard through the late-morning traffic, and I started reading the folder. It took me a while because there was a lot of paper, but the essentials amounted to about two pages of script, a lab report, and a couple of drawings to scale of the scene described in the folder.

It had started with the state Crime Scene Investigation unit, aka CSI, and then been handed over to the FBI crime lab. The vitals were fairly straightforward. I looked over at Jerry when I was done.

I don’t get it. An explosion, followed by a fire on the furnishings with heavy smoke emission, extinguished by the fire department. A woman alone, in an upstairs bedroom, overcome and killed by toxic chemical smoke inhalation. Asleep at the time, with help from the alcohol and sleeping pills she took earlier. Cause of explosion not determined but presumed to be the same as the cause of the fire, I summed up the reports. I know you have to investigate an explosion and fire and a death as a matter of course, but there’s no evidence of a crime. So how did it get bucked up to you? It’s intriguing, but what’s the big deal? If there’s no crime, why put in the time?

Jerry gave out with a slow small sigh. Did you ever hear of Glynn Owen Howell? AKA Glynn Howell?

The big developer? Sure. He’s a big mover and shaker all over the North Bay. We’ve even heard of him in the city - big time. He’s a big supporter of the Opera Guild. Was this his house? Jerry shook his head.

No. The dead woman was his daughter, apparently happily married to a guy who sells cars, among other things. She had left her tennis club about an hour previously, complained of a headache, and said she was going home to take a nap. Which, apparently, is what she did. Or tried to do.

I hear too many apparentlys in there. You’re thinking maybe something else? He shook his head with a tired expression.

No, I don’t have much of a reason to think anything else. Nothing, in fact. The big problem is, there‘s no apparent cause of fire, and no motive either. Like God came down from heaven and started the fire with a lightning bolt. Or maybe the Devil came up from hell and started it with his pitchfork. No motive for arson, or anything else shady. The couple had their arguments, but nothing serious. The Feds sent their forensics guy to explain it to the family, and that seems to have set Howell off. He drummed his fingers on his pants leg. He claims that nobody can explain what happened, and they don’t know jack shit about anything – in very polite words, of course. And he draws a lot of water around here; enough to float his yacht; right on up the Sacramento River to the governor’s office. And I happen to be the man up in front, with the high profile to take the heat for everything. Three months in office and everything going as smooth as goose grease, and then this happens.

Let me guess. The point man for the Feds who explained the whole thing to the family is named Bienhart, right? I asked.

Yeah, that’s right. You know him? He gave me a wise owl look with one raised eyebrow.

I do. We’ve met before, and we don’t like each other. But I can understand why the family is bent out of shape. My idea of hell would be having to listen to him lecturing and answering questions for eight hours a day. He can take an hour to answer one question. And when he’s finished, you’ll know less than when he started. If you’re still awake, that is.

Jerry considered that briefly. Does he feel the same way about you?

Probably. The word got around that I called him a pompous ass behind his back.

Was it true?

Of course not. I called him that right to his face. And I also pronounced his name as Beanfart.

He let out another sigh and looked out the window.

I guess this was a bad idea. The last thing I need is to get into a pissing contest with the Feds, and it sounds like the two of you could start one.

Not hardly. I shrugged. The agent in charge of this district is named Schatz, and we get along just fine. We have to, for both our sakes. How about you tell me what it is you want me to do, and we can go on from there. You know I’m the epitome of tact and diplomacy in most cases. When I turn on the charm, butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, and sugar wouldn’t dissolve.

Sure. Like you charmed Colonel Carmody in Nam.

A small aberration, under the press of extenuating circumstances. Can I help it if the man doesn’t like snakes in his bed? So, what do you have in mind?

Our department will hire you as an independent expert. First thing, you talk to Howell. See if you can unruffle his disgruntled feathers and gruntle him down. Then you do what you can in the way of figuring out what the hell happened. If an independent can agree, or even disagree with what we have so far, it would take a lot of the pressure off me. A well-respected independent, anyway.

Not a problem, my man. If this report is the total of what they have so far, it amounts to about thirty percent of nothing at all, and agreeing with that, or disputing it, will be easy. So, can I assume we’re on our way to see Howell now?

Yup. Here’s the house, coming up on the left.

We had arrived on Belvedere Island on the road that circles around following the shoreline. I had expected a palatial dwelling, and I wasn’t disappointed. We went through the entry gate in the surrounding wall and around the place from the back, on the private road, past the Olympic-shaped swimming pool and some kind of large outbuilding, around to the semicircular drive in front.

It was mostly Palladian Revival, or maybe Georgian Modern, with a few little whimsical modern touches. Like a second story on the main building, a road down to the private dock with what appeared to be an adjoining small cable car running alongside, and facilities for launching and recovering boats. And lots of glass behind the Corinthian columns in front.

Charming little place. Tastefully done. Nothing excessive. Just room enough for a small Presidential inauguration.

Wait till you see the inside, Jerry said. One room is worth more than my house. Anything else before we go in?

Nothing, thanks. Let’s just go in and get at it.

We walked up the steps to the big porch (well, actually, it’s called a stoa or a portico) and walked up under the sheltered overhang to the front door. The front doors were (and still are) amazingly like the ones on the Baptistry of the Duomo in Florence, but no more than eight feet high.

Jerry took off his hat and just stood there in the stand-at-ease position while I was looking for the doorbell. I heard the doorbell ring inside, and then I noticed the surveillance camera off to the side. They were a new thing then, and I was impressed. An electric eye to ring the doorbell and a surveillance camera to show your face. The door opened, and we were met by a maid in uniform who said hello to Jerry and eyed me surreptitiously and suspiciously while she beckoned us inside.

She led us through the large entry hall and into a large room with tons of books on bookshelves, a very detailed and ornate globe of the world about five feet in diameter, and plush furniture upholstered in dark leather.

It looked like the den of a wealthy man, taken right out of the pages of Architectural Digest. A man in an elegant sports shirt and slacks stood up. He was my height, with reddish-brown hair going gray, done in a very expensive haircut, an erect posture, and a physique without visible fat; remarkable in a guy who had to be pushing sixty. He came forward and extended his hand without any preliminaries.

My name’s Glynn Howell, he said.

And I’m Brian Gilbert.

His grip was just hard enough to let me know there was a lot of strength behind it – again, unusual in a captain-of-industry type. I could feel him sizing me up, but his face remained friendly. What was unusual were the eyebrows; they flared out at the sides, like the wings of a bird. It had never been noticeable in the few pictures I’d seen of him in the newspapers. He got right down to business.

Captain Jennings tells me you can resolve the issues troubling my family if anyone can.

I’ll do my best, sir, but I won’t promise anything. At least, not until I’ve had a chance to look at the premises in question and make my own assessment. I like to call important people sir and ma’am to start with; how they react tells me a lot about them.

Glynn is the name. No titles here. He just smiled a little.

Good enough. I have a hard time keeping track of titles anyway.

Forgive me for cutting right to the chase, but what do you make of what you know so far?

I felt the presence of people entering the room behind me, but I didn’t turn around. He and I had locked gazes, and I wouldn’t be the first to break it off.

So far? Well, so far, the time and the place and the consequences seem to be pretty well established, and mostly agreed on, by anybody who had anything to say. But beyond that, nobody seems to have an opinion on whether it was an accident or something that was planned. Or if they have an opinion, they’re not willing to venture it. Glynn sighed at my words. I went on. If it was planned, that would make it a crime, and nobody wants to call it that – possibly because there’s no evidence of it and no clue as to how it was done. If, in fact, it was. Nobody wants to go out on a limb as fragile as that. It would be too easy for it to break off and leave them looking foolish.

Glynn looked at me for a moment longer, then he made up his mind and looked away and nodded his head. The tension in the room went down a few degrees, and I could sense Jerry exhaling.

After a moment, Howell looked back at me. That’s fair enough. For a while there, all I got was people skating around the answers to the questions I asked, and I don’t appreciate that at any time. And I normally don’t tolerate it, because I don’t have to. But in this case, it was the only kind I could get. Bureaucracies are hard things to penetrate. When it involves one of your children, that kind of thing can get really frustrating. And my frustration quotient has gotten pretty high.

I think I understand…Glynn. I don’t have any children, but if I did, I’m sure I’d feel the same way. If you don’t mind my asking, was she your only child?

He smiled a bit more. No, I have three others. Perhaps you’d like to meet the rest of my family? He looked over behind me, and I turned around. And there they were, five of them. His wife was in front. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde woman, going gray very gracefully. Behind her was a very well-dressed important-looking guy about my age, with a serious demeanor. Next was a stunning blonde with pale blue eyes and a classical profile, with a bridgeless nose like a Greek statue. She was holding hands with another guy about my age, with horn-rimmed glasses and a slightly puzzled look. And there was Gwen.

They all looked at me, but it took all my willpower to look away from Gwen. It seemed like all the oxygen in the room had left, along with all the background noise. I started hearing music; I think it was the Emperor Waltz, but it might have been something by Mozart. When I did look away, I couldn’t look back. Strange how a thing like that will affect people.

This is my wife, Liesel. Glynn introduced the middle-aged woman. And these are my children: Fergus, Nora and Bill Chapman, and Gwen. Everybody, this is Brian Gilbert.

Liesel extended her hand, and I shook it mechanically, in a dream state. Fergus, Nora, and Bill did the same. Then Gwen came forward and just touching her hand sent a small shock through me.

I swept my eyes across her face briefly and then looked away. Don’t ask me why – I just couldn’t look into her eyes; not then, anyway. Now she says I was rude when we first met, but that wasn’t the way it was. I don’t bother arguing; trying to change a woman’s mind is like trying to get water to run uphill. Howell broke into my trance with a peremptory question. No social niceties or dancing around.

What do you plan to do first, Brian?

It took me a moment to collect my thoughts since they had wandered pretty far afield. In fact, they were in danger of taking flight and leaving me entirely. I took a deep breath before answering.

Well, since I’m over here, I thought I’d go by your daughter’s house and see what I can find. If I discover something that differs significantly from the report I’ve read, I can pursue it. And if it requires special analysis tools, I can bring them over the next time I come.

Excellent. I like a man who gets right down to business. Do you know the way up there?

No, I don’t. But Jer…, uh, Chief Jennings can take me up there. Or give me directions. It can’t be that hard to find.

Well, I think the Chief is a busy man, and he’s spent enough of his time on this as it is. My youngest daughter is free this morning, and she’s attended to this more closely than any of the rest of us. She can probably answer any questions you might have. Would that be all right with you, Chief?

Absolutely. I think that’s a fine idea. Jerry looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

I had the impression that he would have said that about anything Howell suggested, like offering me up as a human sacrifice in the Temple of Baal; but I was in such a state that I would probably have agreed with him. I was just hoping that I had drawn the right daughter and was giddy with the prospect. Glynn didn’t leave me in doubt for more than a minute.

Good. Then it’s settled, he said, Do you want to take your car or mine, Gwen? Air conditioning, or fresh air for Brian?

The way I felt, I would have been happy with a bicycle built for two or a motorized lawnmower; but she stepped in with a decision. I heard her speak for the first time, and it sounded like more music. Mozart, maybe or Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto.

I’ll take mine, Dad. It would be a shame to use air-conditioning on a day like this. Don’t you think so, Mister Gilbert?

I mumbled something incoherent but loud in response, and it came across as definitely affirmative which was the whole idea. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Shortly afterward, I found out that her sister and brother were married and had four kids between them (Fergus’s wife was watching the kids), but at the time I thought I was very fortunate to have drawn a ride with her as chauffeur. Jerry broke into my thoughts.

Well, I have to be getting back. Brian can get anything more he needs from me later. I’ll forward a copy of any information directly to you. This last was to Howell, but I knew that was just a formality. He would expect to see it immediately, and Jerry wouldn’t stand in his way. I’ll just refer to him as Glynn from now on since we’ve been related for so long.

Things were going well, so I decided to get the potential bad news over and done with.

One thing I’d like to make clear before I start, Glynn. What I find may not yield any definite answer, or it may not be what you want to hear. Just plain and unvarnished, without any soft soap. That’s how I do business, regardless of how many bureaucracies are involved. Is that acceptable?

He didn’t hesitate for a moment. Just the facts as you find them; nothing more, nothing less.

Fine. Then I’ll just go out to the car with Captain Jennings and get the FBI report for a reference. That will save me covering the same points that have already been investigated.

Jerry and I walked