Devour, p.25
Devour, page 25
“Michael?” Jasmine squeaked out, “Is this really happening?”
“Evidently so,” he said to her, turning to McKenzie. “And yes, I understand and am willing to cooperate, just let me say one thing to her and I’m all yours.”
Before the officers could respond, he took her hand and said, “Call your father. Pull out all the stops. We’ll get to the bottom of this bullshit right away.”
As she took out her cell phone and called, Michael held out his wrists and sneered. “Sure you don’t want to cuff me? I mean, I could run, right?”
Jasmine was on the phone in the background as both officers looked to one another. Proctor waved for McKenzie to continue.
“Michael, I’ve purposely remained quiet this entire time because frankly, I don’t buy this. And I certainly don’t see you as a killer.”
“I’m not.”
“Right. However,” he began, taking a large envelope from a briefcase under the table. “I have some…more than damning evidence…with this murder weapon,” he continued, taking an evidence bag from the envelope. “Is this your chef's knife?”
Michael motioned for him to hand it over. Looking closely, he saw his initials pressed into the metal end of the handle. He knew it was his knife.
“It’s been dusted and photographed, so if you had to—”
“It’s mine. Initials are there on the end of it. But this makes no sense because I haven’t held that knife since…” he looked to Jasmine. “Sunday?”
She nodded.
“And as is always the practice, I thoroughly clean my knives by hand, not with a dishwasher because it dulls them. Then I hang them. Doing so keeps them sharp. Everyone in the kitchen knows not to touch my knives.”
McKenzie had been nodding through the whole explanation. “Understood.”
Jasmine stood. “May I step outside? I need some privacy.”
“Of course, Ms. Bartold,” Proctor said, standing to get the door.
To Michael, she said, “I’ve got him on the line. I’ll be right back.”
Watching her leave, all three stared at one another.
“What else can I tell you,” Michael said, leaning back in his chair, “To assure you just how ridiculous this is.”
“Well, evidence being what it is, which is more than 70, 80 percent, and the other being an argument you and your brother had just the day prior. In fact...,” McKenzie removed a pad from his blazer pocket, flipping pages. “According to your employees, Hector and a waitress named Sarah—who was approaching the kitchen when she heard a loud argument—both confirmed that the two of you were, quote, Going at it. That was about the time you grabbed the knife,” he nodded toward the envelope, “And threatened him.”
Proctor asked, “Is that true, Michael? Did you pull that knife and physically threaten him? And of course, you don’t have to answer…until your attorney is present, but—”
Michael snorted, shaking his head. He knew he was screwed. Backed into a corner. Witnesses agreed. Word against word. His mind was spinning with all that was coming at him. Fortunately, the shrill sound in his head had stopped.
He took a deep breath to avoid passing out, and quietly said, “Like you said, this is probably a good place to have an attorney present.”
Before anyone could reply, Jasmine stormed in the room. “Michael, he said it’s best to stop talking. For now. He’s in Tahoe and will land at SFO in about 90 minutes.”
“Thank you,” Michael smiled to Jasmine, then turned to the Officers. “Gentlemen, where would you like me to wait.”
“Upstairs,” Proctor said.
As they stood to leave, Michael stopped and calmly asked, “One question, if I may, before we go.”
“Sure,” McKenzie said.
“I’m sure you’ve thought of this, but did you manage to see the surveillance video from both inside and outside the restaurant? We had state-of-the-art equipment installed.”
He could not help but smile because even though he had not stopped long enough to appreciate Hector’s new toys, he was feeling confident with his third in command.
Proctor and McKenzie looked at one another. Proctor grinned. McKenzie did not when he said, “The hard drives for the outside cameras—there in your office?”
Michael nodded.
“Gone.”
“What? But what about the—”
“And the backups for the new cameras?”
Michael could not help but grin.
“When we spoke during the investigation, Hector told us about a missing part that hadn’t arrived yet. Had it been installed, we’d be solid; however, it was found on your desk—not installed.”
Michael felt the air leave his lungs.
Officer Proctor and Detective McKenzie made their way to what would become Michael’s holding cell. First, they would take him to Processing to officially fingerprint and photograph him. Jasmine walked alongside Michael making notes.
“If my father is innocent and manages to get released from prison before I get processed—”
“Michael, we’re going to get you out. I promise.”
“Thank you, Love. But if it goes another way, and for whatever reason your Dad can’t make things happen...? Shit, I don’t know, but let’s face it, we don’t know how smart and/or powerful whoever behind this truly is,” he winked. “Follow me?”
“Yes. Keep going.”
At the end of the hall, McKenzie tapped Proctor to hold up a second, then turned to Michael. “Michael, I know this doesn’t look good, and for what it’s worth, I hope it’s something much different.”
“Not to be an asshole, but why do you care?”
McKenzie shook his head and shrugged. “Honestly? Because I’ve always been a no bullshit guy. Been doing this a long time, and I think—off the record—somebody’s setting you up. But that’s just me. Anyway, I gotta run.”
With a nod, he disappeared down the hall.
The remaining three continued down another hallway toward an elevator when Michael said, “I need you to go to my house. To the home safe. It’s in the floor of my master closet under the shoe rack. You’ll see it. The combination is Nattie’s birthday: 10-26-02. Got it?”
“10-26-02.”
“Inside you’ll find my Will, ten grand in cash, and…” he lowered his voice. “A small gift. Guard the first, but get the other two to Sebastian. That is, if he gets out first. You may have to go around you know who. Got it?”
“Understood.”
As Michael’s expression shifted, she noticed. “What?”
“Jaz, this next request is, or could be...uncomfortable, but I really need—”
“I’ll call her. I have her number and will reach out right after Dad and I speak. What’s the time difference, like—”
“If it’s 2 o’clock here, it’s 5:00 a.m. tomorrow in Hong Kong. And Babe?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Arriving at the elevator, Officer Proctor said, “Ms. Barthold, you’ll have to excuse us. You and Michael can speak again later, certainly before the end of the day.”
“Thank you, Officer.” Kissing Michael on the cheek, she said, “We’ll get through this. Hang in there.”
“I know. You hang in there.”
As the two men entered the elevator, she said, “Dad’ll be here soon. We’re on it!”
Just before the doors closed, Michael mouthed, “I love you.”
61
Secret Stash
Jasmine made her way downstairs, into his car, and was maneuvering downtown traffic heading back to Tiburon before the ink on Michael’s fingers had dried. En route, she called Hector, asking him to come in early and get the restaurant operating at full speed. Although he had a good idea of what was happening, she would explain the finer details once he arrived. Her next move was to get to Michael’s house and retrieve the items he wanted her to get for Sebastian.
On the drive across the bridge, she came up with an idea she felt confident had merit, one her father could get behind—especially if her hunch was right. Thanks to lighter than normal traffic, she was able to get to Tiburon in good time, and once inside the home, found the safe in the master bedroom closet.
Hidden beneath the lip of the bottom rack was a button. When pressed, the tall rack popped aside an inch, allowing her to swing it open like a door. She entered the six digits into the safe recessed in the floor and removed a folder that read Last Will & Testament, an envelope with $10,000 dollars in worn fifty dollar bills, and a small handgun secured inside a holster.
Closing the safe, Jasmine stopped and found herself trembling. She took a deep breath, trying to suppress any thoughts of losing Michael to prison and returned to her car. Within moments, she was on her way to the one man who could save her life from utter destruction.
Roman Louis Barthold, born into affluence and a native of San Francisco, had spent his entire life, aside from the college years, living in the same neighborhood of Pacific Heights. In his early years, Roman had been a tough and often feared District Attorney, one of the best in California. The cases he won were epic, and there were few he did not win. Retiring in 2012, he left the courtroom behind, yet he still kept in touch with good friend and current Governor Gavin Newsom—a relationship proven valuable on many occasions. These days, when not dividing time between Lake Tahoe and Palm Springs, Roman played tennis to stay in shape and wrote criminal thrillers to retain a sharp mind, while his second wife Kimberly worked as a documentary filmmaker.
Wearing a dove grey turtleneck under a dark grey sport-coat and charcoal slacks, Roman sat across the table from Jasmine. Quite a few people considered the older, handsome Roman simultaneously alluring and intimidating with his affable personality and razor-sharp mind. His adversaries, however, knew better than to trust his charming wit as his ruthless tactics could cut them to the quick.
“Okay, Jasmine,” he sipped tea, “You know the drill. Two questions: first, what’s the depth of your relationship with both men—second, did he do it?”
She shook her head, grinning. “Of course you’d cut to the chase like that. First of all, I’m fine thank you. Work is going well. Love life is on the uptick. And my finances are growing by the week, thanks to my investments and your advice. Second, I work for Michael, as you know, and alongside Scott. He worked in the kitchen.”
“But not as a chef or even a sous chef, right?”
Jasmine was well aware that her father knew most, if not all, of the answers to every question. But that was his way. His insatiable hunger to know everything possible prior to beginning was one of his greatest strengths.
“Dishwasher. New guy. Troubled past. Seemed to be working to clean it up.”
“I see,” he said, removing a manilla folder from his Tom Ford alligator briefcase. He slid the folder across the table before taking another sip. “You mean like this?”
Suppressing a grin, Jasmine flipped pages, quickly scanning the entire file. She read every offense from his past. Every law broken. Every fine charged. His more recent incarceration was at High Desert State Prison in Clark County, Nevada, 25 miles northwest of Las Vegas where he did time for forgery and check fraud. There were multiple drug possessions when he spent time getting a different sort of high. One such stint was at the Englewood Federal Correctional Institution just outside Denver where he was incarcerated for possession and a charge of assault and battery. There was more, but she did not need to read further.
“Point made.”
“Is it?” He smiled. “And let me show you Michael’s record. Just for shits ’n giggles,” he winked, removing a single piece of paper from a legal pad. It was blank.
She grinned.
“So, unless you have anything more, I think we can be in and out before—”
“But the knife. With the prints?”
“Right. Let’s start here,” he nodded, taking out a Monte Blanc pen. Sliding the pad closer, he began writing notes.
“The knife was his. Check. However, there could have been a duplicate—perhaps when a switch was made. Check. Like when this Dalton character,” he looked up, “Came to visit your current boyfriend during business hours. This would be the Prison Warden. I mean, General Contractor, who was your former boyfriend, for what, maybe two, three dates?”
She started to speak, but he held up a hand.
“Your facts, Jasmine, not mine. Am I correct?”
She wanted to be angry but could not because she knew he had spent his entire career seeing every crime committed. During those decades, he studied the minds of countless criminals as well as their behaviors, so few things ever surprised him.
“You are correct. Okay, one more thing. The cameras. I know that—”
“Sorry to interrupt, Jazmine, but let me just say one thing, then I promise I’ll shut up. Fair enough?”
“Yes. Just don’t patronize me.”
He frowned. “Honey, I’m not patronizing you. Please know I’m here to help you in any way I can. It’s just that in my career, there’s little I haven’t seen. You know that better than anyone. Well, you and your mother. But that’s another story. And for the most part, crimes of this nature are done for one of three reasons.”
He held up a finger. “Money.”
Another finger. “Lust.”
A third. “Revenge.”
His expression said, Agreed?
She nodded.
“Good. Let’s start in reverse order. And again, these are simply my preliminary thoughts and assumptions. I haven’t even begun digging yet,” he winked. “So, it wasn’t likely revenge. Sure, it was his brother, but according to the confession, Officers…” he glanced at his notes, “Proctor and McKenzie? Scott admitted to killing his mother which takes their father off the hook. That fact alone will likely release him. I’d suspect no later than this week. This kid, well young man, was repentant. He knew the gig was up or would be soon enough. We have no idea what was going on inside his twisted mind, but one thing was sure, he didn’t want his own brother dead. And Michael didn’t want Scott dead either or he wouldn’t have offered a convicted felon with drug issues a job at his supremely successful restaurant. Would he?”
She shrugged.
“Fair enough. Here’s point two. It wasn’t lust. Or jealousy. Michael already had you. Am I right?”
Blushing, she smiled. “I think so. I mean, we’ve certainly been dancing around the issue for some time.”
“Right. You’re his right-hand person. He trusts you implicitly. And he’s been married to the same woman for how many years?”
“Yeah, but—”
He held up both hands. “Jasmine, I’m just telling you what I know. From years of experience. His daughter graduated. Responsibility gone—for the most part. He’s got the eye of a young and beautiful and brilliant woman with all the talent and heart in the world.”
“Of course, you’re going to say that. But thank you.”
He began putting his notes away.
“Wait, you’re not done.”
“Not quite,” he slid his notes aside. “The last is money. Scott wasn’t there to rob Michael. After all, he’d been given a paying job, right?”
She nodded.
“Right, because Michael’s a fair man. And what would he have robbed, the bar drawer? No. The wine cellar? Not likely.”
He paused, looking out at the spectacular view of the Golden Gate. Letting out a long breath, he continued. “Jasmine, this was done by someone else and pinned on Michael. I’m as sure of that as anything. The only matter left is to prove the who. And I think we both have a pretty good idea of that culprit.”
He let the moment rest for her to gather her thoughts.
She stared out at the view for a long moment, then said, “Daddy?”
“Yes, Baby.”
Turning back, she took both of his hands. “I have an idea how we can, as you intimated, lure this person in. It’s kinda crazy. Potentially dangerous. And it would require a favor from your side of the table.”
A smile slowly spread across his face. “And let me guess. If I know my girl, it will also require a bit of bravery on the part of one young restaurateur.”
“You got it,” she broadly grinned.
62
Shut Open
Given the SFPD discovered and secured Scott Rogan’s signed confession admitting he killed his mother accidentally, they wasted no time moving for Sebastian’s release from prison. After all, the man had served more than one-third of his life for a crime he did not commit. This case had quickly become personal for Officer Proctor and asked his CO for permission to oversee the entire process. That meant following up with Michael’s conviction and the impending hearing as well as a potential—albeit unexpected—transfer to San Quentin, if it went that far.
Officer Proctor and Detective McKenzie both agreed it was not likely three men from the same family could all be killers. Possible but not probable. There was also no forensic evidence on any of Michael’s clothing and no video surveillance from the restaurant pointing to his guilt.
McKenzie’s biggest hitch with Michael’s presumed guilt was the fact he was on a flight to Los Angeles the morning of the murder, a fact confirmed with stamped tickets. Moreover, since the body had been in the walk-in freezer long enough to retard Mother Nature’s decomposition, the coroner predicted the murder would have likely occurred any time between 7:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m., the same window of time Michael had a solid alibi.
Could Michael have gone to the restaurant, killed his brother, then raced to the airport in time to make his flight?
Again, possible not probable.
Bottomline: They had to follow the clues, including fingerprints on the weapon found in the center of the man’s chest and the fact the suspect had not only fought with his brother 48 hours earlier but had also threatened him with a knife, according to two credible witnesses.
