Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (love books to read .TXT) 📖

shrugged, thinking it through, gazing at the sidewalk but seeing the scenes playing themselves out in my mind’s eye. “She still has feelings for Steve, and before committing to Duffy, she decides to pay a flying visit to her old lover to see if he will reconsider.”

The waitress came out with two steaming bowls of mussels and fresh cream. She set them down, and when she’d gone, I continued.

“Thing is, Peter has had a bellyful. He follows her to New York, finds them together, and kills them. Like you said before, in all this miasma of people and weird situations, there is only one motive. The oldest motive on Earth.”

We ate, not so much in silence, as in slurping. When I had finished off my bowl, I sat licking my fingers. “I don’t see we have anything left to do here in San Francisco.”

She sat back and sipped her beer. “We know who she is, we know why she went to New York, at least in general terms, and we have a possible suspect. What are we going to do about him?”

“Hank has to get back to us.”

“On whether Peter has priors and whether he owns a gun.”

I nodded. “Mm-hm. If we get a positive on those two, then we can ask for a court order to see if he used a credit card to buy a ticket to New York in June 2015.”

“Makes sense. At least that’s solid ground.”

I smiled. “Let me complicate things a little, then. Here’s a thought. How do you like Geronimo dos Santos for Baxter’s client?”

She thought about it while the waitress took our plates away and delivered two peppered steaks. I asked for two more beers. Dehan leaned forward and picked up her knife. She pointed it at me like a fencing foil.

“It’s got to be somebody, right?” I made a “that’s logical” face and cut into my steak. “Somebody who is looking for Tammy. I’m stating the obvious, but in this case, you kind of have to.”

“I agree.”

“So we know it’s not Duffy, because he didn’t know she was in New York. And we know it wasn’t Peter because… why?”

I spoke with my mouth full. “Because if he killed her, why would he start an investigation? And if he didn’t—he’s moved on, he wants to get married—why would he look for her?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “So who does that leave?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Geronimo dos Santos. So where does that lead us?”

She stuck a forkful of steak into her mouth and spoke around it. “If he is looking for her, he either wants her, or he wants something she has.”

“What’s the bet that Duffy lied? What’s the bet she took something from him?”

“Something Geronimo sent her to get in the first place.”

“Mm-hm. That’s my thinking.”

She screwed up her face. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. We are back to what Duffy himself said. Why steal something you already own?”

I gave a small shrug. “Because what she really wanted was Stephen Springfellow. And she thought if she could take him some prize, something really valuable, he might take her back.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“I don’t know if Stanford has done a study on it yet—it might be considered politically incorrect—but you and I both know that there is a sad tendency among women to throw their lives away on losers. Nothing, it seems, is more attractive to a woman than a deadbeat, parasitical layabout. And if he beats her up occasionally, so much the better.”

She stared at me for a bit. “That’s pretty harsh.”

“Am I wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. You’re probably right.”

“So we should do some background research on dos Santos too, when we get back, and run the DNA on the brush to match it with Tamara’s.”

We ordered coffee and I called the captain to let him know we would be catching the next flight back. He told me if he was in my shoes, he’d invent reasons for staying. They had topped 95 degrees Fahrenheit, and the air-conditioning was still not fixed.

We walked back to where I had left the car, at Alta Plaza Park, and drove back sedately toward the Hillsdale Inn. Neither of us seemed in an awful hurry to book the tickets back.

In the end, Dehan made the reservations when we got back to the hotel. The flight was at six p.m, which meant we’d be getting in just before midnight. While she was down at reception printing the boarding passes, I phoned Hank to thank him for his help.

“I was just about to call you, actually, Stone. I got an answer to your queries. Peter Gunthersen has owned a Colt .38 revolver for the last five years. He’s a member of the gun club. As to priors, there were a couple of domestic incidents, and he’s been in a couple of brawls, but nothing serious.”

I thanked him and hung up.

Nothing serious, I thought, except maybe a double homicide.

Eleven

The next couple of days were hot, humid, and slow. The air-con was still not fixed. We dropped the hairbrush off at the lab and asked Frank nicely if he would prioritize it. He said he would, along with the fifteen other priorities he had going. We talked to the captain and laid out the case so far for him. He had a mildly incredulous squint on his face throughout most of it. In the end, he agreed to seek a court order to view Peter Gunthersen’s credit card and bank account details for the months of May and June 2015. He would also talk to the San Mateo PD about getting a warrant to run a ballistics test on Peter’s .38.

Then all we could do was wait. Wait, perspire, and look for Geronimo dos Santos. But he was not easy to