“The system was turned off the night Mr. Martin’s secretary was killed. I’ll need the names of your employees who have access to those codes.”
“You’re wasting your time if you think someone here turned off that system. How about Sam Newman? What’s he saying?”
“Unfortunately, he isn’t saying anything. He’s dead.”
“How unfortunate.”
“You knew the man, you know any reason someone would want to see him dead?” Detective Carson asked.
“You think someone killed him?”
“Could be. You going to give me the names of your employees with access to that security code, or do I need to get a court order?”
“Don’t threaten me, Carson. Do your job. Stop looking for some nigger to pin this on,” Kaamil said, and slammed down the phone.
Damn it, he thought, if the police weren’t buying Newman’s suicide, he’d just have to give the lazy cop a little more evidence to convince him. And now, there was clearly a need to take care of the attorney. Even if his death raised suspicion, they were too close to be stopped now by some snoopy counselor who wouldn’t let well enough alone.
Chapter 16
Drake was tired. Since his drive to the coast two days ago, it felt like a week had been crammed into the last forty-eight hours. After a tedious morning and most of the afternoon, he decided to head home early.
He relaxed a little as he drove toward home, settling into the slow flow of traffic. On the weekends, traffic from the city to the winery tasting rooms was becoming so heavy the state was considering building a bypass and putting a toll booth on the old highway to take advantage of the area’s attraction. Drake hated the idea. The charm of the place wouldn’t last long if it became as accessible as a shopping mall.
The red hills around Dundee and Carlton had vineyards before the Prohibition years forced farmers to switch to crops they could sell. The region flourished again after a couple of UC Davis pioneers re-discovered the area in the 1970s. Since then, the valley running south for a hundred miles was home to over two hundred vineyards growing pinot noir, pinot gris and chardonnay grapes that wine lovers couldn’t seem to get enough of.
When he reached the old farming town of Dundee and drove past the tasting rooms flanking the two-lane highway, the fire station, and the lone store, he turned off on Worden Hill Road and followed it past the old red barn at the Maresh vineyard. His twenty acres were just around the bend. They rose above the road on a southeasterly sloping tract that caught both the morning sun and the ripening warmth of afternoon rays. Perfect for growing grapes, as soon as the old vines were pulled out and new ones planted.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he slowed and turned left up the long gravel driveway of his property. Midway, an old barn hunkered down near a stand of oak trees. Beyond it, the driveway ended in a turnaround below the front of the old stone farmhouse.
Behind the house was a building that had been originally built to house a small winery. There were steps leading down from it to a wine cellar that connected the winery building to the main house. Drake used the winery building to garage the 993 and Kay’s Land Rover LR3, but he didn’t keep wine around long enough to need a wine cellar. The wine cellar had proven, however, to be a handy way to make it to the house when it was raining hard.
As he stepped out of the car, Drake heard Lancer charging toward him from the back porch of the house.
“Hello Lancer,” he said, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “How was your day? Run off any of those pesky deer trying to eat our grape vines?”
Standing with his head almost to the tips of Drake’s fingers, Lancer stood still except for his tail. Bred to be a world-class personal protection dog, and with rigorous training for
“Come on boy, let’s get you some dinner.”
After changing into an old pair of jeans and a dark blue polo, Drake filled a dog dish with the high energy food Lancer favored and poured a glass of 2001 Beaux Freres pinot for himself. Watching Lancer devour his meal, he settled into his dark brown leather chair next to the river rock fireplace in the kitchen and thought about dinner. Maybe broil a salmon steak, steam some rice, and make a salad sounded about right, if he could muster the energy to get up and fix it.
With a shake of his head, he got up, refilled his glass, and took a salmon steak out of the refrigerator. He splashed lemon-dill sauce over the salmon, started water to boil in a saucepan for rice and put the oven on broil.
As he sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, he thought about his new client. Richard Martin was a good man as far as he could tell. He was doing important research, and thought he’d hired the best security service his company could afford. Still, his secretary had been murdered in his office. Now his brother-in-law was dead. None of it made much sense.
He was missing something. The part of the puzzle that troubled him most was ISIS. If Sam Newman didn’t have a reason to shut off the security system, neither did ISIS. There had been no apology for the system malfunction, if that’s what it was, just an attitude that was strangely disconnected. If Martin Research was one of my major clients, Drake thought, I would sure as hell be more involved in the investigation. Maybe tomorrow he would see it differently, but right now he was trying to see to the bottom of a very muddy pond.
After dinner, he went outside and sat on the covered front porch that spread across the front of the house. From there, he could see down to the road and beyond to the Cascade mountain range in the east. To the south, the neighboring vineyards were identified by green rows of grape vines stretching across their acres. For him, it was like being at the beach, mesmerized by the waves.
When the shadows started to lengthen, Lancer finished patrolling his domain for the day and returned to the porch. Drake was asleep in one of the two Adirondack chairs, his chin down on his chest. After standing next to his master patiently, Lancer finally licked his left ear and growled softly. His master opened his eyes and smiled.
“You might cut a guy a little slack. You do this all day, if you want. I try it for a few moments, and you wake me up. I get the message. Tomorrow, when I’m rested and run your butt into the ground, you’re going to wish you had let me sleep.”
At 2:00 a.m., Lancer was again trying to wake Drake, his muzzle nudging Drake’s left shoulder insistently.
Drake was awake instantly. He recognized his dog’s signal there was a threat outside somewhere. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and his running shoes in the dark. From the dresser next to his bed, he took his Kimber.45 in its soft leather holster and stuck it in his jeans. He also put his Harsey tactical folding knife in his right front pocket. When he was ready, he extended his right hand palm down and waited for Lancer to touch his nose in its middle. When Lancer returned the ready signal, Drake snapped his fingers softly with the search signal.
He knew Lancer would silently locate the threat, inside or out, and wait for his command before taking any action. It was up to Drake to decide what that action needed to be.
Chapter 17
