The Case of the Vanishing Twin

"And you got pictures of the computer code that added these programs to Gary's computer?" I asked, keeping my fingers crossed.

"You'd better believe it. We got those sloppy bastards dead to rights. We need to sick Barton on these crooked police officers. Or probably that detective that was there with the officers. The poor officers were probably only following a superior's commands," said Jessie.

"All right. I'll make a call to the OPD and see if I can get them to back off and return our client's laptop before we have to go to court again," I said.

That fucking detective. Just about everyone I deal with in the OPD are great cops. I guess it doesn't matter what city you're in; there are always some bad cops making all the good cops look bad. That chaps my ass," I exclaimed.

"Save that anger and let 'em have it, boss," said Jessie.

I waited for about ten minutes so that I could cool off. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to call this detective and blow him out of the water with F-bombs. Maybe if he were from Chicago, he might understand that kind of language and not go ballistic and arrest me first and figure out the charges later. I don't have to worry about my fingerprints anymore, but I don't want to have someone take my fingerprints anyway, especially since they wouldn't find me anywhere in the system, which could prove problematic.

Well, here goes. Even though we've got Detective McElroy dead to rights, I'm still a little nervous.

"Yes, may I speak with Detective Sean McElroy in the Criminal Investigations Division, please?" I asked the operator.

"One moment, please," said the pleasant-sounding operator.

After 30 seconds on hold, I was beginning to wonder whether I was getting the runaround. Just as my mind was coming up with several scenarios of them messing with me, McElroy picked up the phone.

"This is Detective McElroy. How can I help you?" he asked.

"Good afternoon, Detective. My name is Nikki Fontaine, and my firm represents a minor by the name of Gary Yee."

"Oh, yes, I know Gary. He's in a lot of trouble with some of the things we found on his computer when we paid a visit to his home. We were there to speak with his father, who we believe to be a bookkeeper for a gang called The Jackson Street Boys. Gary shouldn't have left his laptop in plain sight with an illegal program showing on his screen."

"Let me interrupt you right there, if I can, Detective. My office made a motion to be allowed to examine Gary's laptop. We finally were granted our motion, and two of my people went to the police station yesterday and examined Gary's laptop," I said.

"So? And what did you find, if anything?" asked the detective.

"One of the people I sent was my resident computer genius. She was able to determine that the two programs you are threatening to arrest Gary Yee on were downloaded to his laptop while you and the other Oakland police officers were there to question Gary's father, Eugene Yee. And just to save you from arguing with me over this and making yourself look bad, my person took photographs of the computer programming language in Gary's laptop responsible for downloading these programs onto his computer.

"Now, you can either return Gary's computer to me, where I can have my computer person delete these two illegal programs, and then I'll return the computer to Gary, or I can take this further up the chain of command. And if that doesn't work for my client and me, I'll go straight to the radio and TV news media. We both know the problems that would cause. The media would crucify the department, and you'd have the Mayor jumping down your throat, causing all sorts of problems for you, your specific department, and your career. I don't want to have to resort to doing something like this, but I also have a duty to my client to protect him from false claims and prosecution.

"So what do you think, Detective? Have we got a deal?" I asked.

"I've heard you were beautiful. That's not easy to believe when I'm on the receiving end of so much venom," replied the detective.

"Some of the deadliest animals in the world are also some of the most beautiful. Didn't you know that?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I sometimes watch the Nature Channel. I just want you to know that Gary's dad is a criminal, and the people he works with are responsible for several deaths each year in the city of Oakland. If we could get Eugene Yee to testify against his employer, we could get to some of the Jackson Street Boys' leaders and hurt their organization for years to come. Now you're taking that away from us," said McElroy.

"That would be nice, but I don't think you should be threatening underage boys with prison time the way you did here. So you're just going to have to find a better way of getting to Eugene's employers. Leave Gary alone. Do we have an understanding, Detective?" I asked.

"All right. I'll have the laptop delivered to your office tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?" asked McElroy.

"It does. I'll be expecting Gary's laptop tomorrow morning. Thank you, Detective."

RICH NANCE RESIDENCE

1818 ESTATES DRIVE, OAKLAND

August 23, 12:10 p.m.

Rich Nance was a restless man in his forties who lived alone in an expensive house in one of Oakland's upscale neighborhoods. His wife passed away five years ago. Since then, he focuses on his work as a freelance CAD designer, which he does from home. Since his wife's death from heart disease, Rich has drifted further to the right politically each year to where most people would now consider him a fanatic.

Rich had a grown son he was close to, who lived in the Walnut Creek area. They got together for dinner or a beer two to four times a month to keep in touch.

He was a Donald Trump follower and almost lost his mind after Joe Biden beat him in the last election. Rich was a law and order guy and was sick and tired of the criminal element throughout Oakland. He was a sniper in the first Gulf war and had kept his skill honed if he ever required it.

Rich decided to test his skill level two nights ago in the vicinity of 98th Avenue in East Oakland. He took out a drug dealer named Jameel Walker with one shot from nearly 250 yards with ease. He liked the feeling it gave him. His contempt didn't just apply to street criminals and drug dealers. Rich had the same disdain for dirty politicians and CEOs.

Rich just declared war on the bad guys, and fairly soon, a new kind of fear would start creeping into the minds of street thugs and white-collar criminals.

Rich reclined in his favorite chair. The news anchor reported on a construction president being acquitted by a jury of taking kickbacks and using inferior materials in a downtown office building that was required to be quarantined until the problems he caused were fixed.

Rich waved his finger at the image of the crooked construction president.

Werner Bergstrom, you're a bad man. You'd better start looking over your shoulder. I'll be coming to see you soon.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 23, 1:40 p.m.

I called Eugene Yee to let him know that his son was off the hook and the police had returned his laptop. I figured the least they could do was come to my office pick up the computer. I wasn't in the mood to drive out to their home up in the Oakland Hills. Gary was going to come by my office to pick up his computer. It was another hot day in Oakland, and road rage is not an uncommon occurrence on Grand Avenue because drivers are always slowing down to try to read the addresses of businesses all up and down the street. If cars aren't honking at Nora walking down the sidewalk or across the street in one of her smoking hot miniskirt outfits, they're honking at each other for something as simple as slowing down to scrutinize an address or let a pedestrian cross the street in a crosswalk.

Gary Yee walked into the office with a smile on his face. He no longer had to worry about spending time in prison, and he was finally getting his laptop back.

"Hey, Nikki, Gary Yee is here," yelled Nora. There was a good chance Nora would just yell to someone if they had a call or a visitor if there were no other clients in the office.

"Great. I'll be right out," I said.

I grabbed Gary's laptop and walked over to Nora's desk.

"Here you go, Gary. Good as new. I had Jessie remove the two programs that the police illegally downloaded onto your laptop. She also deleted the coding that someone had used to do the downloads."

"Thanks, Miss Fontaine. I appreciate everything you did to help me out," said Gary.

"Have a great day, guys," said Gary as he took his laptop and headed for the front door.

Everyone in the office heard the loud honking of a car horn right out front.

"Oops," said Gary. "I double-parked. That's probably somebody honking at my truck."

Gary ran out the door, and Nikki and Nora walked over to the door, looked out, and watched their client jump into his white pickup truck and race off.

"That's interesting," I said. "Very interesting."

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DIVISION

August 23, 2:05 p.m.

"This is Detective Foster. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Detective. This is Nikki Fontaine.

"What can I do you for?" asked Foster.

"I think I have a break for you in the bomber case."

"That would be nice. The Mayor is all over everyone on this case. The pressure is intense."

"I almost feel like a rat, but I think I'm in the clear. Anyway, PIs aren't held to the same standards as attorneys, doctors, and priests. You know, attorney-client privilege and that kind of thing. So I have a client that Detective McElroy and many officers showed up at his house and planted some incriminating programs on his laptop to force his dad to cooperate with them about his employer. His dad works for the Jackson Street Boys Chinese gang.

"Anyway, the detective confiscated my 17-year-old client's laptop and was threatening to use it to prosecute the kid and send him to prison. I got a motion allowing my computer person to examine his computer and determined that someone downloaded programs on the laptop while the detective was at his house trying to coerce the dad. I, in turn, threatened to go public about this unless McElroy dropped the charges and returned the laptop.

"I had him over a barrel, so he agreed to drop the charges, and he returned the laptop to me, and I had the kid come pick it up at my office. His name is Gary Yee. And even though he got his laptop back, he was really pissed. He was so pissed that before McElroy agreed to kick the charges and return the laptop, I believe he blew up twelve vehicles around Oakland."

"You mean your client is the bomber that the City of Oakland just paid a one million dollar ransom to, and he got away with it?" exclaimed Foster.

"He showed up at my office to pick up his laptop driving a white pickup truck that matched the description of the pickup that the two clown idiots in the black pickup tossed the briefcase with the money into when they were driving through the Tube.

"I could be wrong, but I don't think so. I represented Gary Yee to get out from under McElroy's threats and get his computer back, but that's all. That has nothing to do with him going around town and blowing up cars because he got mad and threw a tantrum like a five-year-old.

"I think you should check Gary out. I think he'll crack and spill the beans.

"Keep me posted on what happens," I said, feeling just a little bit guilty, but not that much.

"Will do," replied Foster as he hung up the phone. "Hey, Dan, call a judge. We need a warrant to search Eugene Yee's home and property. I just got a tip that his son is the bomber everyone's looking for. The Judge knows that there's pressure coming from everywhere on this case. He should give us a warrant without hesitating.

"I'll give him a call," replied Detective Dan Mena.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 23, 2:20 p.m.

Max was out of the office working some leads on a case, and I was focusing on the Roni Blake case. I couldn't kick this feeling that Gwen Stein was hiding something. She was far too smug when Wheeler and I visited her. I think I'm going to pay her another visit to see if I can catch her off guard. I'm the last person she could be expecting to show up at her mom's place.

Who knows, she might not even be there, and I can sneak inside and take a more thorough look around. I'd love to nail her on this.

We didn't see any places that she could be hiding Roni, so I'm not sure what good going back will do. But I feel like I need to do this. She has one of those creepy basements with a dirt floor and creaky stairs. Maybe she put Roni in a box and buried her in the basement. You never know.

THE LATE MELISSA STEIN'S VACANT HOME

1987 MAGELLAN DRIVE, MONTCLAIR (OAKLAND), CALIFORNIA

August 23, 3:10 p.m.

I'm slightly nervous about paying a surprise visit to Gwen. If she did kidnap Roni, she could easily be capable of violence to protect herself. Well, I still remember some things from when I was back in Chicago. Runnin' the streets like me and my goombas used to do, you pick up things--useful things.

I don't see a car in the driveway. That's a good sign. Maybe I'll get a free ride on this and be able to look around without her breathing over my shoulder. I'll park on the street in front of the next-door neighbor's house just to be safe.

Good thing I brought my lock-picking kit with me. This door should be a piece of cake.

Forty-five seconds later, the lock clicked, and the door opened right up. Good for me. I still got it.

"Hello?" I yelled, just in case Gwen was there. I could just say the door swung open when I knocked on it. Good. No response. Now I can look around at my own pace. I'll start upstairs and work my way down.

This carpet must be ancient. It smells dank and musty. The first thing I'd do with this place is rip out this ratty-ass carpet and give the whole place a couple of coats of paint. Then I'd call Salvation Army and have them take away all of the furniture. Then with a little landscaping, this place would be unrecognizable.

Well, nothing up here. Let me give the ground floor another looking over. There's a bedroom. Who knows? Maybe there's somewhere in there to hide someone.

No, nothing here. Guess it's back down to the creepy, dark basement. I can't wait.

Okay. This is a closet, I said as I opened it to take a closer look. There's nothing in here except a bunch of canned food that's probably been here since I was a kid. Let me do a quick scan of the rest of this dungeon and see if there are any signs of digging if Gwen really did kill Roni and bury down here.

Well, shit. Nothing. I was sure I'd find something somewhere in this house. I'd better get while the getting's good so I don't get caught.

I hate these stairs. I think every one of them creaks when you step on them. I was so busy focusing on the old stairs that I didn't notice the shadow standing at the top of the stairs. By the time I looked up, it was too late.

"What are you doing in my house, bitch?" yelled Gwen at the same time as she raised her right leg and kicked me right in the chest, sending me ass over apples down the old, creaky stairs. I landed hard on my back and conked my noggin on the floor. Good thing for me it was a dirt floor, or I would have spattered by brains all over the place. It doesn't matter. The only thing I saw were stars and then blackness.

3711 OAKLAND AVENUE

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 23, 3:40 p.m.

Detectives Foster and Mena pulled up to the Yee residence and parked in front of their driveway, which had a white pickup truck, just like the two clowns in the black pickup truck described, parked in plain view for all to see.

"If this is our guy, he's pretty ballsy. He must not think anyone will connect his white truck to the white truck that drove off with a million dollars in it," said Foster. "You've gotta give it to him, though. What he did is a pretty impressive con job for a 17-year-old kid."

"Yeah, it is. But teenagers are just as violent as adults, if not more so. Especially when they're under 18, and they think they don't have to worry about being put in the big boy prisons."

"Well, let's see if anyone is home," said Foster.

Gary's mom, Cynthia, answered the door. She had been in the kitchen chopping vegetables and chicken for tonight's dinner.

"Yes, may I help you?" she asked when she opened the door.

"Yes, I hope so. I'm Detective Foster, and this is my partner, Detective Mena. We'd like to speak to your son Gary if he's home."

"Has he done something bad?" asked Cynthia.

"That's what we want to speak to him about. Is he home?" asked Foster.

"Yes, he is. He's in his room doing his homework. Please come in, and I'll go get him."

"Thank you," replied Mena as the two detectives walked in and stood inside the door.

"Yes?" said Gary when he walked into the living room close to the detectives. "What do you guys want now? Are you gonna try to frame me for something else this time?"

"We regret what happened the last time, Gary. Detective McElroy was way out of bounds. He has been disciplined and won't forget about his mistake for a long time.

"We received an alarming tip, Gary. We have a warrant here that allows us to check your room, this house, and your pickup truck out front."

"What for?" asked Gary.

"Because the tip we got said that you are the person that blew up twelve cars on August 14 all around Oakland," said Foster. "And then you extorted the City of Oakland out of one million dollars. That's a pretty amazing fete for a 17-year-old, don't you think?"

"What? Are you crazy?" exclaimed Gary. "I wouldn't even know how to do any of that. I don't know how to blow up cars or have any idea how to convince anyone to give me a million dollars. Besides, if I had a million dollars, do you think I'd still be going to school and coming home to do homework? I don't think so. I hope you have some proof."

"Well, how about we start with your pickup truck? Let's go have a look, shall we?" said Foster.

"Whatever you say, officer," said Gary snidely.

Foster and Mena examined Gary's truck all around the outside, also peeking into the bed.

"What's that dent from?" asked Foster when he noticed chipped paint down to the metal in the bed of the truck. "That looks recent."

"I have no idea. I put things in the back sometimes. You know, that's why they call it a pickup truck. You haul things with it."

Foster lowered the tailgate and hopped up onto the floor of the bed so he could take a close-up photograph of the dent with his cell phone. Maybe they could tie it to the briefcase tossed from the black pickup into the back of Gary's truck.

"Okay, Gary. Unlock the cab so that we can take a look inside for a moment," said Foster.

"There you go. Knock yourselves out," said Gary, acting too cocky for his own good. All he was doing was making the detectives more motivated to nail him for the bombings.

At first, neither detective noticed anything incriminating inside the cab. Just as Foster was getting ready to close the driver's side door, she leaned down and peeked under the seat.

"Well, what have we got here," she said, as Gary's eyes started to widen and his breathing started increasing. "This is a paper band from a $10,000 stack of hundred-dollar bills. Very sloppy, Gary. What, you just couldn't wait to open up the case and play with the money? Smooth move, dumbshit. Do the honors, partner," said Foster.

"With pleasure. Okay, Gary. Turn around and put your hands behind your back, just like you see on TV, only this is the real thing."

After placing the handcuffed 17-year-old inside their unmarked police car, Foster walked back up the stairs and knocked on the door again so she could do the courteous thing and advise Gary's mother that he was being arrested and taken to the police station. To say she was stunned is like saying Tom Cruise doesn't jump up and down on sofas when he gets excited.