The Case of the Vanishing Twin

Max tried Nikki's number three more times.

"She's still not answering," said Max. "This is not like her to disappear, not answer her phone, or let anyone in the office know what's going on. Okay. That's it. I will drive Melissa's old house and see if Nikki or anyone else is there. Gwen might be there. Maybe she's fixing the place up so she can sell it. I'll check in when I find anything out," said Max as she grabbed her purse, her trusty.380 handgun, and walked out the door.

THE LATE MELISSA STEIN'S VACANT HOME

1987 MAGELLAN DRIVE, MONTCLAIR (OAKLAND), CALIFORNIA

August 24, 10:50 a.m.

It took Max about 25 minutes of city driving to get to the late Melissa Stein's home in Montclair.

"Let's see what we've got here," said Max out loud. "There's Melissa's house. That must be Gwen's car in the driveway. Let's see if--okay. There's Nikki Tesla parked two houses down. She must be inside with Gwen. That must be a fun meeting."

Max walked over to Nikki's Tesla and peeked inside through the windows. Well, there's her phone in her console. How many times do I have to tell that girl not to leave her phone inside her car in plain sight? Some street punk is gonna see her phone in there one of these days and chuck a sparkplug through one of her windows and take off with it, leaving hundreds of shattered pieces of window glass all over her seats. That'll happen once, and then she'll learn her lesson and stop doing it.

Okay. Let's see if anyone's home at the house.

Max knocked loudly on the front door to the house and was peeking inside as she was waiting for someone to answer the door. Gwen opened the door after about ten seconds.

"How can I help you?" asked Gwen when she opened the door.

"Hi. I'm Max Dupree, and I'm trying to locate Miss Nikki Fontaine, my business partner. I haven't heard from her since yesterday. Have you seen her either yesterday or today?"

"Yes, she dropped by yesterday and asked if she could look around the house, and I told her to knock herself out. Nikki was looking for Roni Blake, and for some reason, she thought I might be keeping her here involuntarily. She checked the house, found nothing, and left. That's it."

"Well, would you be surprised to know that Nikki's car is parked out here on the street two houses down from yours?" asked Max.

"That is a surprise. I'm at a loss for words. I have no idea why Nikki would leave her car parked on my street. Maybe she met up with someone after she left here, and they went somewhere in the other person's car," said Gwen. "Jesus. Come in and take a look around for yourself if you think I'm lying. I've got nothing to hide."

"Really? Okay. Let me take a quick look around, and then I'll be on my way. Thank you."

Max did the same thing Nikki had done when she was checking the house. Max first checked the upstairs, then the main floor, and then moved down to the basement. There wasn't much in the cellar except a few items of junk. Max opened the closet door and saw the same shelves with canned goods as everyone else had seen.

Max then walked back upstairs with nothing but question marks flying around inside her mind. If she's not here, then where the hell is she?

"Okay. Thank you, Gwen. I don't see any sign of her here. This is the strangest thing. Nikki left the office yesterday afternoon, and no one's seen or heard from her since. I'm afraid I'm going to have to file a missing person's report with the police. Nikki just isn't like this."

"Maybe she met an exciting new girlfriend and lost all sense of responsibility. It wouldn't be that out of the ordinary. I know that I've had it happen to me more than once. Good luck with finding her."

"Thank you, Gwen. Bye," said Max as she left the house and walked to her car.

I'm going to have to bring someone out here to take Nikki's car home so that someone doesn't steal it. Damn.

40th STREET AND SAN PABLO AVENUE

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 24, 1:15 p.m.

Everyone called him Big Willie. He wasn't large in stature, so people who knew him made their assumptions about what the Big stood for. He drove around in a tricked-out 2022 Cadillac Escalade with spinner hubcaps, which looked ridiculous to most people except pimps and bling-bling rappers.

Big Willie was making the rounds, checking on his girls and collecting their earnings. Nice weather increased biness, as Willie liked to call it. Mavis, aka Precious, handed everything she had to Willie, but he suspected her holding out on him. The last thing a pimp could afford was to let one of his girls get away with holding out on him. What would the other girls think? That they could get away with it, too?

That's just not smart business. Willie had to make an example out of Precious. He walked her into an alley between two buildings and beat the young woman to a pulp. He gave her two black eyes and bruises all over her face. Two of her teeth were knocked loose. And that doesn't count the internal damage she sustained from his brutal stomach punches.

"Next time you hold out on me, bitch, I'll kill you and leave you in the street to get run over by a bus."

The beating didn't go unnoticed by the other girls, nor a couple of people walking down the sidewalk at the same time Precious stumbled out of the alley and into the arms of one of her friends and co-workers, who would accompany Precious to the emergency room. She wouldn't be working for almost two weeks.

Rich Nance was staring at Big Willie three blocks away through the Leupold Long-Range rifle scope attached to his Winchester Model 70.22-250 sniper rifle. His 2020 Mercedes-Benz Sprinter Cargo Van was about 275 yards downrange from the target, and Rich had situated the back of the vehicle towards Willie's direction. The back window was open, and Rich had mounted his sniper rifle on the tripod bolted to the floor of the van about three feet back from the open window. Rich was sitting on a bench he had installed, which he had also bolted to the floor. He had also created an armrest so that he could be relaxed when sighting a target.

Willie was talking on his cell phone as he was standing next to his Escalade.

Perfect, thought Nance as he had willie dead in his sights. He slowly exhaled to empty the oxygen from his lungs, totally relaxed for three seconds, and then he squeezed the trigger with the tenderness of stroking the head of one of his pet parakeets.

The high-velocity rounds fired from the Winchester 70.22-250 rifle reached close to 4,000 feet per second. By the time Rich took his next breath, Big Willie's brain had sustained a lethal injury, and he fell face-first onto the sidewalk and breathed his last breath about two seconds later.

As Big Willie's girls were scrambling in all directions, Rich Nance casually sat down in the driver's seat of his Mercedes cargo van and drove north towards Berkeley.

Big Willie wouldn't be hurting women--ever again.

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

August 24, 1:40 p.m.

It didn't take long for someone to call 911 about the shooting on San Pablo Avenue. Ordinarily, the passing of someone like Big Willie would be a cause for celebration by most people who knew him. But the reality is that Big Willie's replacement would slide in to take his place and continue terrorizing the group of young working women under his control within a matter of days.

"Hey, Wheeler," said D'Agosta. "I have some sad news."

"Oh, no. What happened?" asked Detective Wheeler.

"Do you remember Big Willie, the pimp who works on San Pablo Avenue? Someone just took him out. If we hurry, we can get there while his body is still warm," said D'Agosta.

"You do realize how morbid you sound, don't you?" asked Wheeler.

"You're probably right. Whenever I hear about some gutter slime pimp-ass shithead like Big Willie getting what he deserves, I just get all gushy and weepy-eyed, and then I say disrespectful things about the dead. Please forgive me, Willie."

"You're impossible, Marco. Get your stuff, and let's go. I want to get there before Willie's body gets so stiff that it's hard to roll his body over to look for multiple wounds," said Wheeler with a big smile on her face.

"And you say I'm bad. Damn, Fran."

40th STREET AND SAN PABLO AVENUE

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 24, 2:05 p.m.

Detectives D'Agosta and Wheeler pulled up to the crime scene a few minutes after the criminalist crew from the OPD arrived.

"What a surprise," said Wheeler. "I thought this place would be crawling with witnesses. They must be giving chicken wings away for free over at the Wingstop just up the street."

"That would be my guess," replied D'Agosta.

"Well, let's see what Big Willie wants to show us," said Wheeler.

Detective Wheeler leaned down next to Willie's lifeless body to examine the bullet wound to his forehead.

"Uh-oh," said Wheeler. "This looks familiar. Small-caliber wound to the forehead and no exit wound in the back of the head. This wound looks like the same type of round that took out that drug dealer over on 98th a couple of days ago."

"Oh, great," said D'Agosta. "Oakland is starting to turn into the serial killer capital of the goddamn world. If this is another serial, that would be three within one year. What are the odds against that, partner?"

"I hear you, but I'm not liking it. That means we're gonna have the Mayor jumping even further up our asses than she already is. Shit," replied Wheeler. "Well, I think we've got what we're gonna get from this crime scene. We'll just have to wait to see what CSI comes up with, but I think they're just gonna confirm what we already know."

"Yeah, let's go," said D'Agosta.

THE LATE MELISSA STEIN'S VACANT HOME

1987 MAGELLAN DRIVE, MONTCLAIR (OAKLAND), CALIFORNIA

August 25, 10:05 a.m.

Gwen now had two prisoners to feed instead of only one.

I should feed these two bitches just one time per day and let them stay hungry. That will give them something to think about instead of me and how they're going to jump me the next time I open that door. I know that's what they are doing. Especially that fucking Nikki Fontaine. There's something about her that I can't put my finger on. Oh, well. That doesn't matter right now. They think I don't expect them to try to jump me when I bring in their lunch. But they won't be expecting me to have a gun with me.

Gwen walked carefully down the old wooden steps that lead down to the cellar because she didn't want to trip and fall and eat dirt. Plus, if she did fall and got hurt, there wouldn't be anyone there to help her or call 911.

Gwen set the tray down on an old table adjacent to the closet door, so she had both hands free. She clicked the release on the door, which she knew Nikki and Roni heard, pulled the shelf away from the wall. But rather than walk in as she usually did, she stepped back with her Ruger.38 special drawn and ready.

"Step to the back wall where I can see both of you, now! I have a gun, and I won't hesitate to shoot one or both of you. I've got nothing to lose at this point, so don't fuck with me."

Nikki and Roni looked at each other. They knew that they would have to table their plan for the time being. Gwen entered the hidden room as soon as she saw the two women standing against the back wall.

"What, you thought I'd be stupid enough just to walk in and let you both jump me? Nice try, bitches. This is how we're going to do it from now on. It would be wise for both of you to remember that I have a gun, and I will use it.

"Before I leave, I need you to do something for me, Roni," said Gwen as she tossed a burner cell phone to Roni.

"And what would that be?" snarled Roni. "You want me to shove this phone up your ass? Or maybe you'd like it shoved into your other orifice. You'd probably like that better."

"Very cute--and descriptive. You must have been practicing that.

"No, that's not what I want you to do. What I want you to do is call your brother, Robert, and tell him that you've been at a friend's recuperating from a bad case of the flu, and you need him to come to pick you up and take you home.

"And in case you try and pull anything cute, I will shoot you where you stand. That being the case, I want you to wait to give your brother this address until the very last. I don't want to shoot you with him knowing my address. And since I doubt you took note of my address when I brought you here at gunpoint, here's my address on this piece of paper. Now call your brother."

At first, Roni hesitated, not wanting to get her brother involved with her situation and have him get hurt while trying to do something good. But then she thought that he might be able to overpower Gwen and put an end to this deadly scenario that Gwen was playing out.

"I said, call your goddamn brother before I lose my patience," yelled Gwen.

"Okay. Okay."

Roni took several deep breaths to calm her nerves so she could talk without sounding like

"Hey, Robert?" said Roni as she was freaking out in total fear. "It's me."

"Roni? Where are you? Are you okay? I thought something bad must have happened to you. You've never disappeared like this before without letting me know what you're doing. Jesus."

"Hey, can I ask you a favor?" she asked.

"Hell, yes. What do you need?" replied Robert.

"Can you come to pick me up? I've been recuperating from horrible flu for the last several days. I haven't stopped puking or shivering long enough to call you. Between the puking and shivering, it felt like the spasming from my stomach muscles was going to crack my ribs."

"Shit, Roni. Where the hell are you, and I'll come as soon as I can," exclaimed Robert.

"Okay. Do you have a pen and a piece of paper to write on?" asked Roni.

"Yeah, right here. Go ahead," replied Robert.

"My friend's address is 1987 Magellan Drive, in Montclair. I'll see you soon. I love you," said Roni.

"I'm on my way," said Robert.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

August 25, 10:15 a.m.

Max was fit to be tied and was becoming frantic, figuring out what happened to Nikki. This situation made her realize how much she had come to love Nikki. Max had to do something. She knew that Gwen was neck-deep in this thing.

Max grabbed her phone and called Detective Wheeler.

"This is Detective Wheeler. How may I help you?"

"Hey, Fran, it's me, Max."

"Oh, hi, Max. What's up? Have you heard from Nikki yet?" she asked.

"No, and I'm starting to fall apart here. I'm scared to death something's happened to her."

"Now, just calm down. I'm sure Nikki is fine, and you'll be hearing from her soon," replied Wheeler.

"Maybe. Hopefully. Would you do me a favor and see Gwen one more time? I found Nikki's car parked two houses away from her house. Gwen swears she has no idea where Nikki is, but I think she's lying through her teeth. We need to tear her mom's place apart. And if we still don't find anything, we should take her with us to her apartment and take a look there. If that doesn't work, we need to find some reason we can throw her skinny ass in jail until she talks," said Max. She was feeling the full effects of the stress as if someone had thrown a hot, wet sleeping bag over her and was squeezing as hard as they could.

"I would if I could. We just had another homicide that's starting to look like another serial killing. The Mayor is shitting bricks, and we have to focus on this like it's the only case we have. Can you hang in there until tomorrow? I'll make time tomorrow if you still haven't heard from Nikki," said Wheeler.

"Okay. I know you have a job to do. I'll just try to distract myself till tomorrow. Please call me in the morning. Otherwise, I'll go out there again myself and use my own personal methods of persuasion," replied Max.

"I'll call you in the morning. Promise me you won't do anything until I go back over there with you,"

"I'll try, Fran. I'll try."

OAKLAND JAIL INTERVIEW ROOM

August 25, 10:30 a.m.

Gary Yee did not like spending the night in jail. Not one bit. It was an eye-opening experience, a real bell ringer. He had been handcuffed to the table, with a guard just outside the door, waiting for his attorney to show up and talk about whatever deal he was able to make with the Oakland City Attorney's office.

"Good morning, Gary," said Lowell Muncie as he was let into the interview room and sat down at the table opposite his client.

"Yeah, good morning. So what did you find out? They willing to make a deal?" asked Gary.

"They might be willing to talk about a deal. A lot depends on you and your attitude. I had to add one more thing to the deal so they'd accept it."

"And what would that be?" asked Gary.

"I agreed that they could throw a little community service into the deal. It's usually easy stuff. In your case, maybe we could have you tutor some kids in English that aren't fluent speakers. Something easy like that," said Muncie.

"Okay. I could handle that. So what about my attitude? What's that supposed to mean?" said Gary. "Are they willing to make a deal or not?"

"The Mayor is very pissed off about what you did to the citizens of Oakland. Or at least twelve of them. She wants you to spend some time in prison for what she calls domestic terrorism. But she also wants to get the money back and move past this sad affair. This deal is good until I walk out the door, then it's gone forever. It's a take it or leave it deal.

"You return all of the one million dollars, you admit what you did, and you stay out of prison, and you don't have to reimburse the insurance companies for the cars you destroyed. Plus the community service. That's a gold-plated deal, and they won't offer another one. It would be best if you gave me an answer right now. Otherwise, they'll just put you behind bars for five years, and you'll come out a hardened criminal with no prospects for a job or anything resembling a decent life again.

"So this is it. You can choose to have the opportunity for a good life and future, or you can be arrogant and cocky, end up in jail, and be the one responsible for ruining the rest of your life. You decide," said Muncie with a seriousness Gary hadn't heard before."

"You sure know how to sugarcoat your words, don't you?" asked Gary. "I've been doing a lot of thinking also, and I don't think my life would be worth a shit ever again if I kept the money and went to prison. Who knows? I might get killed in there. And for sure, I'd be attacked in the showers or somewhere and end up with a non-stop sore ass.

"So I think I'll take the deal and move on with the rest of my life. Those bastards shouldn't have tried to frame me to get to my dad. If something like that happens again, blowing up twelve cars will pale in comparison to what I'll do the next time."

"Great. I'll talk to the City Attorney and see if we can take care of this thing and get you back to your life as a kid going to high school. I'll be in touch."

"Oh. Thanks for helping me out with this. I know I fucked up. But it was nice to have a million dollars in my hands, if just for a little while. Talk to you soon, Mr. Muncie."

"You bet. And try not to piss anyone off, either police officers or any of the other prisoners. It would be a tragedy if I get this deal for you, only to find out someone killed you in jail for something stupid. So don't screw up, and say yes, sir, at every opportunity," concluded Muncie.

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

August 25, 11:10 a.m.

"So what the hell are we going to do about this.22 killer?" asked Detective Wheeler. "Are we going to give him a name like a fucking pet, or are we going to be able to find this bastard before he runs up the tally even more?"

"Well, it would help if we had even one witness, even one clue," said D'Agosta. "I mean, this guy is a ghost. We've got nada. I have to admit, this guy is pretty slick. We have no idea how far away he is when he's shooting these people. He might be some ex-something or other sniper: Rangers or SEALs, or something like that. Maybe we should start checking military records to see if any ex-snipers have finished their time in the military and relocated to our neck of the woods. We could also check around at the various gun stores to see if we can find someone who's been buying the special high-velocity ammo or other accessories for a.22 sniper rifle. I mean, that's a start."