The Case of the Vanishing Twin

I sat back down and looked over at Max and Morgan, and then I clicked the button on the intercom.

"Nora, would you ask Jessie to come to my office, please?"

"Sure thing."

"Okay, guys. I'll make this short. Our client swears that he wasn't driving faster than 55 miles per hour during the collision, but the AR expert noted that the impact speed was somewhere between 220 and 230 miles per hour. We know that that is impossible based on the performance specs for a 2023 Ford Mustang GT500.

"We might be able to use those figures to prove to the OPD that our client wasn't speeding--at least not over 200 miles an hour. Hopefully, that will mitigate the accident facts enough to get them to drop the felony manslaughter part of the case. I'm not sure what they'll do.

"But one thing I do want to do is see if we can find out what the hell really did happen. So I want all of you to put on your thinking caps and dig into this accident and try to figure out how the damage to our client's car could have happened. Something caused that amount of damage, and we need to find out what it was. So get on it and let me know if you come across anything that will shed light on what happened. Thanks, everyone."

THE LANDING APARTMENTS

JACK LONDON SQUARE, OAKLAND

June 27, 6:30 p.m.

"I didn't feel like cooking tonight, so I got some Chinese takeout," said Nora.

"Sounds great. I haven't had Chinese for a while. I need a monosodium glutamate fix," said Jessie.

"What? Isn't that something we're supposed to avoid?" asked Nora.

"You can be silly sometimes. I know how smart you are, but sometimes I can't tell if you're putting on your dumb act or if you're serious."

"I know. Don't you just love it?" asked Nora. "I keep everyone guessing, even a brilliant digital virtuoso such as yourself."

"Point made. Yes, I love how smart you are at being dumb."

"You know how much you hate my pay dates?" asked Nora.

"Yes, I know. That's no secret. Why?"

"Well, I think I know of a way I can quit that job altogether."

"What? That would be great. I thought you couldn't afford not to work as an escort to rich lonely women."

"Are you serious about us?" asked Nora.

"I'm very serious about us. I love you, and I think you love me."

"I love you too," said Nora. "So, would you be interested in moving in with me? If we had two incomes to work with, I could stop my pay dates. I've been thinking about a few things I can do to add to our income. There are lots of opportunities online to do for extra income. I might have to rethink my wardrobe budget, but I think I can come up with a happy medium. What I'm saying is that I'm willing to try if you are."

"Well, let me think about it--I'm just kidding. I don't have to think about it. Of course, I'd love to move in with you. I just hope you don't get tired of me."

"Ain't happening, Miss Purple Hair," replied Nora as she grabbed Jessie and pulled her close and gave her a long, loving hug.

Nora and Jessie finished dinner, their future living arrangements were in order, and Nora was putting an end to her career as an escort for lonely women. The two girlfriends now turned their attention to undressing each other and closely examining each other's skin for even the slightest defects, which they could quickly fix with soft, sensual kisses. Something like that can take hours. But they were both diligent and up to the task.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 28, 9:45 a.m.

The sun was out, and it looked like summer was well on its way to assert itself in the Bay Area. Summer seriously kicks in sometime during July in most years. But the Bay Area's microclimate keeps everyone guessing whether it's summer or a cruel joke perpetrated by Mark Twain when he said The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. When it gets hot out in the San Joaquin Valley, the hot air rises and sucks the fog in from the ocean and smothers the Bay Area in a cool, damp mist that will seep into your bones and chill you from the inside out.

"Hey, everybody, I have an announcement to make, so listen up. We're outgrowing this place, so we're going to move!"

"What?" said Nora.

Jessie was more of a nomad, so moving was a way of life for her.

"Cool. Where are we moving to?" she asked.

"Four doors down. The law office that was there moved out a few months back, and it's available at a great price. And there's plenty of room. So I just gave our 30-day notice. But since it will be the same landlord, they're happy that we're upgrading. So forewarned is forearmed. It shouldn't be too traumatic of a move. Okay. That's it."

Morgan was thrilled. The makeshift office he was using was spartan and depressing. He was hoping for something with a window in the new place.

I was sitting at my desk, but I wasn't on the phone, which was usually a short window of opportunity for someone to steal my attention.

"Hey, Nikki," asked Morgan as he walked up to her office and stuck his head inside.

"Yes, what have you got for me?" I replied.

"I have a crazy idea about the mulcher case with the Mustang. I don't want to say anything just yet, but I might be on to something."

"That sounds exciting. Let me know when you're ready to spill the beans on your idea."

"I need to do a little research and number crunching first. Keep your fingers crossed."

"Okay. I'll be holding my breath.

11:30 a.m.

"Nikki, your 11:30 appointment is here."

"Okay. Show Mr. Dayton in, please," I replied.

"Please follow me, Mr. Dayton," said Nora. "Here he is, Nikki. Please have a seat right there, Mr. Dayton."

"Thank you, Miss...?"

"Nora."

"Yes. Thank you, Nora."

"Good morning, Mr. Dayton. What can I do for you? You didn't mention much during our phone call."

"Thank you for agreeing to talk to me."

"Well, that's what we do. I haven't agreed to take your case yet, but that's part of what we're doing right now. You have to convince me that we want to take your case and represent you," I said.

"Not to put too sharp a point on it, my sister is threatening to kill me. I've been to the Oakland police, and they told me there's nothing they can do about it unless I can come up with more proof."

"Okay. Do you have any proof? I mean, you've got to give me something here. I need more information. Like, how old is your sister? Where does she live? What threats has she made?"

"I'm afraid that all I can say at this point is that she has told me that if I don't stop making things difficult for her, she's going to hurt me."

"Hurt you? Do you have any idea what she means by that?"

"She hasn't specified. So to answer your other questions, she's my age. We were twins. And she lives in the same house as me."

"Wow," I said. "This is sounding more and more like a sloppy mess. Who owns the home that you two live in now? And how long have you lived together?"

"Our mother died giving birth to us, and our father was killed in a car accident nine years ago. My dad was a very successful businessman, and he left us his house in the Broadway Terrace area of Oakland, which is a pretty exclusive area. He paid the house off a long time ago, and we have more money than we'll ever need from dad's business investments and his life insurance policy. We've both lived in the house since before his death. Only my name is on the deed, but I just don't know how to kick her out. It's a very complicated situation."

"So, has she--by the way, what's her name?" I asked.

"Her name is Donna Dayton. Never married."

"Well, to be honest, Mr. Dayton, this sounds more like a police matter. I'm not sure what we can do to help you."

"I know. But I think there's more. I believe Donna goes out at night and might be hurting other people. I don't know why or how, but that's what I believe. Maybe if you could find proof that she's doing something illegal, the police could stop her, which would also help me."

"If you want to pay us to follow her and gather evidence of anything illegal that she might be doing, we can do that, but I can't promise you anything. And this kind of work can become quite expensive quickly."

"As I said, I have money."

"Okay. Stop by Nora's desk on your way out, and she'll explain our fee structure and retainer agreement with you. Please also give her your address, and we can start tonight."

"Thank you, Miss Fontaine."

1527 FARALLON WAY

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 28, 7:30 p.m.

Donna Dayton looked stunning in her black silk jumpsuit, oversized faux fur hooded coat, and a pair of black leather and suede pumps.

"I'm going out tonight, Donald. But, of course, you already know that. Time to go."

Donna and Donald were twins. They've had a turbulent life together, always seeming to be at odds with each other. It always seemed to be a power struggle back and forth between the two of them. Usually, Donald was in charge, but he seemed to be running out of the mental endurance to keep fighting, and Donna was becoming the decision-maker in charge of things the majority of the time these days. At 36 years of age, it would seem that they had many more years of friction unless one of them just finally gave up and ceded power to the other.

It's been a while since I sat in my car on a stakeout. I've only done it twice, and I'm not crazy about it. I decided to take this case for myself because I've been lazy and haven't spent much time out in the field for a while. I can't always make the other members of my team do the dirty work.

When Donna walked out the front door to their Farallon Way home, I had been sitting in my car across the street and a few houses down for a little more than an hour.

Well, what do you know? Here comes Miss America. I have to admit, though, that she looks pretty damn hot. She doesn't look like the menace Donald was crying to me about in our meeting. Well, let's see where the little lady takes us.

THE LAYOVER MUSIC BAR & LOUNGE

1517 Franklin Street, Oakland

June 28, 8:15 p.m.

Well, this will be a first. I've never been here. Since Donna doesn't know me, I can just follow her in and hang out and see what happens.

Donna walked into the lounge, stepped up, took a seat at the bar, and immediately ordered a glass of red wine. I waited for five minutes before entering the establishment. I looked around for a table for two and sat down so I could watch Donna up at the bar. So far, everything looked innocent enough.

I noticed that Donna keeps looking at her watch as if she was waiting for someone to arrive.

I wonder what that's all about. Most of the men in here are checking her out, but she doesn't seem the least bit interested. She must be meeting a date here. Oh, Jesus. Maybe she's an escort. Perhaps I should just shut up and see what happens.

After about 25 minutes, a handsome man dressed in a suit walked in and looked around as if trying to find someone specific. When he spotted Donna, he smiled, walked over to the bar, and took the empty seat next to her. He ordered a single-malt scotch, and the two of them chatted like old friends.

After an hour and a few more drinks each, the man paid their bar tab, and they got up and walked out.

Oh, shit. That was sudden. A twenty should cover my tab and a good tip. What would my people think if I lost my subject on the first night?

By the time I got outside, Donna and her date were nowhere in sight.

Jesus. What did they do, beam up to their spaceship?

Okay. It's been five minutes, and I don't see them. They're gone without a trace. Don't I feel like a fucking idiot.

Well, I guess I'll just go home and try again next time. I'll call Donald and see if I can get some kind of schedule for Donna's nightlife.

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

June 29, 9:15 a.m.

Wheeler and D'Agosta worked for about an hour catching up on final homicide reports for some of their many cases. Homicides in Oakland are like lines in a grocery store. You walk in to do some shopping, and there are no lines at any of the registers, and by the time you spend a little time shopping and head up front to check out, there are lines everywhere. No one can ever figure that out. Homicides go from quiet, one here, one there, to war zone-like casualties, with bodies dropping seemingly on every corner in the bad parts of town.

"Hey, Wheeler, we've got a body. Grab your stuff. We're going to temple," said Detective D'Agosta.

"What are you--never mind. Let's go," responded Detective Wheeler.

THE MORMON TEMPLE

4770 Lincoln Avenue, Oakland

June 29, 9:50 a.m.

The Oakland Police Department criminalist team was already on scene and collecting evidence when Detectives D'Agosta and Wheeler arrived at the crime scene.

"Who dumps a body in the Mormon Temple parking lot?" asked D'Agosta.

"I know. That's got to be some bad karma shit with God for doing something like this," replied Wheeler.

The two detectives put plastic booties over their shoes and snapped on latex gloves. They were walking cautiously around the body lying face up just off the asphalt next to some bushes.

"Christ. Someone must have been really pissed at this guy. I see one shot between the eyes and one right between the legs," said Wheeler. "I hope the shooter did the crotch shot second because I can't even imagine how much that would hurt."

"I know. I'm already cringing, and I have goosebumps popping up all over my back," said D'Agosta. "I see only two shots. Do you see any more?"

"No, all I see is two. I guess we need to figure out who this guy was and then see what the coroner's report says," replied Wheeler.

"Wait one goddamn minute," said D'Agosta. "Do you remember Vince and Carl being called out about a week and a half ago for a case?"

"Yeah, I remember. Didn't they find the guy's body dumped on the shore of Lake Merritt right next to the boathouse?" asked Wheeler.

"That's the one. But I was talking to Vince a couple of days later, and he told me that it was the body of a man, mid-thirties, with two gunshot wounds--one to the man's privates and one right between his eyes."

"Oh, shit," responded Wheeler. "Please don't mention anything about a serial killer. You remember what happened last time. God. We're not even over that one yet."

"I'll put the word out that if anyone comes up with a male body with gunshot wounds to the crotch and between the eyes, that they bring us into the loop. I'm going to open a file on these two murders as soon as we get back to the station, just in case. In the meantime, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed."

"I'll do the same," replied Wheeler.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 30, 9:45 a.m.

Max walked into my office just as I picked up my phone to call Donald Dayton. She just sat down next to my desk and waited for me to finish my call.

"Hey, Donald. How are you today?" I asked.

"Under the circumstances, I guess I'm doing okay."

"What do you mean under the circumstances?"

"Donna and I argued last night, and she cut my arm with a steak knife."

"She what? She cut you with a knife?"

"Yes, that's what I said," replied Donald.

"Did you call the police?"

"No. I've done that before, and they don't do anything. It's my word against hers. The police think that I imagine things."

"Well, if you show them the cut on your arm, they have to do something."

"She's never there when the police show up. She knows when they're coming and disappears and won't come out when they're there," said Donald.

"Why don't the police just go get her so they can question her?"

"I don't know what to say. The police can never find Donna when they look for her. She's like a ghost."

"Okay. Okay. Do you know when Donna's going out again so I can follow her?"

"Probably this Friday. She usually goes out on Fridays plus one day during the week."

"Then I'll plan on following her from your place this Friday unless I hear something different from you before then. Okay?"

"That sounds good. I'll let you know if that changes," replied Donald.

"All right. I'll talk to you later, Donald," I said.

"So how did it go last night, sweetie?" asked Max. "I know it's been a while since you've done a stakeout."

"It was horrible. I made a rookie mistake when I followed Donald's sister, Donna, to a bar and lounge on Franklin Street. It was a fun place, with a band and dancing and a great bar. We should try it out sometime. It's a straight bar so that you know. It always seems as if we go to LGBT places, but I think we'd like this place."

"We'll have to try it out for sure. How about this Friday? Unless you have to do your stakeout."

"I'll most likely be on my stakeout. But I'd love company if you'd like to come and hang out with me for a while. We could go out for dinner and drinks afterward if it's not too late. What do you think?" asked Max.

"Excellent. I'll look forward to it. So, about my rookie mistake. I followed Donna to a bar and sat at a table off to the side. I had a good line of sight to her as she was sitting at the bar. She must have had a date planned because a nice-looking man walked in and immediately recognized her. They sat at the bar together for about an hour having drinks, and then they got up and left.

"They kind of caught me by surprise, so I threw a twenty on the table and ran out after them. By the time I walked out front, I couldn't find Donna and her date anywhere. They disappeared like a pull of smoke. I felt like a real dumbshit."

"Hey, baby. Don't be so upset with yourself. That could have happened to anyone. How about I come over after work and share a bubble bath with you. I know that won't change anything, but it will feel incredibly relaxing and make you ready for what else I have in store for you," said Max while she caressed one of her breasts. She had her back turned towards the office so that no one could see the little gesture she made to her woman.

I always keep one of the local channels playing on the small flatscreen TV on my wall. I don't pay attention to whatever is playing, except when the news comes on, and then I pay attention if something relevant to one of my cases comes up.

I saw one of the mobile newspersons interviewing Detective Wheeler. I turned the volume up just in time to hear the name of the person they were showing on the broadcast.

"Well, eat me, beat me, and put me on a plate for dinner. I've seen that guy before. Give me a second. Oh, shit. Now I remember. That's the guy that was Donna's date last night at the bar that I followed her to."

"Are you sure?" asked Max.

"Absolutely. Donald told me that he thinks that she goes out at night and hurts people, but he didn't know how or what she's doing. It looks like she does more than hurt people. She's a murderer. We need to advise the police department so they can check her out."

"I agree. I think you should give the police a call right now."

"You're right. I've got to take a couple of minutes to calm down first," I said.

"Take all the time you need. I'll wait right here with you, darlin'."

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

June 30, 10:05 a.m.

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

"Hi, Detective Wheeler. This is Nikki Fontaine. How are you today?"

"Oh, hi, Miss Fontaine. I'm doing okay. How about you?"

"I've got some information for you on the homicide I just saw on the news this morning."

"Oh, do you? We just found this guy yesterday morning at the Mormon Temple. The coroner tells us his time of death was somewhere around 11:30 p.m. the night before. Someone was really pissed off with this guy. His name is Jim Bradshaw, age 35. His killer shot him once in the groin and once in the forehead."

"I hope the headshot was first," I said. "I cringe at the thought of being conscious and have someone shoot me in the groin."