The Case of the Vanishing Twin

"That's the exact thing I said when I first saw the victim. Anyway, you said you have something for us on this case?"

"Yes. It just so happens that a man hired me by the name of Donald Dayton to check out his sister, who he thought might be going out at night and hurting people. He didn't have any actual proof or details. So the night before last, the night of this poor guy's murder, I was following his sister, Donna Dayton, and she dressed to the nines and went to a place called The Layover Music Bar & Lounge on Franklin Street, downtown Oakland."

"Yes, I'm familiar with that place," said Wheeler. "It's a very trendy place."

"I went inside and sat off to the side to observe her as she was sitting at the bar. A gentleman walked in and sat next to her about a half-hour after we arrived. It was apparent that they knew each other. They sat at the bar for about an hour chatting and enjoying a couple of cocktails each. Then they abruptly got up and walked outside. They caught me by surprise. By the time I paid for my drink and got outside, I looked around but couldn't find them anywhere.

"The bottom line to my story is, the dead guy you found at the Mormon Temple is the same guy that left the bar with Donna Dayton. It looks like her brother was right about her hurting people. That's all I know. I guess it could be a coincidence, and after they left, they parted ways, and he met his fate at the hands of someone else.

"I'll talk to my client and see if he wants me to keep looking into things, but I wanted to let you know what I found out since it seems crucial to your investigation."

"I can't thank you enough for calling me about this Nikki. Can I get your client's address and phone number so I can start looking into things on my end?"

"Sure. Do you have a cell phone number you can give me? Then I can just text you all of the information you need," I replied.

"Definitely. You can use 510-555-2700. And thanks again, Nikki.

"Hey, D'Agosta, you're not gonna believe this. Listen up."

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 30, 10:50 a.m.

Max was still sitting in front of my desk, just shaking her head.

"There's some crazy shit going on here, darlin'. I do believe that we need to get our client back in here and have a little heart to heart with him."

"You got that right," I replied as I picked my phone back up and dialed Donald Dayton's number.

"Hello. You've reached Donald. Please leave a message at the beep, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

"Yes. Hello, Donald. This is Nikki Fontaine. We need to speak. Please let me know when you can make it into my office so we can talk. I have some questions. Please try to make it sometime today or early tomorrow. Thank you."

"I think Mr. Donald knows more than he told you when he first came in," said Max.

"I'm getting that same feeling. We'll see if we can shake some apples from Donald's tree when he comes in. Please sit in on our meeting too. I'll let you know when he's supposed to be here."

"Okay, boss. Well, I guess I'd better earn my keep for the day. By the way, how was that bar and grill you went to the other night? Was it a nice place? Why don't you let me treat you to dinner tonight, maybe there?"

"I have absolutely nothing going on tonight, so that would be wonderful. Let's plan on it. We can just buzz over there right from here after work. Is that okay with you?"

"Totally. I'll plan on it. Then we can go back to your place after for that bubble bath we talked about earlier."

"You got it," I replied.

11:35 a.m.

Morgan saw that Max and I were done talking, so he got up, walked over to my door, and stuck his head into my office.

"Hey, Nikki. You got a minute?" he asked.

"Sure. Come in and have a seat. Are you making any progress on the Mulcher case?"

"That is a morbid name for this case," said Morgan.

"I know. But you knew which case I was talking about, didn't you?"

"Yeah, it's kind of hard not to make the connection."

"Okay. What have you got?" I asked.

"What I've got is one unbelievable theory on this case. Our expert calculated an impact speed between the Mustang and the pedestrian between 220 and 230 miles per hour. We know that's not possible because the Mustang has a top factory limited speed of 180 miles per hour. And even if we choose not to believe our client when he says he was driving around 50 miles per hour, it's doubtful that he could have gotten his car up to its top speed on that road. It just doesn't have long enough straightaways. I drove out there and looked around, trying to imagine anywhere someone could go that fast even if they wanted to."

"Okay. I'm following you so far. When does the weird, unbelievable stuff start?" I asked.

"All right. Buckle your seat belt. I don't believe the victim was a pedestrian."

Morgan paused for effect. He knew Nikki was about to blast out one of her what the fuck are you talking about? expressions.

"Okay. Now I'm not following you, Morgan. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This gets good. Hey, it's not my fault we're dealing with a Twilight Zone case. I'm thinking outside the box here."

"Outside the box? I won't know that until I hear the rest of your theory. Please continue," I said, thinking I may have made a mistake hiring this guy.

"Okay. So I think our victim fell or was thrown from an airplane and landed with perfect timing on the front of our client's Mustang."

"What? You're going to have to give me some kind of facts or information that makes this seem even remotely plausible."

"Hold on. I'm getting there. Hayward Executive Airport is approximately eight and a half miles from the Oakland Airport. Our client was driving down Doolittle Drive parallel to the Oakland Airport and about a mile away. Doolittle Drive is somewhat in line with the flight path taking off from Hayward Executive Airport heading west.

"Hayward handles private aircraft like Cessnas, small jets, and those kinds of planes. These planes fly low and slow compared to commercial jets. Well, I am not counting private jets. But I don't believe a jet was involved here.

"I believe the victim fell or someone pushed him from a plane at an altitude of 5,000 to 10,000 feet that was traveling between 200 to 250 miles per hour. A falling body would be falling downward while still traveling forwards at the same speed as the plane. Friction would slow the body's forward momentum down some, but it could have been still traveling between 175 and 200 miles per hour forward, plus about 115 miles per hour downward. If you add in the 50 miles per hour that our client says his Mustang was traveling, everything falls into place, if you'll pardon the pun.

"I know this requires perfect timing for the body to hit the front of the car at the exact time the body and the car reach the point of contact. But, hey, this kind of thing happens all the time. Think about the poor bastard that walks under a tree in a park somewhere at the same time a large branch decides to fall to earth and land right on top of him."

"Morgan, that is an amazing theory, and I'm inclined to believe that that's what happened. Oh, my God. This is one for the books. Something like this almost falls under the heading of an act of God. Unless someone can disprove your theory or come up with something that matches the situation as it happened, I think this might be enough to get our client out from under the felony DUI murder they're trying to throw at him. He'll just have to deal with a DUI. After all, he was drinking and decided to drive. That's all on him. Great job, Morgan. Is that everything?"

"There's one more thing. I called the Hayward Executive Airport and asked them how many flight departures they had on the evening in question. We don't have to worry about arrivals because they'd be going in the wrong direction. It turns out that it was a very quiet night, and they had only one departure between 9:30 and 9:40. Anything earlier or later would have missed the window when our client was driving down that part of Doolittle Drive.

"Unfortunately, they wouldn't give me any information about who owned the plane, who was on it, or its destination. I think you should call one of your friends at the Oakland Police Department and have them give the airport a call. I'm sure they could get the information."

"That's a good idea, Morgan. My head is still spinning around your theory. That's excellent thinking on your part. I would have never thought of that. Okay. Thank you. I'll keep you posted. I'm going to call the OPD right now while the iron is hot."

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

June 30, 12:20 p.m.

"This is Detective D'Agosta. How may I help you?"

"Hi, Detective. This is Nikki Fontaine. Is Detective Wheeler still in the office? I need to speak to her."

"Sure. She's right here. Hang on one second.

"Wheeler, you've got a call on line one."

"Got it. Hi, this is Detective Wheeler."

"Hi, Detective. This is your new best friend, Nikki Fontaine."

"Long time no talk to, Nikki. Do you have some more information on the Jim Bradshaw case?"

"No, not on that case," I replied.

"You have information on another case? We're going to have to put you on retainer, for Christ's sake. What have you got this time?"

"I've got some information on the Mulcher case with the Mustang and the pedestrian on Doolittle Drive."

"Well, we've pretty much closed that case. It's in the hands of the DA at this point. Even though we don't know the details, we know that the driver was driving while intoxicated, and he struck the pedestrian. That makes it pretty cut and dried," said Wheeler.

"That's what I thought, too, Detective. But one of my investigators solved the case and connected all the dots," I said excitedly.

"Oh, really? How'd he do that? I didn't think anybody, including the AR expert, could figure out what exactly happened. Okay. So spill the beans. What actually happened?"

"First of all, the victim wasn't a pedestrian after all," I said, knowing that Wheeler would respond about the same way that I did.

"What? Are you messing with me? I can't think of any other way the Mustang's front could have hit the vic if he wasn't a pedestrian. I can't wait to hear this."

"The victim fell or was thrown out of an airplane passing overhead. It involved some exact timing, but all the figures work with this scenario. The body was falling straight down at about 115 miles per hour. It was also traveling forward at between 175 and 200 miles per hour. That, plus the 50 miles per hour that the car was traveling, would give us an impact speed of between 220 and 230 miles hour, just as the AR expert had calculated. What do you think about that?"

"Wow. How'd your person come up with this theory? It sounds pretty crazy, but I think you might have solved this case," exclaimed Wheeler.

"I turned this case over to a new investigator in my office, and he started thinking outside the box and came up with this theory, which sounds right to me. There's only one problem."

"What's that?" asked the detective.

"My investigator called the Hayward Executive Airport, which is where this plane must have originated from, to try to find out which planes departed during the time window to put them over the impact site at the time it happened. The airport person said that there was only one plane that left between 9:30 and 9:40, but they won't give us any further information, such as who owned the plane, who was on it, where they were going.

"I'm handing this to you on a silver platter. All you have to do is call the airport and put your foot up this guy's ass and demand that he give you this essential information. I think this new information is enough to get my client off the hook for the felony manslaughter charge that the DA is throwing at him. He can deal with the basic DUI case. That's his problem. But I think this is enough to keep him out of prison, wouldn't you think?"

"If everything pans out as you say, I think the DA would be willing to drop the felony charge and just go with the DUI. Let me call the Hayward airport and see what they say. I'll let you know what I find out. And thanks for giving us the heads-up. I think this bodes well for us on other cases in the future that I'm sure will be coming up. Talk to you soon."

"Thanks, Detective."

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 30, 1:05 p.m.

My damn ear is starting to hurt from so many phone calls. This is starting to feel like real work. I'll have to make sure that this doesn't become the norm for me because I'm supposed to be delegating this stuff to my staff.

Max walked back over to my office when she saw I was off the phone.

"What's up? I saw Morgan in here, and then you jumped right back on the phone. You got some new case info that I don't know about?"

"Things are moving quite fast. Have a seat, and I'll tell you about Morgan's theory on the Mustang/pedestrian case."

"That case is a damn mess. What did Morgan come up with?" asked Max.

"It's quite brilliant. Morgan's theory is way the hell outside of the box. When Morgan first mentioned his idea to me, I thought he was nuts. So here's what he thinks happened:

"The guy that the Mustang hit wasn't a pedestrian, after all. He fell or was tossed out of an airplane passing by when the Mustang was driving down that part of Doolittle Drive. The falling body and the Mustang impacted each other at the exact instant that the car and the body arrive simultaneously at that spot. That accounts for the impact speed of 220 to 230 miles per hour. All the math works. The only problem is, the Hayward airport wouldn't give Morgan the information about the plane or its passengers, only that there was just one plane that departed the airport between 9:30 and 9:40 p.m. that night.

"So I just got off the phone with Detective Wheeler at OPD and gave her all the information so she can solve her case. She said she'll call the airport and get the information they need to confirm this incident's details. She'll let me know what she finds out. I think this will be enough to get the DA to drop the felony manslaughter charges against our client and leave him with only the DUI to deal with. But that's his problem, not ours. Pretty crazy shit, right?"

"I wouldn't have thought of that in a million years," said Max. "Our Morgan is a pretty sharp cookie. We might have to keep him around. That and he's pretty easy on the eyes."

"Behave now," I said. "I don't want to have to keep my eyes on Morgan, and you and Nora and Jessie and God knows who else. Morgan needs to get a girlfriend so that you guys will quit undressing him in your minds while sitting at your desks. I can almost smell your thoughts. On the other hand, he doesn't do a thing for me."

"Well, aren't you special," replied Max. "I think we know the reason behind that. But that's okay. I'll take you over pretty boy any day. By the way, did I tell you what's for dessert tonight?"

"No. What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"You. I might add some whipped cream to make things a little more interesting. I'm going back to work now. Try to think about that without smiling or touching yourself."

OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT

HOMICIDE DIVISION

June 30, 2:40 p.m.

"It's about time you got back, Marco. Where've you been?" asked Detective Wheeler.

"I decided to go back to the Mormon Temple and look a little closer at the crime scene. I'm glad I did."

"Why?" asked Wheeler.

"I think our crime scene investigators are getting sloppy."

"What do you mean? Did you find something they missed?"

"Yeah. In the bushes about ten feet from the body, I found a business card from The Layover Music Bar & Lounge up on Franklin Street."

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed Wheeler.

"Yeah, I know. That's where that gal that Nikki was following met Jim Bradshaw on the same night someone murdered him," said D'Agosta.

"That's exactly right. It looks like Miss Nikki has been following our killer. I think we need to talk with--what was her name? Donna Dayton? Yeah, let's go talk with Donna."

"I've got her address on my phone," replied Wheeler. "She lives up in the Broadway Terrace area. I just programmed her address into our GPS. Let's go."

1527 FARALLON WAY

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

June 30, 3:50 p.m.

"Well, would you look at this? A parking spot right in front. This must be our lucky day," said Wheeler. "Let's hope she's home and cocky enough to answer the door."

"You do the knocking," said D'Agosta. "I'm gonna have my hand on my gun in case this psychopath has a weapon."

"Damn. This is a nice place," said Wheeler. "Their parents must have been very well off to be able to buy a place like this."

"No shit," replied D'Agosta. "Okay. Let's say we give them a little knock, shall we?"

After what seemed like several minutes but was, in reality, about 20 seconds, Donald opened the door with a questioning look on his face.

"Good afternoon," said Donald. "Can I help you?" he asked timidly.

"Yes, good afternoon," said Wheeler. "Are you Donald Dayton?"

"Yes, I'm Donald Dayton. Who are you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm Detective Wheeler, and this is Detective D'Agosta. We're from the Oakland Police Department, Homicide Division."

"Homicide Division? What the hell is going on here? Why do you want to talk to me?"

"We don't want to talk to you, Donald. We want to talk to your sister Donna. Is she home?" asked D'Agosta.

"No, she's not here. She lives here, but she's rarely here these days. I don't know if you know, but I recently hired a private investigator to determine what my sister has been up to. I fear that she is involved in some nefarious activities. Miss Fontaine just left me a message to come into her office for a meeting with her. I'm going there tomorrow. Hopefully, she has some information for me."

"I'm sure she does, Mr. Dayton. In the meantime, here's my card," said Detective Wheeler. "I want you to call me the second your sister shows up. We need to speak with her."

"About what? Has she done something? Oh, God. You said you're with the Homicide Division. Did she kill someone? I knew she was up to something bad. What happened?"

"I'm afraid we can't talk to you about an ongoing investigation. But please call us when Donna shows up. Maybe Nikki Fontaine has some information for you," said Wheeler.

"How did you know my private investigator is Nikki Fontaine? What's going on here? Did you talk to her? Jesus," said Donald.

"As I said, Mr. Dayton--"

"Yeah, I know. You can't discuss anything about an ongoing case with me. I'll just see what Nikki has to say tomorrow.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Dayton. We appreciate it. We'll be in contact if we think of any other questions that we need to ask you," said Wheeler.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

July 3, 10:20 a.m.

It was the day before the nation celebrates its independence from the English Crown so many years ago. Since this was Monday, many people were taking today off and making it a four-day, if not longer, holiday. Since Donald Dayton had enough money that he didn't have to work for a living, this day was like any other in a line of terrifying days for him. His sister was unrelenting, and he legitimately feared for his life daily.

The door leading into the office from Grand Avenue opened, and in walked Mr. Dayton with what looked like the weight of the world hitching a ride with him on his shoulders.

"Good morning, Mr. Dayton," said a cheerful Nora.

It was hard to tell if it was Nora's cheerful smile or the sight of her ample bosom loosely draped by an almost sheer silk blouse that elicited a smile from Donald. Nora was confident that it was her smile that cheered people up. It is unfair to criticize or doubt naïve innocence. The world needs more people who view the world through child-like eyes.