CHAPTER TWENTY

 

Dinish Ranganathan's apartment was located on Upper Haight Street, so named because it was on the hill part of the Haight District. They'd just come from Michael Smith's apartment in the Lower Haight where they hadn't learned anything new.

The building containing Ranganathan's apartment was modern construction that had been built to mimic historical architecture in the district. Ranganathan's place was four stories above what appeared to be an underground residents’ parking garage. They didn't have access into the garage, so they parked on the street halfway down the block in the first free space Ray could find.

Jack followed Ray and CSI Gordy Chase through a heavy glass door into the building's lobby where they were immediately met with a bank of mailboxes against one wall. At the back of the lobby, two doors flanked a central stairwell and were marked GARAGE and MANAGER.

Ray knocked on the manager's door.

"Yes?" An attractive older woman stood in the doorway, looking between each man before settling her gaze on Jack. Her up-styled graying hair was more salt than pepper, and while her rosy features seemed youthful, the deep lines around her eyes and slightly jowly cheeks gave away her seniority. Her pink-slippered feet, knee-length floral dress, matching pink sweater, and reading glasses hanging from a pink cord around her neck completed her grandmotherly appearance.

Her piercing blue-green gaze unsettled him, but he couldn't say why.

Ray cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "Ma'am. I'm Detective Reyes Navarro with the SFPD." Waving to Jack and Gordy, he said, "Private Investigator Jack Slaughter and CSI Gordon Chase. We have a warrant to enter Mr. Dinish Ranganathan's apartment."

She took the warrant and quickly gazed over it. "I thought you boys already did your thing up there."

"We did," Ray assured her. "We just need to double check a couple details and require access into the apartment."

The woman disappeared for a moment and reappeared with two keys. "This one," she held up a key, "is for the apartment. Please be sure the door is locked when you leave. I don't want to have to walk all the way up there just to check the door."

"We will," Ray promised. "And the smaller key?" He took it from her too.

"For the mailbox, over there." She pointed to the bank of mailboxes just inside the door. "Poor man. It doesn't seem right that he's still receiving mail, but maybe there's something in there you can use."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll bring it up to the apartment with us," Ray told her. "You can let the postal carrier know Mr. Ranganathan no longer lives in the building. They'll put a stop on his mail until a change of address has been filed by the family."

The woman nodded her agreement. "Be sure you bring both of those keys back to me."

"Thank you," Ray said. "May I have your name for our records?"

After one more lingering look at Jack, she said, "Janeen Baker," then stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. Jack had the strangest feeling she was still looking at him through the peephole.

After Gordy dusted the mailbox for prints—no stone left unturned—they grabbed the mail and headed for the stairs.

A sign that said APARTMENTS had an arrow pointing up the stairs. A smaller sign beside the first listed the apartments as 1st Floor – 201 and 202, 2nd Floor – 301 and 302, and 3rd Floor – 401 and 402.

It hadn't escaped Jack's notice that the address on the warrant said the victim's apartment was number 402 and the only way up was by the stairs.

He felt the tiredness push against him as he mounted the stairs behind Ray and Gordy, half pulling himself up by the handrail, his breath becoming labored the more stairs he climbed. He really needed to get more sleep. That was on his to-do list once this case was solved.

At Ranganathan's door, Gordy doled out new booties and powder-free nitrile gloves, aka medical-grade gloves that were quickly becoming the norm across all public service departments. They fit like a second skin and were nearly puncture resistant, better protecting the wearers from most contaminants, including bloodborne infections.

Ray turned to Jack, weaving his fingers together to make sure the fingertips fitted correctly. "You okay? You don't look so good."

Jack agreed. He didn't feel so good either. "I'm fine. Let's get this done."

Entering the apartment, Jack was surprised by the generous size of the place. His first instinct was to find the balcony and get onto it to check out the victim's fall trajectory and see if there was any evidence that had been missed the first time around. But he held back. This needed to be played by the book.

Jack gazed at Gordy. "Were you on the team during the original visit?"

The CSI shook his head. "First time."

"Good. Everything will be fresh to you. Keep your eyes open. Check everything. Treat this as a new crime scene." Gordy nodded and moved into the room, choosing a spot on a low table to set his kit. "Ray?"

Ray gazed around the room. "I'll check the bedroom and bathroom. Why don't you check the kitchen and living room? Get Gordy to collect anything you think looks unusual. You know the drill." Jack nodded and moved into the kitchen as Ray disappeared down a short hall.

If everything had been left in situ the night of Ranganathan's death, the kitchen was tidy except for two partially filled glasses of red wine on the counter beside an uncorked bottle. They'd been sitting out for so long, most of the water had evaporated and left dark streaks inside the glasses, and mildew was forming in the residue.

Did Ranganathan already have a visitor in the apartment, or had he been expecting someone? Three in the morning seemed a bit late to be entertaining, but Jack had to remind himself that the man was a performer in a late-night club.

Nearby, the countertop wine rack was full, minus the bottle beside the glasses. On closer inspection, it appeared Ranganathan preferred red wine, especially from the Masked Rider Winery down in Paso Robles. All of the bottles in the rack were from this winery, as was the bottle on the counter beside the glasses—Gunsmoke Red.

No lip marks were on either glass, but he'd get Gordy to check the smudges for fingerprints.

He glanced around the small kitchen—white cupboards, black countertop, stainless appliances, and the breakfast bar overlooking the living room—it all seemed clean. Even the interior of the oven was spotless, making Jack wonder if the man even cooked. A quick check inside the cupboards revealed several spices, chutneys, and prepacked naan bread, which were now out of date. Wilted and rotting vegetables in the refrigerator confirmed they'd been freshly bought before the victim's death. Fresh produce didn't give Jack a feeling the man was going to kill himself.

Stepping out of the kitchen area, Jack glanced around the living room. It was also well-kept. Timber floors and white-painted walls had been furnished with Indian décor—brightly colored scatter rugs, colorful cushions on a tan sofa, traditional wall hangings, and big leafy plants sitting on several pieces of dark timber furniture. Taller plants had been placed in woven baskets and placed around the room.

Overall, this part of the apartment showed a careful attention to detail that reflected the victim's heritage; it was one of the cleanest crime scenes he'd ever seen. He was surprised there wasn't any fingerprint residue from the previous investigation, but if those investigators were treating the death as a suicide, perhaps they declined that part of their search.

Jack's gaze settled on a large window overlooking Haight Street. In the corner between the bay window and a right-angle window sat a large palm tree. The window to the right was partially obscured by a tall leafy tree. On closer inspection, he noticed scrapes along the floor toward what revealed itself as a pair of long, narrow multi-pane glass doors onto the balcony.

"Gordy," Jack called to the CSI who had moved into the kitchen to dust the wine glasses and bottle. He looked up at the sound of his name. "I need this documented before I touch it."

Gordy came to Jack's side after grabbing his camera from his evidence kit. "Show me what you need photographed."

Jack pointed to the scratches on the floor, the tree, and the balcony doors.

Ray quickly appeared from the hall. "Find something?" He rushed to Jack's side.

Gazing around the room, thoughts spun in Jack's tired mind. "This tree has been moved. See the scratch marks? If the victim jumped or was pushed over the balcony, how could he have gotten out there if the tree was in the way?"

"Holy shit," Ray said with a sharp gasp. "Gordy, photograph the area so we can compare it to the original report. We need to rule out that it wasn't moved by the previous investigators or anyone else after the fact."

When Gordy was done, Jack said, "Help me lift this, Ray, so we can get onto the balcony." Jack didn't want to take the chance any evidence was hiding under the tree. He grunted as he lifted his side. The tree was much taller than it was wide—definitely a lot taller than he was—but it wasn't as heavy as he expected. "Who the fuck keeps trees in an apartment?" But it must have been too heavy for whoever moved it, or the floor wouldn't have been scarred.

After they set the tree a few feet away, Ray said, "Maria has one at home. I think she called it a Fiddly Fig, or something like that. She said they're supposed to be fiddly to keep alive, but you've seen the damn thing. It's like a triffid." Ray turned a leaf to show Jack.

"If it's a fig tree, where are the figs?"

"Don't ask me," Ray said with a whine, his face pinched. "My only job is to help her water the damn things. I just hope once the baby comes, she won't have time for her plants anymore and I can get back some of my house."

"Ficus Lyrata."

Jack and Ray turned in unison to Gordy. "What?" They echoed each other.

"That tree is called Ficus Lyrata, or commonly, Fiddle Leaf Fig. They get their name from the shape of the leaves—fiddles. And your wife is right, Inspector. They are fiddly to grow."

"Explain," Ray said.

Gordy stepped over to the tree. "These plants are a pain in the ass to acclimate. They don't like direct light, but they do like it bright; it can take time to find a spot in a room they like. Typical of Ficuses, if they don't like where they are, they start dropping their leaves. Find a place they like, and they'll thrive. You can see where this one had originally been placed off to the side of this glass door. The floor timber is darker in this spot than the rest of the house, most likely from black stains coming off the bottom of the basket. The terracotta pot absorbed a lot of water that over time has leached into the basket and eventually mildewed the floor. This only happens over a long space of time. If you look around the apartment, you'll find other potted plants with similar damage on the floor where they've lived where they're happiest."

Jack and Ray agreed with Gordy's assessment. Ray scribbled notes in his pad while Jack made sure his phone captured the video.

Gordy waved his hand along some of the leaves. "Look here. You can tell this tree hasn't been moved, probably in years. See how tall it is? It loves this spot. And check out all the shiny leaves. You can tell the victim took care of it. What little dust on the leaves has settled since the victim's death."

Ray ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. "It looks like Maria's tree isn't going anywhere any time soon."

Jack didn't think so either. As long as he'd known the Navarros, their tree had been in the same place—in their dining room beside but not in front of the west facing window. Even when they updated their house and removed the carpets to put in timber floors, Maria directed the installers to work around the tree as much as possible—literally moving the tree only a few feet aside to remove the old carpeting and lay the new hardwood then immediately move it back to the exact same spot.

"Better check for stains on the floor, brother." Jack heard Ray groan again and suppressed a chuckle.

"You can also tell the plant was moved. Not just by the scratches on the floor, but see these leaves?" Gordy waved his hand along the browning leaves nearest the glass door. "They're sunburnt. If the plant hadn't been moved, they'd still be fully green like those on the rest of the tree, because they were out of direct light. Move it into the sun and it goes crispy around the edges. The longer it's in the sun, the crispier that side of the tree gets as it dies back."

"Holy shit, Gordy," Ray remarked. "Why aren't you an investigator? I never would have caught that."

Gordy chuckled. "I work best alone and in the background."

"I'm sure Ray will be happy to put in a good word with Haniford if you ever want to move up. Ray needs a new partner—" Jack started.

"Fuck you! You need to get back on the job."

"Keep glaring, brother. Look at me." Jack leaned back and postured with his arms spread, nearly falling over when his head felt like it wanted to spin. He caught himself and finished. "I'm not on the force, yet here I am," he said with a weak grin.

Ray scowled before turning back to Gordy. "Okay, so we know someone else was here because the plant was moved. Let's see what we find on the balcony. This tree was moved across the door for a reason."

As Gordy turned to go back to his previous task, Jack reached for the door handle. "Hey, Gordy, we're gonna need you back over here with your camera." Jack pointed at a broken pane of glass on the top corner of the multi-pane door, a partial hole still evident where a bullet passed through at the edge of the broken pane. "I think I know where the victim got the initial wound."

Gordy rushed over to take a few photos before Jack examined the hole in more detail. "Yep, the round was fired from inside the apartment. Look at the spiderwebbing through the remaining glass. This must be the original glass. You can see the slight rippling where some of it's thicker than the rest. See here where the round left its imprint?"

"Hang on a sec." Ray withdrew his Glock and extracted a 9mm round then compared it with the partial in the glass pane. "Forensics will have to confirm, but it's either a .38 or a nine mil."

Jack nodded his agreement then turned the lock on the door and swung it open to inspect the other side. He was anxious to see if the lab results showed the same size round as the other shooting victims. "Gordy."

The CSI stepped over and snapped a few pictures before letting Jack and Ray continue.

"This too, Gordy." Ray pointed to the glass on the narrow balcony floor. Since the incident, leaves now littered the tiled flooring and partially obscured the broken glass. Had the first team missed it, or had there been leaves here that night too? Either way, it was poor detective work. Careful not to disturb this new evidence, he moved onto the balcony, Ray behind him. Jack's stomach squeezed as he looked over the side and down the length of the building to the sidewalk where the victim had landed. A shadow stained the concrete where solvent had been used to clean off as much of the blood as possible, but it wasn't evident that the victim had struck the building anywhere on his way down.

"Want me to get photos of this while I'm here?" Gordy asked, pointing to a bullet lodged in the horizontal frame over the door.

"Ya think?" Jack said. The headache growing behind his eyes made his reply harsher than it should have been. "Thanks, Gordy. Let's also pull the slug and get it to ballistics." Then he added, "And let's get a line of trajectory while we're here."

Ray turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the concrete coping. "What do you think?" Ray's face took on his customary pinched look when he was concentrating.

Stifling a grin, Jack unconsciously mimicked Ray's posture and gazed into the apartment, watching Gordy work. "What I think is this was definitely murder. Something isn't fitting right though." Jack steadied himself on the balcony as a mild wave of nausea washed over him. He was definitely coming down with something. He wondered how much it was going to cost him to ask Ray to stand in for him at the Majestic tonight.

"What do you think it is? What's not fitting right?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm not going to figure it out here." He waited for Gordy to finish what he was doing then went back inside. Ray followed.

Something caught Jack's eye as he moved through the door. He stepped back out again. The late afternoon sun had moved past this part of town, and the tree beside the building was starting to cast the balcony in shadow. But as Ray switched on the apartment lights, something appeared on another pane of glass. One panel down and one over was a distinct smudge. Maybe not a smudge but an irregular shape.

"Hey, Gordy. What do you make of this?"

Gordy moved in beside Jack and looked at the print from several angles. "See this?" Gordy indicated with his finger to the bottom of the crescent shape. There was a mark in the center of it.

"What am I looking at?" Jack asked, studying the mark.

Gordy fingered his ear. "It's an ear print. This is the lobe, and it looks like he's wearing a stud of some kind. If the ME's report confirms the victim had an ear stud, then this looks like your victim's ear print. I'll get a print and you can compare it to the postmortem report." Gordy leaned in closer. "We might have a partial fingerprint too."

"Holy shit!" Jack exclaimed. "Excellent work, Gordy." He clapped the man on the shoulder then moved toward Ray. From the corner of his eye, he'd seen his friend moving around the room. He knew Ray did this to view scenes from all angles. He'd stopped now on the opposite side of the room from the balcony doors. His eyebrows squeezed so close together, they seemed to merge.

"See it?" Ray's gaze was fixed across the room near where Gordy worked.

Jack moved closer to Ray and looked at the room from this angle. "What am I looking at?"

Ray pointed to a tall cabinet. "There. It's going to be obvious when I point it out."

"Yeah. It's a highboy or something. It's on the same wall as the tree."

"Yeah but look down. Underneath. The feet are just tall enough for something to fit under it." Ray rushed over and got down on his side. Jack followed and crouched down to see what his friend was doing. "Hand me Gordy's camera. I want to get a shot of this before I touch it."

Gordy stepped over and handed Ray the camera. After taking the photos he wanted and handing back the camera, Ray slid his arm under the cabinet and rifled around for a moment before sliding back and sitting up.

Dangling from his index finger was an Imura revolver.