“At least the coffee is decent,” Detective Sanchez said. She and detective Sergeant O’Malley were sitting in the Satori lobby waiting for the staff to arrive for the meeting scheduled at 7:30. “Maybe we should go get breakfast and then come back.’
“They’re all on Satori time,” O’Malley said. “They always show up late. If we leave now. They’ll stagger in, assume the meeting was called off, and disappear.”
“How about if I get us some pastries?” Sanchez asked.
Just then a lanky, spectacled man approached, carrying a briefcase and key ring. “Are you Detectives Sanchez and O’Malley?” he asked. They nodded. “I’m Bruce James, the executive director. Come on into my office. We’ll start talking and the others will join us over the next few minutes.” James unlocked the door behind the receptionist desk, and they entered an office corridor. The detectives followed him to the end and James unlocked a heavy redwood door. He entered the office, threw his briefcase and keys on the desk, and then drew open the drapes. The office overlooked the main Satori lawn to the ocean.
The fog was beginning to lift, and they could see the outlines of pine trees at the edge of the bluff.
“Go ahead and take a seat,” James said, as he flicked on the lights. “When Sequoyah gets here, I’ll have her fetch more coffee and some pastries.”
“Did your maintenance crew tell you what we found out?” O’Malley asked. “We talked to..” he referenced his notes, “Juan Romero.”
“Juan called me at home and said that you had identified Malcolm. He fell off the deck at the old conference center.” James ran his hand over his face. “That’s bizarre.”
“We don’t know if he fell or was pushed,” Sanchez said. “The coroner’s team will be here today. Maybe they will be able to tell. For the time being, we’re treating it as a suspicious death.”
“We want to talk to your staff to identify Malcolm’s movements just before his death,” O’Malley said.
A buxom blonde wearing overalls entered the office. “Sorry to be late, Bruce. We had a crisis in the garden.” She turned to us. “I’m Sequoyah, Bruce’s personal assistant. Can I get you some more coffee or pastries?”
“That would be grand,” O’Malley said.
Sequoyah sauntered out.
O’Malley referenced his notes. “Malcolm Eastwick had a residence in San Francisco, how often was he here?”
“Not as often as he used to be,” James said. “At the beginning he was very involved, but recently he’s left the day-to-day management to me and my crew.”
“How many people are in your crew?” Sanchez asked.
A dignified, middle-aged woman with an extravagant French braid bustled in. “Sorry to be late.”
“This is Marcia Ball, my outreach coordinator,” James said.
Marcia shook hands with the detectives and then sat down.
O’Malley turned back to Bruce James. “When did Malcolm Eastwick return to Satori?”
“I’m not sure,” James said. “We knew he would be here for Tuesday’s board meeting and the fundraiser on Wednesday evening.”
“You didn’t see him when he arrived?”
“No, but that’s not unusual. Malcolm has a house on the northern end of the property. These days we don’t see him in the office unless there is a board meeting or a special event.”
“Can you give us access to his house?” Sanchez asked.
“Yes,” Marcia replied.
“Who might know when Malcolm arrived?” O’Malley asked. “Who might be aware of his movements on Saturday night?”
“I don’t know,” James said. “Perhaps Cheryl Taylor, she’s a member of the board who has a house nearby. She’s known Malcom since the beginning; she was married to the other co-founder, the one that died.”
“Where could we find Cheryl Taylor?” Sanchez asked.
“She’ll be here today,” James said. “She’s co-leading a workshop. We can get word to her, and she could talk to you during a break.”
“The first thing we will do is to examine Malcolm’s residence,” O’Malley said. “Then we will begin interviewing folks who might have contacted Malcolm on Saturday.”
“You can interview here,” James said. “I have a vacant office.”