Once inside, Terry and Dan started with the living room—measuring, tapping, checking level, unscrewing vent covers, and scribbling on their pads. Two shadowed them. After twenty minutes, while screwing out an air-conditioning return grate near the floor, Terry turned and stared up at Two, “Look, we have to inspect all the rooms on all three floors. We can cut the time in half if Inspector Williams and I split up. Your choice, but that way we can be sure to finish today. Why don’t you take Inspector Williams upstairs, and I’ll finish down here?”
Two agreed, reluctantly. He mounted the stairs with Dan, who trying to keep Two occupied, talked him into helping with the measuring, leveling, and unfastening. “In that way,” said Dan, “we can move things along more quickly.”
Free to roam the first level, Terry was disappointed. After thirty minutes, no pay dirt. Then in the dining room, he finally spotted something strange. The big, cavernous fireplace, permanently sealed off with smoke-colored glass, had no gas logs. No grate for firewood. Weirder yet, Terry couldn’t see a hearth floor within the enclosure. Looking closer, he thought a dark floor might sit lower in the open shaft. But hard to see, even with his flashlight shining through the glass enclosure. The beam got cut off by heavy carbon streaks on the inside surface of the glass.
Just then, Two came up to Terry. “Can I help you?”
Terry, surprised, answered, “No, no, just making sure this fireplace is up to code. Can I check the flue?”
As Two was about to respond, Dan called from upstairs. “Mr. Two, where’d you go? I could use your help inspecting the plumbing in the rear-most bathroom. We all want to move this along, don’t we?”
Two sounding flustered said, “Sure, sure,” and bounded up the stairs three at a time.
Terry, free to roam again, checked the entire first level for any type of door, steps, or down-elevator to a basement below. There were none. In fact, according to the building plans he reviewed earlier at Public Records, there was no basement. The elevator that existed serviced only the three floors of the house. The only stairwell on the first floor went up. After another half hour of inspecting the first level, Terry found nothing more unusual—except perhaps a remarkable library set up with a huge desk, leather chairs and high wooden bookshelves serviced by a sliding ladder, like the paradigm Hollywood-version of a judge’s library. But the room hardly looked used. In fact, everything on the first floor seemed new or hardly used. And neat as a pin. Not that unusual I guess, reasoned Terry, for a judge—with obvious family money—who only uses the place on weekends and holidays.
Terry went to the second level to look in on Dan and Two. Dan had Two on his back under the sink in a beautiful marble bathroom off the second-story study, describing and measuring the plumbing as Dan wrote down the details. Taking the opportunity to quickly survey the second floor, Terry again found everything orderly. In fact, extremely well-ordered. And again, neat as a pin. The only unusual thing was the imposing master bedroom, which took up more than a third of the second floor. Fit for a king. Obviously, the judge had splurged when designing the master suite. The velvet curtain around his huge four-post bed must have cost a fortune by itself. And the large ornate fireplace in the master bedroom was functional—wood-burning with gas-assist, like the one in the study.
Terry returned to Dan and Two. “OK, I’m finished for now with the first floor. I’ll head up to the third. Why don’t you join me when you’re through with the second level? Then, we’ll finish up the third and go outside.”
“Tell ya what,” said Dan, “to save time, we’ll head outside when we finish here, while you do the third level.”
“I’ll have to unlock my room,” said Two from his prone position under the sink. “Whenever you get to it. It’s the last one, way in the back, on the third floor.”
“Got it. I’ll holler when I get there.” Terry headed up the stairwell. Again, he found nothing extraordinary on the third level—mainly guest bedrooms and bathrooms. Each looked used somewhat but clean and extremely neat, almost like military quarters. The one interesting thing was a large, mirrored exercise room with reinforced flooring, long rows of weights, running tracks, Nautilus exercise machines and stationary bicycles. The huge room looked like something you’d find at a luxury resort hotel, complete with rear deck, shower room, jacuzzi and sauna. If the judge ever invites me over, thought Terry, I’d stay at least a week. This place could be a blast.
Then Terry went to the stairwell and called Two to unlock his room. Again, nothing extraordinary inside. The only things of note were the military square corners on his bed covers. Very precise. But then Terry had seen the same thing in the other bedrooms.
Finished with the third floor, Terry and Two took the elevator down. They joined Dan outside. All three spent another hour inspecting the perimeter of the house and its grounds. Terry in particular searched for some type of entrance to a basement, but without success. Then, finally, Terry said to Two, “Inspector Williams and I are through for now. We’ve been at it over three hours. We need to get back to the office to compile the data.”
“Compile data?” asked Two.
“Well, Mr. Two,” explained Terry, “we don’t carry the codes in our head. They fill ten books. And anyway, this is the 21st Century, so we enter the measurements in the computer system and a program compares our measurements and other notes to the code provisions using computerized analysis forms. If it turns out we’re missing anything, we’ll be sure to get back in touch with you. If discrepancies are found, we’ll of course provide a report. What I’m saying, Mr. Two—when it comes to permit inspections, no news is good news. Any questions?”
Two replied, “No questions. Thanks. No news is good news. I get it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Two,” said Terry and Dan at the same time. Then Terry added, “Have a good day,” and he and Dan got in Dan’s SUV, fitted with fake government plates, and drove off. After clearing the main gate, Dan said to Terry, “Almost 2 p.m. I’m starving.”
“Let’s head to the Santa Barbara Pier,” said Terry. Plenty of seafood places there. And won’t be busy at this hour. We’ll grab a secluded booth, eat, and talk.”
“Next stop—the Pier.”
CHAPTER 58
Dan and Terry drove right onto the wooden pier at the foot of downtown Santa Barbara. As always, fishermen cast and reeled up lines by the railings. Both sides. Tourists strolled along the wooden walkways watching boats come and go in the harbor. Luckily, Terry found a parking space near The Captain’s Table. Inside, he and Dan found a secluded booth with a corner window overlooking bright blue water and seagulls swooping close to the nearby fish-cleaning stations on the dock. Dan ordered the fried fish plate with fried flounder, fried oysters, fried calamari, coleslaw, and French fries. Terry got the grilled mahi-mahi fish sandwich, without mayo, and a garden salad. Dressing on the side. Then Terry gazed over at Dan’s dishes. “That stuff will give you a heart attack.”
“Stuff it. What you eat,” Dan waved at hand at the menu, “is all mushy. No grit.”
“Gotta agree,” said Terry with an exaggerated eyeroll. “True grit.”
“If you’re finished with nutritional advice,” said Dan chewing down on three French fries at once, “let’s compare notes on what just happened. That guy, Two, pretty weird. A bald head, body like Adonis, eye patch, and a loose screw…maybe two upstairs.”
“No doubt,” agreed Terry munching some salad. “A weird character. But the house itself—not so weird.”
“Yeah,” said Dan, taking a gulp of beer, “I found nothing unusual while I was with the bald guy. Big, expensive, beautiful house, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Terry sipped at his ice water. “The only weird thing is that huge closed-off fireplace in the dining room.”
“Sometimes people don’t want the smell of fire or smoke in the dining room. Maybe that’s why it’s closed off.”
“Could be. But the other four fireplaces in the house were functional—either wood burning or gas logs. Doesn’t seem like anyone in the house has an aversion to fireplaces. And anyway, there’s a shaft, going down, where the floor of the fireplace should be. Why? And where does the shaft go? There’s no basement.”
Dan nodded. “I searched outside. No entrances or trap doors or anything around the house or the rest of the property leading below ground. Maybe it’s just a detent or shaft in the fireplace floor that goes down a couple of feet or so to allow for more wood? Bigger logs? Maybe, for some other reason.”
“Maybe. But why all the black carbon streaks on the inside of the glass enclosure? Is it a firepit of some kind?”
“Hold that thought. Here comes the waitress and the dessert menu.” Dan, who patted his stomach and told the waitress he was on a diet, ordered the sherbet with coffee. Terry requested a nonfat cappuccino. When it all came, Dan looked a bit dismayed with the whip cream surrounding the four scoops in a long flat bowl. He sighed, but tried it anyway. “Not bad,” he said, licking his spoon. “The sherbet’s creamy. Works with whip. I was concerned, for a second.”
“That’s a lot of dessert,” said Terry, as a lightbulb flipped bright in his head.
Dan pouted. “Can’t finish it all. Too much. Want some?”
“Dan—that’s it.”
Dan lowered his spoon. “What?”
“The elevator. I kept thinking something was strange. Couldn’t put a finger on it. Now, I get it.”
Dan stared across the table at Terry. “What?”
