Part 8 (1/2)

aThat wasnat about David Sawyer, was it?a Lee asked.

aDavida Oh. No, itas another casea”fifty suspects and now one of the family decided he knows which of his cousins did it and so he took a shot at her early this morning. Several shots, through the wall of her bedroom, and one of them hit her. Theyare all nuts, the whole family. No, I wonat bother with breakfast.a The shower went on and, after two minutes, off again. Kate emerged, her hair wet but her clothes on, kissed Lee absently, and left. Lee listened to her loveras feet on the stairs, the familiar pause in front of the closet while the wicked gun was strapped on, then the front door opened and closed. A car started up on the street outside, where Kate had left it instead of rattling the garage door late last night, and she was gone. Lee sighed and set about the laborious business of the day.

Not that night, nor the next morning, but the following day over dinner the conversation was resumed.

aYou know what you were saying the other day about trying to put together a bunch of quotations to throw back at David Sawyer?a Lee began.

aFat chance of that now. Thereare two more members of that womanas family in jail now,- they were going at each other with chains in the dead womanas front yard. There used to be a rose bed. Do they give prizes for the most dysfunctional families? This crew would take the gold.a aI was wondering if there would be any reason you couldnat have Philip Gardner and Eve do it for you? Come up with zinging quotes, that is.a aHeas still in jail.a aI know heas still in jail,- is there any reason why you canat have a conference of half a dozen people? Using the two of them as translators, like you thought of before, only in two-way translation, into and out of Erasmusese?a aThere are problems in allowing civiliansa”friendsa”in on an interview,a Kate said slowly.

aInsurmountable problems?a aIad have to talk to Al,a Kate finally said.

aDo. Because if you have to argue with him using his own language, youad better have someone who speaks it as well as Philip and Eve do.a aYouare right. In facta”no, maybe not.a aWhat?a aI was just thinking that he and Beatrice seem very close. If shead be willing to help us, it might make it less adversarial. I donat know if that would help or not.a aI think it would be a good idea.a aIall have to talk to Al about it. I could probably find Beatrice before Friday night, although I suppose wead have to do the interview on Sat.u.r.day anyway to work around Dean Gardneras schedule. Iall talk to Al,a she said again finally.

Al agreed, with strong reservations but a willingness to try anything that might loosen David Sawyeras guard. Philip Gardner agreed,- Eve Whitlaw agreed. The conference was set for ten oaclock on Sat.u.r.day morning, regardless of whether Beatrice had prior commitments.

But when Kate went to Sentient Beans on Friday evening to talk to the homeless woman, Beatrice was not there. Beatrice had not been there the week before, either.

Kate stood listening to the angry young owner, feeling the cold begin to gather along her spine.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Praised be G.o.d for our Sister, the death of the body.

aYou scared her off.a The young man behind the wooden bar was gripping the latte gla.s.s as if he were about to throw it at her. His name was Krishna, but he had obviously been named after one of the G.o.das more violent manifestations.

aCould you explain that please, sir?a Kate asked politely, keeping an eye on the gla.s.s.

aYou probably did it on purpose. Thatas hara.s.sment. You could tell her nerves were bad.a aAre you telling me you havenat seen Beatrice Jankowski since the night I was here? That was nearly a month ago. Iave seen her since then.a aShe was in once,a the man said grudgingly.

aTwice,a said a womanas voice from behind him. The woman herself appeared, carrying a tray of clean cups, which she slid into place beneath the bar. She was very small, with hard, slicked-back unnaturally black hair, at least a dozen loops and studs in her ears and one through her nose, and kind, intelligent brown eyes. Kate recognized the guitarist from the night she had come here. aWe didnat see her last week, and we havenat seen her since then, but she was in a couple of times after you were here.a aHow do you remember when I was in? One face on a busy night.a aI noticed you. Beatrice talked about you. But we were a little concerned last week when she didnat show, and weave been keeping an eye out for her in the neighborhood. Sheas not around.a aYou havenat filed a missing-persons report?a aFor a homeless woman? Whoad listen to us?a snorted the man.

The woman answered Kate as if hea”her husband?a” hadnat spoken. aI decided that if she didnat come in tonight, I would report her missing. I called the hospitals, but sheas not there. My name is Leila, by the way.a The man turned to her, his grip on the gla.s.s so tight now that white spots showed on his knuckles. aYou called thea”I thought we agreeda”a aOh, Krish, of course I called. What if she was sick or something?a aBut she was here two weeks ago?a Kate asked loudly, to interrupt the burgeoning argument.

aJust like always,a Leila said.

aAnd she said nothing to indicate that she would not be here?a aNo. In fact, she said, aSee you next week, dear,a just like she always does. Did.a Leila was worried now, taking police interest as evidence that something was very wrong.

aI wouldnat be too concerned, not yet. I just wanted to pa.s.s on a message from a friend of hers whoas in custody.a aBrother Erasmus?a aYes. You know him?a aNot personally. Though I feel like I do, since she talked about him all the time. She went to see him in the jail.a aI know. But not for a while, apparently, because he was asking about her,a she embroidered.

aHow long? Since heas seen her?a It was in the small beat before Kate answered that she acknowledged her own apprehension.

aI donat know,a she said slowly. aIall have to check.a The stark possibilities lay there, and nothing Krishna or Leila could add changed them any. Finally, she asked for the use of their telephone and began to cast out her lines of inquiry.

The logs at the jail revealed that Beatrice Jankowski had last visited David Sawyer on Wednesday the ninth of March, two days before she had not appeared at Sentient Beans to wash her clothes and sketch the customers.

A call to the morgue confirmed that there were no unclaimed bodies in San Francisco that remotely matched Beatriceas description.

Al Hawkin was not at home and had not yet arrived at Janias apartment in Palo Alto. Rather than beep him, she left brief messages at both numbers, on his machine and with Janias daughter Jules, and then went back out into the coffeehouse, where she found Leila cleaning the tables.

aDid Beatrice leave anything here?a she asked.

aProbably. Thereas a little cabinet in the back we let her use.

aDoes it lock?a aThereas a padlock. We kept one key, gave her the other.a aJust the two keys?a Thatas all.a aMay I have the key, please?a Leila let a cup and saucer crash down onto the tray. aOh G.o.d. What did you find out?a aNot a thing. Iam not going to open the cabinet, and Iall give the key back to you if Beatrice turns up. Iad just be more comfortable keeping it in the meantime.a Leila dug into the deep pocket of her baggy black silk pants and drew out a fist-sized bundle of keys. She flipped through it, unhooked a cheap-looking key, and handed it to Kate. aThereas nothing much in there. Her sketch pad and box, a few clothes, odds and ends.a aItas good of you to let her use it.a Leila actually blushed. aYes, well, Iave been there myself, and sheas getting too old to live out of plastic bags.a Kate opened her mouth to ask if Beatrice slept here occasionally, then closed it again. Time enough for questions that might compromise the insurance and zoning. She merely wrote out a receipt, pocketed the key, thanked Leila, and went back out to her car.

In the Homicide room, at her desk, on that Friday night, Kate sat for a long time and stared at the telephone. She did not want to pick it up. She wanted to go home and rub Leeas back or watch some inane musical video or listen to Leeas voice reading from a novel. She did not want to make these telephone calls because she was afraid of what she was going to learn, and when she learned it, she knew whom she would blame.

Kitagawa and OaHara came in then, speaking in loud voices, and in order to avoid having to talk to them she picked up the receiver and tucked it under her ear. She began to look up the telephone numbers and then made her calls.

After the fifth call, a faint hope began to stir: Maybe she had been wrong. Alarmist. But the optimism was premature: At the seventh morgue, this one in Santa Cruz, they had a Jane Doe, Beatriceas size, Beatriceas age, with Beatriceas hair and eye color. Shead been found four days ago up in the hills, by hikers. Dead at least three days before that. Not pretty. Sure, theread be someone there all night.

Kate sat and rubbed her eyes, hot and gritty and wanting nothing but to close for a long time. Too late to phone Lee, let her know she wouldnat be in? Yes, it really was. Lee used to sleep very littlea”four, five hours a night. Now she needed eight hours, or she ached. Sometimes took a nap. Why are you thinking about that? Kate asked herself. Christ, this is a s.h.i.+tty job.

Phones had been ringing on and off. Now Kate heard her name called, and she automatically picked up the receiver.

aMartinelli. Oh, Al, thanks for calling. Sorry to wreck your weekend. Yeah, she disappeared, but I think I found her. The Santa Cruz morgue. Yeah, I know. Iam going down to see her. Want me to call you from there? You donat have to come. Youare sure? You promise Jani wonat hate me? Well, leave her a note, maybe youall be back before she wakes up. Iall leave now. Right. Bye.a It was like old times, driving a sleeping Al through the rain into the Santa Cruz Mountains. This time, however, their goal was not the forest site of three murdered children, their first case together a year earlier, but the sterile, temporary repository of one elderly woman.

When Kate rolled to a stop and pulled on the parking brake, Al woke up, ran his hands over his face, and bent forward to look at the winds.h.i.+eld. aItas deja vu all over again,a he commented.

aHow about next year, come March, we arrange a case that takes us to Palm Springs or something?a aIall put in a voucher for it tomorrow. Do you know wherea”a aThrough there.a Into the cold, inhuman s.p.a.ce that smelled of death, up to the body, leaning over the gray face: Yes. Oh yes: Beatrice Jankowski.

aI hadnat realized how old she was,a Kate said bleakly.

aShe had false teeth,a commented the morgue attendant. aTaking them out makes anyone look shriveled up. Is her family going to want her s.h.i.+pped, do you know?a aI donat know if she had a family.a aWeall hang on to her for a while, then.a aDo you have a copy of the autopsy report?a Al asked.

aI donat think so. Youad have to check with the investigating officer. I think that was Kent Makepeace. I can tell you it was homicide.a He reached down and turned Beatriceas head to one side, revealing the damage beneath the clotted gray hair on the right side of her skull, between the ear and the spine. aSomebody hit her, hard.a

TWENTY-FIVE.

Many of his acts will seem grotesque and puzzling to a rationalistic taste.

The mere fact that an ident.i.ty had been given to a body in the morgue hardly justified rousting the investigating detective out of his bed at four oaclock on a Sat.u.r.day morning. Even Al Hawkin had to admit that. So he and Kate found an all-night restaurant and ate bacon and eggs in an attempt to fool their bodies into thinking it was a new morning rather than a too-long night, and at six they made their way to the county offices. At 6:30, Hawkin succeeded in bullying an underling into phoning Makepeace. At seven oaclock, they were in his office being shown the case file.

aThatas right,a he was saying, fighting yawns. aCompletely nude, no false teeth, not even a hairpin.a aShe wore several rings,a Kate commented.

aThatas in the path report. Couple of nicks on her fingers, scratches that showed where the ringsad been cut off her postmortem. Her hands were so arthritic, Iad guess he tried to pull them off and couldnat get them over her knuckles, so he had to cut them. She was also moved around after death, a couple of rug fibers and marks on her legs, probably transported in a caras trunk. Nothing under her fingernails but normal dirta”she didnat scratch her attacker, no defense marks on her hands, nothing. About the rings, though.a He sounded as if he was beginning to wake up, and he took a large swallow of coffee from his paper cup to increase the rate of coherency. aWe did a ground search, especially up and down the road. Among the c.r.a.p they picked up was a ring. There should be a photograph here somewhere.a He dug back into the file, flipped through the glossy photographs of the nude woman sprawled in the leaves, gray hair snarled across her face, and pulled out the picture of a large fancy ring with a cracked stone. He laid it on the desk between them.

Kate peered at it. aIt looks like one of hers. Iad have to ask her friends to be sure. Where was it?a aWhoever dumped her pulled off the main road down this dirt road.a His finger tapped a long-range photo that showed Beatrice as a mere shape in the corner. aHe couldnat go any farther because of the gate, but you canat see the place from the road. The ring was on the left side of the road going in, where it might have fallen when he opened the driver-side door. If it was in his pocket, say, and fell out. Of course, it couldave been there for a week or two.a He sipped at his coffee, then added, as if in afterthought, aThere was a partial on the ring, halfway decent. So let us know when you have prints on a suspect. Other than that, we didnat find a thing. Wasnat raped or a.s.saulted, no signs that she was tied up, just a sixty-odd-year-old woman in fairly good condition until she ran into a blunt instrument.a aThe pathologist doesnat seem to have much to say about the weapon,a Hawkin commented. He had put his gla.s.ses on to look through the file.

aThere wasnat much to say. No splinters, no rust or grease stains, no gla.s.s splinters. A smooth, hard object about two inches in diameter. Three blows, though the first one probably killed her. Couldave been almost anything. Whatas your interest in her, anyway, to drag you down here in the middle of the night?a aItas related somehow to the body that was cremated in Golden Gate Park,a Hawkin replied.