She nodded, put her coffee and scone in the cup holder, and sped up. “I wish you would consider coming to grandpa’s.” She glanced at my face. “What if I waited until after your class?”
“I have three classes and a meeting today. I don’t get why Dad . . .” I wasn’t sure how to describe Dad’s attitude.
“He wants to know you’re safe.’
“But I don’t get what he’s worried about. Somebody wanted the file. They got it. End of story. Kira looking like me was just a coincidence. I’m sorry about what happened to her. Unfortunately, it seems she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe they shot her because she saw who it was.”
“Al, have a little compassion for your dad. He worries.”
“He worries more lately.”
“I think it’s because you’re in the end of your senior year.”
“And what? He’s worried about what I’m going to do next?
“No,” Mom hesitated. Sighed. “I think it has to do with his friend who died. In the spring of her senior year.”
“So?”
“You remind him of her, always have.”
“That’s not my fault,” I paused for a moment. “If I went to Grandpa’s, would you tell me what you and Dad were talking about this morning?”
She grimaced and shook her head
“Stop here.” I waved at the empty loading zone across the lawn from Sproul Hall.
Mom pulled up to the curb and leaned over to give me a kiss. “Turn your phone on whenever you’re not in class, please.”
“Sure. See ya tomorrow.” I kissed her and gathered my books. “I’ll pick up my car and my bag from your house in the evening. You’ll be home?”
“Of course, especially if you are coming over. But please have your brother bring you.” She leaned across the car and smiled at me. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Love you more.”
I hurried through Sproul Plaza turning once to see Mom drive away.
Oh no. I was sure it was the same blue van. Right behind her.
CHAPTER
7
I speed dialed her cell as I rushed to class. Voicemail. Probably buried in her purse.
I made it to Wheeler Aud, slid into a seat and called Dad’s cell. Voicemail. Shit. He’s in court. I tried Mom again.
The van probably didn’t mean anything, a coincidence, but I didn’t like it.
Damn, Mom, answer your fucking phone. I left a message. “Mom, there’s a blue van following you. I saw it in front of Peet’s and again after you dropped me off. Don’t go home. Drive to dad’s office, to the underground parking and valet. Don’t be alone when you get out of that car.” God, I wished Mom would text.
The dude next to me gave me a look. The lecture started, but I couldn’t concentrate on what the prof said.
Shit, maybe Dad was right, maybe there was some danger. I checked the time. Dad would be on lunch recess in two hours. I could catch him then. But what could I do about Mom?
I slipped out of the auditorium, into the vestibule and called Dad’s office. As I listened to the phone ring, I remembered his new secretary, the not-so-bright one. Shit, shit. She’d be no help.
I tried Mom again. Same voicemail.
I went through my speed dial and hit Uncle Dave’s number. Another voicemail. Got Mom’s friend Carol’s voicemail next. I sent texts to all of them, but that gang never checked them. I was pretty sure Mom didn’t even know how.
I headed for the bus stop. I could take BART to the city. If luck was with me, I might beat Mom to the house. If it turned out to be a false alarm, I could pick up my car and head back to campus. At worst, I’d miss one class.
What the hell was this all about?
After I’d climbed aboard the bus I realized I could call the policeman who had been at the house the day before and at the hotel. What the hell was his name? Schmidt? I called information and was connected to the SFPD. Eventually I was put through to Schmidt’s cell. Turned out he was at my parent’s house.
“I think someone is following my mother’s car. I hope she’s headed home to change, or maybe pack. How long are you gonna be there? Can you wait for her?” I asked.
“Does this have something to do with the case your father is trying?”
“What?”
“The homicide case, the Giacometti case?” Detective Schmidt said.
Maybe that was what Dad was worried about. Had he been threatened?
“Did my father ask for protection for his family?” I said.
“I wouldn’t know.” He coughed, cleared his throat. “But I’ll wait for your mother.”
I pushed past two bus surfers, and got off the bus at the next stop. I ran back up the hill to campus, and re-entered the lecture hall just in time to hear the prof say good day. I looked around the room for a friend I could beg notes off.
“I’ll catch the next one. Promise.” I patted my friend on the shoulder.
We headed to the student center and copied the notes. I checked my email, and called my mother every ten minutes without a response. At eleven forty five, I called Schmidt again. “Is she there?”
“Not yet.”
I started the walk to my next class as the Campanile bells pealed "Ragtime". I waited outside the door until noon to try Dad again. No answer. I tried the hotel on the off chance she had reason to return there, but the front desk said that she hadn’t.
I sat in class forcing myself to listen. At twelve forty, my phone, the one I’d failed to silence, rang. A glance at the screen showed my father’s number. I ran for the door.
“Dad, Dad, do you know where Mom is?”
“You aren’t with her?”
“No. I, uh––"
“Goddamnit Al! I told you both to go to Grandpa’s.”
“Dad, does this have something to do with the case you’re on?”
“Al, I’m sending your brother to pick you up. Meet him in front of Kroeber Hall in ten minutes. I want you both in my office in under an hour. I have to see you before I head back to court.”
“What about Mom?”
“I’m on it.”
CHAPTER
8
Steven was seldom prompt so I knew I would be waiting for a while. He often got waylaid by some girl. With his preppie good looks, crystal blue eyes and sun bleached blonde hair, girls hovered around him like moths around a porch light.
I sat on a bench waiting for Steven to drive up on Bancroft and noticed the air had turned cold. I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and found a wad of papers––the papers from under the hotel bed.
There was a newspaper clipping with the photo of the familiar looking dude, a note in Dad’s handwriting, an autopsy report, a letter addressed to Dad––wait, this letter wasn’t part of the file. It had this year’s date on it. Where had this letter come from? Had I shoved it into the file off Dad’s desktop?
I scanned through the text of the letter. Couched in legalese––a threat. A threat to Dad’s family.
Oh God where was Mom?
And then it dawned on me. Maybe I knew what was going on.
My hands shook as I punched Dad’s speed dial number. “Dad, why didn’t you tell us? Goddamn, Mom knew. Steven and I have to go get her.”
“Al, not on the phone! Just follow my instructions.”
“Dad, they’ll kill her.”
“Not on the phone,” he snapped. “Your line is not secure. Hang up. Turn off the phone. Throw it in a trash can.”
“Forget it Dad!” I turned off the phone.
I spotted Steven’s car at the curb and raced across the lawn. We had to hurry.
Twenty feet to go to the car, I heard a shot whiz by my ear.
I threw myself to the ground.
CHAPTER
9
My brother leaned on the car horn with one hand and threw his other arm in the air. “What the hell?” he yelled. He leaned across the passenger seat to open the door.
> Spitting mud and grass, I raised myself to my elbows. Without success, I scanned the traffic to see if I could spot the blue van. I searched the windows of the buildings opposite the lawn. No sign of a shooter. I scrambled to my feet, dashed in a crouch for the car.
“What the fuck?” Steven reached over to brush dirt and blades of lawn from my jacket. “What was that about?”
“Get outa here fast!” I yelled.
Steven jerked the steering wheel, punched the gas and forced his way into the stream of traffic to the tune of screeched brakes, honked horns, and screamed expletives.
“Someone shot at me,” I said, my heart pounding to break out of my chest.
“With a gun?” Steven’s look clearly said that he thought I was up to what he sees as my usual drama queen antics. I’m really not a DQ, but Steven is so damn mellow about everything he makes me look, well, dramatic.
“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” he said.
“Well, I fucking felt it go whizzing past my head.” I wasn’t dramatizing. “Where are you going?” I asked as he sped down University Avenue.
“Dad wants us to meet him in the courthouse, in a conference room.”
“We have to get Mom. Dad can wait.”
“Where do we go?” Steven pulled the car to the curb in front of a shop that sold Indian Saris.
“Head for the city.” I punched numbers into my phone to call Detective Schmidt. “Has my mother showed up yet?”
“I take it this is Miss Nichols,” the detective answered. “No sign of her.”
“She’s been kidnapped. Put out an all points bulletin or whatever you call it for a blue van, royal blue econo-van with white scrapes on the passenger’s side and for my mother’s silver Lexus. Steven, do you know Mom’s license plate?”
Steven shook his head. He wove around stoned, meandering drivers headed down University Avenue.
“Hold on young lady,” the detective’s voice grew snappish. “What makes you think she’s been kidnapped?”
“My father has received threats,” I sucked in a deep breath, exhaled. “I have a copy of a threatening letter he got.”
“Your father hasn’t reported any such thing, hasn’t asked for protection.”
“Look, I don’t know what the hell is the matter with my father,” I yelled into the phone. “But my mother is in danger. Seriously. And someone just took a shot at me.”
“What?” That got his attention. “Where?”
“On the Berkeley campus. In front of Kroeber Hall.”
“Did campus security notify the police?”
“I don’t know if security is aware––”
“Don’t tell me you left the scene?” the detective said in a voice heavy with annoyance.
“Of course I left the fucking scene––my mother is––are you gonna help me or not?”
“I’ll arrange for your mother to be located. I need you to go back to where you were shot at and show the police where it happened.”
“My father wants my brother and me to meet him before he has to go back into court. We’re headed to the city.”
Steven drove onto the overpass headed for the freeway and the bay bridge. Ahead of us the choppy water of the San Francisco Bay gleamed with afternoon sun but a threatening bank of fog hung out past the Golden Gate.
“Someone is liable to pick up that bullet. That is, if it didn’t hit someone.” Detective Schmidt’s tone of voice indicated patience wearing thin.
“Oh, you’re right. Steven, turn the car around.” I twirled my hand in a circular motion. “Detective, I need to call my father. Can you go see him before he goes back to court?”
“I’m headed over there, to him. Come to think of it, I’ll have an officer from the Berkeley PD meet you outside Kroeber Hall.”
Steven shot past the freeway entrance, turned into the Berkeley Marina and flipped a U in the hotel parking lot. For once, midday traffic going up to the campus was light, but in my adrenalin pumped state every second seemed an hour.
I pushed the speed dial for my dad.
“Al, goddamn, I told you to get rid of that phone.”
“Huh, yeah, before I got a chance to do that,” I paused, “someone shot at me.”
I heard his intake of breath. “What?” Dad said.
“I spoke with Detective Schmidt, you know the detective from the house––“
“I know Detective Schmidt,” Dad said in his no nonsense tone.
“He said I have to show the Berkeley PD where the shots were fired. Steven's driving us back to campus.”
An exasperated, heaving sigh greeted this news.
“Dad?”
“As soon as you’ve done that, you and Steven are to go directly to your grandfather’s. Do you understand me?”
“I do, I do understand, but Dad, I want to help Detective Schmidt find Mom.”
“Let me speak to your brother.”
“Dad,” I continued, “you have to tell me what you know about this. I found the letter.”
“The letter?”
“The one that threatens your wife and children if you––”
“Al!” Dad shouted. “We are NOT, not going to have this conversation over a cell phone.”
“Fine, then you can just talk to the detective about it. He’s on his way to see you.” I punched end just as Steven pulled the car up in front of Kroeber hall.
My brother grabbed my arm as I opened the door. “You really were shot at?” He looked freaked, his face paled beneath his tan.
“Yes, I told you.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
Two police cars were at the curb, four officers and two campus security guards stood in a circle.
I told them everything I knew. A notch out of a tree trunk inches above the height of my head clued the location of the bullet in the flowerbed three feet beyond the tree. A second bullet was dug out of the dirt less than a foot away from the first. Trajectory had all the officers looking at the second floor windows across the street.
After I promised to come to the station the next day to sign a statement, I climbed back into my brother’s jeep.
“Where to now?” Steven failed to suppress a nervous grin. “I’m guessing not Grandpa’s.”
“I’ve been trying to reach,” I took a breath, “Aunt Carol. She’s not answering, thought she might know what Mom had planned for the day.” I sat in the front seat of Steven’s jeep hugging my knees, wondering what we could do next.
I dialed Detective Schmidt who snapped that he would certainly let me know if our mother were located and joined our father in demanding we await his call in a safe location such as our grandfather’s estate. I didn’t relay his orders to Steven.
“Well, we can’t stay parked in this red zone forever. Your cop friends might lose patience eventually.” Steven raised both eyebrows in my direction. “So?”
“Let’s try Carol’s studio.”
Steven pulled away from the curb with less urgency this time. “You know what this is about?” he asked.
“Either the trial Dad’s prosecuting . . . or the Zodiac. Maybe there’s a connection.”
“What’s Dad prosecuting?” Steven asked.
I shrugged. “Did he tell you anything about that case? Even when I work in his office over summer break, he’s very secretive until after the verdict. He never tells me anything about his cases.”
Steven shook his head. “Me neither.” He changed lanes. “Why do you think this could have anything to do with the Zodiac?”
I explained about the file and yesterday’s events.
“You read Dad’s file on the Zodiac?” Steven asked.
“Yeah.”
“Any mention of anyone else Dad knows in that file?”
“All Dad’s college friends. Carol, Mom, Dad, Dave, Ron, Suzy, Tom, Elliott, and Jamie were all interviewed in connection with his friend Alexandra’s murder.”
“Who knew you were looking for the file?”
“Dad, Dad’s new secretary
. . .”
“Nobody else?”
I thought back to the previous afternoon. “Dad was on the phone as I was leaving, he had me say good-bye to an uncle.”
“Which one?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, I just yelled out hello and hurried out of Dad’s office before he changed his mind about letting me get the file.”
“Dad can tell us.”
“When he gets out of court.” I rubbed my arms.
“You’re shivering. Are you cold?” Steven asked.
“A little. Mostly nervous.” I clenched my teeth together in an effort to stop them chattering.
Steven looked at the lightweight jacket I’d tossed over my T-shirt. He turned on the car heater. “Got a warmer jacket with you?” He nodded at my backpack.
“No.”
He stopped at a signal, took off his pea coat, and placed it around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, but didn’t relax my bite.
Steven turned the car around again.
“Where are you going?” I muttered.
“To your house, to get you warmer clothes."
We weren’t far from my house on Piedmont Avenue, and a warm jacket that fit me would be good. I slunk down in the seat and pulled the pea coat tighter feeling the scratch of the wool on my neck.
I knew I wasn’t thinking straight. Or at all. My mind kept going blank, but one wild thought persisted.
“Do you think one of our so-called uncles could’ve been the Zodiac killer?” I muttered through clenched teeth. My body was really shaking now.
“Na-ah.” Steven shook his head, rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘here goes the drama again.’ “Where did that come from? That’s nuts.”
“What . . .” I took a huge breath and exhaled before continuing. “What makes you so sure?”
“For one thing, there’s that guy that the police thought was the killer, but they couldn’t prove it. What was his name? Allen?”
“Arthur Allen.” I supplied.
“Yeah, him.” Steven brought the car to a halt while a stream of students crossed the street; he turned his head and studied me. “Are you okay? You aren’t going into shock, or something are you?” He held out a bottle of water and insisted I take a swallow.
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