Chapter 63
EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING, I was at my desk. There were several ways I could go with this investigation. Hillary Bloom was the most direct, assuming, as Merrill had implied, that she was able to give us a name. It was clear that in a twisted way she was trying to save her family the added pain of having Kathy publicly branded as some kind of pathetic sexual victim, cheating on her husband-to-be right up until their vows. Sooner or later a name would emerge. From her, or from Seattle. Before I did anything else, I called Medved's office and rescheduled the blood treatment I had canceled for five o'clock today. After a brief wait, the receptionist said the doctor would see me himself. Maybe it was good news. Truth was, I was feeling a little stronger. Maybe the treatments were beginning to do their work. It was hard picking up where I had left off in San Francisco. The best leads were now in Cleveland. I read some reports on the evidence Jacobi was tracking down, held a meeting of the task force at ten. Actually, the most promising leads- the hair and the Bridal Boutique at Saks- had come from my meetings with Claire and Cindy. I couldn't resist calling Claire a little before noon. "Bring me up to date," she said excitedly. "I thought we were partners." "I will," I replied. "Get Cindy. Meet me for lunch."
Chapter 64
THE THREE OF US leaned against a stone wall in City Hall Park, picking at salad sandwiches we had bought at a nearby grocer's. The murder club meets again. "You were right," I said to Claire. I passed her a copy of the security photo showing Red Beard sneaking into the Cleveland wedding. She stared at it, her eyes focusing intensely. Claire looked up only when the confirmation of her first physical supposition brought out a curious half smile. "I only read whatever that bastard left behind." "Maybe," I said, tossing her a wink. "But I bet Righetti would've missed it." "This is true," she allowed with a satisfied beam. It was a bright, breezy late-June day; the air was fragrant from a crisp Pacific breeze. Office folk worked on their tans; secretaries gabbed in groups. I recounted what I had found in Cleveland. I never mentioned what had taken place by the lake between Chris Raleigh and me. When I finished with Merrill Shortley's shocking revelation, Cindy said, "Maybe you should've stayed out there, Lindsay." I shook my head. "It's not my case. I was only there on a consult. Now I'm running point between three jurisdictions." "You Uiink Merrill Shortley has more to tell?" asked Claire. "I don't think so. If she knew, I think she would have told me." "The bride must have had other friends here," said Cindy. "She was in publicity. If this guy was famous, maybe she met him through her job." I nodded. "I have someone checking that out. We also have the Seattle PD combing through her apartment." "Where'd she work when she lived here?" Claire asked. "An outfit called Bright Star Media. Apparently, she was connected into the local music scene." Cindy took a sip of iced tea. "Why not let me have a go at it?" "You mean like you did at the Hyatt?" I said. She grinned. "No, more like Napa. C'mon… I'm a reporter. I sit all day with people trained to find the dirt on anybody." I bit into my sandwich. "Okay," I finally said, "be my guest." "In the meantime," Cindy inquired, "can I run with what we have so far?" Much of it was classified. If it came out, it would point back to me. "You can run with the similar pattern of murder in Cleveland. How we found the bodies. The bride's back217 ground here. Absolutely no mention of Merrill Shortley." In that way, I hoped the killer would sense that we were closing in on him. It might cause him to think twice about killing again. Cindy went over to a nearby ice cream cart to buy a gelato. Claire took the moment to ask, "So how are you feeling? You okay?" I blew out a long breath and shrugged. "Queasy. Lightheaded. I was told to expect it. I'm having a blood treatment this afternoon. Medved said he'd be there." I saw Cindy on her way back. "Here," Cindy announced brightly. She was carrying three gelatos. Claire clutched her chest and pretended she was going into cardiac arrest. "I need gelato about as much as Texas needs a warm breeze in August." "Me, too." I laughed. But it was mango, and with the infection attacking me inside, it seemed like wasted caution to refuse. Claire ended up taking hers, too. "So what you specifically haven't told us," she said with a slow roll of her tongue, "is what went on between you and Mr. Chris Raleigh in Oh hi-oh." ""Cause there was nothing to tell," I said and shrugged. "One thing about cops" -Cindy laughed" is you would think they would learn how to lie." "You writing for the gossip page now?" I asked. Against my will, I felt my face blush. Claire and Cindy's greedy eyes bore down on me, driving home that it was pointless to resist. I pulled a knee up on the edge of the wall and sat yoga style. Then I took them through where things stood: the long, slow dance in my apartment, eliciting "You don't dance, girl," from Claire. "You cook." I described the anticipation of sitting next to him on the plane; the nervous walk down by the lake; my own doubts, hesitation; the inner conflicts holding me back. "Basically, it took every bit of self-control not to rip his clothes off right there on Lakefront Walk." I laughed at how it must have sounded. "Girl, why didn't you?" Claire said, wide-eyed. "Might've done you some good." "I don't know," I said, shaking my head. But I did know. And though she tried to smile through it, Claire knew, too. She squeezed my hand. Cindy looked on, not knowing what was going on. Claire joked, "I'd give up losing twenty pounds to see Cheery's expression if the two of you got picked up for going at it in the woods." "Two San Francisco cops," announced Cindy in a newscaster tone, "in Cleveland in pursuit of the bride and groom killer, were discovered cm naturel in the bushes by the Cleveland waterfront." The three of us choked with laughter, and it felt so good. Cindy shrugged. "That, Lindsay, I would've had to print." "From now on" -Claire giggled"I can see things growing pretty humid in that squad car." "I don't think that's Chris's style," I defended him. "You forget, the man's into The Shipping News." "Oh… it's Chris now, huh?" mooned Claire. "And don't be so sure about that. Edmund plays three instruments, knows everything from Bartok to Keith Jarrett, but he's risen to the occasion in some very unexpected places." "Like where?" I laughed, the surprise caught in my throat. She coyly shook her head. "I just don't want you thinking that 'cause a man keeps himself with a certain dignity there's any dignity when it comes to that." "C'mon," I exhorted, "you put it in play. Let's hear." "Let's just say that a few John Does aren't the only thing that have been stiff on our examining tables." I almost fumbled my gelato onto the ground. "You've got to be kidding. You? And Edmund?" Claire's shoulders jiggled in delight. "As long as I've gone this far… Once we did it in a parterre box at the symphony. After a rehearsal, of course." "Whatta you guys do? Just go around leaving your mark like poodles?" I exclaimed. Claire's round face broadened with delight. "You know, it was a long time ago. But as I think of it, that time in my office at the coroner's Christmas party- that wasn't so long ago." "As long as we're baring our souls," injected Cindy, "when I first got to the Chronicle I had this fling with one of the senior guys from Datebook. We used to meet down in the library. In the far reaches of the Real Estate section. Nobody ever went there." Cindy scrunched her face, abashed, but Claire cackled with approval. I was amazed. I was learning the hidden, suppressed side of a person I had known for ten years. But there was a little shame building in me as well. I didn't have a story. "So," Claire said, looking at me. "What's Inspector Boxer got to share from her closet?" I tried to recall a single moment when I'd done something totally crazy. I mean, when it came to sex I didn't think of myself as someone who held back. But somehow, no matter how hard I searched my memory, my passion always ended up between the sheets. I shrugged, empty-handed. "Well, you better get started," Claire said with a wag of her ringer. "When I'm drawing my last breath, I won't be thinking about all those fancy degrees or conferences 1 spoke at. You only have a few times in your life to really cut loose, so you might as well take them when they come." A little tremor of remorse knifed through me. At that moment, I didn't know what I wanted more: my place on the list- or a goddamn name for Red Beard. I suppose I wanted both.
Chapter65
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, I sat in my hospital smock in the hematology clinic at Moffett. "Dr. Medved would like a w
ord with you before we start," said Sara, my transfusion nurse. I felt nervous as she unpacked an IV setup for my treatment. Truth was, I had been feeling okay. Not much pain or nausea other than the incident in the ladies' room last week. Dr. Medved walked in with a manila folder under his arm. His face was friendly but un confiding I smiled weakly. "Only good news?" He sat across from me on the ledge of a counter. "How are you feeling, Lindsay?" "I wasn't feeling so bad when I saw you before." "Fatigued?" "Only a little. End-of-day kind of thing." "Sudden nausea? Queasiness?" I admitted I had vomited suddenly once or twice. He made a quick notation on a chart. He paged through some medical charts in the folder. "I see we've undergone four packed-red cell transfusions so far…" My heart was racing the longer he took. Finally, he put down the folder and he looked squarely at my face. "I'm afraid your erythrocyte count has continued to decline, Lindsay. You can see the trend line here." Medved passed me a sheet. Leaning forward, he took a Cross pen out of his breast pocket. The paper had a computer graph on it. He traced the pattern with his pen. The line went steadily down. Shit. I felt the air rush out of my lungs with disappointment. "I'm getting worse," I said. "To be frank," the doctor acknowledged, "it's not the trend we were hoping for." I had ignored the possibility that this might happen, burying myself in the case, sure that the numbers would improve. I had built this view on a natural trust that I was too young and energetic to be truly sick. I had work to do, important work, a life to live. I was dying, wasn't I? Oh, God. "What happens now?" I managed to say. My voice came out as a whisper. "I want to continue with the treatments," Medved replied. "In fact, increase them. Sometimes these things take a while to kick in." "Super hi-test," I joked glumly. He nodded. "From this point on, I'd like you to come in three times a week. And I'm going to increase the dosage by thirty percent." He shifted his weight off the counter. "In and of itself, there's no immediate cause for alarm," he declared in a marginally uplifting tone. "You can continue to work- that is, if you feel up to it." "I have to work," I told Medved.
Chapter66
I DROVE HOME IN A DAZE.XDne moment I was battling to unravel this damned case, and the next I was fighting for my life. I wanted a name. I wanted it now more than ever. And I wanted my life back. I wanted a shot at the whole deal -happiness, success, someone to share it with, a child. And now that I had met Raleigh, I knew there was a chance that I could have these things. If I could hold out. If I could will good cells into my body. I went into my apartment. Sweet Martha was all over me, so I took her for a short walk. But then I moped around, alternating between resolve to fight through this mess and sadness that I couldn't. I even contemplated making a meal. I thought it would calm me. I took out an onion and cut two desultory slices. Then I realized how crazy it all was. I needed to talk to someone. I wanted to shout, I don't fucking deserve this, and this time I wanted someone to hear it. I thought of Chris, his comforting arms around me. His eyes, his smile. I wished I could tell him. He would come in an instant. I could rest my head on his shoulder. I called Claire. She could tell from my first tremulous sound. She realized something was terribly wrong. "I'm scared," was all I said. We talked for an hour on the phone. I talked. I went back and forth with Claire in a numbed state- panicked by the impending nearness of Negli's next stage. I told Claire that nailing this bastard gave me the will to fight on. It separated me from being just another person who was sick. I had a special purpose. "Has that changed for you, Lindsay?" she asked softly. "No, I want to get him more than ever." "Then that's what we're going to do. You, me, little Cindy. We're here to help you fight. We're your support, Lindsay. Just this one time, don't try to do it yourself." In an hour, she had calmed me enough so we could say goodnight. I curled up on the couch. Martha and I snuggled under a blanket and watched the movie Dave. One of my favorites. When Sigourney Weaver visits Kevin Kline in his new campaign office at the end, it always makes me cry. I fell asleep, hoping for a happy ending in my own life.
Chapter67
THE NEXT MORNING I went at it stronger than ever. I still believed we were close, maybe just hours from a name for Red Beard. I checked in with Roth's contact, Jim Heekin, on the Seattle police force. Heekin said they were sorting through the bride's possessions as we spoke. If something came up he would let me know immediately. We got a reply back from Infortech, where Kathy Voskuhl had worked in Seattle. In the three years she had held her job, there was no record of any reimbursements for business trips to San Francisco. Her job was to work with developing clients in Seattle. A junior account manager. If she repeatedly went down there, she was on her own. Finally, I called McBride. The Koguts were still claiming that they knew nothing more. But yesterday he'd met with the father, who seemed ready to give in. It was wrenching that some desperate attempt to hold together their daughter's virtue was clouding their judgment. Since I was a woman, McBride suggested, maybe one more try from me would push them over the edge. I placed a call to Christine Kogut, the bride's mother. When she came on, her voice was different: remote but freer, as if she were in a less tormented state. Maybe, I just hoped, she was. "Your daughter's killer is running free," I said. I could no longer hold back. "Two other couples' families are suffering. I think you know who was hurting Kathy. Please, help me put him away." I heard her take in a long breath. When she spoke, grief and the release of shame trembled in her voice. "You raise a child, Inspector, you think she is always part of you. You love her so much and you think there is always that part that will never go away." "I know," I said. I could feel she was teetering. She knew his name, didn't she? "She was this beautiful thing… she could make anyone love her. A free spirit. One day, we thought, another free spirit would shape her into the kind of person she was meant to be. We cultivated it with our children. My husband insists we always favored Kathy. Maybe we helped bring it all on." I didn't say a word. I knew what it was like to finally give up what you were holding inside you. I wanted to let her reach that point on her own. "Do you have children, Inspector?" "Not yet," I told her. "It's so hard to believe, your baby, the cause of so much pain. We begged her to break free. We even got her the new job. Moved her ourselves. We thought, If she could only get away from him." I was silent, letting her go at her own pace. "She was sick, like an addict is sick, Inspector. She couldn't stop herself. But what I don't understand is why he would hurt her so badly. He took away all that was pure about her. Why did he need to hurt Kathy?" Give me the name. Who is he? "She was mesmerized by who he was. It was as if she had no self-control when it came to this man. She shamed us right up until the end. But even now" -her voice lowered"I still wonder how someone who loved my daughter could possibly kill her. I'm afraid that I don't believe it. That's partly why I wouldn't tell you." "Tell me now," I said. "I think she met him at the opening of one of his films. He told her he had a face like hers in mind when he dreamed up one of his characters. His heroine." It was then that Mrs. Kogut told me. My body went numb. I knew the name. Recognized it. He was famous, Red Beard.
Chapter68
I SAT THERE, ratcheting the possible connections through my mind. Things were starting to piece together. He was one of the minority partners at Sparrow Ridge Vineyards, where the second couple had been dumped. He had known Kathy Kogut for years in San Francisco. Preyed on her. He was older. Married. Famous. By itself, the suspect's name proved nothing. He had merely known the last bride. He had a circumstantial connection to the crime scene of the second killings. But based on the descriptions of Merrill Shortley and Christine Kogut, he had the brutal temperament, and maybe the motive, to commit these vicious murders. The conviction built up inside me that this was Red Beard. I grabbed Raleigh. "What's going on?" he asked. "Where's the fire?" "I'm going to start one in here. Watch." I dragged him into Roth's office. "I have a name," I announced, as I threw my fist in the air. They looked at me in wide-eyed surprise. "Nicholas Jenks." "The writer?" Raleigh gaped. I nodded. "He was Kathy Kogut's lover here in San Francisco. Her mother finally gave it up." I walked them through the not-so-random co
nnections he had with at least three of the victims. "This guy's… famous," blurted Roth. "He made those movies, blockbusters." "That's exactly the point. Merrill Shortley said it was someone Kathy was trying to conceal. The guy's got two connections, Sam." "He's got connections, all right," Roth cried. "Jenks and his wife are invited to all the big affairs. I've seen his picture with the mayor. Wasn't he part of the bid to keep the Giants here?" The air in Cheery's office became heavy with the weight of dangerous possibilities and risk. "You should have heard how the Koguts described him, Sam," I said. "Like some kind of animal. A predator. I think we're going to find he had something going with all three girls." "I think Lindsay's right, Sam," Chris said. We watched Roth slowly clicking the facts in his head. Nicholas Jenks was famous. A national figure. Untouchable. The lieutenant's face twisted as if he had swallowed a bad clam. "You've got nothing right now," he came back. "All of it. It's beyond circumstantial." "His name has popped up in connection with four dead people. We could get face to face, like I would with anyone else. We could talk to the district attorney." Roth held up a hand. Nicholas Jenks was one of San Francisco's most prominent citizens. Implicating him on a murder charge was dangerous. We'd better be right. I didn't know what Cheery was thinking. Finally, there was the slightest relaxation in his neck, only a tight swallow, but in Roth-speak it was a go-ahead. "You could talk to the D.A.," he agreed. "Call Jill Bernhardt." He turned to Raleigh. "This can't get out until we have something really firm." Unfortunately, Assistant District Attorney Jill Bernhardt was stuck in court. Her secretary said she wouldn't be out until the end of the day. Too bad. I knew Jill a little, liked her. She was tough, with dazzling smarts. She even had a conscience. Raleigh and I got a cup of coffee, going over what we should do next. Roth was right. As far as a warrant was concerned, we had nothing. A direct confrontation could be dangerous. A guy like this, you had to be sure. He would fight back. Warren Jacobi shuffled in, a self-satisfied smirk puffing up his face. "Must be raining champagne today," he muttered. I took it as another sardonic zinger aimed at Raleigh and me. "For weeks, I can't even get a bite on this shit." He sat down and cocked his head toward Raleigh. "Bite… champagne that works, Captain, doesn't it?" "Works for me," Raleigh said. Jacobi continued, "So yesterday Jennings comes back with three places that had sold a few cases of the bubbly in question. One of the buyers is this accountant in San Mateo. Funny thing is, his name's on file. Ends up he did two years up in Lampoc for securities fraud. Kind of a reach, isn't it? Serial killing, securities fraud…" "Maybe the guy's got a thing against people who file joint returns," I said, and smiled at Jacobi. He puckered up his face. "The second is some woman manager at 3Com who's stocking up for a fortieth-birthday bash. This Clos du Mesnil is a real collectible. It's French, I'm told." I glanced up, waiting for him to get to the point. "Now the third one, that's what I mean by raining… big auction house, Butterfield and Butterfield. Three years back sold two cases of the eighty-nine. Went for twenty-five hundred per case, plus commish. Private collector. At first they wouldn't give out the name. But we squeezed. Turns out he's a big shot. My wife, she happens to be a fan. Read every one of his books." Raleigh and I froze. "Whose, Warren?" I pressed. "I figure, I check it out, I can be a hero, bring home a signed copy. You ever read Lion's Share by Nicholas Jenks?"
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