All Signs Point to Murder

by Connie Di Marco

  I cast my mind back, trying to remember if I’d noticed anything outside Macao or earlier. No one had been around. I hadn’t seen any cars pulling out behind me. But then, it had been the last thing on my mind. I was only intent on meeting Tony.

  After the next light, I slowed to a crawl, watching to see if the driver would become impatient and pass me. Again, the car matched my speed. A chill ran down my spine. Someone was definitely following me and they didn’t care if I knew.

  I quickly reviewed my options. I had no intention of leading a stranger to my apartment. Of course, I’d found my wallet open—exposing my driver’s license—that night in Moira’s apartment, so if my follower was the same person who’d attacked me, he would already know where I lived. I nixed the idea of heading for my grandmother’s house. I didn’t want to bring any trouble to her doorstep, nor to Gale’s. Plus, that would involve driving back toward Russian Hill. I could return to Cheryl’s, but I didn’t like the thought of being unprotected on a deserted downtown street when I got out of my car. Whoever he, or she, was, I had to lose them.

  When I reached Divisadero, I turned left and headed for a neighborhood that I knew was a warren of intertwining streets. I made a fast turn heading west on Turk and an even faster right on Baker, leading me up Terra Vista. By now I was too frightened to even look in the rear-view mirror. I raced up Terra Vista and took the corner on two wheels. I didn’t see car lights behind me as I turned the corner, only the ambient glow of headlights down the hill. I drove halfway down the block and spotted a long driveway leading to a garage at the rear of a house. I pulled down the driveway and parked behind the house. I doused my headlights and turned off the engine. My hands were sweating and my heart was pounding.

  I hadn’t imagined the black sedan following me. I had no idea what kind of car it was—only black, late model, and could have been a Mercedes or a Cadillac; I honestly wouldn’t know the difference unless I saw an insignia. My engine made small metallic pinging sounds as it cooled. I waited but heard nothing. I carefully rolled down my window and listened. A glow from headlights highlighted the tall tree branches in the next yard. I heard a car moving slowly down the street. The motor was almost silent, but I could hear the crunching of dry leaves under tires. He was searching. I’d temporarily lost him, but now I was trapped in a driveway behind a private home. I prayed no one in the house would turn on outside lights or do anything to signal my presence. How long would he cruise the street?

  Ten minutes elapsed but it felt like an hour. I twisted in my seat and once again saw the same glow of headlights. Again I heard the crunching of leaves and small branches under tires. The car came to a stop directly in front of the driveway. Its headlights were fixed against the wall of the house next door.

  My mouth was dry and I could barely swallow. If the driver found me, what would he do? What could I do? I could lean on the horn and hope to wake the occupants of the house. The arrogance of following me in such an overt manner was more frightening than an attempt to track me covertly. Was someone trying to discover where I lived, or did they already know? Did someone wish me harm or were they only trying to frighten me? If so, they were doing a damn good job of it.

  My heart was racing. I closed my eyes and deliberately slowed my breathing and prayed. Then I heard an engine rev and tires squeal. The sedan barreled down the street as if angry to have lost me. But I was too afraid to turn my car around and pull out. It could be a trick. He could be waiting at the foot of the hill.

  I was cold now and shivering, and I wanted to be home in my own bed more than anything in the world. I had to take a chance. I turned on my parking lights and saw that the driveway continued on past the garages. A narrow space next to the last garage led to an alley behind the homes. I started the engine but left my headlights off. I followed the concrete path along the side of the garage and through the opening to the alleyway. It led to an intersecting street. At the corner of the alley, I hit the brakes and looked around carefully. Nothing moved. I glanced up at the street sign. Fortuna Street. I almost laughed with gratitude at the name. I wiped tears from my eyes and took a deep breath. Following Fortuna, I reached Turk again. No other cars were on the street. I turned west toward the Avenues, keeping a lookout, but I didn’t spot the black sedan again.

  When I reached home, I pulled the car into the garage, made sure the heavy door was properly locked, and climbed the back stairs to my kitchen. Wizard padded out to greet me. He tried to make a dash for the yard, but, struggling to hold on to my purse and keys, I grabbed him at the last moment. I didn’t want him out this late at night, and I was too tired to have to call him in later. I reached down and closed the hatch on his kitty door before he could get free. He looked at me and uttered a low growl in his throat.

  “No. Sorry. It’s been a rough day and a rougher night. You’re in.” I doled out a couple of kitty treats and dropped them in his plate. He attacked them at once. I turned off the kitchen light and in the dark, peeked out the living room windows to the street below. I saw no cars that seemed out of place. Then I walked down the stairway and shoved the bolt across the front door. Wizard eyed me strangely, sensing something was out of kilter.

  Upstairs, I shed my jacket and poured a glass of wine. The light on the answering machine was blinking. Gale had left a message reminding me of the open house on Sunday. Cheryl hadn’t spoken of it earlier, and I suspected she might bail on the whole idea. Then I kicked off my shoes and shed my clothes. I slipped into my flannel pajamas, propped some extra pillows on the bed, and settled in.

  I thought about the couples I knew. Cheryl dealing with a divorce, Brooke in jail and accused of planning her husband’s death, Moira dead and forced to turn over information on her boyfriend to the police. David and Geneva seemed the only happy people in the world, in spite of their family difficulties. Only Gale was completely content as a single woman. Maybe I was better off in my alone state than I knew.

  Wizard climbed onto my lap and started kneading the comforter furiously. Was Cheryl right? Was it time to consider dating? The thought of it brought no joy. If someone told me to climb Mount Everest with no equipment, it would seem an easier prospect. But if I didn’t take a chance, I’d be a woman alone with her cat forever. I finished the wine, turned off the bedroom lamp, and snuggled down under the comforter. I heard the foghorns in the distance as my eyes closed involuntarily.

  forty

  The next morning I stumbled into the shower. I’d slept way past the time I usually wake. I downed some coffee, fed Wizard his morning meal, and threw on jeans and a sweater. Once the coffee kicked in, I spent the next couple of hours catching up on emails, client appointments, and the Zodia column. By then I was famished. I made some toast and sat down to review the notes I’d made of my conversations with everyone who knew Moira.

  Again, there was something niggling at the back of my mind and I couldn’t quite get hold of it. Rita had seen Moira getting into a large dark car in the parking lot of the Alibi. She was sure Moira had been picked up by a man. Was it the same black sedan that had followed me last night? Did Rita know more about cars than I? Maybe she’d noticed the make and just hadn’t mentioned it.

  It was past noon, so Rita might be at work. I slipped on my jacket and headed back to the Haight. When I reached Waller, I drove around the block and pulled into the Alibi’s rear lot. A few cars were parked on the cracked asphalt behind the bar. At the far end was an older, dark blue two-door. I drove closer. It was Rita—I could see her curly dark hair through the window. She was turned sideways, gathering her things. I climbed out and walked over to the driver’s window.

  I tapped on the glass but Rita didn’t move. Her face was turned away from me and her head lay against the headrest. I stood still for a moment and then slowly circled the car, moving around to the passenger side. Something was very wrong. My heart was skipping beats. Against my will, I forced myself to look inside. Rita was propped up, fac
ing the passenger window. Her swollen tongue extended from her mouth and raw bruises marked her neck. Her eyes were open and sightless.

  I backed away and bumped into a chain-link fence at the side of the parking lot. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me. I hung on to the fence for support and bent over to catch my breath. Shuddering, I took deep breaths until my stomach was under control. I staggered back to my car, found a bottle of water in the trunk, and downed a large mouthful. I had to walk slowly. My legs were stiff and the world was spinning. Inside the Alibi, the bartender, a partially bald older man in a white T-shirt, was wiping down the bar. He looked up as I approached.

  “Please call the police,” I croaked.

  “What’s that, lady?”

  “The police. Call the police, right away,” I managed to say. “Rita’s in her car in the back. She’d dead.”

  He stood staring at me for a moment, trying to take in my words. Then he ran to the end of the bar and out to the parking lot. I followed him, watching him run to Rita’s car. He stopped a few feet away and then slowly backed up. He turned to look at me.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  I couldn’t speak. I opened my mouth but no words came out. I shook my head. “I just pulled up and found her.”

  “Stay here. I’m calling the cops. Don’t touch anything.”

  He returned a moment later and waited with me. Ten minutes later we heard sirens. A cruiser pulled down the alley and a man and woman emerged from the car.

  They too walked slowly around Rita’s car, and then the female officer returned to the cruiser and radioed it in. I gave the other officer my name and information. Told them I’d only met Rita once or twice at the bar, didn’t see anything, and had no information. My speculation that Rita had known something important about Moira would seem too far-fetched. They would never understand and it would take too long to explain. When another patrol car and a police van pulled into the parking lot, I slipped away and climbed into my car. No one was paying the slightest attention to me.

  I started the engine and drove off, careful not to look in Rita’s direction. I’d contact the police later, but I didn’t want to stand there waiting to explain things to local cops on the beat. I drove home, pushing the thought of Rita’s face out of my mind. She had known something. She knew the car or she could identify it, or she’d seen the man who’d picked up Moira that night. And that’s why she was dead.

  forty-one

  Geneva sat quietly and listened. She picked obsessively at a thread dangling from a small pillow on her lap. When I finished, she said nothing. She stared at the floor. I’d told her everything I had learned and everything I suspected, but I still had no idea who’d shot Moira, much less why.

  “If Moira was being used by Andy to cover up money laundering, why didn’t she come to us?” Geneva asked. “Why didn’t she tell us?”

  “Maybe she was afraid you wouldn’t believe her. It strikes me that no one lent her much credence on any subject.”

  Geneva’s face paled. “Fair enough.” She put her hands over her face and burst into tears, long, wracking sobs. I jumped up and sat on the arm of her chair. Damn. I’d done it again. Open mouth, insert foot. I put my arms around her and held her while she cried. After a few minutes, her chest stopped heaving and she took a deep breath, wiping her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Julia. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

  “No, I’m sorry. What I said was … I didn’t mean it as a criticism. I wouldn’t say anything hurtful to you for the world.”

  “But you’re right. You’re right. We were so tired, tired of her screw-ups and escapades. Tired of excuses and so tired of always bailing her out.”

  “Please, please don’t beat yourself up. Don’t torture yourself with guilt.”

  Geneva nodded, wiping her eyes. “Easier said than done. But what makes you think there was another man in her life? Explain it to me.

  “Well, call it an educated … no, call it I’m 99.9% sure. In her chart, Pluto by transit has been hitting her natal Venus off and on for the past year. She’s been involved in an affair, most likely a secret one, and this has been very intense and powerful. Now, you could argue that Andy is the person she was involved with, but frankly I don’t think so. Whatever their relationship, it hardly struck me as anything more than contentious. So that’s why I believe there’s someone else.”

  Geneva sighed. “And you think this man killed her?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. And I don’t even know if it was a man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t know she wasn’t involved with a woman.”

  Geneva gasped. “I never even thought of that. Are you saying my sister might have been gay?”

  “Not at all. I’m just trying to remain logical. It isn’t possible to predict gender from a chart, assuming we even had one for another person. Moira was involved in an affair. It was intense. It was consuming her. It may have even been secret, but there’s no guarantee it was with a man.”

  Geneva was quiet for a long time. She finally took a deep breath. “You were right the other day.”

  “Right about what?”

  “Studying Moira’s chart. You warned me. You said I might not like what I found out.”

  “Are you sorry I’m doing this? Do you want me to back off ?”

  Geneva shook her head vehemently. “No. I have to know. I have to know the truth about what happened that night. What on earth led to my sister’s murder.”

  By the time I left Mary Leary’s house, Geneva was calm, but she was still sitting in the same position, picking at threads from the pillow. Her eyes had a far-off look.

  When I reached my apartment, I dropped my purse on the floor in the hallway, hung my jacket on a chair, and stumbled into the bedroom. I couldn’t think about Moira any more. I couldn’t think about Rita. Both of them young, murdered, and dead. I fell onto the bed, clothes and all, and pulled the comforter over me. I sank into a sleep so deep I’m certain I left my body behind on the planet and ventured somewhere else.

  When I finally woke, it was dark outside. I dragged myself off the bed and walked around the apartment turning on lights. I fixed a cup of chamomile tea. I needed a respite from the turmoil and my own thoughts. I needed to stay in my cocoon. I needed to be domestic. And I was starving. I dug one of my grandmother’s care packages out of the freezer and thawed it in the microwave. This one was slices of steak with mushrooms, onions, and carrots.

  I cleared away the dishes and washed everything. Then I fed Wizard his dinner. The phone rang but I decided not to answer. I didn’t want to hear from anyone. Not the Learys, not my clients, not the police, no one. But then curiosity got the better of me. I saw Cheryl’s number on the caller ID and picked up.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m hiding out. I just warmed up some food and I plan to watch a movie. How ’bout you?”

  “It’s Saturday night! I was hoping I could talk you into going back to that bar on the Embarcadero.”

  Cheryl’s spirits had improved a great deal since the court hearing. I really didn’t want to tell her about discovering Rita’s body. At least not yet. “Hate to disappoint you, but no way.”

  “What a pooper you are.”

  “Why don’t you come over? We can watch a movie and drink some wine. Stay over if you like.”

  “Oh gee, whaddya got? Brain Eating Mummies Devour LA?” Cheryl was referring to my undying love of grade-B sci-fi’s of the 1950s. I also love old mummy flicks. Whether it’s an Egyptian priest cooking up tanna leaves or a giant octopus destroying the Golden Gate Bridge, no matter what, everything always turns out just fine.

  “My DVDs are American classics!”

  “American cult dreck.”

  “I won’t take offense. Most people just don’t get it.”

>   “Right. You and Wizard are connoisseurs.”

  “See if I invite you again.”

  Cheryl laughed. “I’m just teasing you. Don’t really feel like a domestic night tonight, but thanks.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “The open house.”

  “Oh, yeah … I guess.”

  “Gale has her heart set on your getting that condo.”

  “I know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m curious, just don’t know if I’m ready. Oh, that reminds me—I’ve got to call her back anyway. She left me a message. Wanted to know how we made out at Rochecault. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “’Night.”

  Part of me regretted turning Cheryl’s invitation down, but I was glad to be battening down the hatches. I popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave and a DVD in the player. Wizard followed me into the living room and settled on my lap while I munched out. By the time the popcorn was gone, Wiz was snoring and the atomically mutated giant ants were dead in the desert. I knew all would be well and I could sleep.

  forty-two

  When I woke the next morning, I had a burst of energy prompted by a large cup of coffee and the dust bunnies I could see under the sofa in the living room. I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, dumped Wizard’s cat box and filled it with fresh litter, vacuumed the apartment, closets and all, washed the kitchen floor, changed the sheets, did two loads of laundry, and even watered the potted plants at the front door.

  By then I was starving. I downed some toast slathered with jelly and a poached egg. The open house was scheduled to start at one o’clock and I knew Gale would be the first one there. I showered and dressed in a skirt and sweater, slapped on some makeup and grabbed my purse.