Treasure Hunt wh-2

by John Lescroart

  Juhle said, “But first we’ve got to find her.”

  Hunt nodded. “All right. I’m with you guys. We’ll see what we can do.”

  Hunt sat in his office with his stomach in a knot. After the last half hour, if Juhle and Russo ever found out, even after the fact, that Alicia was or had been at his place, he was dog meat. It was not impossible that he could face charges for obstructing justice or anything else they wanted to throw at him, and earn himself some jail time. And that’s if he was right.

  If he was wrong-if the inspectors were right and Alicia was in fact a multiple murderer, as he himself had believed until only a couple of hours ago-it might be much worse than that.

  But he hadn’t been able to come clean with them. He couldn’t even include them in his slowly forming plan, because that plan depended on what Mickey discovered-on what he had to discover-and Hunt hadn’t yet heard back from him. From where Hunt sat right now, from what Alicia and then Al Carter had told him, he only had a strong inkling of the truth, not a forged linkage that could withstand any assault.

  He had to wait. He could only wait.

  And the waiting was doubly excruciating because if Mickey came back with the answer Hunt was hoping for, the result he expected, it was the last thing he actually wanted, because it almost assuredly meant that Jim Parr was dead.

  “Come on, Mickey,” he said aloud. “Come on.”

  Another cleverly named place on Noriega Avenue, the Noriega Lounge, was the closest bar north of the Ortega campus, only one block away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t on Nineteenth Avenue and couldn’t be seen from that main thoroughfare, and Mickey had decided to be his usual thorough self and start all the way south by San Francisco State University and move north to Golden Gate Park.

  He’d already made eight stops by the time he got to the Noriega at four o’clock. Mickey thought that although it was rather generally unsung, the place might in fact be the location of “San Francisco’s Happiest Happy Hour,” which would formally begin in a half hour-two-for-one drinks, nothing over two bucks, and free hors d’oeuvres. A decent mixed crowd was getting itself in the mood to get more in the mood, a loud sound system with a very strong bass boost played disco music, and two silent televisions-one featuring Oprah, and the other ESPN-vied for space and attention over the bar.

  Every stool was taken.

  Mickey found a spot suitable for standing between two stools and sidled himself up into it. His cast brushed up against his left-hand neighbor, a black-leather-jacketed, bearded biker with chains hanging off his belt loops.

  Whirling on his stool, he started with “Hey, watch-” and then caught sight of Mickey’s eye, the cast. “ ’Scuse me,” he said, moving down a few inches and giving Mickey a little more room. “You okay, dude?”

  “Hanging in there,” Mickey said. “Car wreck.”

  “Fucking blind four-wheelers,” the biker said. “Never watchin’ out for the other guy. Hey, Claudio!” he yelled down the bar. “Set my pal up here.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ivan. What are you drinking?”

  “Mickey. Just a Coke’s fine. I’m working.”

  Ivan laughed heartily. “You’re working here? I want your job. I just about live here, man, and nobody’s offering to pay me.” The bartender appeared across the smooth cherry plank. “Claudio,” Ivan said, “this here’s Mickey. He’s working. Give him a Coke.” Then, back to Mickey. “What are you working on?”

  “Trying to find somebody,” he said. He pulled out his wallet and flipped to the one picture of Jim that he happened to have. It was eight years old, taken at Tamara’s graduation, all three of them in the photo.

  “I’ll take the babe on the right,” Ivan said.

  “She’s not missing,” Mickey said. “She’s my sister.”

  “All the better. And I mean it,” Ivan persisted. “I’ll meet her anytime.”

  “I’ll give her the message,” Mickey said. “But who I’m looking for is the old guy in the middle. Might have stopped by in here for a drink yesterday about this time, maybe a little earlier. Maybe alone. Maybe with somebody.”

  Ivan turned on his stool and took the picture out of Mickey’s hand, held it up to catch a little more light from the window behind them. “I can’t really say for sure. He’s a little familiar. But, hey, half of us in here today were here yesterday too.” So he yelled again down the bar.

  “Hey, Claudio! Get your ass down here. Check out this picture, in the middle. Isn’t this the guy got all fucked up in here yesterday?”

  33

  “Mrs. Como? Hello. This is Wyatt Hunt.”

  “What’s happened? Tell me they’ve arrested her.”

  “If you mean Alicia, no, ma’am. Not yet.”

  Hunt heard her sigh. “I can’t imagine what’s taking them so long when it’s so clear to me.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling. The inspectors share your frustration. Especially when they think they’ve got almost everything they need to get it sewn up.”

  “Then what’s the delay about?”

  “That’s the question. I saw them this afternoon and they thought maybe they could move things along a bit more quickly if you and some of the other witnesses would agree to meet with them again in one place and all of you go over the information you’ve given in a little more detail.”

  “I don’t know what that would be. I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “I realize that. But as you say, you told me. Which means the police got it secondhand. I might not have asked you all the right questions. Or put together the information from all the other sources.” Hunt paused. “We’re not talking much more than an hour or two.”

  “And what other witnesses?”

  “Al Carter. Lorraine Hess. Jimi and Lola Sanchez.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, they’ve all cooperated with the police to some degree or another.”

  “With information against the Thorpe girl, you mean?”

  “I can’t absolutely confirm that until the arrest is a done deal, Mrs. Como. The inspectors don’t want to have the news get out before the suspect’s in custody, which I think you’ll agree is understandable.”

  “Well, yes. I suppose it is.”

  Hunt wasn’t sure that he had her yet and thought he saw a way to sweeten the deal. “There’s also the issue of the reward,” he said.

  A silence hung on the line.

  “What about the reward?” she asked.

  “You’ll remember that in our interview, you said that if the information you provided proved useful to the investigation, you wanted to be sure you were in line to stake a claim to the reward? Well, it turns out it looks like there are going to be multiple claimants. You know Len Turner is administering the distribution?”

  “Of course. I gave him my money, too, you might recall.”

  “That’s right. Well, Mr. Turner thought, and I agree, that it would be worthwhile if the major potential claimants talked on the record with the inspectors present so there wouldn’t be any dispute later about the relative value of the respective contributions to solving the case. But where I don’t agree with Mr. Turner is that he didn’t seem to think that your information about Ms. Thorpe’s relationship with your husband and her subsequent firing on that last day rose to the level of real evidence.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “What could be more real than that?”

  “Of course,” Hunt said. “That’s my feeling too. Which is why I thought you’d want to be down here to defend your position. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but I think you need to be aware that Mr. Carter corroborated the fact that your husband fired Ms. Thorpe on that last day, so he’ll be making a reward claim on much of the same information you gave us first.”

  “That’s just not right.”

  “No, ma’am, it’s not.”

  “So where is this meeting? And what time?”

  He told her, and then he hung up and looked around his kitchen
table at the group he’d assembled-Alicia, Mickey, Al Carter, and Gina Roake to act as Alicia’s attorney should the need arise. “Well,” he said, “that’s number three. Two to go. Then Devin.”

  “Sometimes it worries me, Wyatt,” Roake said, “how easily you manipulate, cheat, and lie.”

  The comment was simply meant to break the tension, and to some degree it worked. At least it brought the beginning of a grin to Hunt’s face. “It’s a concern,” he said, “but I try not to let it get me down.”

  Hunt said, “Pick up, Devin. It’s important.”

  After a few seconds, the inspector’s voice came on. “In the middle of dinner, Wyatt, this better be good.”

  “Good enough,” Hunt said. “What if I were to tell you I’ve found Alicia?”

  “Have you?”

  “I’m asking you. What if?”

  “I’d say keep an eye on her until I can get to where she is and put some cuffs on her. Where is she?”

  “You’d arrest her? Even without the DNA on the scarf?”

  “We got that just before I went home today. It’s Como’s. So we got her.”

  “Except, as it turns out, you still don’t know where she is.”

  “But you do.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Don’t get wise, Wyatt. Where is she?”

  “I could get her to come here.”

  “Again. Where?”

  “Here. Home. The warehouse.”

  “Okay. So do that.”

  “I will try.” Hunt paused. “Provided you promise you won’t arrest her.”

  Juhle’s laugh exploded in the phone. “And why, pray, would I agree to that?”

  “Because I’m also going to have your murderer.”

  “You are, are you? And who’s that?”

  “I could tell you, but it wouldn’t do me or Alicia any good.”

  “She’s Alicia now, is she?”

  “She’s also my client.”

  “She’s what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “That doesn’t matter either. Not to you. What matters is you promise you don’t arrest her.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until I get you the murderer.”

  Another small bark of humor. “Well, I’m going to say ‘hell, no’ to that, Wyatt. I have evidence against Thorpe and if I see her, I’m going to arrest her.”

  “Then all bets are off.”

  Juhle paused for a long beat. “You’re saying you know who the killer is?”

  “I am. I do. And I’m saying if you want to find out, you promise no arrest. End of story.”

  “And what if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  “So we take Alicia downtown, then if you prove we’re wrong, we let her go.”

  “Nice try, Dev. But what really happens is once you get her booked, it’s almost impossible to arrest anybody else. Why? Because not only have you just given your second suspect a built-in defense-‘Oh, it was Alicia Thorpe last week, Your Honor, but this week it’s really my client X who did it’-but also because a second arrest for the same crime makes you and Sarah both look stupid.”

  “No, that wouldn’t-”

  “Bullshit. Listen to me. You arrest her now, Alicia’s charged with specials”-multiple murder special circumstances-“and gets no bail. The DA says she can argue some other dude did it at her trial. But meanwhile, once Alicia’s in jail, your real killer is tipped to all the evidence and can make their own story tighter, if in fact they don’t leave town. That’s what really happens, Dev, and you damn well know it. So I can’t tell you who the murderer is. You’ll just say ‘thanks for playing’ and arrest my client. I’ve got to show you. And I can do that. But first I need your word. No arrest. Nonnegotiable.”

  A long silence. Then, “Last, best, and only offer, Wyatt. You get your dog and pony show. I’ll come over, but if I do, somebody’s going to jail. I’m thinking it’s Thorpe, but I’ll give you a chance to convince me it’s someone else.” After another short pause, he asked, “Where is she now?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Hunt said. “A secret place. Mickey found her. But the point is I’ve got him bringing her down here.”

  “Why would she do that? Come down there?”

  “Because Mickey’s convinced her this is the safest place she could be. She believes Mickey.”

  “Shit.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “You know why? It keeps being appropriate. Shit shit shit. What am I supposed to do about Sarah?”

  “I’m not sure she could agree to the conditions.”

  “So now I cut my partner out of it. I know you’re not a cop, Wyatt, but that kind of behavior is frowned upon down at the Hall.”

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate that. But what’s happening is happening now. This is all the warning I can give you.”

  Wyatt heard the soft exhale of resignation and decision. “Okay,” Juhle said. “Twenty minutes, half hour.”

  “That ought to work,” Hunt said.

  By eight-thirty, Hunt had the place arranged the way he wanted it, with a nice democratic circle of eleven folding chairs set up on his basketball court. In the end, he’d cajoled, connived, or otherwise convinced all of the principals to converge on his warehouse at nine o’clock so that, depending on what Hunt had told them, they could provide more detailed information, or argue for their portion of the reward, or fortify their alibis, or simply get caught up on the progress of the investigation to date.

  Or, finally, in the case of Devin Juhle, to arrest the real murderer.

  Now Hunt went back into the residential side, to his kitchen where Roake, Carter, Alicia, and Mickey remained seated at the table with a palpable air of tension surrounding them. “Almost time,” Hunt said lightly. His own nerves were stretched to the breaking point, but he couldn’t show that, not now. “Everybody still loose and ready to have some fun?”

  In fact, nobody looked that way. They all looked like they’d been talking about deadly serious issues among themselves while he set up his chairs. Roake, the group’s obvious spokesperson, looked around the table, then up at him. “We’ve been thinking it might be better after all if Alicia wasn’t here, Wyatt.”

  Hunt drew a short breath. “If she’s not here,” Hunt said in as reasonable a tone as he could dredge up, “she gets herself arrested anyplace they find her outside. Here I’ve got Devin’s word he won’t touch her.”

  “And you believe that?” Carter asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  With a deep frown, Carter shook his head.

  “Just imagine, though, Wyatt,” Roake said. “What if he called Russo and told her? She didn’t make you any promise. She comes in with him and he just shrugs and says it’s out of his control.”

  “That’s not what’s going to happen.”

  “But what if it does, Wyatt? And Alicia goes downtown. As her lawyer, I don’t know if I can in good conscience let her stay here.”

  “As her lawyer,” Hunt said, “you’ve got to let her stay here. It’s her best chance to stay out of jail.”

  “But, Wyatt,” Mickey put in, “she won’t get arrested if we go hide out again someplace else.”

  “Guys, understand. The second she’s not here, she’s back as the prime suspect, and then it’s only a matter of time.” Hunt straightened up to his full height. “We’ve been through this already,” he said. “I appreciate all of your concerns, but Alicia has to be here for this to work. If Juhle gets here and she’s gone, he walks out and the whole exercise becomes futile. The only reason he stays is because if my idea doesn’t work, then and only then he handcuffs Alicia.”

  “Swell,” Mickey said.

  “But that’s not going to happen,” Hunt said. “If everybody shows up, this is a lock.”

  “And if they don’t?” Alicia finally found her voice. “What then?”

  “I’ve motivated them all sufficient
ly,” Hunt said. “They can’t not come.”

  “That’s the other thing,” Gina said. “If you’re right, one of these people you’ve invited here tonight has already killed twice. You don’t think there’s an element of risk?”

  “There’s an element of risk to crossing the street. I’ve got to believe we’ve got strength in numbers here if any one person starts to get out of hand. And remember, Juhle will be armed. And,” he added, “so will I.”

  Roake rolled her eyes. “So you do think something could happen?”

  “I know something might happen, Gina. Something unexpected could always happen. But here, tonight, I doubt it’s going to be violence. I’m carrying my gun because I want to make sure it’s as close to foolproof as it can be. Just covering the bases, making sure we’ve got these contingencies thought through.”

  “Thinking a plan through doesn’t necessarily prevent it from falling apart.”

  “No,” Hunt said, “I know that. Of course not. But this is our best chance to get Alicia out from under this cloud of suspicion and get on with her life. We all agreed on this a couple of hours ago. This is the way it has to go down. And it has to be now. Alicia”-he turned to her-“are you still with us?”

  She forced a weak smile. “With everything you’ve said, I don’t see that I have another choice.”

  “That’s the right answer,” Hunt said.

  The buzzer at the back door sounded, loud as a klaxon in the enclosed space of the kitchen. Everyone at the table reacted with a start-even Hunt had a reflexive jump and then smiled at his nerves. “Here we go,” he said, walking across to check the peephole, and then opening the door to Devin Juhle, all by himself.

  Juhle hated this.

  He imagined himself in front of the Police Commission, explaining how he had gotten involved in this half-assed operation. And without his partner or any other backup. This was not how it was done, fraught with risk and uncertainty for everyone involved. He wondered, and sincerely doubted, if any other cop he knew would make the kind of promise he’d made to Hunt; if any other homicide inspector, with an imminent arrest of his prime suspect in his pocket, would have postponed the moment and agreed to this amateur-hour charade. His only consolation was that when Hunt’s scenario failed-as it surely would-he would then pick up the Thorpe woman. Of course, the fact that Hunt had invited Roake along would complicate that arrest, but not impossibly so. Still, it galled Juhle that Hunt had never even mentioned Roake’s presence here as Thorpe’s attorney during their phone call. In fact, everything about this felt wrong to him. But, he told himself, that’s what happened when you believed your friends.