“There is no safety anywhere in this world.”
I didn’t want to argue with her; she was probably right. “Did Willie come here tonight?”
The shift in subject startled her. “How did you know? He was like a madman. Grief…”
“Grief and suspicion. Sam Thomas told him about seeing you with Jerry Levin.”
“I know.” She shivered again and pulled the afghan tighter.
The loud music was beginning to set me on edge. “Selena, can I turn this radio down?”
“No, leave it. It keeps the demons away.”
Demons, madmen, death’s messengers – what next? I raised my voice and began to talk over the sound. “Why did you meet with Jerry Levin that day, Selena?”
“I knew him a little bit.”
“But you pretended you didn’t.”
She looked down at the granny squares that covered her lap.
“What were you and Levin talking about that day, when Sam saw you at David’s delicatessen?”
“We…I was trying to help him.”
“Help him how?”
She was silent.
“How?”
She looked up, tears in her eyes, then covered her face with her hands. I suspected it was merely more dramatics, so I got down off the stool, snapped the radio off, and went to stand over her.
“All right, Selena. You can tell me about it now, or you can get dressed and come to the Hall of Justice with me and talk to a Homicide inspector I know. He’s not a very nice man, and he’s likely to be a lot rougher on you than I am. He might even start asking questions about your status with Immigration.”
She took her hands away from her face. The tears were gone, and her eyes flashed with fury. “You and everyone else! Always threatening me with the Immigration. People are always forcing me to do things I don’t want to—”
“Selena, what did you and Levin talk about?”
She jumped up, stalked to the counter, and turned the radio back on. Then she stood against the ledge, afghan gathered defiantly around her.
“All right! I will tell you, but only to keep out of trouble with the Immigration. Willie had something belonging to Jerry Levin. And Jerry Levin wanted it back. That is all.”
“Do you mean the Torahs?”
“Yes.”
“And you were going to help Levin get them back?”
“I did not say yes or no. He wanted me to get him the keys to Willie’s house. I said I would think about it.”
“And did you get them?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure!”
“Did Levin say how the Torahs had gotten into Willie’s hands?”
“No. He said Willie had them. He wanted them back so he could return them to their rightful owners.”
“Did he tell you he was from something called the Torah Recovery Committee?”
“The what? I have never heard of such a thing.”
“He didn’t mention it?”
“No. All he said was that he had to right a wrong.”
I sat down on the edge of the mattress. “What kind of wrong?”
“He had committed a crime against his people. Many crimes. I think he meant he had stolen those Torahs. And he had used the fruits of his misdeeds to further a false cause. Then, later on, he rediscovered his faith, and he knew he must set the thing right.”
“By giving back the Torahs?”
“Yes. He had rediscovered his faith while he was alone in the wilderness. He used those exact words – ‘alone in the wilderness.’ And when his enemies tried to destroy him, he knew he must atone for what he had done.”
Levin’s story was as melodramatic as Selena herself. I wondered if he had been putting on an act for her benefit. The man seemed to have been able to adapt his poses to the people he was dealing with. If he’d sensed that Selena was a superstitious Old World Catholic, he might have used the ploy of repentance in order to enlist her sympathies. Or, oddly enough, he might have been telling the truth.
“So he asked you to steal Willie’s keys for him,” I said.
“Yes. I said I would think about it, but I had no intention of doing so.”
“Did he ask you to do anything else for him?”
“No. He merely talked of his religion and how he had rediscovered his faith. It was very interesting to me.”
“I’m sure it was. How did you and Levin get together in the first place?”
She looked away from me. “What do you mean?”
“How did he approach you? How did you meet?”
“Oh, he bought some dried apricots from me and then began talking.”
But from the look on her face, I knew she was lying. “About what? His religion?”
“No. About…about the fruit.”
“It…it was particularly good. The fruit, you know, must be dried under certain conditions—”
“I am going to ask you again: How did you meet Levin?”
“I told you!”
“Are you sure you told the truth?”
“Yes!” She stamped her foot. “Why do you doubt me? Why does everyone doubt me?”
“There’s probably a good reason for that.”
She looked at me, her lower lip trembling. When confronted, cry.
In a moment I said, “Did you tell Willie all this when he came here tonight?”
“Yes. He was like a madman, yelling at me and shaking me. You would think I had killed Alida.”
“Did you?”
Instead of the rage I expected, her face twitched with sadness. One hand moved involuntarily in the sign of the cross. “I loved Alida. She was the only person here who was really nice to me. I would never have done anything to hurt her.”
“Someone did, though.”
“Yes. I am afraid…”
“Of what?”
“Of death. It has touched me. And I feel guilt.”
“Why?”
“I…I should have been a better friend.”
“That wouldn’t have helped her.”
I couldn’t think of an answer.
“Are you through with your questions now?” she asked.
“Almost. Do you know where Willie was going when he left here?”
“No. He was calmer, and he looked very tired. Possibly he was going home to sleep.”
But he wouldn’t have, because he would know the police would be watching his house. “And he said nothing about his plans?”
“No.” Selena went to the door and unhooked the chain, then unlocked the deadbolt. It was a strong one, and there was another below the doorknob. I remembered how she’d said she was afraid of living alone in a ground-floor apartment. She’d bought a gun from Fat Herman for protection…
“Selena,” I said, “why didn’t you have your gun handy when you answered my knock? You said last night that you’d bought one for protection.”
Her face paled. “I did. I had a gun – until tonight.”
“What happened to it?”
“Do you remember what Alida said – that the gun could be taken away from me?”
“Yes.”
“She was right. It was taken. By Willie.”
16.
I liked the idea of Willie running around with Selena’s gun even less than I liked the idea of him playing amateur detective. Although the .22 was what Fat Herman referred to as “a plinker,” it was just as lethal as my own .38. And while Willie had undoubtedly handled weapons in Vietnam, armed combat in a war zone was very different from a personal vendetta here in the streets of San Francisco.
I left Selena’s apartment and drove the few blocks to Willie’s house. While logic dictated that he wouldn’t have returned there after hearing about the APB, I told myself that his actions up to this point hadn’t been exactly rational. The old van that I remembered Sam having at the flea market was nowhere in sight, however. There was a vehicle that looked like an unmarked police car parked at the corner.
<
br /> Where now? I wondered. Roger Beck was the last of Willie’s acquaintances I knew, and, as Sam had said, it was unlikely the fence would show up on Beck’s doorstep. Perhaps Selena was right; Willie had been tired and had gone some place to sleep. He could have parked the van in any number of spots throughout the city and climbed into the back to rest. At any rate, it wouldn’t do me any good to continue driving around looking for him.
I headed home to Church Street.
There were lights on in my living room, but the house was quiet except for a crackling sound that I identified as coming from my stereo speakers. I went in there and turned the set off, then noticed Don asleep on the couch. His knees were drawn up like a child’s and there was a hole in one of his socks. I felt a wave of tenderness and stood watching him for a moment before I touched his shoulder. He jerked and looked at me, hazel eyes unfocused.
“Were you waiting up for me?” I said.
“I was, but obviously I didn’t succeed.” He struggled to a sitting position and looked at his watch. “Jesus, it’s almost one o’clock. The last I remember it was nine-thirty.”
“What’d you do – fall asleep listening to music?”
“If you can call it that. I was taping the evening show on KSUN, so I could study their format.” He glanced at the stereo. “The tape’s run out.”
“Why were you doing that?”
“To get a feel for how they handle their programs.”
“You want a show of yours to sound like that?”
“Not exactly.” He yawned. “I’m hoping there’s something new or different that I could do, within the established format.”
“Anything would help. From what I’ve heard that station is loud and obnoxious and caters to people with the mentality of a twelve-year-old.” Even to myself, I sounded prickly and out of sorts.
Don stood up, frowning. “Have you had a bad night?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about us?”
“Not now.”
“Then I’m going to bed.” He started across the room, but paused in the doorway. “But babe, we’ve got to talk soon.”
I was silent.
“This job possibility means a lot to me,” he added. “I’m happy about it, and I hoped you would be, too. Let’s not spoil it for both of us.”
He went into the bedroom and I sat down on the couch. Didn’t he understand how rough my night had been? Didn’t he know how difficult it was dealing with yet another murder?
Of course he didn’t. I hadn’t even told him about Alida.
Wearily I reached for the phone and called my answering service; I’d switched over to it when I’d left for Willie’s since Don had said he wasn’t expecting any calls and I didn’t want him to have to bother with taking my messages.
Hank had called twice. While 1:00 A.M. wasn’t too late to get back to him – my boss existed on a minimal amount of sleep and was sure to be up and about – I decided it could wait until morning.
As I was about to hang up, the operator said, “Wait, I’ve got something else for you.”
I could hear pieces of paper shuffling. In the last couple of months there had been a big personnel turnover at the service. Add that to the fact that the owner, Claudia James, who usually took the late-night shift, was on vacation, and you had pure chaos. I was amazed I’d gotten any messages at all.
“Here it is. Willie called.”
I sat up straighter. “When?”
“Right at midnight. He said he didn’t do it, but he’s going to find out who did.”
“Terrific.”
“Does that make sense?”
“Yes and no.” The message did, the course of action didn’t. “Did he say anything else?”
“That’s it.”
“Thanks.” I hung up, then dialed the Oasis Bar and Grill. When a male voice answered, I said, “I want to leave a message for Willie.”
“For…hold on.” There were noises as if he was moving the phone to a more private place. “Okay, but I can’t guarantee he’ll get it.”
“I know. If he comes in or calls, tell him Sharon got his message. I want him to get in touch with me right away. He’s to do nothing until he talks to me.”
There was a pause, and then the man read the message back to me. I thanked him and hung up.
I reached for the lamp on the end table and turned it out, then propped my feet on a hassock and sat there in the dark, my thoughts moving from Willie to Don, and back and forth again. Willie – there was nothing I could do about him. He would either call or not. Don, however…
I was treating Don badly, that I knew. And I was trying to use my job as an excuse for it. Now I knew why I was doing it, but I still couldn’t stop myself.
The trouble was, I was afraid.
I’d been afraid many times before. This afternoon when I’d been shot at; once when I’d almost been stabbed to death; the time I’d had to kill a man because a friend’s life depended on it. But that was gut-level physical fear; in response to it you took immediate action. I’d never been afraid on an emotional level, where feelings that I hardly understood made me incapable of action.
I told myself I had to get this fear under control. I’d better talk it out with Don before it fed on itself and destroyed everything the two of us had. Because it could very well do that – and losing him was one thing I didn’t think I could face.
He’d been asleep when I crawled into bed long after three in the morning, and was already up when I woke at nine. I lay contemplating the cracks in the ceiling and thinking about guns – specifically Selena’s.
The Mexican woman had lied to me about how she became acquainted with Levin, of that I was certain. Why wouldn’t she also have lied about Willie taking her gun? Hank had told me Willie seemed to recognize the .22 with the chip out of its grip that had been used to shoot Levin. What if he’d known it was Selena’s? What if the reason she didn’t have it anymore was because she – or someone close to her – had left it in the garage after the killing?
Don appeared in the bedroom door, dressed in a sports coat, unlikely attire for his casual taste. “I’m going downtown to meet some of the people at KSUN,” he said. “And then I’m having lunch with my friend Tony. I’ll be back by mid-afternoon.”
“I’ll probably be home for dinner. If not I’ll call you.”
“Maybe we’ll go out.”
“Okay.”
He turned and left abruptly, without giving me his usual good-bye kiss. While his words had been cordial, his face had looked a little pinched, as it did on the infrequent occasions when he was depressed. Dammit, why was I spoiling everything!
I got up, pulled my robe on, and called Hank. He sounded worried and irritated. “Where the hell have you been? I left three messages with your service last night.”
“I only got two of them. And I got home very late.”
“You should have called anyway. I swear – living with that guy is making you act like you have three brain cells.”
“I’m not living with him. He’s a guest.”
“We’ll see.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. You find out anything about Willie?”
I told him about Willie’s message and what little else I knew. “I take it he hasn’t given you a call?”
“Not a word.”
“Hank, do you think you could find out some things about Levin’s murder from McFate?”
“I’ll try. What do you need?”
“I’m interested in the murder weapon, the twenty-two you thought Willie might have recognized. Find out the manufacturer and the type. If it was a High Standard Sentinel Deluxe, we might have a lead.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Get all the details you can, both on Levin’s murder and Alida’s. If McFate won’t talk to you, try someone else on Homicide.”
“You mean like
Greg?” There was a teasing note in Hank’s voice.
I glared at the receiver, wishing he could see my displeasure. “Yes, like Greg.” Why did Hank have to needle me about my boyfriends – both past and present?
I hung up the phone and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The day was sunny and warm, so I took my mug to the back porch and sat on the steps. Watney leaped out from the tangle of an old, overgrown rose bush to the right of the little cement pathway and twittered at me, then leapt out of sight again. I stared at the hole into which he had disappeared. Watney was unusually vocal, but he had never been much of a twitterer. Maybe having a backyard to stalk through would improve his rather vitriolic nature. After all, it must look like an absolute wilderness to him…
Wilderness. I thought of Jerry Levin’s remarks to Selena, about having rediscovered his faith in the wilderness and deciding to right the wrong he had done after his enemies tried to destroy him. Melodrama, for sure, but it might be based on reality. I went back inside, got my address book, and called Jack Foxx, a man I knew on the Arson Squad. Jack listened to my description of the destruction at Levin’s cabin site and then said, “The fire could very well have been set. With most fires – whether they’re accidental or arson – you can pinpoint a source. What you describe sounds like someone could have poured a flammable liquid throughout the structure and then ignited it. There’s no way to tell, of course, without going over the scene.”
I thanked Jack, promised to buy him a drink soon, and hurried to take my shower and dress. While I stood under the rushing water, I thought of Jerry Levin and his supposed enemies. If someone had really tried to burn his cabin, had that person – or persons – been trying to kill him? Not likely; if they’d spread gasoline around inside, they would have known he wasn’t there. Scare him, then? Probably, but why? To make him stop searching for the seven missing Torahs? That didn’t seem likely either. From what Ben Cohen had told me of the findings of the committee’s investigators, Levin hadn’t been looking for the Torahs at the time his cabin burned. It was only after he moved to the hotel in San Francisco’s Tenderloin that he began haunting the flea market.
I decided to drop the knotty matter of Levin’s motivations for a while and concentrate on the murder weapon. Hank might be a long time in getting the information I’d requested from the police. In the meantime, I could talk to Fat Herman.
Leave a Message for Willie Page 12
