“How many people knew about this?”
“If I know, I’m sure they all did. I mean, I don’t know for certain, but I’m pretty sure.” Dani took a last bite of her falafel. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things that go on around here.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” This was getting interesting.
“Well … Ira’s a perv, that’s for sure. He’s come close to a sexual harassment charge. He was writing gross notes and leaving them under one of the secretary’s keyboards when she was away from her desk. He was slipping down to the 40th floor and didn’t think anyone would notice. She was sure it was Ira but couldn’t really prove it. He’s just lucky the woman didn’t want to make it public.”
“Would he have been fired?”
“I think they would have had to, or at least fined him big time. Has to be a zero tolerance policy about that stuff.” She looked up quickly. “Which is a good thing, I think. Jerk denied it, of course.” She popped half a grape leaf into her mouth. “Believe me, if the clients knew half of what went on around here, they’d run screaming to another firm. Roger, he’s another slippery character. His business reimbursements aren’t for lunches or dinners with potential clients. They’re all his dates, and he’s charging the firm for them. Some ethics, huh?”
I’d have to remember to mention these confidences to David. I knew he didn’t involve himself in personnel issues and was probably clueless about the shenanigans among the attorneys. “So, this thing with Jack must have really hit Suzanne hard?”
“I imagine. She didn’t sound too good.”
twelve
We returned to the office and Dani went straight to her desk to clear up the mess from the morning’s court filing. I walked down the hall and stepped through the door to David’s office. He must have come back from lunch because the door was now unlocked. I hung up my coat, shoved my purse under the desk, and picked up the phone. Time to do a little checking of references.
Dani had begun her employment at Meyers, Dade & Schultz two years earlier. It was her first job in the legal world. She’d done bookkeeping and clerical work for Greensafe, a private environmental group that was well known in San Francisco. She listed her occupation as musician slash secretary. Karen’s employment had started slightly more than one year ago. She was the most recently hired. Mendelson & Mendelson had been her former employer for two years. Her birthplace was St. Paul, and her next of kin was a cousin named William. Her references from Mendelson were easy enough to check. They were just up the street at 650 California.
When I reached the office supervisor at Greensafe, I told her I was with the firm of Arps, Skadley & Biggerton—it was the first combination of unreal names that came into my head—and that I was verifying employment for Dani Nichols regarding her application for a job with our company. The supervisor was a woman named Mildred Hadley, who remembered Dani very well.
“Yes, that’s right. Dani worked for us up until two years ago. And before that, she did clerical and bookkeeping work for a small contractor, electrical, I think. I’m not sure where she went after she left here. If you need the exact dates I can check, but it’ll take a day or so to retrieve our files. We’re still in the process of converting them electronically.”
“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure the dates she gave us are accurate. There’s no need.”
“If you change your mind, just give me a call. She was a dear. I was really sorry when she left. She was accurate and fast and a very hard worker.”
“That’s good to hear. She seems like a very nice person,” I purred.
“I know we’re only supposed to tell potential new employers certain information, but I know you’ll be really happy if you hire her. I don’t blame her for leaving. She wanted a chance to make more money, you know.”
I thanked Mildred Hadley profusely and told her I was glad to get the information. I was sure things would work out, blah blah and more blah as we hung up.
Next up was Karen Jansen. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but if I kept sifting through things, maybe some lie, some little fib, some something, would lead me in the right direction. Whoever had killed Jack had access to the firm or was connected to the firm in some way. The answers were here, I felt sure. David’s transits confirmed it. And the best place to start checking was the past.
The Human Resources Director at Mendelson was a man named Ronald Givens. I gave him the same story, that I was calling from the firm of Arps, Skadley & Biggerly—or was it Arps, Biggerly & Skadington? Didn’t matter. He didn’t question the idiocy of the names either. He confirmed that Karen Jansen had indeed been employed at Mendelson & Mendelson. She’d worked there for one year. I made noises about that not being a great deal of legal experience and he informed me that her reviews at Mendelson were quite positive. I asked him if she’d listed a prior legal reference.
“Hold on, I’ll pull her file. It’s just in the next room. It’ll take a few minutes. Can I call you back?”
Ooops. “No, I’ll hold, if you don’t mind. I’d like to finish this. I plan to leave the office early today.”
He came back on the line a few minutes later. “Well, actually, she didn’t have any prior legal experience, but she picked things up pretty quickly.”
“Oh?”
“She’s from the Midwest. So we were her first employer when she relocated to San Francisco. Before that she worked for a company that went out of business, so I guess their address and phone number wouldn’t do you any good.”
“No. That’s all right. I appreciate the information. I was more interested in checking her legal references. Thanks all the same.”
“No trouble.”
We hung up. So much for that. In spite of laws that restricted employers from providing any information other than the date of hire and date of termination, it was amazing how chatty company reps could get. By now, I was really itching to set up the charts at home.
There’s an astrological theory that a strong Pluto or Mars connection can always be found between the charts of a victim and a killer. I’d read one or two studies on the subject and the theory made sense. This could be true even when the two people were strangers to each other. Following that line of logic, some strong connection must exist between Jack’s chart and the murderer’s, and hopefully it would jump out at me. I was wondering if there was any further need for me to stay at the office for the rest of the day. I got up from the desk and stuck my head in David’s office.
“Julia, come on in. I just called Sarah Larkin, Jack’s sister. I wanted to touch base with her to see if I could do anything to help her out.”
“Did the police get out to see her yesterday?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She certainly knew what had happened. Here …” David rummaged through odd bits of paper on his desk. “I’m sure I have it somewhere.” I watched him lift up files and sift through paper to no avail. “I’m lost without Muriel. Ah, found it. I’m wondering if I could ask you to do something today.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Would you be willing to talk to her?”
“Oh.” David’s request surprised me. “All right, if you think it would give us some information.”
“I’m thinking she may know things we could have no way of knowing.”
“Did she give you a hint of that?”
David grimaced. “No. That’s why I thought you might glean more. She wasn’t exactly grief-stricken, if you follow me.” He passed over a slip of paper with Sarah Larkin’s address.
“That bad, huh?
David shot me a dark look. “Let’s just say there was no love lost and leave it at that. Good luck.”
thirteen
I shut down my computer, slipped on my coat, and grabbed my purse. Carrying the stack of personnel files, I took the elevator to the 40th floor, wandering the deserted hallways until I found the Human
Resources office. Manda was at the front desk scrutinizing her manicure. She didn’t look happy to see me, but, to give her credit, she wordlessly handed me a small white rectangular card with tiny numbers in the corner for access to underground parking.
I started to turn away, then hesitated. “I thought you were being sent home.”
“That’s what I thought too.” Manda’s mouth twisted. “But then Beth, my boss, told me I had to handle all the phone calls.”
“I see.” I made a mental note to let David know his orders were being ignored, and then I thanked her and dumped the personnel files on her desk. She flashed a tight smile and returned to studying her nails for minute flaws.
Once outside the building, I caught a bus at the corner of Pine. This time of day there were few passengers, and within twenty minutes I was deposited on the corner a block from my apartment. I hurried down the hill, crossed Clement Street, and reached my building. Incoming fog had blocked the sun and a stiff gust of wind carried the smell of the sea. I let myself in, found my car keys, and refilled Wizard’s bowl with some dry nuggets. I called to him but I didn’t hear his bell. He was nowhere to be found. I finally peeked out the kitchen window and spotted him splayed out on the roof of my neighbor’s one-story cottage, one of his favorite napping spots.
Most of the houses on the Avenues are duplexes or single family homes built in the 1930s and 1940s, but some of the tiny cottages erected as shelters after the big quake are still scattered throughout the area. My duplex had just such houses on either side. Wizard loved that he could scoot out through his kitty door and jump onto my neighbor’s roof from our landing. He lifted his head, stared at me lazily, yawned, and curled into a fetal position. “Okay, if that’s what you want,” I replied. I let myself out the kitchen door, locked up, and went down the back stairs to the garage.
I followed the curve from Sutro Heights down to the Great Highway. Here, the road runs parallel to Ocean Beach. Sheets of sand had blown across the highway and formed dunes that every so often were high enough to block the ocean view. Waves crashed against the concrete abutment, sending saltwater spray across my windshield. I closed the car window, cranked the radio up, and sang along with an oldies rock song.
My musical tastes are wildly eclectic—rock, jazz on a tenor sax, Bulgarian women singing a cappella, hypnotic Native American flutes, sea chanties, and all sorts of genuine tribal and ethnic music. I have a collection of CDs recorded live by my fellow grad students in their travels from Guatemala to Chinese Turkestan. The stranger and more exotic, the better. Bear in mind, I’m incredibly ignorant musically. I can’t read music and can’t sing worth a damn. I couldn’t tell a B flat from a C sharp. But at that moment, with no one listening, I could happily sing along at the top of my lungs.
South of Golden Gate Park, I turned east on Ulloa away from the roiling Pacific. I slowed after crossing 34th and spotted Sarah Larkin’s address on the opposite side of the street. The house was a two-story stucco-fronted duplex. In this part of the city, very few houses boast a front yard; concrete stretches to the front stairs and garages open directly onto the wide sidewalks. The wind off the ocean picked up, blowing east. Particles of dust and beach sand hit my face as I climbed out of the car. Keeping my head down for protection, I hurried across the street.
Up close, pale pink paint, blasted by constant wind and sand, was peeling off the wooden framing on the sides of the house. Even the front stucco facing showed splotchy wear and tear from the elements. Two dark green garbage cans with ancient spills were the only decoration at the front. One was empty with its lid hanging open, the other, blown over by the wind, was on its side, crusted debris stuck to its bottom. I guessed no one had bothered to take them in after garbage pickup day. Maybe no one ever took them in. I climbed the long stairway to the front doors, where a sign indicated numbers 3102-3104. At least here, in the shelter of the entryway, there was respite from the wind. I pressed the buzzer to the door on the right. After a moment a woman called out, “Who is it?”
“Hi. My name is Julia Bonatti. I’ve come from Meyers, Dade & Schultz.”
The door was quickly yanked open by a woman in her late forties. Her face was round and slightly puffy. She wore no makeup and was dressed in a nondescript brown jumper over a black sweatshirt. Her long hair, streaked with gray, was combed back behind her ears.
She peered at me. “For God’s sake. What now? I told him I didn’t want anything from him or his damn law firm.” Her eyes were thin, puffy slits.
“I … uh … I understand. But that’s not really why I’m here.”
“Oh, really? And why are you here?” Her weight shifted and she placed a hand on her hip, her body betraying her belligerent mood.
“I’d just like to talk to you about your brother. I was hoping maybe you could help us in finding his murderer.”
“His murderer … I’d give his murderer a prize if I knew who he was,” she sneered. She looked me up and down and finally made the decision to talk to me, even if it was only because I offered a sounding board for her bitterness. “Come on in,” she said resignedly.
I stepped into a hallway leading to a living room at the front of the house, with kitchen and bedrooms toward the rear. She motioned me through the opposite archway into the dining area. A large oak table that had seen better days dominated the room. Its finish was dull, chips and gouges marring its surface. The table held several piles of both dirty and clean unfolded laundry. I suspected the piles were a permanent fixture rather than a work in progress. Three mismatched wooden chairs in various stages of peeling paint stood around the table. The walls, a color best described as landlord beige, were devoid of decoration.
“Pull up a chair,” she said. I sat down and Sarah lowered herself slowly onto another chair. “What do you want to know?”
“I gather you and your brother weren’t close, but I am sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. Wasn’t a loss. Believe me.” Sarah began to busy herself folding one piece of laundry at a time. “I haven’t talked to him for years. Since my son died.” She reached for a fresh garment from the pile of laundry. “I blame Jack for that.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” A familiar pain flickered in my chest. My loss seemed small in comparison. Sarah Larkin had suffered the most painful blow of all. “But why do you blame Jack?”
“Nicky was sixteen when he died. He had a drug problem. He got mixed up with the wrong kids and they were into some heavy stuff. I tried everything I knew to get him to clean up. He went in and out of rehab trying to quit.” She fell silent for a moment. “I found out about a private place, out of the city, where he could stay in a really good situation and get therapy. I was sure if he had one more chance … a good chance, he might make it.” Her voice trailed off. “I begged Jack for the money. I’d never asked him for a thing in my life. Never. But I begged for that.”
“He refused?”
“Said he didn’t see why he should pay for rehab or counseling. The other places hadn’t done Nick any good, so what difference did it make?” She sighed. “Nicky was a good kid, but there’s so much stuff around, how do any of these kids steer clear of it?” She looked at me, her eyes betraying a deep well of pain. “Jack never really loved anyone in his life. How could he possibly understand what it’s like to love a child?”
“You hated him for that.”
“Oh, yes. And I enjoyed hating him. Still do. I wanted somebody to blame after Nick’s death, but the fact remains, my own brother wouldn’t spend a penny to help his sister’s only son. I didn’t have anyone else to ask. My husband was killed in a car accident when Nick was seven. Our parents are dead, and Jack had plenty of money. Big, successful lawyer … but he didn’t give a damn about me or Nick. Yeah, I hated him. I still hate his guts. I don’t care if he’s dead. I only wish he had suffered more.” Sarah’s face closed down as she continued to fold laundry. “So, that�
��s it. That’s my story. I get disability now. It’s hard for me to work and I got nobody left.”
I felt the room closing in on me. My chest tightened and it took me a moment to get my breath. Her bitterness seemed to suck the very air out of the room. “What about other people? Was there anyone who hated him enough to kill him?”
Sarah Larkin snickered mirthlessly. “Probably anybody who knew him. I don’t know. Try his ex-wife. Try his business partners. Trust me, he was anything but a nice guy.”
“Look, I am sorry I bothered you.” I gathered my purse and rummaged in it for my car keys. “I thought it might be worth a try.”
She didn’t answer but rose to walk me to the door. “Hey, David Meyers says I’ve got some money coming, is that true?”
“It looks that way. We’re checking now to see if Jack left a will, but under California law, without a will, his next of kin would inherit everything. And that’s you.”
“What do you know,” she mused. “How much do you think it is?”
“I have no way of knowing, but I’m sure his condo must be worth well over a million. More if he had a life insurance policy.”
She smiled with a sad look in her eyes. “What good’s it gonna do me now? You know how much I asked him for when Nicky was sick?”
I shook my head.
“Ten thousand.” She watched me silently as I descended the windblown steps from her door to my car.
fourteen
Shivering, I climbed in, turned the key in the ignition, and cranked up the heater. I wasn’t sure if I was cold from the proximity to the ocean or my time with Sarah. The wind had done its best to stand my hair on end. I shook it out, then smoothed it with my fingers and pulled it back into the clasp again. I couldn’t decide where to go next. There was really no point in returning downtown.
I had managed to push Maggie’s visit the night before out of my mind, but now it all came flooding back. I certainly understood her anger, but I was more concerned by how fragile she had seemed. I wasn’t far away from her apartment. I checked my watch. It was just possible she was home or close by. She answered on the second ring.
Tail of the Dragon Page 8
