“Julia! You must be a mind reader. I was just thinking about calling you. Are you home?”
“No. I’m in the Sunset on Ulloa. I thought I might catch you.”
“I’m at the market on Taraval, picking up a few things for my mother. Can you meet me?” Maggie hesitated. “There’s something I can show you.”
My breath caught. “Is it …?”
“Yes. I’ve got a copy of the photo. The doctor gave my mom a prescription for a sedative and she’s resting now, so I have a few minutes.”
My heart was pounding. “I’ll meet you at the coffee shop on the corner.” Maggie agreed and I started the car, driving away from the ocean. Taraval and 46th was just a few blocks away. It’s easy to find your way in the Sunset District; the streets are alphabetical if you don’t count Lincoln running along the south side of Golden Gate Park. They begin with Irving and end at Yorba. Taraval falls between Santiago and Ulloa.
Maggie was waiting inside the coffee shop at a small table when I got there. She looked up and smiled as I came through the door, then moved her purse to another chair. Wordlessly, she pushed a cappuccino across the table.
“You’re a doll. How did you know I needed this?”
“I figured.” She reached into her purse and passed the photo to me.
For a moment, I couldn’t take a breath. The photo was slightly blurry. Michael lay on his side, and only the lower part of his body and his legs were visible. He might have been knocked unconscious. At least I hoped so. It was as Maggie had said: a glimpse of a tire, the edge of a chrome bumper, and a dark or black vehicle. Some self-protective part of my brain distanced me from the vision of Michael either dead or dying. I felt nothing. In truth, I’d imagined worse, much worse. I passed the snapshot back to Maggie. “What are the police doing?”
“You mean the retired detective? I don’t know. I’m just glad the son didn’t dump the old man’s photos in the trash.” Maggie took a sip of her cappuccino. “The old guy was elderly and maybe he was getting a little gaga taking pictures of birds and plants and stuff, but hey, maybe he was bored and lonely and just having fun. Most of the photos were junk, but there were piles of negatives. He had a Nikon, I think they said, with film, if you can believe that.” She smiled for the first time. “I remember those. So, the detective promised to check all the negatives to see if there are any more that he might have taken.”
I took a deep breath. “I see.”
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yes. Just trying to get my head around all of this. To think, all this time, somebody saw what happened.”
“It just kills me that he didn’t come forward and say something then. Maybe it would have been possible to catch whoever did this if he had.”
“I know. Maybe. We don’t know for sure—eyewitnesses are notoriously incorrect. Finding a better picture would be good. Whoever it was, I can’t imagine how terrible it would be to know you killed someone, even accidentally. Hiding it all this time, what would that do to a person?”
“Torture them to the grave, I hope,” Maggie said grimly.
“Who’s the detective in charge? Do you think I could talk to him?”
“I don’t see why not.” Maggie rummaged in her purse. “Here’s one of his cards. Give him a call. Listen, I have to run. I’d love to stay and chat, but I don’t want to leave my mother alone for too long.”
“I’m so sorry, Maggie. It’s not fair that this falls on your shoulders.”
“What’s fair got to do with it?” she answered. “I’m taking my vacation time now so I can stay with her. I’ve got to go back to work next week.” Maggie worked as an administrative assistant at Cal State San Francisco, where Michael and I had both attended classes. She’d been enrolled there too, but after Michael’s death she dropped her classes and took a full-time job at the university.
“Maggie, have you thought any more about returning to school and getting your degree?” I asked now.
She sighed heavily. “I have. I should. I don’t know. Somehow it all seems too much. And what difference would a degree make?”
It was yet another example of how all our lives had changed with Michael’s death, but it was a shame Maggie might realize one day that her life hadn’t moved on. “You’ll be glad you finished someday,” I told her. “You never know. You could stay at your mom’s house for free and wouldn’t have to worry about food or a roof over your head. And it could lead to some better opportunities.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I’ve been feeling like my life’s on a loop these days.”
“Think about it. I don’t mean to nag you, but you’re young, too young not to be venturing out.”
“I’ll think about it.” Maggie smiled and grasped my hand. “Have to go.”
I slurped the last of my cappuccino and followed her out to the sidewalk. We hugged and she headed to her car. The sun had disappeared behind steely clouds and the wind whipped fiercely from the west. The day had grown bitter and cold. I watched Maggie until she drove away and then returned to my car. I climbed in and shivered until the heater warmed up the interior.
I felt adrift. My normal working life had been disrupted, and Jack’s murder had disrupted my temporary working life. I needed to think about something else, otherwise I’d spend the rest of the day being haunted by that photo.
fifteen
I had to admit to curiosity about Hilary Greene, Jack’s ex-wife. David hadn’t asked me to speak with her, not directly, but I thought it might be a good idea. Jack may not have been in her life for several years, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been in contact with him. David had said her gallery was on upper Fillmore. I realized I should have thought ahead and asked him its name, or at least looked it up. But it couldn’t be that hard to locate. I decided to risk the traffic and followed Ulloa until it hit 19th Avenue. It was bumper to bumper with lights at every block. After twenty minutes, the traffic flow finally picked up. I took the road through Golden Gate Park over to Geary and down to Fillmore. Once there, I started searching for a parking space. Here, the sun had given up its valiant fight against the fog, just as it had in the Sunset District.
Parking in this neighborhood is always difficult and the afternoon tow-away zones certainly don’t help. It was close to four o’clock now, the danger zone for being ticketed or towed. I cruised slowly down the block, turned right toward the Pacific Medical Center at the top of the hill, and came around the block again. On my second pass I got lucky. A car was pulling out of a metered space on the right side. I flicked my turn signal and slowed down, moving as far over to the right as possible to allow other cars to pass.
The art gallery had to be somewhere in this four-block area between Pine and Clay Streets. A few blocks north, the elegant homes of Pacific Heights took over, and unless Hilary was running her business out of a basement, I had to be close. One block up, I noticed a sign done in gold lettering: The Greene Room. The façade was painted a deep greenish-black color. Window boxes below the two large windows at the front overflowed with trailing ivy and blossoms. I pushed open the beveled glass door and an old-fashioned bell rang. Inside, the floors were a pale, glossy hardwood. Upholstered chairs were placed strategically around the room. Paintings occupied most of the wall space, and small sculptures sat on pedestals.
I moved through the first room and then through an archway into a larger room. Spotlights took the place of daylight here and larger landscapes hung in ornate frames. A five-foot stone sculpture was on display in the center of the space. As I moved closer, a sense of déjà vu was hard to ignore. This piece was suspiciously similar to the ones I had seen the night before at Gale’s art show. A small card indicated the artist’s name.
“May I help you?”
I turned. A slender woman in her forties stood behind me in the archway, smiling. She wore a deep blue silk shirt and matching pants. Her hair
was long, streaked with blonde, and pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. I’m a little over five seven, and as she approached I realized I had to look up to her, a thing I’m not at all used to doing. I found it slightly disconcerting.
“Uh. Yes, actually, you can.” She continued to smile at me, but after my experience with Sarah Larkin, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be welcome. “My name is Julia Bonatti. I’m working for David Meyers.”
“Working for … are you an investigator?” Her brow furrowed.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Well, maybe you could say I am … in a way. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk to you about your ex-husband.”
“Oh. Yes … Jack.” She sighed, her face clouding. “David called me yesterday. It was very thoughtful of him. And I spoke to the police this morning.”
“David wants to do everything he can to get this thing cleared up. You can imagine what it’s doing to everyone who has to work there and the reputation of the firm.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just about to close up. It’s been a very quiet day.”
“Yes, I’d love one.” After the cappuccino Maggie had offered me, I’d really be buzzing.
“Come on in the back then.” I followed her into a small kitchenette-storage room. Large crates were stacked against the walls and packing materials were strewn on the floor in the corner. A partial room divider separated the rest of the space from a heavy oak desk and a large filing cabinet. Hilary poured two cups of coffee from a pot on an electric warmer and carried a sugar bowl, creamer, and napkins to the small table.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“A little cream please, that’s all.” She handed me a large mug. I took a sip. It was delicious first-rate Italian coffee.
“Thank you. This is great.”
“Oh, I’m glad you like it. I can’t stand weak coffee.” She passed a napkin across the table to me. “Now, how can I help you?”
“I just came from seeing Sarah Larkin.”
“Oh my God. How is she these days?”
“Not good. Very bitter. She’s very hateful toward Jack. And she still blames him for the death of her son.”
“Nicky … yes.” Hilary’s face took on a faraway look. “Can’t say I blame her. That was just awful. I only wish I’d known she needed that money. I would have given it to her in a second, no matter what Jack thought. I heard about it later from him, but it was after Nicky died.” She was silent a moment. “I still can’t believe it when I think about it. I was so furious with him. Ten thousand dollars was nothing to Jack.”
“Would it have made a difference to her son, do you think?”
“Who knows?” She shrugged. “Maybe it would have, we’ll never know. People relapse and OD all the time, but I thought it was a disgrace not to give her the money and at least try to give Nicky another chance.”
“So he never told you she’d asked for the money?”
“Not at the time. And I guess she must have thought I’d agree with Jack even though we were on the verge of a separation. She never tried to contact me.” Hilary dropped her gaze. “That just confirmed once more that I was making the right decision to get out from under his control. And make no mistake, Jack doesn’t have relationships. He has control challenges … had … I just thank God I escaped.”
“Why did you ever marry him?”
“Oh … I don’t know … I was young and not very experienced. Jack wasn’t the greatest-looking guy in the world, but he was older and he seemed so smart and sophisticated to me. I’d been married briefly before, but it didn’t last very long because we were both really young. I think Jack appealed to me so much because he was older. He seemed solid. Maybe I was looking for security.” I nodded at her encouragingly. “And he was sexy. It was something he just gave off, like a scent.”
“How long were you together?”
“Ten years in all. Ten years too long.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Well, let’s put it this way. I grew up. I didn’t need some guy, a powerful man, telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I’m too independent and I didn’t like being controlled.” She laughed. “I was so naïve, it took me a while to realize that he was controlling me. I mistook everything for love and concern.” She was silent for a moment. “I started to see things I didn’t like. I guess I’m just a very ethical person and I really started to not respect Jack and the way he dealt with people. It was only a matter of time.”
“Was it a bitter divorce?”
She shook her head. “No. Not really. Jack was angry, make no mistake. But I think he finally realized that he couldn’t exert his will toward me any longer. The wiring had been torn out. When it finally came down to it, we worked out a settlement. But I would have walked without a dime if it had come to that. Maybe some people thought I was only after money, but that wasn’t it at all.”
“Are you happy now?”
She smiled and her face lit up. “Oh, yes, very. I have fun here. I love my clients. And I really like dealing with the artists. We have another big room in the back and we hold art classes there. Yes, I’d have to say I’m happy now and I’m doing okay financially.” She shook her head. “It’s horrible what happened to Jack. It really does give me the creeps, but in a way, I’m not surprised.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s hard to explain. He was the kind of man who, if you weren’t strong enough to buck him, could demolish you. Somebody must have felt that killing him was the only way they could survive.” She shuddered involuntarily. “There could have been lots of people who wished him dead. Still, I wouldn’t have wished that on him.” She sipped the last of her coffee and wiped a spot on the table with her napkin.
“I noticed a large sculpture in the back gallery …”
“Oh yes, that’s quite impressive, isn’t it?”
“Who’s the artist?” I didn’t mention that I’d already seen the name.
Hilary’s eyes flickered slightly. She cleared her throat. “His name is Ragno. Len Ragno. I doubt you would have heard of him. Anyway, that piece just sold.”
“Well, that’s good news for the artist,” I replied.
“Yes. He has a workshop near Sacramento and occasionally ships me something. He tends to work in stone. I think he’s quite talented. He might catch on. Are you interested for yourself ?”
“No, it’s definitely beyond my budget, but I was curious. Thanks.”
Len Ragno, huh? Well Sacramento was a long way from Milan and I knew absolutely nothing about sculpture, but I found the similarity to Luca’s work a little too much of a coincidence. We said our goodbyes and Hilary let me out through the back of the gallery into the parking lot. I walked to the end of the alleyway and around the corner to my car. As I stood on the sidewalk searching for my keys, I realized I wasn’t alone. I turned.
Henry Gooding stood next to me. “Ms. Bonatti, isn’t it?” He was as perfectly turned out today as he had been the night before.
“Mr. … Gooding!”
“Ah, you remembered. I am flattered that a beautiful young woman would remember my name.” The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled.
I smiled back. “Flattery comes easily, Mr. Gooding. What brings you to this area?”
“Oh, visiting an interesting shop I know well. The owner is a close friend and sometimes holds occasional pieces for me.” He smiled. “A pleasure to meet you again so soon.” He nodded and turned away, heading for The Greene Room. I heard the bell ring as he stepped inside.
What a small world, I thought. Do they all know each other? On the surface, Hilary Greene seemed a completely open and likeable woman, but as far as I knew, she could be a twenty-four-karat liar. Maybe five years away from Jack wasn’t enough. Maybe she had a motive to commit murder after all.
sixteen
I checked my wa
tch. Almost five. Time to head home. I revved the engine and pulled an illegal U-turn at the end of the block to get back to California Street. Rush hour traffic had started, but within twenty minutes I was at my apartment. I parked in front and trudged up the stairs. Wizard’s bell was tinkling as I turned the key in the lock. One light set on a timer burned in the living room. Wizard rushed to greet me and pushed heavily against my shins as I dumped my purse on the table. I reached down and picked him up.
He emitted a series of quacks, which I interpreted as Why weren’t you here to feed me on time? He settled on his haunches on the kitchen floor while I opened a fresh can of salmon in gravy and plopped it in his dish. Then I stripped off my clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans and a warm sweater. I needed to spend some time on my newspaper column, even though I was really itching to set up charts for the people at the firm.
Obligations first. I settled into the office chair and flicked on the computer. Wizard, now sated, curled up in a ball in the chair normally reserved for clients. I clicked open my email and signed in. Samantha at the Chronicle had forwarded me forty-three AskZodia emails. I heaved a sigh. So many people asking for advice. I separated out the letters that asked no particular question and returned those to Sam. She’d respond, explaining that AskZodia received far more letters than it was possible to answer and refer the writers to other reputable astrologers. Then I separated the emails into male and female groups. With some, of course, the gender of the writer wasn’t obvious, but I did the best I could. I further separated these into different age brackets.
Each week the paper published eight AskZodia questions and the astrological responses. My column had become extremely popular. Les, my editor and Samantha’s boss, was making noises about running it on a daily basis. I hoped that decision wouldn’t be made. It would be far more than I could handle, given my private clientele, but if so, I hoped Les would listen to my recommendations for other astrologers.
Tail of the Dragon Page 9
