“Go get your jacket.” He reached around me and opened the door to David’s office. I walked to the sofa and picked up my jacket, praying Adam hadn’t noticed the key was no longer in the lock. “You were never here. Make sure you leave nothing behind,” he added. He watched while I turned away and slipped my arms into my jacket. I pushed the key under the sleeve of my leotard.
“No purse?”
I shook my head.
“You first. Don’t try any tricks. We’re taking the service elevator down to B-level.” He pushed me ahead of him and closed David’s office door behind him. He glanced down at the lock, realizing the key was missing. He looked at me. “Hold out your hands.”
I complied and opened them so he could see I was hiding nothing. He reached into my coat pockets and patted them. Then he felt his own, wondering if he’d forgotten where he’d put the key. “Never mind, let’s go. In a few minutes it won’t matter.” He grabbed the container of gasoline and shoved me down the corridor toward the elevator bank. We turned the corner. Sergio, still unconscious, lay on the floor, half in and half out of one of the elevators. The door to the service elevator at the end of the bank of elevators stood open. Adam shoved me toward it. “Get in.”
I stepped over Sergio’s legs. I hesitated and turned back. “Look! His eyes are open.” Adam turned to follow my gaze. I bolted away, throwing open the door to the emergency stairwell. I was halfway down to the 40th floor before I heard footsteps above me.
“Get back here!” he shouted. He pounded down the stairs but I was already at the door to the floor below, fitting the key into the lock. I pulled it open and raced away through the darkened office, the lights flickering on behind me as I ran.
I had to stop moving. I wasn’t sure where the sensors for the lights were placed, but as long as I was moving they’d give my position away. I turned a corner and stopped. From the light filtering down behind me I saw a long stretch of corridor, individual offices to my right, secretarial bays to the left. I had to find a hiding place. I slipped into the first bay to my left. It contained two large desks with counters facing outward and a long counter against the wall, with more desk chairs, printers, and telephones. I scooted under one of the desks and pulled the rolling chair in behind me, doing my best to slow my breathing and make no sound.
For what seemed an eternity I heard nothing. Then I caught a slight squeak of leather and quiet footsteps on the carpeting. They stopped. He was next to me on the other side of the counter. I covered my nose and mouth in case he had super hearing and could judge my position. The footsteps continued, muffled by the carpeting. I waited. David had said other departments at the firm occupied this entire floor. The corridor must continue all around the perimeter of the building. I mentally kicked myself for not exploring the 40th floor when I’d had the chance. By now, Adam would be familiar with every nook and cranny, but surely there must be exits to the central part of the building and the elevator bank. If I could slip out quietly, how long would it take an elevator to come to this floor?
I waited. This cat and mouse game was making my whole body tremble and I didn’t like being in the mouse position at all. My legs were cramping. I had to stretch and move before everything went numb. I decided to take a chance and peek out, to see if there was a path to safety. Then I heard him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sang. I froze. He was closer than I’d imagined. Then he sighed. “It’s no use, Julia. I’ll find you.”
I listened. My heart was beating so loudly, I was sure Adam could hear it. How could I have been so trusting? How could I have been so attracted to him? He was a monster.
And if Adam was telling the truth, then the guard downstairs would do nothing. Maybe eventually he’d get worried, but that would be too late for me. Karen would be waiting in Adam’s van with a trussed-up Suzanne. And the guard might not make rounds on the parking levels until Sergio returned. Karen wouldn’t dare drive away, not without Adam at the wheel. My brain was doing cartwheels trying to figure out all the possibilities.
The odor of gasoline was everywhere. He was splashing it on the carpeting and against the walls as he walked. The hallway was completely silent; not even the rush of air indicated movement. The lights had been extinguished—Adam must have turned back. I crept out quietly and peeked around the corner of the secretarial bay.
The hallway was dark and unoccupied. I stood and, pressing against the wall to outwit the motion sensors, moved sideways along the corridor, finally reaching the halfway point. Double glass doors to my left led to the elevators and duplicate glass doors opened to the other side of the floor. I steeled myself to make a rush for the elevator button. I’d be exposed for a few minutes waiting for the elevator, but it was my only chance. I took a deep breath, ready to make a dash for safety, and then saw movement, a reflection through the glass.
Adam. He was on the other side of the floor. I pulled back against the wall. He stopped and turned, looking behind him. I held completely still in the dark, pressed against the wall where I had a clear view through the glass partitions. He hesitated again and glanced toward the elevator bank. He squinted his eyes. I could see him clearly. I didn’t dare move a muscle. He stared right at me. He had seen me. He sprinted through the glass doorway, passing the elevator bank.
I ran. If he was coming in this direction, I had to go back. I raced down the corridor in the direction from which I’d come. I ducked into an office where a heavy legal tome sat on the corner of the desk. I shoved it and several papers onto the floor and flew through the next doorway. I hoped my ruse would work. I had to buy time.
I crept behind the door of the second office. Something hard pressed against my back. It was as high as my hip and prevented me from moving further behind the door. I reached behind me. A kind of heavy cloth, an edge and an opening. My fingers touched cold metal. Golf clubs.
Adam was in the corridor. Walking slowly. I pictured him in the doorway of the first office. I turned slightly and carefully lifted up one of the clubs, praying I wouldn’t make a sound. A door squeaked on its hinges. Silence. I imagined Adam pushing the executive chair away from the desk and looking under it, hoping I was there. The club was firmly in my hands now. I raised it straight up. Pressing against the wall, I waited. I heard a small thud. Adam had returned the book to the desk. Then I heard his breathing on the other side of my door. He entered and stood quietly for a moment. I needed him to walk toward the desk. I waited. He took two more steps, ready to move around the desk and check underneath.
I shoved the door away. Adam turned. I swung the club with all my strength, hitting him squarely on the side of the head. He swayed and blood flowed from his cheek and nose. Clutching the golf club, I ran. I flew down the hall, through the glass doors, and pressed every button on the elevator bank. My heart was pounding. I glanced back. He was on the other side of the glass doors. His head and jacket were covered in blood. He reached for the door handle, his hand leaving a smear of blood on the glass. Please, please, I prayed. How long would it take the elevator to reach the 40th floor?
Adam lost his balance for a moment, but then a determined look crossed his face as he attempted to stay conscious. He reached out to pull the glass door open. The elevator dinged and opened. I fell inside and grasped the golf club, jabbing at the buttons while the doors closed excruciatingly slowly. With only an inch of aperture, bloody fingers reached inside and curled around the rubber edge of the elevator door. The door wouldn’t close. In desperation I pounded his hand with the golf club. He howled in pain. Fighting nausea, I pushed the slippery fingers away, allowing the doors to close completely. I was free.
thirty-eight
I’d like to think I was cool, calm, and collected when I reached A-level and the security desk, where the guard was biting into a large submarine sandwich. I still don’t have a very clear memory, but I think I was screaming. The guard dropped his sandwich on the console and a
few slices of salami and tomato slid away.
“Don’t let them out,” I shouted. “Lock the gate!”
“What the …” The guard stared at me.
“They’re in a van.” I remembered that the metal grate to the parking garage would open automatically. Surely there must be a way for the guard to prevent that. “They’ve kidnapped a woman. You have to stop them. Call the police.”
“I just did, lady. I’ve also called Sergio, but he’s not answering.”
“Call them again. Tell them it’s an emergency.”
The guard nodded and picked up the phone as we heard an engine coming up the ramp. That’s when the building’s fire alarms began to sound. “What the hell’s going on?” the guard hollered.
The van reached the metal grate and waited, engine running, as the grate moved slowly upward. Karen was at the wheel, Adam in the passenger seat. A splash of blood covered the inside of the window next to him. The guard ran to the console and flicked a switch. The gate had risen but the lower bar of it stood only four feet from the concrete, not enough to allow the van to exit. I peered through the glass wall. I had a full view of the parking areas and the ramp to the street. The rear lights of the van flashed, and tires squealed as the vehicle reversed. The engine revved again. The van flew forward and crashed into the gate, bending it and flying past it up the ramp to Montgomery Street. I heard brakes squeal, and shouts and then a crash. I ran out through the door, heading for the exit ramp, and looked up toward the street. The van had smashed into a patrol car. Four officers, guns drawn, stood in a semicircle, shouting instructions.
thirty-nine
“She was born Elva Karen Schaeffer in 1966 in St. Paul, Minnesota. Her son Adam was born out of wedlock when she was just fifteen. He was four years old when she married Terrence Ward, so for all intents and purposes, he considered that man his true father.” David and I were seated in hard wooden chairs across the desk from Sergeant Sullivan on the second floor of the Hall of Justice. A few days had elapsed since the capture of Karen and Adam and the attempted murder of Suzanne Simms, not to mention of yours truly. The fire department had arrived in time and quickly doused the blaze on the 40th floor. But it would be a good while till the damage was repaired and Meyers, Dade & Schulz returned to normal. Sergio was doing well apart from a fractured jaw and concussion. He was set to be released from the hospital soon, although he’d be taking nutrients through a straw for several weeks. Suzanne had revived and was in good shape. Adam and his mother had been arrested on the spot.
“How did she become Karen Jansen?” I asked.
“She changed it legally three years ago, after her husband’s suicide,” Sullivan replied. “Jansen was her mother’s maiden name, and she used her own middle name for her new first name. The two of them have been planning this for a long time. Schaefer always went by his birth name, his mother’s maiden name. He’d already established himself as a private investigator even before the Bank of San Francisco fire, so that part of their plan was already in place. He wangled a spot with Sinclair Investigations, which is an old, established firm. When Karen discovered the Meyers firm used Sinclair to run their background checks on employees, it was a gift.”
“But how could they be sure Adam would be the one to be assigned to the Evolving Soul Meyers firm after the first murder?”
“They chose their timing carefully. It’s not that large an organization. The CEO of the agency, Bill Sinclair, is on an extended vacation in the far east. Two people were down with the flu, one investigator was in the hospital having surgery, and the remaining two operatives were up to their eyeballs in assignments. That’s when Karen made her move and killed Jack. Schaefer wanted to be on the scene at all times. He wanted to know everything that was going on at the firm, but frankly, they could still have carried out their plan even if he hadn’t been.” Sullivan turned to me. “If you hadn’t gone back to the firm that night …” He trailed off. “I hate to admit this, but they damn near got away with it. Killing Ms. Simms was their final goal. We had no forensic evidence at all. Everyone’s prints are all over the place. No way to tell who touched or did what. Literally anyone could have gotten to Jack Harding and Ira Walstone in that building.”
“What happens now?” David asked. He was subdued but still looked ten times better than when I’d visited him at the hospital.
“I’m certain they’ll be held without bail. Who knows if the judge will decide on the death penalty.”
I gasped involuntarily. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Sullivan shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, false imprisonment, conspiracy to commit murder. They’ll get the book thrown at them.”
“Wasn’t the death penalty ruled unconstitutional?” I asked.
“Well, it’s complicated. Capital punishment’s been in use in California since the 1700s, believe it or not. Even though the Supreme Court finally declared it unconstitutional, a new law reinstituted it. Lots of death sentences have been handed down, but as of last count, I think only about thirteen executions have actually taken place. Last one was in 2006.”
“He’s right, Julia,” David offered.
“But wasn’t there a movement to end it again?”
“Prop 34 would have done away with it and replaced it with life imprisonment, but that was voted down by a slim margin. Every election cycle it seems there’s another effort to do away with it, but in this case it’ll be up to a judge and a jury.”
David shot a sideways look at me. He was aware I’d been attracted to Adam but had held his tongue. I didn’t turn my head. I still felt horribly ashamed that I’d allowed Adam into my life in any way. Maybe it wasn’t logical, but it was how I felt.
“We only had Karen’s word that Jack was alive when she left the firm that Sunday,” Sergeant Sullivan went on. “Roger Wilkinson thought he’d seen her leave, but she waited around until after she was sure he’d gone. Poor bastard. Jack Harding would have had no idea what was headed his way. It was Adam who attacked Ira Walstone two nights later.”
I thought of the dinner Adam and I had shared in North Beach that evening. It was unbelievable to think he had committed such an act and then calmly taken the elevator up to David’s office to make dinner plans with us.
“They hadn’t wanted to risk killing Suzanne Simms in the office because it would have pointed us in the direction of Schaeffer,” the sergeant explained. “But they had to wait for an opportune time to get her out.” He shook his head. “A mother-son duo. I gotta say, that’s a new one. Maybe other cops have run into it, but it’s a first for me. She had a hell of a hold on her son. Real sick relationship in my opinion.”
“Adam kept pointing me in the direction of Nora Layton as a suspect. Misdirection, I guess.” I turned to David. “What’s happening with her?”
“I told her not to come back and offered her some severance money. I didn’t want to report her to the Bar Association. I have no hard evidence about the Deklon situation anyway. Just what you’ve told me. But Adam … I never saw it. Never even had an inkling.”
“How could you?” Sullivan answered. “Adam Schaefer was the real deal, a licensed private investigator. A good one from all accounts. Why would you even suspect anything like that?” The sergeant closed the folder on his desk. “Well, that’s it. Hopefully you’ll never have any trouble at your firm again.”
forty
The house was a one-story wood-frame cottage, very like my neighbor’s post-1906 earthquake house. One of those places hastily constructed after the Big One but still solid and still standing.
Maggie had told me that Leonard O’Brien was in his early seventies, and once a cop, always a cop. In retirement, he’d felt useless and volunteered to work on cold cases. That’s what Michael was now. A cold case. I shivered in the wind that came off the ocean. I wasn’t sure why I was here, but just … unfinished busin
ess. I hoped something had turned up from the boxes of photos and negatives found in the old man’s house. I heard footsteps on hard flooring and the door opened to reveal a wiry man of medium height only slightly taller than myself. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m … my name’s Julia Bonatti, and I’ve been told by Maggie Sefton that you’re working on a hit-and-run accident that occurred a few years ago in the Sunset.”
“Oh. I see. Well, you’re looking for my brother, I believe.”
“You’re not Leonard?”
“No, I’m Matthew. Leonard’s brother.” Dishes clattered from the direction of the kitchen. A woman called out from the interior of the house. She came down the hall and stood next to the man who’d opened the door.
“Hello,” she said with a smile.
The wiry man turned to her. “She came to see Leonard.”
“Oh.” Her face shifted. “I’m so sorry to give you bad news. Leonard died last week. Friday afternoon. Heart attack. It was very sudden. Are you a friend?”
My heart sank. “Died?”
“Yes, sorry to have to tell you.”
“I’m … no, not a friend. We never actually met. I came to talk to him about a case he’s working on.”
“I’m so sorry. We can’t really help you,” the woman replied. “One of the officers from downtown stopped by and picked up the files Leonard had. Everything’s been returned to headquarters.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “Well …” I trailed off. These two were obviously cleaning out the house and tying up the loose ends of Leonard O’Brien’s life. He’d died on the very day that I could have been killed, the day I was pushed into oncoming traffic on Market Street. If only I’d dropped everything and come sooner.
“Maybe you could contact someone downtown. I’m sure they’d help you.”
Tail of the Dragon Page 26
