Jade stood up and moved woodenly toward the door. I quickly gathered the documents, gave them to the red-haired clerk, and followed Jade outside.
We got in the Chevy, and as if by reflex, I headed toward Pacific Heights. Jade sat with furrowed brow, deep in thought. She opened her purse and thumbed through a small address book.
I glanced at the ink filled pages. “Didn’t know they still made ‘em.”
She closed it and put it back into her purse. “I screwed up. I was so upset over Cicero’s death that I didn’t consider the effect it had on Mother.”
“How was she at the funeral?”
“Stricken. She came alone and left immediately afterward to catch her flight. Richard was crying and he never cries. It was weird, too, because we were the only family members. Nearly everybody else were Cicero’s guys. I remember thinking that his people were dressed way too sharp for a funeral.”
“Sound like nice guys.”
“If you like thugs, but that was his world.”
“Did you speak to her after that?”
“Uh-huh, a couple of times over the next week. She seemed okay, but was good at hiding her feelings. I guess it was all part of being in a loveless marriage for so long, and being a mom at too young an age.”
“She was from the Islands?”
“Yeah and sometimes I think she left her soul there and never went back to reclaim it. Her mother was a housekeeper and her father a janitor at one of the hotels. Mother, Richard and I flew to the islands when I was 11 and I met them, only once, though.” She fell silent and looked wistfully out of the window. Close to tears, talking was obviously cathartic for her. “My grandfather called me his little California florita, and would give me rides on his shoulders. I missed him when we left.”
“Did you ever write?”
“No. You know how thoughtless children are. I don’t believe he could read or write anyway.”
“What was your grandmother like?”
“Emilia, she was broken, having been endlessly abused at the big house where she worked. They were rich people from Baltimore and by all accounts, had wild parties. God only knows what went on. Anyway, when I met her, she was mostly silent. I look like her though, more so than Mother did.
“She’s still alive?”
“They both are, and don’t know Mother’s dead.”
Pacific Heights is probably the most affluent neighborhood in San Francisco. It was originally mostly small Victorians, but was largely rebuilt after the great earthquake. Today it is a mix of Edwardian and Chateau-style homes, interspersed with lovely blocks of Queen Anne Victorians.
“Trust Mother,” said Jade, “to find the trendiest neighborhood in the trendiest city in the western hemisphere.” She studied her address book. “She lived on the top floor of an Edwardian mansion, on Jackson Street, sharing the flat with Alexandra Snow.”
“How did they meet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was through her boyfriend, Anthony Romano, who I believe runs delicatessens. I’ve got his number.”
“Good, ‘cause we’re gonna talk to everybody.”
“What about the cops?”
“They won’t tell us anything that’s not in the coroner’s report.”
Alexander Snow’s phone number turned out to be her answering service. She was apparently some kind of personal adviser. I didn’t leave a message.
Jade was despondent. “Guess we’ll try her later.”
“Not answering and not being in are two different things.”
Parking on Jackson Street was non-existent, so we resorted to a small, overpriced lot on Fillmore. Ms. Snow’s Edwardian was on the northeast corner of Jackson and Divisadero. We studied the nameplates. Snow’s was silver calligraphy on ebony backing: Alexandra Snow, Advisor. We rang the doorbell and waited, but there was no answer, so I rang long and hard. Finally, a reluctant, irritated voice said, “I’m not expecting visitors. Please call if you want to make an appointment.”
“I’m Dominique Lamont’s daughter.”
“Come again?”
“Jade Lamont, Dominique Lamont’s daughter.”
A moment trudged by and finally the buzzer sounded. “Fourth floor.”
Despite the elevator sounding like it could use a good oiling, we were deposited, without incident, directly into Ms. Snow’s foyer. A thin-faced, timid looking maid, wearing a long apron, peered at us.
“Hello,” she said, in heavily accented English. “Come with me, por favor.” She led us into a drawing room, which looked out over Jackson Street, and was flooded with natural light. It was NorCal hip, tastefully New Age. Copies of Psychic Reporter and Psychology Today filled a magazine rack next to the door. A graceful tiffany table lamp topped a cherry wood table standing next to an antique settee, and a leaded glass mirror hung on the wall opposite the window. Apparently, the New Age approach was good for business.
A few minutes later, Alexandra Snow swept into the room wearing a Romanian peasant blouse, her long, thick hair spread about her shoulders like a fan.
“Hello,” she smarmed, looking at us curiously. “You are Ms. Lamont, no doubt. Your friend?”
“Nick--”
“--Crane,” I smarmed back.
“Dreadful business.”
“We’re trying to come to grips with Dominique’s death,” I said helpfully. “We’ve been to the coroner’s office and are convinced it was suicide. We’re hoping to understand why.”
“Ah yes, of course,” said Ms. Snow. “It’s very upsetting when a loved one turns their hand against themselves.” She gave us both a keen look, with eyes that were rather small, bright blue and wide-set. “If I might ask, Mr. Crane, where do you live and what do you do?”
“Private investigator from Los Angeles.”
“I see.”
“You’re a psychic advisor?”
“I help people make decisions and find their correct path.”
“Then you may have a unique insight into Dominique’s state of mind.”
Ms. Snow hesitated, weighing her response. “Although I did spend a lot of time with her, she was hard to get close to.”
This struck a chord with Jade and she nodded in agreement. “You’re right about that.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that dreadful day I found your mother,” turning to Jade, “dead in her bedroom.”
The words slammed into Jade; she sat there, fighting back tears. I wanted to reach over and choke the New Age bitch for her callous remark. Ms. Snow sensed my anger and slapped on a peacenik smile.
“Are you alright, my dear?” she inquired gently.
Jade nodded and choked down her emotion.
“It must have been a horrible shock,” I said.
“It was. Fortunately, I don’t scare easily, although for a time I considered moving, but decided it was unnecessary. I’m not aware of your mother’s spirit having remained at this address, or even in San Francisco, for that matter. She wasn’t here long enough to grow that type of attachment.”
I was struggling to remain calm and was tiring of her pretentious mumbo jumbo. “What type of attachment is that, exactly?”
“Spirits or ghosts, if you prefer, develop an attachment to their physical surroundings. That’s how hauntings occur.”
She was irritating the piss out of me, though for all I knew she was right about the ghosts. “So you don’t think she’s here?”
“I’m almost certain she’s not. What I do know is that Dominique was a divided soul. We met in a grocery store on Webster, when she was new to the City and staying at the Drisco Hotel on Pacific. Her boyfriend lived in Seacliff, I believe, and she wanted her own place.”
Jade asked quietly, “Was he nice to her?”
“I couldn’t say, but the first thing I noticed about her were your emerald eyes.” This made Jade smile and Ms. Snow reciprocated, this time with sincerity. “Your mother was genuine, a rare commodity in this neighborhood. On a whim I told her that I had a sp
are room, actually an entire spare wing, and that she was welcome to take a look if she wanted to. She didn’t squabble about the rent. I appreciated that. I don’t like to argue about money.”
“One thing about Mother is that she spent freely.”
“You alluded to not being close to her. Was Richard?”
“He was, yes.”
“She was matter-of-fact when she talked about you, but for him she had overwhelming love and sadness, as if she’d betrayed him somehow.”
“I feel that way too.”
“You can only be responsible for yourself, my dear.”
Jade couldn’t hold back. Her tears fell, big and wet. Ms. Snow handed her a box of tissues. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“We all felt abandoned but it was never clear who was abandoning whom.”
“Yes. I’m sure that was very hard.”
“Any thoughts on the boyfriend you never met?”
Ms. Snow locked her gaze on me. The faintest of smiles creased the corners of her mouth. “Although you might not put any substance in what I do, Mr. Crane, I could tell you a lot about yourself.”
“Yeah?”
“You have a fascination with evil, although you’re not particularly evil yourself, but you’re not entirely good either. You’re comfortable in the fallen world you inhabit and if you weren’t a private investigator, you might be a policeman, which would be inconvenient because you don’t like the police. You prefer outlaws as long as they follow the code.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know, but it’s something you intuit, isn’t it?”
“I’m impressed. You nailed me.”
“We’re both investigators, in our own way and like you, I’m intuitive. You have kind eyes, which is why people are drawn to you. You suffered a fair amount during your childhood, so you try to help people, yet curiously, you’re addicted to pain and that’s what keeps you connected to your work. At some level, you’re aware of all this but you don’t really like to go too deep which, ultimately, could be your undoing.”
“Thank you, Doctor. How much do I owe you?”
Ms. Snow laughed. “It’s what you owe yourself, my dear. I am merely the facilitator.”
I let out a long deliberate sigh. “Let’s get back on topic.”
Alexandra turned to Jade. “Your mother felt abandoned by your brother. She used to phone him constantly, and would be very sad when she couldn’t reach him.”
“That afternoon, she called him five times.”
“Codependency is a deadly addiction.”
“Ms. Snow,” I said, “what was the problem in their relationship?”
She shrugged, took a moment and replied. “She was racked with guilt over something, only I don’t know what.”
Jade listened intently, her long fingers fussing with the buttons on her blouse. “A couple of months before Richard got arrested for the home invasion, his attitude toward mother completely changed. He’d always been the one to defend her when I’d complain, and, of course, I’d been the one to defend Cicero when Richard claimed he was a lousy father. Then suddenly, he started calling Dominique a bitch, giving her the cold shoulder when she’d try and talk to him.”
“How was he after his release?” asked Ms. Snow.
“He never talked about being locked up and at first, he seemed okay. He went to school, dated girls and hung out with his friends, but that faded and he slowly became withdrawn.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s with his unsavory new boyfriend.”
Ms. Snow mulled this over and replied. “One last thing, and then we have to bring this to a close.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Are you aware that she met with your brother after the funeral?”
Jade, stunned, shook her head. “I thought she flew straight back.”
“Yes, but only after the meeting. When she got back here, she was devastated. All I could gather was that it hadn’t gone well. After that, she mostly stayed in her room and a week later, she shot herself.”
Jade, trembling, asked, “And you’ve no idea what happened between her and Richard?”
Ms. Snow shook her head. “Did you know she was seeing a therapist?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it was in the coroner’s report, a woman named June Iverson.”
“She’s a sharp lady. I’ll call her and tell her you’re on your way over.”
“Thank you,” said Jade and hugged the older woman whose robin’s-egg blue eyes were suddenly teary.
I didn’t buy it and I knew why. The key piece was still missing. We still didn’t know what drove the stake between Richard and Dominique. On our way down in the elevator, Jade was silent. I put my arm around her and gently kissed the top of her head.
Chapter III – Caught Red Handed
While we were talking to Ms. Snow, I’d turned my phone off. Now, standing in the sunshine, I listened to my messages. Bobby said he was all set for the afternoon, and Brad said that he was bored and needed some action. Audrey had a good lead on one of her adultery cases, and Tony wanted me to call him immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Pacific Heights. Why?”
“I’ve been asking around. Karsagian isn’t overly suspicious of you.”
“Cuz he’s a freakin’ prince.”
“He did say his boys fucked with you.”
“They shoved me around a little, but apart from Sergeant Jansen having a hard-on for me, that was it.”
“Don’t mind him, he hates the world.”
“And?”
“The shit’s running real deep on this one, so let’s get together when you get back.”
“You’ve heard something?”
“I hear a lotta things, Nick. Just watch your ass.”
“Always do.”
He hung up and I called Cassady.
“Hi, Baby,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. How’s Maleah?”
“They’re cool with her staying for a few weeks ‘til this blows over.”
“Okay, good.”
“It is going to, right?”
“It always does, eventually.”
She hesitated and I could sense her fear. “Relax. It’s gonna be fine.”
“She’s with you, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“Just remember, I’m the one that loves you.”
“I know, Honey.”
She hung up and a sudden swirl of emotion rippled through me. Even though I held it in, Jade sensed it as we headed for the car.
“That was your wife, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You really love her, don’t you?” Her eyes seared into me.
“Of course I love her.”
“Does she know I’m with you?”
“She knows.”
“Is she threatened?”
“She has confidence.”
“I’ll say.”
Jade shook her head and we got in the car. Despite my attraction, her arrogance was beginning to gnaw at me.
June Iverson’s office was about ten blocks away on Fillmore, near Green Street. We were starving and stopped at a frankfurter place near Union, and ordered Polish dogs and coffee. The food was delicious and we sat outside and watched the world go by. It was mid-afternoon and already there was a chill in the air. At ten to three we arrived at June Iverson’s office and entered the waiting room that she shared with two other psychologists. Three patients looked up as we entered, but really didn’t want to acknowledge us, much less each other, or, presumably, themselves.
Three o’clock signaled the changing of the guard; patients emerged from three directions in various states of distress followed by their doctors, two of whom were women.
“Excuse me,” I said, “we’re looking for June Iverson.”
“Then you’re looking for me,” said a middle-aged woman with hard facial angles and a shock of bone white hair. “I
assume you’re the people Ms. Snow called about?”
Before I could answer, she turned quickly to a freckled woman, who seemed agitated. “I’ll be right with you, Heidi.”
Heidi looked worried.
“This is certainly inconvenient,” said Dr. Iverson. “I have to see my patient now, and I have another at four. After that I go to the gym.”
“It’s very important, which is why we flew up from Los Angeles.”
Irritated, she reached up and pushed her white hair off her forehead. “All right, I’ll give you exactly fifteen minutes, so please be back here at the stroke of five.”
“Thank you.”
Her patient looked relieved and followed Dr. Iverson back to her office.
“Intense woman,” said Jade as we walked downstairs.
“Indeed.”
Next we contacted Dominique’s former boyfriend Anthony Romano. Jade, using my cellphone, left a message. Within seconds, he called back.
“Jade?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom spoke about you a lot. Such a damn tragedy.”
“Can we meet?”
“Where are you?”
“Near Union.”
“You’re in my neighborhood. There’s a really good frankfurter place. I’ll meet you there in about half an hour.”
“Thanks.”
Back at the frankfurter joint, we sipped coffee and waited.
Anthony Romano appeared to be in his late 50’s. He was one of those jumpsuit guys, swarthy with wavy gray hair, and a thick unibrow. His eyes lit up at the sight of Jade, but dimmed when he realized she was not alone. He recovered quickly, though, and I bought him an Espresso.
“Your mother, she was a good woman,” he said sipping from his cup. “We were in love. I offered her my house, my heart, everything.” He choked up and stared down into his coffee.
Jade felt for this guy, and reached out, gently touching his hand. He looked up at her, smiled through his embarrassment and continued.
“I couldn’t believe it when she broke up with me. I thought I had finally met the woman with whom I could share my golden years. I still don’t understand what went wrong. Maybe it was her roommate, Alexandra Snow,” he said bitterly.
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
“When Dominique first moved here, we spent three glorious weeks together at my house. We swam, went to the opera and even did the City cable car bit, like we were youngsters. Then all of a sudden she decided she needed to have her own place. I know that too much too soon can kill a relationship, so I was reasonable and said I would help her find a place, but she moved into a hotel and, within a week, met Ms. Snow. Through all this we were fine and then, sorry, but then your father happens. It was incomprehensible and a terrible shock to Dominique. From that moment everything went sideways. Although I don’t know for certain, I believe that this Snow woman told her she needed time by herself.”
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