I didn’t know if he intended “ride of your life” as a sexual reference or not, but I was growing a little tired of Mr. Marks. Luckily, I trusted my girlfriend implicitly, and she was obviously more focused on questioning him than flirting. I just didn’t like the guy’s vibe.
“I’ll keep you posted,” Cara said. “You said you’d only been neighbors for two years?”
“Yeah. I’ve lived here for ten, but the Langleys moved in a few years back.”
“Do you know where they lived before that?”
“Used to live in the South Bay, close to work. But the company opened an office in San Francisco, so Mr. Langley moved up here. Before the South Bay they lived somewhere in the East Bay. Pleasant Hill, I believe.”
That got my attention. Pleasant Hill sat adjacent to Walnut Creek. It could mean absolutely nothing, but it intrigued me nonetheless.
Ray had told me the Langleys had moved from Santa Clara to Tiburon, so he hadn’t found any East Bay connection. Looks like maybe he hadn’t gone back far enough.
Cara glanced over at me, the East Bay reference obviously catching her attention as well.
I decided it was time to speak.
“Do you know why they left the East Bay for the South Bay?” I asked.
“I don’t,” Marks said.
He’d been significantly more talkative with Cara than with me. I guess I couldn’t blame him.
“We appreciate your help, Mr. Marks,” Cara said.
“Call me Bradley,” he replied with a smile.
No surprise there.
“Okay, Bradley. Are you sure it was Pleasant Hill they lived in? Could it have been Walnut Creek?”
“I see what you’re getting at now. The Butcher mentioned Quint’s articles and he worked for a Walnut Creek paper. What if I just helped crack the case?”
Bradley Marks laughed. He was way too smug for me. Then he pretended to think hard, which I’m not sure he was capable of.
“I’m pretty sure it was Pleasant Hill. But shit, I don’t know. Maybe it was Walnut Creek. I thought that’s something you guys would have known.”
“Not sure what you mean by ‘you guys’, but we are not the police, Mr. Marks,” I said.
“Gotcha.”
And no, Mr. Marks didn’t ask me to call him Bradley.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Cara said. “Is there anything else you can think of? Did you see any weird people around the neighborhood?”
“See, that makes you guys sound like cops. Because they asked me all those questions. No, I didn’t see anybody. But I’m also a pretty good distance from the Langley house. I’m not sure I would have.”
“Of course not. I just have to ask.”
“I understand, Cara. You’re fine.”
This guy was good with his double entendres.
“Thanks for your help, Bradley,” Cara said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
“Take care, Cara. Oh that’s funny. Care, Cara.”
I wanted to tell him not to quit his day job, but he had been helpful, so I resisted.
We said our goodbyes and walked back to our car.
“There’s two more houses on this block,” Cara said. “Do you want to hit them up?”
“Sure,” I said.
Neither of the other two homes offered much in the way of new information, but I didn’t care. We’d learned enough from Bradley Marks. The knowledge that the Langleys used to live in the East Bay, very close to Walnut Creek, had my full attention.
We went back to my car and started driving to the East Bay. My mother texted me soon after we got on the road.
I looked down at my phone as I drove, which earned me a glare from Cara.
“Sorry,” I said. “Here, you can read it to me.”
Cara took my phone.
“Peter Vitella mentioned you in another article. You should probably read it.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Your mother is worried, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. Less about Peter Vitella and more about the Butcher. But yeah, she’s scared.”
“Let’s catch the guy and set your mom’s mind at ease.”
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“And thanks, Quint.”
“For what?”
“For not being a jealous boyfriend with surfboard guy. It was obvious he was hitting on me. And I appreciate you not making a big deal out of it.”
“You got it. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t fired up.”
“That’s human nature. But you didn’t act like a jealous boyfriend. And that’s sexy.”
“Good to hear. I almost interrupted a few times. Glad I didn’t.”
“We got what we wanted, didn’t we?”
“You were great,” I said. “And the fact that they lived in the East Bay could potentially be huge. If we can somehow find a connection between the Langleys and any article I wrote...”
“So you don’t think those murders were random after all?”
A car almost cut me off and I had to hit the brakes. I spoke slowly, keeping most of my attention on the road.
“It’s still likely they were random. But we’re absolutely going to investigate the connections now. So let’s go with the assumption that the Butcher knew his victims, or at least some of them.”
“It’s certainly an interesting puzzle piece to add to our collage.”
“No doubt about that,” I said.
“Should we swing by a store and pick up the San Francisco Chronicle?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Is Peter Vitella going to be a pain in my ass until this thing ends?”
“Bradley Marks would bet six surfboards on it,” Cara said.
And then we started laughing. I don’t know why.
Maybe the absurdity of everything.
Maybe the realization that there wouldn’t be much humor in the foreseeable future.
Maybe we just needed a release.
But we laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever said. Which it wasn’t, but that didn’t matter.
It had hit our funny bone and we rolled with it.
29.
I woke up the following morning and felt like the world was closing in on me.
A new Peter Vitella article in which he again blamed Ray’s death on me. A new letter from the Butcher that I’d barely had time to scrutinize. A possible connection between the Butcher and the East Bay.
And finally, I was going to meet Paddy Roark later that morning to set up a tail on my girlfriend and me.
Had I gone crazy?
Cara was still asleep and I didn’t wake her up.
I dressed, went downstairs, and bought a coffee. When I arrived back at my apartment, I looked both ways as I locked the door behind me.
This caution would be standard operating procedure until the Butcher was caught.
I took my coffee to the balcony. A few sips later, I started to feel better by looking at the bright side. I wasn’t in my office writing some boring article for the Walnut Creek Times. What I did these days could potentially save lives.
And with important work comes a lot of stress. Acknowledging the stress worked better than trying to downplay it. So I decided to just embrace it.
Cara walked out on the balcony.
“You looked like you were in your own world,” she said.
“Doing my version of meditation.”
“The stress getting to you?” she asked.
Cara had always read me like a book.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t stressed out right now. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”
I didn’t like this type of attention, so I tried to deflect it back on my girlfriend.
“So do you, Cara. We’re in this together.”
“Thanks. I feel safe when you’re around.”
“Speaking of which, I have to head back to San Francisco in an hour. Would you mind just staying in the apartment until I g
et back?”
“Quint,” she pleaded.
“C’mon, this was part of the deal when you moved in.”
“The deal was to stay together when we could. So take me to San Francisco.”
She was right.
“Fine, you can come with me. But I can’t just bring you in to meet Paddy Roark. It’s unfair to them. They’re already sticking their necks out for me.”
“I’ll just ride with you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And try to convince you on our way over.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Cara tried to work her magic on the drive over, and while I’m usually a sucker for her charms, I held strong, maintaining that I’d rather she not meet Paddy.
“These guys are now my friends, but they aren’t exactly the Cleavers. They’ve done some bad stuff.”
“I’m investigating a serial killer. I can handle a couple of bookies,” Cara said.
Maybe I was being a stubborn jerk, but I stuck to my guns.
“I’ll be back out in fifteen minutes,” I said.
I’d parked a block up from Boyle’s Grocery Store. I left the keys with Cara, who glared at me as I got out of the car.
I walked toward Boyle’s, already regretting my decision. But I didn’t double back.
I entered the grocery store for the second time in twenty-four hours, and once again, I saw Paddy Roark immediately.
He nodded in my direction and started walking toward the back, indicating I should follow him. Which I did.
Once we got to the back, Roark waved me into the first of two offices.
Dennis McCarthy sat there, looking as refined as ever. He was wearing his favorite attire, a Vineyard Vines vest with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. Today, it was a purple vest with a gray shirt. There never seemed to be any creases in the clothes he wore. I didn’t know his secret, but he was a pristine dresser.
“Hello, Quint,” he said.
“Nice to see you, Dennis. Thanks for accommodating me.”
“You’re welcome. Before you think you can come to us for anything, however, realize that we are doing this to help catch a serial killer. Not to just blindly help out a friend.”
“I understand.”
Dennis nodded in my direction and then the chair, suggesting I should sit. Both he and Paddy did a lot of non-verbal communication, and nodding was at the top of the list of favored gestures.
I sat. Roark joined me on my side of the desk as we faced Dennis McCarthy.
“To be honest,” I said, “I don’t care about the reason, I just care that you’re helping.”
“And you think this could make a difference?”
“I do. Something tells me this guy is hovering around the investigation in some way. He’s always ahead of us.”
“Could he be a cop?” Paddy Roark asked.
I thought about it. The letters certainly didn’t include many compliments for cops, but he could be disgruntled. Or a former cop.
“Yeah, I guess he could be,” I said, mad at myself for not having thought of it earlier.
“Have the cops looked into any of their own? Maybe someone who had a grudge with Ray Kintner?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy, unfortunately. I’m kind of on the outside looking in when it comes to the OPD now. I became somewhat friendly with a Captain Lockett, but he’s stopped answering my calls.”
“We’ve got some connections in some of these police forces. But it wouldn’t be easy telling them that this killer could be one of their own. Not sure how they’d take that.”
“Understandable,” I said.
“Look at this one,” Paddy Roark said, pointing up at one of the two closed-circuit T.V.s they had in the office.
I looked up and sure enough, saw Cara walking down one of the aisles.
“She’s beautiful,” Dennis said.
I sighed loudly and they both looked at me.
“That’s my girlfriend,” I said.
“I’m guessing this isn’t random,” Dennis said.
“She wanted to drive out with me, but I asked her to stay in the car.”
“You didn’t want us meeting her?”
“I hadn’t asked you guys, so I didn’t think it would be right.”
“She looks tough. I’m sure she can handle it. Plus, I’d like to meet her.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. And considering they were putting their necks out for me, I couldn’t just say no.
Plus I didn’t think I’d have much luck trying to convince Cara to go back to the car.
I shrugged.
“You guys win. I’ll go get her.”
I began to stand up, but Paddy Roark put a hand on my shoulder.
“I know you’re a regular here now, but I can’t have my staff seeing you escort someone to the back of the store. I’ll get her.”
“Okay,” I said, although I didn’t love it.
Paddy got up and left the office. Dennis and I continued watching the T.V.s.
Paddy tapped Cara on the shoulder, who appeared surprised. Paddy said something, though, and she smiled. And then started following him back toward us.
Fifteen seconds later, my girlfriend walked into the now cramped office.
“Guys, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. Cara, this is Dennis McCarthy and Paddy Roark.”
Cara smiled and shook their hands. I could tell they were both taken with her. Like everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was an asshole.”
She looked in the other two men’s direction.
“Should I chew him out now or wait till the drive back?”
Dennis and Paddy laughed. I even managed to smile.
“Cara, we are honored to meet you,” Dennis said. “Quint has clearly outkicked his coverage.”
“You’re hilarious. I’ve only heard that joke five hundred times,” I said.
“When you hear something that much, you should accept it’s probably true.”
“Of course it’s true,” I said. “I take it as a badge of honor.”
“Looks like he’s trying to get back into your good graces,” Paddy said.
“Well, I’m here now, so maybe I’ll let it slide.”
Looking around, I realized there were only three chairs in the office. I stood up and offered Cara mine.
“Thanks, babe,” she said.
“She said babe. You must be out of the doghouse already,” Dennis said.
Everyone smiled. And then Cara spoke.
“Alright, enough of this small talk. Pretend I’m not here and pick up discussing what you were before I got here.”
“Actually, Cara, I had just asked Quint if he’d considered that the Butcher might be a cop. Or an ex-cop.”
Cara pondered this newfound information.
“It’s certainly possible,” she said. “It would explain a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like how Quint feels the guy is closer than we realize. A cop would be privy to more information, obviously.”
“And Quint has told you what he’s here for?”
I jumped in. “Of course. She’s not in the dark on anything.”
“You just didn’t want her to meet us?”
“To get more involved than she needed to be.”
“You should be a lot more concerned with her chasing after this maniac.”
“That’s what I told him,” Cara said. “I can handle a couple of old bookies.”
For a brief moment, I didn’t know how the joke would go over. But then Dennis and Paddy erupted in laughter.
“You are a funny girl, Cara.”
“Thanks.”
“And now that you know our profession, you can keep that to yourself.”
“I will,” she said and used her fingers to “zip” her mouth.
That seemed to be the moment that they fell in love with Cara.
“Can we deal with you from now on?”
“
Sure. We’ll leave Quint out in the car.”
More laughs, including my own.
“She’s amazing, Quint, but let’s get down to business,” Dennis said.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“We’ve found a guy. He’ll follow you around for four days. If we deem it necessary, we can do it longer, but I think that’s a good start.”
“Thank you, Dennis. How will this work exactly?”
“I’ve put our guy up in a hotel over by your apartment complex. Yes, I still know where you live. I’ll give you a burner phone to text him. You are only to use it for that. Do you understand?”
He was referring to a time during the Charles Zane case where I’d use my burner phone for something other than he’d planned.
“I understand,” I said, thinking the less talking, the better.
“There’s no point in sending you the footage each day. Be a waste of time spending hours upon hours viewing it. So I’ll have my guy condense it down to something that’s watchable. Hopefully only an hour or two.”
“That sounds great, Dennis. You’ve really thought hard about this.”
“The guy we have filming you is a tech wizard, so I imagine he’ll be able to edit it each night pretty quickly. Make sure you text him when you’re staying in for the night, so he can get to work without fear of being called back out.”
“Of course,” I said.
“So does this start tomorrow?” Cara asked.
“It can. Is that alright with you guys?”
We looked at each other and shrugged.
“Sure,” I said. “Why wait?”
Dennis grabbed for a backpack sitting on a shelf in the small room close to him and took out a phone.
“Here you go. The man will contact you tonight.”
“Thanks for everything, Dennis. And Paddy.” I said.
“When you walk out of your apartment tomorrow morning, he will give you a slight nod. You’ll know who he is.”
“I appreciate all of this.”
“As do I,” Cara said.
“You guys are welcome. Cara, we hope to meet you again.”
“You will,” I said. “Once she has her foot in the door, she’s a bulldog.”
Cara smiled.
Paddy Roark stood up, meaning the meeting was over.
I exchanged handshakes with the two men and Cara exchanged hugs.
“Be careful,” Dennis McCarthy said to us.
The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2) Page 14
