The Last Good Place
Page 1
THE LAST GOOD PLACE
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2015 Brash Books LLC
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 1941298850
ISBN 13: 9781941298855
Published by Brash Books LLC
12120 State Line #253
Leawood, Kansas 66209
www.brash-books.com
Other Books in Carolyn Weston’s Krug & Kellog Series
Poor Poor Ophelia
Susannah Screaming
Rouse the Demon
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I was approached by Brash Books to continue Carolyn Weston’s Krug & Kellog series of crime novels, I was immediately intrigued. The books were the basis for the seventies TV show The Streets of San Francisco. When the TV series hit the air, I was starting high school in South San Francisco. But I can still remember the thrill and excitement I felt seeing Karl Malden and Michael Douglas playing police homicide inspectors and solving crimes just up the road from where I lived.
The pilot for the TV series was adapted directly from Weston’s first novel, Poor Poor Ophelia, with a couple of important distinctions. Her books took place in Santa Monica, but the setting for TV was changed to San Francisco. And while the characters stayed pretty much the same, their names were changed: the young, college-educated detective Casey Kellog became Steve Keller (Michael Douglas), and his older, school-of-hard-knocks-educated partner Al Krug became Mike Stone (Karl Malden).
The Weston books are wonderful and offer an entertaining reflection of police work in the seventies. But police procedure and technology have advanced so much since then—and for the better. As much fun as it is to visit the past, the hard-bitten Al Krug would have been fired long ago for some of his actions. (Even the television producers must have sensed this, as they toned down Krug’s character into the more genteel version that Malden played.) While I wanted to stay true to Weston’s vision of Krug, I couldn’t ignore my memories of Malden’s Lt. Mike Stone. I decided that I could merge the two and keep the essence of both the book version and TV version by moving the series to present day San Francisco. Krug/Stone is still old school, but in my interpretation, he knows when to pull back. He’s still a great foil for the young, energetic go-getter, Casey Kellog, who in my new story retains his youthful exuberance and his belief that a college education makes all the difference in the world. And just as in Weston’s original books, in my updated version, both men have much to learn about—and from—each other. I hope you enjoy their new adventures.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ONE
Marcie Valentine tugged at the waist of her running pants, zipped up her purple jacket, then grabbed an elastic tie, sweeping her shoulder-length dishwater-blond hair into a ponytail as she hurried down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, she turned the blinds enough to peer out the window over the wooden fence that separated her yard from her neighbor’s. Trudy Salvatori, also dressed for running in a navy zip-up hoodie and black capris, sat at her kitchen table drinking a breakfast shake and reading the newspaper.
Perfect.
Marcie backed away from the window, took her cell phone, then called Trudy’s number. “Hey,” she said when Trudy answered. “Ready for the morning run?”
“Oh…I’m running a bit late this morning. I’ll meet you near the bridge trail where we usually stop. Assuming I get out of here in time.”
“See you there.”
Marcie disconnected, stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket, then leaned against the counter. Even though she knew this was going to happen, even planned for it, she was second-guessing herself. She and Trudy had been friends, best friends, ever since Marcie and Devin moved into the house five years back. Just a few months ago, at a Cinco de Mayo party, Trudy announced that she and her husband, Tony, were putting their house on the market because they were divorcing. They’d fallen out of love.
Marcie had been shocked at the time. Not so any longer. No doubt in her mind as to why. Trudy was sleeping with Marcie’s husband, Devin. Not that it mattered. At least it wouldn’t after today, she thought as she heard Devin moving around upstairs, allegedly getting ready for work. And that was when she wondered if she really wanted this. Just let the Salvatoris move.
Pretend her own husband had never been unfaithful.
Or was she imagining Devin’s affair with Trudy? So many little things had seemed odd.
Maybe she couldn’t be sure about those things. But this? Devin suddenly guarding his cell phone, taking business calls after hours when he’d never done so before. The nights he worked overtime that also matched up to Trudy’s extended hours at the campaign office…
The proof was there, and so Marcie had decided today was going to be the day. Devin belonged to her, not Trudy.
But when she went for her keys on the dining-room table, she couldn’t find them. Her purse was right there, hanging on the back of the dining-room chair. No keys inside.
A quick and frantic search of the kitchen, then the little table by the front door, made her rethink her plans.
How was it that something like this always happened?
She was losing it…
Self-doubt crowded her thoughts, and she stood there in the middle of the kitchen, telling herself that maybe the keys were fate’s way of waking her up, making her realize she was going down the wrong path.
No. She’d worked through everything in her mind, planned the entire day accordingly, and she wasn’t going to let something that trivial get in the way.
Besides, there was a spare key beneath one of the flowerpots outside the back door.
She didn’t need her keys for this to work.
That calmed her, and she walked over to the stairs.
“I’m leaving!” she called up to Devin.
“Have a good run!”
Her eye on the stairwell, she opened then closed the front door firmly, not leaving at all—instead, tiptoeing over to listen as Devin moved about in the bedroom above. A moment later, the sound of him talking softly. “She just left…Yeah. Come on up the back porch stairs.”
Marcie bit her lip, tempted to race up and stop him now before Trudy got there. But suddenly she heard him in the hallway. And the sound of the gate latch in the side yard startled her. She slipped into the kitchen, shutting herself into the broom closet. Feeling like a fool, she peered through the slats, trying to contain her fury when she saw Trudy walk past the backdoor window, then heard her run up the patio stairs that led to the master bedroom balcony.
Going for a run my ass, she thought, resisting the urge to race up there, confront them both.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to scream.
But she needed to be smart about this. She’d gone to too much trouble to waste her efforts on raw emotion, and she pulled out her phone then sent the text she’d pretyped into the message: She’s here.
Waiting was hell. She checked the time on her cell phone, saw it was five past seven. Hearing nothing coming from upstairs, she opened the broom closet, slipped out the back door and around the side of the house.
You want this…
But did she? Was it worth the price?
It was, she decided, keeping close to the house, positioning herself at the garden gate just as her front door opened. She froze, her heart beating as she pressed herself against the side of the house. This was not going as planned. “Careful,” she heard Devin say.
“Always am,” came Trudy’s reply.
And then Marcie heard the front door close and what sounded like Trudy running down the porch stairs and on down the street.
Panicking, she grabbed her phone from her pocket, opened the text function, and typed: She’s leaving!
No sooner had she hit Send than she heard the engine of a vehicle from up the street. She opened the gate just wide enough to see a green pickup truck cruise past in the same direction Trudy had taken off, the driver glancing over as though looking at the For Sale sign posted by Trudy’s driveway.
Unbelievable. He’d assured Marcie that she wouldn’t recognize him. No one would ever know he was there.
And he was right. Because the person in that truck looked nothing like the same man.
That still didn’t ease her fears.
What if she’d imagined this whole thing? Trudy and Devin’s affair? What if Devin somehow found out what she had planned?
She’d been so careful to make sure he didn’t notice the missing money.
Wasted money if she didn’t go through with this.
She couldn’t…
Marcie stared at her phone, the screen still lit from the last text. It would be so easy to call it off. Pretend nothing happened, nothing was wrong.
That was exactly what she was going to do.
She shoved the phone into the pocket of her purple running suit, zipped it, then stepped out, and after waiting long enough to be sure that both Trudy and the truck were long out of sight, she jogged down the hill, telling herself that the best thing to do was get out, act normal. And so she took off at a slow jog just as the neighbor at the end of her street hobbled out his front door, then navigated down his porch stairs. She saw his paper near the sidewalk, jogged over, scooped it up, then brought it to him. That was normal.
“Morning,” she said, keeping her pace steady, but slow.
He lifted the paper in greeting. “Nice day for a run.”
And normally it would have been. A soft breeze carried the faint tang of salt from the bay, and the early autumn sun lit the dew on the grass as though someone had sprinkled diamond dust over it. The beauty was lost on her as she tried to put her husband and Trudy from her mind. Listen to the pace of her shoes on the sidewalk, the feel of the cool air on her face. Get into the rhythm. Run. Just run.
Soon her neighborhood was behind her, and she turned the corner to Lincoln Boulevard, jogging along the bike path, following it through the Presidio, the air thick with the scent of eucalyptus. Eventually she reached the Presidio Promenade trail by the bay, the sandy gravel crunching beneath her as she ran. To her left, the top of the Golden Gate Bridge was hidden in the marine layer, waiting for the sun to burn it off. A gull cried out as it flew past then dove down toward the water. The faint bark of sea lions drifted in from the bay. She turned away, not caring. Ever since she’d suspected Devin and Trudy were having an affair, the world had turned into a darker place. She’d imagined any number of ways to end this thing between them, none of them good. A week ago, she and Trudy had been running right here on this path, and she’d actually contemplated turning toward the bridge, having Trudy follow her, then pushing her right down to the rocks below. Had it not been for the witnesses, she wondered if she would have.
That was when she realized there were far better ways to end this thing between them. She’d come up with what she thought was a good option.
So why was she having second thoughts?
Because she couldn’t bear it if she was wrong and Devin somehow found out.
Call it off. It’s not worth it.
That was the thought going through her head as she continued down the path and noticed a couple kneeling in the gravel up ahead, their backs to her. They seemed to be tending someone on the ground, and she caught a glimpse of navy-and-black running clothes and then a familiar Nike shoe…
She quickened her pace, raced up to the couple, then stopped beside them.
The man looked up at her. “We just found her like this.”
Everything Marcie had so meticulously planned turned into one giant blur. Her heart stopped momentarily then started up again with a thud. It was several seconds before she could think clearly. Realizing this was supposed to be her friend, worried that this couple tending her could read this morning’s every guilty thought flitting through her head, she shook herself and tried to think of something appropriate to say. “She’s…okay, right?”
“She’s been strangled,” the man said. “I think she’s dead.”
TWO
Sergeant Casey Kellog signaled then slowed his unmarked police car at the corner, waiting for traffic to clear, all the while ignoring his partner, Sergeant Al Krug, who was telling him to go straight. “There’s a perfectly good parking spot in the fire lane,” Al said, then slapped the placard sitting on the dash that read San Francisco Police Official Business. “That’s what this is for.”
Casey kept his eye on the traffic, thick with the morning commuters. “Just practicing a little community-oriented policing by not parking in a red zone. It’s bad for our image.”
“You’re killing me with this new-age policing. It’s taken us three days to pin this guy down to get his statement, so park out front. Last thing I wanna do is miss him because you’re worried what the public thinks.”
Compromising, Casey pulled into the loading zone instead. Getting a guy like Al to buy into modern-day policing was not an easy task. A widower in his early fifties, Al was as old school as one could get. Right down to the gray fedora he wore whenever he went out. Even so, Casey never stopped trying, and as he pulled the key from the ignition, he said, “It’s all about improving public perception.”
“Yeah?” Al said, picking up a file folder from between the seats. “My police perception tells me if there’s an emergency, we’re gonna want the car nearby. But if you’re all fired up to put some of that newfangled police science to work, see if you can’t improve this guy’s faulty memory.”
“Easy enough. Cognitive interview techniques.” He reached into the backseat for his leather portfolio notebook. “I’ve got a checklist.”
“When you’re looking at t
hat checklist, wondering why the Vulcan mind meld from your textbooks isn’t working? Maybe think about deviating from the script.” He handed Casey the file folder, adjusted his hat, then got out. They walked to the corner store, and Al pulled open the glass door. A small bell sounded as they entered.
The clerk, a man about the same age as Al, stood behind the counter, waiting on a white-haired woman who was purchasing milk, juice, and eggs.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Little,” he said. “This card is also declined.”
“I don’t know why. Can’t you try it again?”
“I’ve tried. Multiple times.”
“There must be some mistake. I can bring the money in later when the bank opens.”
“If I do that with you, everyone will be expecting it.”
“Maybe I have enough here.”
She reached into her purse, her hand shaking as she pulled out a few coins and carefully counted.
Casey eyed the groceries, then dug a twenty from his pocket, walking up to the counter and placing it next to her money. “That should cover it.”
She looked up at Casey, her eyes glistening. “I can’t take that from you.”
“Consider it a loan. When you get the money, bring it in.”
“Thank you, young man.”
The clerk bagged up the items, and the woman left, thanking Casey with every step.
Al held the door for her. As it swung closed, he showed the man his star, saying, “Leo Rivers?”
The man nodded.
“Sergeant Krug. The Boy Scout here is my partner, Sergeant Kellog. He’s got a few questions for you about the murder of Danny Watkins.”
“I already told the officers everything I know. I didn’t see anything.”
Al nodded at Casey to take over.
Casey opened his notebook, eyeing his checklist. “What were you doing about an hour before the murder?”
“The same as every other day. Standing here.”