Telegraph Hill

by John F. Nardizzi

  Ray took Highway 101 north through the greenery of the Presidio, an abandoned army base dotted with military officers homes, silent and stately. Fog surged over the thick steel cables of the Golden Gate Bridge as Ray crossed the bay. The bridge was a sublime creation, with soaring orange-vermilion towers that set off starkly against the straw hilltops of the Marin Headlands. All around, the Pacific roiled in blue-gray waves.

  The Golden Gate Bridge was a favored spot for suicides. In the mid-1990s, the press began to report that the number of jumpers was approaching one thousand. At the 977th suicide, a bizarre countdown started, a perverse lottery for depressed Midwesterners lost in California, each one hoping to be the millennial jumper, legs flailing a death dance above the icy water. For a month, the number of jumpers surged as each suicide mustered enough self-interest to insert themselves in history as the 1000th jumper. The news media began a policy of not reporting the numbers, and the 1000th jumper leaped into a forced silence.

  Ray drove beneath the painted rainbow above a tunnel entrance and approached 100 miles per hour as he cleared Marin City. He took the exit for Route 1. Past San Rafael, the lanes dwindled. He passed through hilly farms and slid off the exit, winding his way west towards Drakes Beach in Marin County.

  Marin County was idyllic Northern California, a land of soaring redwoods and sheltered homes built on steep slopes, where drivers sipped six dollar lattes while wielding Land Rovers and multiple cell phones. The days burned sunny and hot, but the night air cooled precipitously. When the chill fog rolled down the hillsides, so pure and pristine, it seemed almost arctic.

  The GPS system showed a confusing jumble of dotted lines surrounding Drakes Beach, a series of dirt roads winding through the pastures. Street signs would be nonexistent: the locals were notorious cranks and usually removed road signs each summer in a defiant act of isolation.

  Ray headed north past Tomales Bay State Park. The bay, all windswept blues and golds, stretched off to his right, while scrub pines dotted the horizon. A stiff wind blew down from the hills. He peered into the undergrowth on his left, looking for a road into the dense greenery.

  After about ten minutes, he saw a small sign posted on a tree that read simply ‘Ashtanga’. He braked and headed left into the green canopy. The road ran almost straight up a hill before turning abruptly to the right and ending on a protected ridge. A stand of pine and fir obscured the road below. Above, the ridge was dense with eucalyptus and copse.

  The Ashtanga Center was a two story, wooden building built in the blunt Bauhaus style, an unfortunate choice for a building that espoused a philosophy of goodwill and well-being. The fortress aspect was lessened by overflowing potted plants and stone statues that dotted the front of the building. A wooden deck extended to the west, and held several small iron tables. A few cars were parked in a small dirt clearing in front of the property.

  A bell hung near the door. Ray rang and waited. The door opened presently and a woman stepped out, or glided, or projected or appeared—a granola ghost from the Age of Aquarius.

  Appearing to be in her fifties, with long, gray hair, blue eyes, and fine skin crisscrossed with wrinkles, the woman smiled: “Hi! Welcome to Ashtanga. I’m Euriko Cain.” She wore a turquoise robe with a cinched leather belt that fit her well. Her hands shimmered with a variety of colorful rings, bracelets, bangles. The ensemble was set off by a Navajo necklace made of mercury-colored hematite, with small figures of cut stone, cunningly fashioned into the shapes of bears, wolves, and other animals. Her entire demeanor radiated peace and goodwill, silent meals of sunflower seeds and mesquite grilled tofu. Ray thought that she probably crapped no more than twice a week.

  “Hi, I’m Ray Infantino. We spoke earlier today.”

  Euriko smiled, and guided him into a foyer enclosed on three sides with sliding glass doors. Soft music played, a sitar’s eastern jangle. Beyond the doors, he could see a courtyard decorated with jade plants and carefully trimmed bonsai. A number of people clad in simple garb was stretching in the courtyard. Ray smelled the sweet scent of jasmine. The entire place was imbued with a peaceful simplicity that would have made native New Yorkers feel like they were on Neptune.

  Euriko fluttered about, talking earnestly about herbal tea curing the horrors caused by America’s wretched affair with the coffee bean.

  “Coffee has a toxic effect on the internal organs. It’s poisoning this country. It is a dangerous drug and has destroyed more people than alcohol. Coffee caused the fall of the Incas.”

  “At least they were awake when it happened,” said Ray. “But I thought Pizzaro caused the fall of the Incas.”

  “No, he killed the Mexicans.” Ray decided arguing with her might dent her well-being and so he kept silent. She smiled and walked him toward a double door. “Have you been to a yoga center before?”

  “No, I haven’t. But they offer yoga at my gym. I picked up a few poses here and there.”

  Euriko sniffed a potential convert. As they walked through the center, she managed to reference the names of various distinct and foreign disciplines including crystals, aromatherapy, pyramids, feng shui, Tarot, colonics, and nude yoga.

  “All these combine in our color wheel of healing modalities. You should try a few classes.” Ray walked on, nodding politely at the blahblahblah. Still, he liked her.

  As they strode through the complex, various people walked by, nodding briefly but mostly keeping a calm, detached manner.

  Euriko guided Ray to the main yoga studio, a room with mirrored walls, heated to a toasty 90 degrees, and populated by ten barefoot people stretching their backsides towards heaven.

  “A fitting pose: the nexus of heaven and earth.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Euriko asked.

  “That pose, downward dog.”

  “You are familiar with the poses! How nice.”

  “Is the center open to the public?” Ray asked.

  “Well, a certain section is open to the public, but the majority of the center is reserved to private study. The center houses serious devotees of yoga practice who work here in various ways to support the center. You would need to apply.”

  “I may be interested in such an arrangement. Do you have time to show me the rest of the center?”

  “Sure.” Euriko floated away from the studio. “I didn’t realize you were considering such a big commitment.”

  Euriko walked him to a locked steel door that read: Residents only please. She opened the door with a key, and gestured for Ray to enter. A long hallway stretched in front of him, with various doors opening up on both sides. The decor was Spartan, mostly black and white pictures of nature scenes, a few aloe plants or cut flowers in vases on stone pedestals. He noticed the sound of bubbling water coming from somewhere, picked up the scent of lavender. He breathed deeply; it really was relaxing here.

  They walked down the orchid-colored corridor, and Ray saw Tania walking right toward him.

  For a second, his mind refused to comprehend the face for which he had been searching, now physically present, right in front of him. The thoughtfulness of her eyes struck him, and a cool thrill ran through his gut. She walked with the firm, elegant movements of someone comfortable with her body, her legs balanced and poised. She was attractive, the face tan and well-formed. Her hair was short, shorter than he remembered from the picture, and her mouth was unusual, shot through with a puffiness to the lips that lent her a tough, almost cruel, aspect.

  Ray looked at her as she approached. She was carrying a laundry basket. She glanced at him, and moved on without smiling.

  Ray walked with Euriko for a few more paces, hardly listening. Then he stopped.

  “I think I know her. Tania, right?” he said softly, gesturing to Tania as she disappeared around the corner in the hallway.

  “You know her?” Euriko asked.

  “I’ve been in touch with her family. Do you mind if I speak with her?”

  Euriko touched her hair with a finger, looking concerned. Ray star
ted to walk back down the hallway. She then stepped quickly in front of him. “Please wait here. Let me check with her first.”

  Euriko walked back to the hallway, calling quietly for Tania. Ray waited, not sure if she would be spooked.

  After a minute, Euriko returned, looking suspiciously at Ray. “She’ll see you in the courtyard, follow me.” Her New Age sweetness was evaporating. Ray kept up a benign cheerfulness.

  They walked down a hallway. Euriko opened a wooden door on her left. She and Ray stepped out to a brick courtyard with a small pool and several chairs. Tania huddled outside in a courtyard on a crude wooden bench. She looked up as Ray approached and he saw fear break the surface of her dark eyes. Her eyelids were sharply pinned and her mouth bent into a slight frown.

  Euriko hovered near the doorway, while another center denizen, a bearded, skinny man, stood nearby, absentmindedly holding a shovel. Ray sat down next to Tania, careful to keep his distance.

  “Tania, my name is Ray Infantino. I’m an investigator. A lawyer for your family retained me. They’re concerned about you. They wanted to find out if you’re OK.”

  “My family? Who?” she asked, covering her mouth with a cupped palm. “How did you find me?”

  “I did some research, talked to some people,” he shrugged.

  She sat still, assessing him. She touched her nose absentmindedly. He started again, keeping his voice level deep, reassuring. No sudden gestures. He tried to gauge the reasons behind her fear.

  “A lawyer named Lucas Michaels hired me after you lost contact with your family a few years go. They’re concerned about you, Tania.”

  She stared at him in a penetrating silence. Her brows were slightly drawn in, her eyes wide.

  “He told me about your family. About your father.” Her eyes shut briefly. “I knew you had once lived in California. Are you interested in getting in touch with your family?”

  Tania looked down. “Who exactly? I mean—I’m sorry, this is a shock. That anyone could find me so easily.” She picked absentmindedly at a fingernail.

  Euriko called over, “Are you all right Tania?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, glancing quickly over her shoulder. She looked at Ray. “So much has happened.”

  “How did you end up here?” asked Ray.

  “I was—you didn’t tell me how you found me.” Her hands pressed into her thighs.

  “I’m an investigator. Among other things, I locate and interview people for a living. Databases, phone records.” Ray shrugged. “It’s a minimal requirement for the profession.”

  “Can anyone get that information?” Tania asked.

  “Not easily. Most investigators only get this information for clients they know well. But I have to admit, I was lucky with you. So no, you otherwise would not have been easy to find. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  He paused. “You seem worried about being found here. Are you having problems with someone?”

  Tania looked away, a mute wall of confusion. Ray could see his words were just bouncing and clanking off a layer of invisible armor. They sat silently, Tania staring bleakly at the red brick patio.

  At last she looked up. “How did this lawyer hire you?”

  “A referral. We know some of the same attorneys in Boston.” Tania shifted her weight, rocking slightly, but said nothing.

  “Your family is worried about you. Tania, I didn’t mean to upset you by coming to see you. Your family thinks that you might be in some kind of trouble. They want to help. I can help. But you have to tell me what’s going on, why you’re here.”

  “A lot of things have happened. And now you, out of the sky.” Tania put her left hand over her eyes. “I need to think. Need time.”

  Some witnesses could be maddeningly evasive, he knew, especially Asian witnesses. They wouldn’t argue or fight; they’d just wait you out, turn the conversation into something slippery and angular. He admired the tactic. Just as water eventually ruts stone, they won in the end.

  “What would you like to do?” Ray asked.

  “I need time. I have some decisions to make. Please don’t tell the lawyer you found me. Not yet.”

  She had locked in on his dilemma. His task was accomplished, it was over, should he define it as he ought. He should call Lucas now, and inform him of her location. Await further instructions. That was what he had been hired to do. But he needed to find out more. There was an undercurrent of fear running through this woman. That was unexpected. He worried that she might flee. But he could take precautions.

  “I can’t agree to not tell my client.”

  “Why?” Tania asked.

  “He paid me to find you. It’s not ethical to keep it from him.”

  “Well, I won’t be able to be meeting anyone yet.” She looked away, her mouth knotted, eyes bright.

  “It’s your decision about whether you want to contact him. He knows that.”

  “Will you at least agree to hold off until morning?” Tania asked.

  “I’m open to that possibility if you agree to meet again early tomorrow,” said Ray.

  She put her hands together like she was praying. “OK.”

  “We‘ll talk more in the morning.” He stared at her, tried to get some glimmer into her mindset. But she averted her face.

  “Thank you.” Tania got up abruptly and led Ray to a faded red door leading out of the courtyard. She opened the door, and stepped into the receiving room where he had been earlier. The jasmine incense wafted through the doorway. Tania said a faint goodbye, turned, and headed back out the red door. Ray watched her go, her thin frame graceful but flickery; she looked like a cornered animal, backed into an alley and ready to lash out in a desperate and unexpected way.

  Euriko stood with feet apart, watching Ray. “So you were not really interested in yoga after all.” Her face looked gray now.

  “Actually I am,” he said. “I really do like your studio.” Offering only a remnant of goodwill, Euriko showed him to the door. He felt like he had disappointed a minor deity.

  “I’ll be meeting with Tania tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine.” Euriko forced a quick smile. The door shut and Ray walked back to his car.

  He slowly drove off beneath the canopy of firs and pine, and headed toward the main road. After driving down the road for a quarter mile, he turned off into a dense stand of pines. He pulled close to a clump of branches so that his car was obscured from the road. Then he sat back in his seat and watched the road to the Ashtanga Center.

  Chapter 23

  Ray suspected that Tania might try to sneak away from the center during the night. She was petrified, clearly under duress. Surveillance would be necessary. There would be the usual problems. If a car drove down from the hill at night, identifying the occupants would be difficult. She could scramble through the woods at midnight—the place teemed with insects, snakes, even cougars—and try to reach one of the hiking trails that ran near the property. He had to put someone on the hillside, humping the bushes.

  By 7:40 PM, the sun dropped its scarlet robes and faded into a gray Pacific slumber. A wind blew in from the ocean. Birdsongs whistled from the pines and then fell silent. He waited beneath the trees, vigilant, relaxed. After a few minutes, he called Richard Perry; yes, Perry could send four guys out there immediately. Ray told him he had a special assignment: he needed at least one guy with some woodcraft, keeping track of some walking trails at night. Richard said that his crew could handle the job with no problem—four men would be at his disposal within two hours.

  As night deepened, Ray heard several cars approaching. The surveillance team arrived: three cars slithered into the pines and parked near Ray’s vehicle. He put his parking lights on to illuminate the clearing. In the gloom, Ray watched the men assemble, dressed in jeans and sneakers. They were fleshy, sardonic, always looking for a joke. A pie-in-the-face type of crew. Three looked alert and sharp-eyed. One looked slack and heavyset, and spoke in an overly familiar way. Ray decided immediately th
at he didn’t want that clod crawling through the underbrush. He decided to place two of the three aces—Joe Ronaldino and Art Hulme—on the hillside trails. They had specialized in stakeouts throughout rural San Diego County while working for the DEA, and were equipped with night vision goggles. All had two-way radios, and could be in touch with anyone of the others at a moment’s notice. Ray reached into his file and passed around the photos of Tania. The men began to get ready to hike up the hill.

  “Don’t let the bears scare you,” said Ray.

  “That's what this is for,” Ronaldino said, pulling out a Desert Eagle semiautomatic pistol.

  “Overkill! You could down a rhino with that fucking thing.”

  He directed the two other operatives to fan out at various points at either side of the road so that both directions would be covered.

  Fog rolled over the ridge, nestling in the valleys and muffling sound under a thick grayness. Ray sat in the car past midnight and watched the dark road. They exchanged a few calls every hour—no one had left the center.

  A sunless morning arrived. His legs were cramped and his muscles urged him outside. He directed a refreshing piss into the pine needles. Everyone would be hungry. He drove to a small roadside store and picked up some pastries, muffins and coffee. Back at the pine knoll, he called and had each investigator walk down alone. They sipped coffee and made small talk among the pines.

  Ray spoke to Hulme, who did some ursine grunting as he stretched his shoulder muscles. “Let’s keep this going up on the hillside, at least until noon. I should know by then if we continue.”

  “All right. How about the other three?”

  “They can go. I’m going up there soon, and between the two of us, we should be able to track her if she makes a run.”

  Ray was jumpy now, amped up with sugar and distorted hours. After a few minutes, engines rumbled to life and the other three operatives headed back to San Francisco. Hulme walked across the street and headed toward the walking trail. He disappeared into the woods.