“I thought I’d better come see what the hell is going on up here. Nance has told me some wild tales,” Elliott removed his trench coat, exposing his usual stodgy three-piece suit.
I looked at Elliott with new eyes, remembered that he had been sturdily built in college. Now he was bloated, paunchy.
“We’ve had some excitement, but it seems to be all under control now. I’m glad to see you, Sir. This saves me a trip to Oakland. Is there someplace private where we could talk briefly?” Detective Schmidt asked.
“Sure, right this way.” Elliott showed the detective into the den off the entry and closed the door.
Shit! I would’ve loved to have heard that conversation. I headed to the kitchen and some breakfast.
CHAPTER
58
I was still eating my granola and yogurt when Detective Schmidt came into the breakfast room to say good-bye. Elliott was right behind him.
“Mr. Burns says that Tom hired the kidnappers, but only to get the Zodiac file. He called Mr. Burns when the break-in at your house failed to get their objective.”
“I told him to back off, to call them off,” Elliott said. “I wanted no part of thugs and break-ins. I warned Tom that men criminal and stupid enough to break and enter were too unpredictable. I had no idea he or they had anything to do with later events. Tom started a nightmare when he got those two involved.”
“Tom isn’t a great judge of character, huh?” I said.
Elliott grimaced and wagged his head. “I guess you all know it wasn’t the first time Tom got involved with crazies. And now he’s been arrested!” Elliott collapsed into a chair. “You know what that means: it’s just a matter of time before the press gets a hold of the story, and probably dredges up the whole sorry mess. I can hear that whiney voice of horrid Nancy Grace carrying on about it now, ‘Pillars of the San Francisco society and business community named in police investigation tied to the Zodiac killer of the late sixties' . . . Oh God.” He banged his fist on the breakfast table and buried his face in his hands.
Nancy put her arms around her husband resting her head on the top of his.
I watched this couple, my parents’ close friends, with some suspicion I admit. I couldn’t help but think that Elliott knew more about this matter than he was letting on, that Tom told him that the thugs had Mom at our cabin. I remembered that he’d taken Nancy aside before he went up to bed. Had he whispered for Nancy to take us to their cabin so that we wouldn’t stumble into our own and find Mom there?
I thought about Ron’s reaction when Steven and I mentioned going to our cabin. Ron definitely didn’t want us going there. Bottom-line, I was willing to bet all four of them––Elliott, Tom, Ron and Jamie––knew what the thugs had done. They were squabbling about it, but they all had knowledge. Tom was probably the “he” the dickhead, Samuels, had phoned. At least they had been told to release us, but why wait for twenty-four hours?
“Detective Schmidt, I realize I’m the one person in the room with the least legal knowledge, but . . . isn’t Elliott guilty of some kinda crime? Shouldn’t he have told you, or somebody, what he knew?”
Schmidt gave me a subtle “no” shake of his head. “He did. He told me.”
“Yeah, way too late to be any help in saving Mom.” I started to say more, but the Detective glared at me and I finally got the message to shut up.
Detective Schmidt started to speak, but Elliott held up his hand silencing him. “Alexandra, I’m terribly sorry that I wasn’t more help in locating Lauren. But I really had no reason to believe that I knew anything that would be helpful. Truly, I never imagined that Lauren’s disappearance had something to do with Tom’s insistence on getting that file.”
I glared at Elliott, disgusted that these four men were going to get a way with the cover up they had kept up for decades.
Yes, they’d tortured themselves. Living with their secrets must have been hard for men of goodwill. Perhaps in some strange way it explained the amount of charitable and altruistic work that Tom and Jamie had devoted themselves to.
Elliott looked like shit. He had failed to balance his guilt with anything philanthropic that I knew of. Perhaps he’d punished himself enough, but I was going to tell the asshole what I thought of him anyway.
The doorbell pre-empted my intended tirade. Detective Schmidt and the sheriff escorted a stenographer into the dining room.
I told the stenographer all I knew to be the facts about recent events, leaving out my opinions, conjectures, and memories that I’d have a hard time testifying to in court.
Now this situation was no longer my problem; it was over to Detective Schmidt and the police to sort out.
“Dad, I need to get back to school, I’ve missed too much, I’m gonna have a hell of a time catching up.”
“Me too,” Steven said.
“Not yet,” Dad said, “Rest here for the weekend, have classmates email your assignments, I don’t want either of you on campus until these guys are apprehended.”
“I agree,” Detective Schmidt said. “We have yet to arrest Samuels and Bubbal.”
“I don’t get it,” Steven said, “You know who they are, and the car they’re in. What’s taking so long?”
“We found your mother’s car abandoned in a shopping mall parking lot near Auburn.”
Steven and I groaned, I bit my tongue to keep from spewing swear words all over the breakfast room. Nancy’s not at all understanding about the use of the F-word.
“But we have the license plate of a car stolen nearby. We’ll get ‘em,” Detective Schmidt said. “And rest assured Alexandra; none of the men involved in this crime will get off without legal repercussions.”
We spent the weekend at Tahoe, got some assignments that could be done online and had to admit the Burn’s “cabin” was well equipped with all the latest wireless tech with computers enough for all.
Steven enjoyed the exercise room with all the bells and whistles including steam room and sauna, and it was good to spend time with Mom after being so scared of losing her. I snuggled with her most of the weekend.
But it was still hard to get my mind off of the Zodiac, which led to thoughts of Derek. Whenever I thought of Derek, I realized he was still damn hot, even if he was the same age as my father.
CHAPTER
59
Sunday morning we awoke to the clamor of TV trucks and reporters outside the gates. The media had gotten onto the story with Tom O’Connor’s arrest and somehow made the connection to the Zodiac. The Sunday papers reported Tom’s arrest and his arraignment scheduled for Monday morning.
Television news ran stories about the Zodiac, and at first, Mom and I, curled up together in the media room, found the TV coverage interesting. But the talking heads came up with the same guesses and suppositions over and over. I was surprised at how close to the truth some came. Not only Tom, but also Jamie, Ron and Elliott were mentioned––even Mom and Dad, and Steven and me. They showed shots outside Nancy and Elliott’s Piedmont house, outside Mom and Dad’s San Francisco house, outside the gates of our Tahoe place––dubbing it an estate because we had three buildings on the site––never mind the largest was 800 square feet.
No one escaped the media. Ron was attacked by a swarm of microphones as he attempted a Sunday morning bike ride. Jamie holed up in his office using the county security as a barrier.
Sunday night came without the kidnappers having been located. I was getting worried about blowing the school term.
Mom and Nancy planned to stay put inside the security and gates of the Burns’s Tahoe place, but, as comfortable as the estate was, I needed to go back to the city with Dad on Monday morning.
“Dad, Steven and I cannot afford to miss anymore classes. I’ve probably already screwed my GPA for this semester. We have to go back in the morning.” I demanded, then whined while giving him my best imploring look.
“Jeff,” Elliott said, “I feel some responsibility for how out of hand this situation has become.
I’ll cover the cost of bodyguards for the kids.”
“I appreciate the offer, but your hospitality is plenty,” Dad answered, “And I’m not sure bodyguards are the solution.”
Dad called Detective Schmidt. Then told us what he’d learned.
“He says the police are certain of their identities and the vehicle they are using. Found a motel in Vallejo where they were and he expects a break soon. Schmidt strongly recommends that you kids not return to Berkeley. With the media all over this thing, the fact of you being back on campus won’t be a secret.”
“That’s it, guys. No bodyguards.” Dad flashed a fake smile at us. “What good would guards have done in front of Kroeber hall? No defense against a rifle. You’re staying right here.”
“But with Tom arrested why would they bother us?” Steven asked.
“Tom will be bailed out in the morning. With him arrested, they’re liable to be more desperate than ever. They won’t want your sister or your mother to ID them. No, you’re all staying right here until they’ve been arrested. That’s my final word on the matter.”
I woke up on Monday morning after a restless night. I used the remote to turn on the TV from the warm, cozy bed. At first glance it looked like the same old footage of the front of Ron’s condo, so I guessed the arraignment hadn’t started yet as the media didn’t have new material to report.
The next thing I saw was a banner along the bottom of the screen. An as yet unidentified bicycle rider had been shot and killed. The incident took place just outside the planned community where Ron Bailey, associate of Tom O’Connor, Elliott Burns, and Jamie Gregg, lived.
“Dad,” I yelled. I ran from my room, “Dad, are you still here?”
Nancy wrapped a robe around herself as she came out of her bedroom. “What’s the matter? Are you okay Alexandra?”
I headed to the breakfast room. Dad and Elliott were watching a monitor above the banquette. Dad held a phone up to his ear, “Detective Schmidt, who got shot at Ron’s place this morning? Call me back at this number.” Dad relayed the landline number from Elliott.
“Did you call Ron?” I asked.
“I got Ron’s voicemail a bit ago, and now I got Schmidt’s. The detective is probably in court. He would’ve appeared at Tom’s arraignment.”
“Should we go over there?” Elliott asked. Elliott and Dad had that strange kind of pale that tan people get. They were shocked and scared. They obviously thought the same thing that I thought; Ron had been shot.
“I don’t think getting involved with that media circus would be a good idea.” Dad’s voice sounded flat and tired.
For the first time, I realized what an emotional rollercoaster the last few days had been for Dad. I’d been so pissed at him for letting this happen when it truly wasn’t his fault. I’d been totally unsympathetic, and now not only had one of his closest friends of long-standing been arrested in connection with events that had endangered Dad’s own family, it looked damn likely another old friend had been killed.
The landline rang. We all froze.
Elliott answered and put the phone on speaker so that we could all hear what Detective Schmidt had to say. “Yes, I’m sorry. Ron Bailey was shot. He died en route to the ER.”
“By the kidnappers?”
“We don’t think so. But we’ll keep Mr. O’Connor in protective custody until they’ve been apprehended.”
“Why?” Dad asked.
“They might be wanting to get rid of anyone who can link them to the kidnapping.”
“Then why don’t you think they shot Ron?” I asked.
“We have them located. A swat team is preparing to enter a motel room in Albany to take custody of the perps.”
“Are you sure that’s them?”
“Pretty sure,” Detective Schmidt answered. “This shooting seems to be unrelated.”
“How unrelated?” Dad asked. The worried tone of his voice made me wonder if he was having second thoughts about having chosen one of the gang of four’s house as a safe place for his family.
“Tom’s in jail. Well, more accurately, he was bailed out an hour ago, but before he even left the courthouse, we had him back in protective custody.”
“Could he possibly have had time to hire a hit man?”
“Pretty far fetched. He would’ve had to use his attorney’s phone. I don’t see it,” Detective Schmidt said. “And why would he?”
Dad shook his head. “No logical reason that I can see. Unless Ron could’ve tied him to the kidnapping,” Dad hesitated. “Come to think of it, he could. Ron knew what had happened, Tom had been in touch with Ron. I’m sure of it.”
“We have statements from both your wife and daughter that the perps clearly said that the person who hired them was upset about the shooting and the kidnapping, told them to release their victims.”
“It may not have been premeditated, but doesn’t change the fact that Tom failed to notify the police of two crimes, including one in progress.” Dad’s voice was now tight with restrained anger; I knew that voice from personal experience.
“So who else would get involved? Isn’t it quite a coincidence if this is unrelated?” I asked. The cyclist in the trees below Ron’s house popped into my mind. Was he carrying anything besides a bike? A gun maybe? And why did he look familiar?
“We’ve had other times when someone who has been an object of media scrutiny has then been attacked by a stranger who happened to see them on television. And I understand that footage of Mr. Bailey riding his bicycle away from his residence appeared on several channels nationwide. He was shot near there.”
I wondered if Elliott had left the house that morning. But the deputies outside would’ve seen him.
Where was Jamie this morning?
It was pretty hard for any of the men to have made any movements without being seen by the media camped outside each residence and office.
Detective Schmidt continued, “I’m going to double the number of deputies there. Come to think of it, I want all of you to stay inside and close all the curtains. Stay away from windows. I’ll call when these two, Bubbal and Samuels, are in custody.”
“Elliott,” Dad said once Detective Schmidt was off the line, “you could be in danger, too.”
Elliott nodded his round gray head. His eyes were filled with tears. “What a mess!”
CHAPTER
60
Nancy decided that the best cure for the waves of emotions that swept over all of us was a good hard work out followed by a sauna or steam. Television was forbidden. She unplugged the screens in the exercise facility and cranked up the soundtrack from Across the Universe. She was right about the cure. At least I felt less frustrated after working up a sweat.
Dad had one of his staff ask for still another continuance in the trial he was prosecuting. Elliott did the same with his lawsuit. They both tried to put a good face on it, but the strain of grief, fear, and frustration showed in both faces.
“Jeff, join me in a Bloody Mary before lunch?” Elliott asked.
“May I have one too please?” I asked.
“Hell, I’ll make a pitcher,” Elliott answered.
Dad, Steven, Elliott and I half-heartedly played cards while Mom and Nancy napped after lunch.
Mom was starting to get some color back in her cheeks, but all of the events of the last few days, including Tom’s arrest and Ron’s death, were showing on her face too.
Dad had the doctor who checked her out at the Sheriff’s Station send a colleague over to make sure she was okay. The new doctor brought her a prescription to relax her.
I checked on her while Elliott dealt. She had fallen asleep with a book on her chest. I took her reading glasses off and pulled the covers up. It was good to see her looking peaceful.
Cards were a good distraction. I was beating the pants off the men when I pulled an ace to the front of my hand. For some reason, that sight triggered a flash of memory of Dave––Dave of forty years ago. When did he become such a meticulous d
resser?
“Your play, Al.” Steven nudged me.
“What’s the matter? You okay, sweetheart?” Dad asked me. “You went kinda pale there.”
“I’m okay Dad.” I played my ace and took the trick.
The unlisted landline rang. Elliott picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Yes, Detective Schmidt, we’re all still here.” Elliott hung up. “He says he’ll be here in a few hours.”
I wondered what was up, but I didn’t get so distracted as to prevent my winning several hands. After sundown, my fellow card players lost interest, having failed to win for most of the afternoon.
Schmidt arrived as we were beginning the evening cocktail hour lounging on down sofas and chairs in front of the crackling flames in the fireplace.
“We got’em. They were holed up in Albany.” Schmidt announced as he removed his heavy wool coat.
Elliott slammed his glass on the side table, and jumped up from his armchair. “Let me take your coat. Detective. Please have a seat.” Elliott waved to an empty armchair that sat next to the welcoming warmth of the fireplace and carried the Detective’s coat to the front hall closet.
Detective Schmidt addressed me, “I brought photos for you and your mother to ID, but I’d rather you looked at a line up.”
“Detective, my wife has been through an awful lot,” Dad said. “She’s sleeping now, and I’d like for her to rest for at least another day or two before we return to the city. The media is liable to be difficult to deal with.”
“I can show her photos. What do you say to Alexandra accompanying me in the morning?”
“I could go along, Dad,” Steven said. “We could go back to school tomorrow.”
Dad nodded.
I was more than willing to look at a line up and anything else I could do to bring them to justice for what they had done to Mom, and especially for shooting Kira.
“May I offer you a cocktail?” Elliott said to the detective.
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