His gaze darted from the blue screen to Kacie’s tight face. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s been in my room.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan’s body tensed and he looked ready to tackle someone. That was what she liked about him—he was always ready.
“How do you know? Is something missing?”
“It’s my laptop.” She jabbed a finger at the blue display with the log-in prompt glowing white against it. “When my computer goes to sleep, it displays my screen saver, that picture of my parents. The log-in prompt stays there only after several incorrect log-in attempts.”
He pushed back from the table. “You’re sure?”
“That’s how I configured it, or at least that’s how the self-described computer geek in my apartment building configured it.”
“Look around. Is anything else different? Missing?”
She hopped up from the chair and took a turn around the room. Everything seemed as it was. She yanked open the dresser drawers and poked her head in the closet. She flipped on the lights in the bathroom and ran her hand along the vanity. She called over her shoulder. “I don’t see anything different.”
“Are you sure about the laptop?”
“Yes.”
“You know how computers are. They act up, have glitches.”
“Are you trying to convince me someone wasn’t in my room?”
“There’s no other evidence.”
“This isn’t a case you have to bring to the D.A., Chief Brody. I just have a feeling.”
“But you didn’t have this feeling until you saw something unexpected on your computer. Do you also have a feeling it’s Walker?”
“Maybe the warden had a talk with him, but Walker hasn’t gotten the word to his minion yet to lay off.”
“You said failed log-in attempts. So let’s say Walker’s minion was in here. Did he fail to log in to your computer?”
“Yes.” She entered her password and her folders popped up on her desktop display.
“Why would Walker want to get in to your computer?”
“Just to mess with me, Ryan. Put me on edge.”
“Do you want to call hotel security?”
“I wouldn’t know what to report. I don’t even know what this guy looks like. Walker wouldn’t send someone who stands out into a hotel. He wouldn’t get past the front desk.”
“Why don’t you check your files to make sure everything’s okay?”
She did a cursory check through her folders, which she backed up every day anyway, and again nothing was amiss.
“Okay, maybe it was a computer glitch, but next time I leave the room I’m going to put some trigger in place, a thread across the door or something.”
“Maybe you need a full-time bodyguard. Too bad my brother’s out of town.”
She looked at him through her lashes. She already had one Brody looking out for her.
Finding nothing else, they returned to the file on the suicide, reading aloud snippets of paragraphs.
Kacie tapped a pencil against the page. “It was foggy that night. I’m wondering if Cookie was closer than she claimed to be.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You know how it can get on the bridge with the fog rolling in. Sometimes you can’t see your hand in front of your face, and yet Cookie saw a man throw himself over the barrier from twenty feet away.”
“What’s your point? Why would she lie about her location?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was close enough to stop him and didn’t do anything. Then felt guilty about it later.”
“Maybe.” He folded the corner of that page and flipped to the next. “She used one of the emergency phones on the bridge to call—no cell phones back then.”
“The coast guard responded within two minutes of the call and didn’t find a thing. The police questioned Cookie and then let her slide back into oblivion. She certainly didn’t seek the limelight or her fifteen minutes of fame.”
“I wonder if she went back to hooking.” He dragged her laptop toward them. “I’m going to search for Cookie and see if she’s still in the city.”
Kacie continued to thumb through the file as Ryan worked his magic on her computer. She’d have to remember how easy it was working with a cop. They had inroads that she and her P.I. could only dream of.
“This is interesting.”
She hunched forward. “What?”
“Looks like Cookie got out of the life after my father’s death.”
“Maybe it scared her straight.”
“Really straight. She’s working as a Realtor now.”
“Good for Cookie. Is her name still Cookie?”
“She’s using her real name now, Cynthia Phelps.”
“I’m sure she sells a lot more homes with that name.” She drew her brows together and clicked her fingernail against the table.
“Why so thoughtful? Are you thinking of investing in real estate now?”
“Phelps. That name sounds familiar.”
“Maybe you saw one of her signs. They’ll make it easier to locate her.”
She snapped her fingers and lunged for the box. “Phelps—the domestic-violence case.”
She yanked the folder out of the box and smacked it against the table. Swirls of dust danced along the beams of sunlight coming through the windowpane.
She ran her finger down the first page. “Yep. Cynthia Phelps called the cops on her boyfriend, Frankie Lawson.”
“At least that explains how the file got dropped in with this one—witness in one case, complainant in the other.” Ryan stretched and then laced his fingers behind his head.
Kacie continued to skim the file. Her finger ran across the name of the arresting officer and then moved back. Her mouth fell open. “Ryan.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“Let me guess. Frankie was her pimp.”
“That may be, but there’s something else—Joseph Brody was the arresting officer.”
“What?” Ryan dropped his hands and snatched the file from her. He held the paper close to his face and swore. “What are the chances of that?”
“It’s such a coincidence. This arrest happened years before the suicide, before your father was a homicide detective.”
“Now we really have to track her down and talk to her.” He smacked the file onto the table. “I wonder if she even recognized my father as the cop who came out to her place.”
“Where did you say she works now?”
He spun the laptop around to face him. “Bay Realtors. I think we need to look at an open house today.”
* * *
KACIE LEANED FORWARD in the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, her nose almost touching the windshield. “Looks like that couple is heading out.”
“I hope they made Cookie an offer to put her in a good mood.” He slipped the key from the ignition. “She probably doesn’t want to be reminded of her past now that she has a squeaky-clean life.”
“That’s why it’s best we do this here, away from a possible husband and her squeaky-clean home.”
They approached the house, located in the Sunset District, and tapped on the open door as they crossed the threshold.
Kacie called out. “Hello?”
An attractive blonde with a neat pencil skirt and a tucked-in blouse showcasing her slim figure emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
She smiled. “Hello. Just in time for a fresh batch. Would you like one?”
“No, thank you.” Kacie stepped away from the table so Cynthia could put the plate down.
“I’ll have one.” Ryan selected a cookie from the plate and bit off half, the warm, gooey chocolate melting in his mouth.
He saw Kacie trying to catch his eye, probably to see if he recognized the significance in Cookie offering cookies, but he avoided her smirk.
“Do you prefer to look around on your own or would you like me t
o show you the place?”
“Actually, Cynthia—” Ryan plucked a napkin from the white tablecloth and dusted his fingertips “—we’re here to talk to you about something else.”
Cynthia’s eye twitched and she smoothed her skirt with nervous hands. The life clearly still haunted her.
“Who are you?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. “I’m Chief Ryan Brody. Yeah, that Brody. And this is Kacie Manning. She’s a writer doing a book on my dad. You knew my dad, didn’t you, Cynthia?”
She folded her hands in front of her, her white knuckles almost matching her cream-colored skirt. “Of course I knew Joseph Brody. He was a good man.”
“A good man who you saw jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“That’s right.” She lifted her chin. “I didn’t know it was Joey Brody at the time. If I had known, maybe I could’ve done something to stop him.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t find out it was Joseph Brody who’d jumped off the bridge until later?”
“That’s right.” Her gaze darted toward the front door as if she were planning an escape from her own open house. “The cops never even told me. I read about it along with everyone else.”
“When you found out it was Detective Brody, it must’ve been a...shock.” Kacie touched Cynthia’s arm in a sympathetic gesture.
“I was even more upset when I found out who it was.” Cynthia grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and twisted it between her fingers. “Joey Brody saved my life once. If I had known that was him on the bridge, I would’ve done anything to save his life. Anything.”
“Did the cops at the time make the connection between you and my father? Did they realize he’d arrested your pimp several years before?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “No. They didn’t know, or at least they didn’t ask me about it. When I read the story in the newspaper, I didn’t bother telling them. I was still in the life. I didn’t need to remind the cops about that.”
Kacie picked up a cookie from the plate and broke it in two, showering crumbs on the tablecloth. “What were you doing on the bridge at that time of the morning, Cynthia?”
She dropped the tablecloth and began picking at the cuticles of her manicured nails. “It wasn’t closed to pedestrians. I was just walking, like anyone else.”
“At the break of dawn? In the fog?”
“It’s not against the law.” She pulled back her shoulders and brushed the crumbs from the table into a napkin, which she then crumpled in her fist. “What do you want from me, Chief Brody? I never saw your father’s face that morning. I didn’t talk to him. He didn’t say a word. One minute there was a man on the bridge through the fog. The next, that man had hoisted himself over the ledge, like so many before him and so many since. I told you. I would’ve given my own life to save your father’s.”
Ryan took her cold hand in his and she jerked back. He rested the pad of his thumb against her racing pulse. “I don’t want anything from you, Cynthia. I just wanted to look at the woman who was the last person to see my father alive. I think my dad would’ve been pleased that it was you—someone he had helped in another life.”
Tears flooded her blue eyes, eyes that had seen too much. “Just so you know, I never believed any of that stuff about your father. He was no killer. I guess it all just got to be too much for him. Sometimes it just gets to be too much.”
“I appreciate that.” Ryan squeezed her hand. “My brothers and I don’t believe it, either, and neither does Ms. Manning. That’s what this book is all about. We’re going to clear his name.”
A commotion at the front door signaled another set of potential buyers. Cynthia whispered, “Be careful,” and she yanked her hand away from his as she greeted the newcomers.
Ryan pocketed one of Cynthia’s cards and grabbed Kacie’s elbow to steer her out the door. “Thanks, Cynthia. We’re interested and we’ll talk to our Realtor about an offer.”
When they hit the sidewalk, Kacie spun around. “What was that about?”
“Just trying to help her out. If those people think there are other interested buyers, it might light a fire under them.”
As she shook her head, the sun glinted off the copper strands in her hair. “Not that. She told us to be careful. What did she mean?”
“You heard that, too?” Ryan rubbed his knuckles across his chin. “I thought I’d imagined it.”
“Why would she say that?” Kacie paced away from him, tossed her cookie halves in the gutter and made her way back, poking her finger against his chest. “And why was she so nervous?”
“She’s a former hooker running from her past. Why wouldn’t she be nervous around a cop? Or two people showing up while she’s trying to do her job and questioning her about her old life?”
“It was more than that, Ryan, and you know it. She’s hiding something about that night—or rather, that morning.”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the car parked at the curb. “Maybe it’s like we were speculating before. She was there to jump, saw someone else jumping and had a change of heart.”
“Then later found out the person who had jumped was the cop who’d intervened in her conflict with her pimp, probably saving her life. It sounds so unlikely. Maybe he arranged to meet her there that morning.”
“What are you implying, Kacie? My father had Cookie join him at the bridge to make sure he had a witness? I don’t think he’d do that to her.”
Leaning against the car, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Is that why you’re denying the coincidences in her story? You’re afraid it’ll make your dad look cold and unfeeling?”
“I don’t know.” He ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. Cynthia was agitated. Why did she keep saying she’d have done anything to save my father?”
“Maybe he did have her meet him there to witness the jump. She agreed to help him out and then felt guilty about it. Maybe she knew why he’d called her there.” She smoothed the cotton of his T-shirt against his shoulders, and then she folded her arms over her chest. “There’s something not quite right about the whole scenario.”
He cranked his head over his shoulder to take in the for-sale sign. “We should question her again.”
“I agree, but that’s not going to happen right now while she’s showing a house. If she sees us out here waiting for her, she’ll never let that couple go.”
“Right again.” He walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. “Let’s give her some breathing room.”
Ryan didn’t have much to say on the ride back to the hotel. Throughout the conversation with Cynthia, he’d felt as if there was another subtext to her words. What had she been trying to tell him? He slid a glance at Kacie in the passenger seat. And would she be more willing to tell him if he questioned her alone?
He parked the car, and they entered the hotel elevator. When they stopped at Kacie’s floor, Ryan held the door open and said, “Do you want me to come with you to your room in case your trigger has shifted?”
Before Kacie had walked away from her room, she’d placed a toothpick against her door. He’d kept trying to tell her that anyone on a hotel hallway could knock it over without necessarily opening the door of her room, but she seemed to think the trick would work well enough.
“I can always use a little backup.”
She crooked her finger at him. He would’ve followed her anywhere. When they reached her door, she crouched down. “The toothpick is still leaning against the door.”
“Same spot? Someone could’ve noticed it and replaced it.”
“It’s in the same spot. I counted the threads of carpet from the doorjamb.”
“Where do you learn this stuff?” He held out his hand and she dropped the toothpick into his palm.
“Where anyone learns anything these days—the internet.”
“Dinner later, or are you going to stick to your room again?” He tossed the
toothpick from hand to hand, practicing his nonchalant look.
“I’m up for a working dinner—say, seven o’clock?”
A working dinner beat a pathetic table for one and a pay-per-view movie. “Lobby at seven o’clock.”
She shut the door on Ryan and the toothpick and did a quick survey of the room. Nothing was out of place, but she still felt on edge.
Maybe it was that whole interview with Cynthia Phelps. The fact that she’d already had an association with Joseph Brody and then happened to be on the bridge to witness his jump was weird enough, but add to that her jittery manner at the open house and one plus one was definitely adding up to something more than two.
She sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. She’d meant what she’d said to Ryan about a working dinner. If she kept her mind on work, it would leave less room for her emotional response to him and his hot body.
And that was all it was. He was a good-looking guy with juicy slabs of muscle. Any woman could appreciate that, but it didn’t require any action on her part. She sucked in her bottom lip and then bit it.
Stop thinking about him in that way.
She had a job to do—prove Joseph Brody’s guilt—and no sexy son or loyal friends would deter her. Both Marie Giardano and Cynthia Phelps had Joey Brody’s back, and neither one of them seemed all too pleased with her or the prospect of her book.
They knew him, or thought they knew him, and wanted to protect him. Even Daniel Walker had his defenders, and every serial killer in lockup had enjoyed marriage proposals from the outside.
Kacie stepped out of her clothes and tossed them on the closet floor. She showered and changed into a skirt to keep the dinner professional. Of course, the skirt was a flowery number that hit about midthigh.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned in front of the mirror to check the back view. She reached for the waistband when a knock on her door made her jump.
She peered through the peephole to see Ryan waving. He was taking this punctuality thing way too far.
Glancing down at her bare chest, she swept a T-shirt from the bed and pulled it over her head. She opened the door a crack. “You’re early.”
The Wharf Page 8