The Wharf

by Carol Ericson

  “I’m sure you will.” Ryan applied pressure to the small of her back and she turned and walked out of the office.

  After they had shut the lieutenant’s office door and had walked halfway down the hallway, Kacie sputtered, “What a jackass.”

  Curtis patted her arm. “That’s the lieutenant for you. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Keep us posted, John. You know where to find me.”

  “You keep us posted, Brody. This whole thing is getting crazy.”

  Ryan jabbed the button for the elevator. “At least we know what the guy looks like—sort of. I think that hotel needs to upgrade its security cameras.”

  “They need to upgrade their entire security system. At the rate I’m going there, they’ll have to comp me a full year’s stay.”

  He held a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t give Healy any ideas. He’ll probably accuse you of trying to score freebies all over the city next.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

  The elevator doors opened on the smiling face of Ray Lopez. He held up his hand in greeting. “How’s the book coming along, Kacie?”

  “Just fine, thanks.”

  “Call me if you want a coauthor.”

  When they got in the elevator, Ryan mumbled, “Talk about jackasses.”

  When they reached their floor, they opened the door to the records area.

  A young blonde with a bright smile greeted them. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  Ryan’s eyebrows met over his nose. “Where’s Marie?”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard?” The woman looked both ways as if the boxes surrounding her had ears. “Marie’s gone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blood thrumming against his eardrums, Ryan clawed at the mesh screen dividing him from this woman who wasn’t Marie.

  “What are you talking about? Where is she?”

  The woman took a step back. “We don’t know. Who are you again?”

  Ryan fumbled in his pocket and whipped out his badge and ID. “I’m Ryan Brody, chief of police in Crestview. Detective Sean Brody’s my brother.”

  “Okay, I know you. Anyway, Marie took off. Nobody knows where she went.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Wait a minute.” Kacie tapped her fingertips against his forearm. “You mean she went on vacation?”

  Ryan blinked. Maybe it was as simple as that. Just because Marie had been paranoid didn’t mean she’d disappeared.

  He took a deep breath. “Is that it? She took some time off?”

  “I guess so, but she didn’t put it on the calendar and she didn’t tell anyone.”

  “What do you mean?” Ryan rattled the cage. “Why are you talking in riddles?”

  The woman’s skin flushed red. “I don’t mean to, sir, but you’re not letting me get a word in edgewise.”

  “She’s right.” Kacie squeezed his arm. “Let her start from the beginning. What’s your name?”

  The woman flicked her eyes toward Kacie and licked her lips. “My name’s Sheila Moriarty. I’m filling in for Marie. Yesterday she just didn’t show up for work.”

  Ryan opened his mouth, but Kacie pinched his side and he shut it.

  “She’s usually prompt, so when she still wasn’t here by nine o’clock, someone called her at home and on her cell. She didn’t answer. One of the officers dropped by her place and it looked like she’d taken off in a hurry. Her closet doors and dresser drawers were standing open. No purse, no phone, no car.”

  “No signs of violence?” Ryan finally uncurled his fingers from the mesh, but his heart was still pounding against his rib cage.

  “Officer Reynolds didn’t see any signs of violence. It looks like she left in a hurry.”

  “Did any neighbors see her leave?”

  “You know what?” She grabbed a card and scribbled on it. “I’m going to give you Officer Reynolds’s info, and you can ask him all the questions you want. In the meantime, did you come down here for something specific, Chief Brody?”

  “Yeah, I came down here to talk to Marie, but since that’s not possible, I want to look at anything you have about the on-the-job shooting of a Detective Joe Rigoletto.”

  Sheila wrinkled her nose as she typed on her keyboard. “That doesn’t sound familiar to me. When did that happen?”

  “About twenty years ago.”

  Sheila stopped typing and dropped her jaw. “I don’t think I’m going to find that.”

  “It hasn’t been filed electronically yet, but you probably still have the paper files.”

  “I have no idea how I’d find that.” She spread her hands.

  “I know Marie’s system. Do you want to let us in and we’ll give it a shot ourselves?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Look, nobody has to know, and I won’t even sign your log.”

  Sheila chewed her bottom lip and then hit the buzzer that unlocked the cage. “I guess so. Just don’t tell anyone I let you back here to roam around.”

  “Believe me, we’re not telling anyone.”

  He placed a hand on Kacie’s back and propelled her through the door, just in case Sheila changed her mind.

  When they reached the dusty boxes in the back of the room, Kacie whispered, “What do you think happened to Marie?”

  “I hope her paranoia got the best of her and she took off for parts unknown for a while. I just wish she would’ve gone through proper channels. She would’ve attracted less attention that way.”

  “Maybe something spooked her.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.” He knocked on one of the boxes on the shelf. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  They took down the files for the year they were looking for and began reading the labels aloud to each other. Then they started spilling into the next year.

  Kacie stood on her tiptoes to peer at a box on the top shelf. “Maybe they don’t keep the officer-involved shootings or deaths down here.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why don’t you ask John? He seems like someone you can trust.”

  He tugged on his earlobe and narrowed his eyes. “We’re in a police station. Are you implying we can’t trust anyone here?”

  “Marie didn’t.”

  He ran his eye across the shelf where the file on Rigoletto’s shooting should’ve been. Had someone beat them to it? And if so, why?

  Why did nothing seem to add up anymore?

  “Another dead end. Seems like we’re running into a lot of those.”

  Kacie took his hand. “Maybe someone up there is trying to tell us something—maybe it’s our parents trying to tell us something.”

  “Are you saying you want to give up on the story?”

  She glanced down at their entwined hands. “When I wrote that book on Walker and began to realize he had killed his family, I was scared of facing such evil day after day when I interviewed him. I was afraid of tricking him, and I was afraid of what he’d do when he discovered I’d tricked him. But Walker was a known threat, and he was locked up. I don’t know what, or who, I’m facing here.”

  He pointed to the ceiling. “You have a picture of the man who tried to abduct you.”

  “And it means nothing. I really don’t know if I’d even recognize that face in a crowd. There are other forces at work here.” She waved her arm around the records room. “Forces we can’t see.”

  He pulled her close. “I’ll be here to protect you, Kacie. You know that, right?”

  “I knew it once, before you discovered my true colors.”

  Did she blame him for her kidnapping? He tightened his hold on her. “I should’ve never sent you back to your room alone that morning.”

  Her spine stiffened, and she drew back from his embrace. “That wasn’t your fault, Ryan. You know how I got in trouble that morning? I put myself there with my lies. I’m surprised you even came back to check on me. I didn’t deserve it. I came into this project with the intent
of turning the tables on the sons of Joseph Brody.”

  “But it didn’t work out that way. You were open enough to see the truth.”

  “It didn’t work out that way because I wasn’t counting on falling for one of the sons of Joseph Brody.”

  Did she think she had to tell him that so he wouldn’t believe the two nights they’d spent together were a sham?

  He brushed the hair from the nape of her neck. “It was all too fast between us.”

  “And because of that you think it wasn’t real?”

  He knew it was real on his end, but he wasn’t going to open himself up to getting used. “One thing at a time, Kacie. We mixed adrenaline and lust into a high-octane cocktail that exploded in our faces.”

  Sheila called from the front. “Are you two done back there? I’m ready to lock up for lunch.”

  Ryan shrugged and said, close to Kacie’s ear, “I guess we’re done.”

  She pivoted out of his arms and strode toward the front of the cage. She smiled brightly at Sheila. “That’s it for us.”

  “Didn’t find anything?” Sheila’s head swiveled from left to right, looking at their empty hands.

  “We saw the area where the case files should’ve been, but they weren’t there.”

  “Well, that’s some old stuff.” She jingled her keys in her palm as if to remind them she wanted them out.

  “Thanks anyway, Sheila—and sorry for coming on so strong before. Marie Giardano’s a friend of mine, and I’m a little worried about her sudden departure.”

  “I understand. We’re all a little worried, but it looks like she left of her own free will.”

  As they walked out of the room, Ryan leaned toward Kacie. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  When the elevator doors closed, Kacie asked, “Are you going to talk to John Curtis about any of this? Rigoletto? Marie?”

  “I was just thinking we should invite John to lunch.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  They located John in the squad room and extended their invitation.

  “Let me wrap up a few things,” he said, “and I’ll meet you at the sandwich place down the street. As for Marie, I think she’s okay.”

  Later at the sandwich shop, they found a table. They picked up lunch and a couple of fountain drinks while they waited for John.

  Ryan stretched his legs in front of him. “Is your book a complete shambles now?”

  “It’s not moving in a linear progression, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Did the other one?”

  “It was different.” She chewed on her straw. “The case had already been solved. Walker had been tried and convicted by the time I wrote the book.”

  “But didn’t you start that book believing he was innocent?”

  “I was certainly willing to give him a chance. His defense seemed so compelling.”

  “How soon after you met him did you begin to doubt him?”

  “It wasn’t meeting him so much, because he’s charming and convincing. It was reviewing the evidence. While the media were busy buying into Walker’s B.S., they neglected to reveal some of the true facts of the case. I looked at those facts, and it became pretty clear to me. Then the book became more of a psychological study of Walker.”

  “The so-called facts of this case are a lot less compelling, aren’t they?”

  “That’s just it—there are very few facts. Plaster in your father’s car to make an arm cast? So what? He maintained it was planted, didn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “And there was no proof it wasn’t—no receipts indicating your father purchased the materials, no witnesses putting your father near these victims. Nothing was there really, except the fact that the killer was communicating with your father and then the kicker, that your father jumped from the bridge.”

  “Yep, that was the kicker.”

  “Can anyone join this party?” Curtis hovered over the table, balancing a tray with a sandwich and a bag of chips on it.

  Ryan kicked out the chair across from him. “Have a seat, John. We were just talking about my father’s case.”

  “What else?” He sat down, unloaded his food from the tray and then twisted around to put the tray on another table.

  “First off, what do you know about Marie’s disappearance?”

  “Not much, but she was dropping some pretty broad hints the day before she left. I think she was trying to tell me not to worry.”

  “Is this going to hurt her retirement?” Ryan shook the ice in his cup.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Do you think she left because of us? Because of this book?”

  “I wouldn’t say you in particular, but it’s been building. Started with Sean’s case. You know, our own fingerprint guy was the Alphabet Killer.”

  “Yeah, I knew that.”

  “Then your other brother Eric was out here looking into another set of murders. Nothing to do with your father’s case, but he was snooping around in Records, too.”

  “Speaking of snooping around in Records, Kacie and I just went down there to look up the files on Dad’s partner.”

  “Stillwell?”

  “No, the one before that. Rigoletto.”

  “Killed in the line of duty.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Why are you looking into that, Brody?”

  “That incident occurred about six months before everything started going downhill for my father.”

  “And you think they’re related?”

  “You can’t deny it’s a coincidence. Two partners dead within six months of each other.”

  “It happens, Brody. Maybe not in the small town of Crestview, but in the big city it’s not uncommon. Lotta stress here.”

  “That’s bull. Stress maybe, but death? Even for a big department like San Francisco’s, deaths on the job aren’t that common. I know that was before your time, but did you ever hear anything about it?”

  “Detective Joseph Rigoletto’s picture is hanging on the wall at the station, but I don’t know much more about it. I think his widow’s still alive and living in the city. Marie knew her.”

  “Who didn’t Marie know?” Kacie balled up the paper from her sandwich and tossed it onto her tray.

  “That’s the point.” Curtis made a gun with his fingers. “She knows too much and maybe that’s why she took off.”

  “Will you help me look her up?”

  “Do you mean, will I use the department’s resources to locate her for you? Sure. You’re my partner’s brother. When’s he coming back to work, anyway?”

  “When he’s good and ready.”

  Back at the station, it didn’t take Curtis long to locate Joe Rigoletto’s widow. He jotted down her address on a pink message slip and slid it across the desk to Ryan. “You didn’t get this from me.”

  They drove south out of the city to Mrs. Rigoletto’s home in the suburbs.

  When they pulled to the curb across the street from the neat house, Kacie put a hand on his arm. “Do you think we should burst in on her unannounced? She’s elderly, isn’t she? Wasn’t Rigoletto older than your father?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to give Mrs. Rigoletto a chance to suddenly head out of town on a much-needed vacation.”

  “Okay, I’ll follow your lead.”

  Ryan knocked on the door. He could tell they were being looked over from the vantage point of the peephole.

  He flipped out his badge and held it up. “Mrs. Rigoletto? I’m Chief Ryan Brody. I’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

  The dead bolt clicked and he blew out a breath.

  When the door swung open, he raised his eyebrows. Either Mrs. Rigoletto had aged incredibly well, or Rigoletto had married a much younger woman.

  “Mrs. Rigoletto?”

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “No, I’m her daughter, Rebecca Leeds.”

  “I’m Ryan Brody. This is Kacie Manning. We’d like to ask your mother a few question
s about your father’s incident.”

  “Brody...?” Rebecca grasped the doorjamb. “I know who you are. Do you really think delving into my father’s death is going to help your father?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t you ever wonder how it came about that the two partners were both dead within six months of each other?”

  “I was in my late twenties when it happened. Dad’s death destroyed Mom, and then when your father committed suicide, she fell apart even more.”

  “Happened to a lot of people.”

  “I’d met your dad once or twice. He was a great guy. My father always sang his praises. Said he could retire with ease, knowing detectives like Joey Brody were taking his place.”

  “Does your mother remember much about your father’s murder? I tried to find the case file, but I couldn’t locate it.”

  “Does she remember much about my father’s murder?” Rebecca widened the door and ushered them into the house. “Follow me.”

  They trailed after her into an airy, open kitchen where a woman with bright red hair sat at a table with a pair of scissors and magazines spread before her.

  “Ma, this is Ryan Brody, Joey Brody’s son. Do you remember Joey Brody?”

  Mrs. Rigoletto turned a pair of faded blue eyes on him and arched one eyebrow. “Is he the plumber? Because that faucet is still leaking. Or is it a bunker?”

  “Is what a bunker?” Rebecca shrugged at Ryan.

  “The thing that’s leaking.”

  “It’s called a faucet, Ma. You were right the first time. Faucet.”

  “Are you the plumber?”

  Rebecca rubbed her mother’s back. “No, I’m Rebecca, your daughter.”

  “Tell the plumber to fix the bunker.”

  Rebecca turned the page of one of the magazines. “These are pretty dresses. Cut these out, Ma.”

  The scissors began to slice through the glossy pages, and Ryan shook his head at Kacie, whose wide eyes glimmered with tears.

  Rebecca stepped away from her mother and pulled out a couple of stools at the kitchen island. “My mom can’t remember what a faucet is. She’s not going to remember what happened twenty years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca.”

  “Yeah, life’s a bitch and then you get Alzheimer’s or...worse. Why are you looking into this now?”