The Wharf

by Carol Ericson

  Ryan straddled a stool. “Kacie’s writing a book about my father. When I discovered his partner, your father, had been killed in a shoot-out six months before everything came down on my dad, I figured we needed to look into it more.”

  “You’re brave, digging into all that old stuff. I like to pack it up and put it away.” She glanced at her mother. “In some ways, the memory loss is a blessing.”

  Kacie asked, “What do you remember about that time, Rebecca?”

  “It was an ambush. They were anxious to interview a drug dealer about a couple of murders on his turf. A snitch dimed him off, and your father and mine went out to an abandoned warehouse in the Tenderloin to track him down. They didn’t even make it to the door. My father was gunned down in the street and yours took cover behind their car and returned fire, calling it in.”

  “Did the police ever make an arrest in the case?”

  “Oh yeah.” She folded her hands on the counter. “Turns out it was the snitch.”

  Kacie tilted her head. “Why’d he do it?”

  “I don’t know. Making points on the street? Maybe someone blew his cover and he had to prove himself. He didn’t share his motives with us.” Rebecca’s knuckles turned white. “I only saw him once. He pled out and we went to the courthouse for his sentencing. He had dead eyes. No emotion whatsoever.”

  Ryan clasped the back of his neck. It was a rare snitch who turned on his benefactors. “Is he still in the joint?”

  “He died in there several years ago—shanked. What goes around comes around.”

  Another death in a long line of them. Another dead end.

  Tapping the counter, Ryan said, “Sorry to bother you, Rebecca. Thanks for the info.”

  She came around the counter and swept scraps of paper from the kitchen table into her hand. “Maybe you should just let it go, Ryan. Nobody who knew Joey Brody believed for one minute he was the Phone Book Killer.”

  “He did jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “That he did.”

  Mrs. Rigoletto dropped her scissors. “Joey Brody didn’t jump off the bridge.”

  Rebecca crouched beside her mother. “Do you remember Joey Brody, Ma?”

  “Is he the plumber?” Her restless, blue-veined hands hovered above her paper-doll cutouts.

  Rebecca heaved a sigh, plucked up the scissors and shrugged at Ryan. “I’ll call the plumber.”

  Ryan knelt before Mrs. Rigoletto, who was happily brandishing her scissors again, and placed a hand on her knee. “You take care, Mrs. Rigoletto.”

  Her face crumpled for a moment, and the blue eyes seemed to focus on his face. “Joey Brody never jumped from that bridge.”

  Ryan squeezed her knee. “Goodbye.”

  When they got to the front door, Rebecca waved a hand in the direction of her mother. “Sorry about all that.”

  “Is she ever lucid?” Kacie stepped onto the porch ahead of him.

  “Occasionally. She goes in and out. More out these days.”

  Kacie took her hand. “Well, bless you for taking care of her.”

  “Oh, I’m no saint.” Rebecca laughed. “There’s a passel of Rigolettos, and we all take turns. We have a caregiver, too.”

  “Then you’re all saints. Thanks for your time.”

  Ryan waved and turned toward the street. “That’s gotta be tough. At least my mom recognized us even when she was in a drug-induced haze.”

  When they got to the car, Kacie pulled out a pad of paper and started jotting down notes.

  “Are you putting down what she told us?”

  “Every little bit helps. Detective Joe Rigoletto will have a place in this story, even if it doesn’t lead us to the truth.”

  “It doesn’t seem as if anything is leading us to the truth.”

  They drove back into the city, and as always, Ryan caught glimpses of the Golden Gate Bridge as he maneuvered the car through the city streets, cresting the hills. If those barriers on the bridge could talk...

  He parked his rental car in the lot below the hotel, and they took the elevator up to the lobby.

  As they ambled across the carpet, the hotel clerk, Michael, called to Kacie. “Ms. Manning?”

  She pivoted on the carpet and mumbled to Ryan, “Are they going to compensate me for my near-abduction by giving me the hotel?”

  “They should.”

  When they reached the counter, Ryan asked, “How’s your employee? The one who got cracked over the head?”

  “He’s doing fine, but he’s spooked.”

  “I heard he couldn’t identify his assailant.”

  “The guy was wearing a ski mask when he approached him, but he looked at the video and ID’d the guy from his clothing. Hopefully, they can get him from that.”

  “I’m glad he’s okay.” Kacie tapped the counter. “Is that why you called me over?”

  “No. Actually, someone left you a note at the front desk.”

  Ryan’s pulse picked up. “Who? Did you see him?”

  “I wasn’t working at the time. We left a message on the phone in your room, but I saw your name on the note and when I noticed you come in I thought I’d save you a trip up to your room and back down here.”

  “I appreciate it. Do you have the note?”

  He stepped back from the counter. “I have the envelope right here.” He slapped the white envelope on the counter.

  “Thanks.” Kacie swept the envelope from the polished wood. She carried it to the collection of love seats where they’d opened the package containing the doll not more than a week before.

  She sank to the edge of one of the seats and ripped the envelope open with one finger. She shook out the single piece of paper and gasped.

  “What is it?” His fingers itched to snatch it from her hand.

  “This may be the lead we’re looking for.”

  “Kacie, what is it?”

  She waved the paper at him. “Someone’s finally willing to talk, someone who may know the truth.”

  He couldn’t take it anymore. He plucked the note from her fingertips and the words danced before his eyes. I know the truth and I’m ready to tell all.

  Ryan crumpled the paper in his fist and slammed it against his knee—not at all the reaction she was expecting from him.

  “Did you read the rest of it? He wants to meet with me. He left a number.”

  “Who is this, another Duke Bannister? You’re not meeting with this person.”

  “I’m going to call him, Ryan. This is how I get a lot of my leads.”

  “A lot of your leads end up putting you in harm’s way.”

  She worked the crumpled paper from his fist and smoothed it out on her knee. “It’s a phone number. It can’t hurt to call.”

  “Let’s take this upstairs.”

  Ryan kept a firm hand on her back as they went up to her room, as if he could protect her that way from the person who’d written her the note.

  Who had written the note? Could it have been Rebecca Leeds, having had a change of heart? No, they’d just left her place. Marie Giardano?

  As soon as her room door closed, she reached for her cell phone.

  “Wait.” Ryan put out a hand. “Call on Speaker. And there’s no way you’re meeting this person alone, if that’s what he’s asking. And we’re calling the police this time.”

  “Okay, okay.” She would have agreed to any of his terms at that point. They needed some fresh information, a fresh point of view.

  With shaky fingers, she tapped in the number from the note.

  A gruff voice answered after the first ring. “Kacie?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Did he have her phone number, too? “Yes. How’d you know that?”

  “You’re the only one who has this number, Kacie. Do you want the truth? You and Brody?”

  Her gaze shifted to Ryan’s narrowed eyes. “Yes, of course. You mean the truth about Joey Brody and the real Phone Book Killer, right?”

  “That’s right, sweetheart.”
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  She hunched her shoulders. “What is it? What is the truth? Tell me now.”

  He laughed and coughed at the same time. “It ain’t that simple. I want to meet you.”

  Ryan shook his head back and forth so vigorously a lock of dark hair fell over his eye.

  “I’ll meet you, but you have to satisfy some conditions.”

  “I’m the one with the 411. Why are you calling the shots? You remind me of someone.”

  “Let me guess—your sister?”

  “I ain’t got no sister.”

  “Good. I’m not meeting you alone.”

  “Bring Brody with you. Is that what you want? He deserves the truth, too.”

  Ryan’s jaw tensed and a muscle jumped in his throat.

  “I will bring him. When and where?”

  “No time like the present. Meet me down at the wharf at eleven tonight.”

  “I met someone else at the wharf earlier this week. It didn’t end so well.”

  “Duke? He was an amateur.”

  “You knew him?”

  “I know his kind. In over his head.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I never spent a day in prison, sweetheart.”

  “Congratulations. Where are we meeting on the wharf? At the busy end. Someplace public.”

  “No. What I have to say to you and Brody is private. I’m lettin’ you bring your big, strong man with you. That should be good enough. And do I have to tell you no cops? Calling the cops will only hurt you.”

  Her eyes met Ryan’s and she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you telling me Brody’s too scared to meet with me?”

  “I’m not too scared to meet with you, but if you so much as touch Kacie, you’re a dead man.”

  “I believe you, Brody.” He hacked out a cough again. “Eleven o’clock by the submarine. There’s a nice view of the bridge from there.”

  He hung up before Ryan could respond.

  Kacie cupped the phone in her hand. “It sounds promising, doesn’t it?”

  “Why? Just because some guy calls out of the blue, seems to know what you’re working on and tells you he has information? This could be anyone, Kacie. I don’t like it.”

  “Of course you don’t like it, but it’s the way I work.”

  “And this is the way I work.” He punched a number into his own phone and said, “I need to speak to Detective John Curtis or Lieutenant Healy.”

  As he paused, she grabbed his arm. “He said no cops.”

  He held his hand over the receiver. “The cops are not going to stake out a meeting between an author and a source. I just want them to be aware of what’s going down.”

  He got Curtis on the phone and told him about the anonymous phone call. “Yeah, I have my weapon, and I’ll keep you posted.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “Nothing for now, but they might send a patrol car over if one’s in the area. Maybe they’ll just sit there as reinforcement in case he tries something.”

  “I have a good feeling about this, Ryan. I heard something in his voice.”

  “Yeah, cigarettes and hard living. Sounded a lot like Duke Bannister.”

  “With one major difference.”

  “He doesn’t have a sister?”

  “He’s never been to prison.”

  The rest of the evening dragged by, and although Ryan managed to scarf down a big meal from room service, she barely touched her pasta.

  She had instincts and she had a feeling about this one.

  When the digital clock ticked over to 10:30, she put on a pair of running shoes and yanked a hooded sweatshirt from the hook by the door. “I’m ready.”

  “We’re about a ten-minute walk from the sub. Relax.”

  “Impossible.” She bounced on the edge of the bed.

  Ryan knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. “I need to get back to Crestview in a few days. When I go, I want you to leave this alone.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She’d almost forgotten he had a job to get back to. She’d almost forgotten he had another life beyond this city, beyond this hotel, beyond this case.

  “I can’t leave it alone, Ryan.” She curled her hands around his biceps. “I’m writing this book.”

  “When you started writing the book, you had no idea it would lead to dead bodies, disappearances and your own kidnapping. It’s a good thing I was here through all of that, but I can’t be here forever.”

  “You mean you can’t be with me forever.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” He put his hands around her waist. “I can’t say what’s going to happen between us, but if anything does, it’s going to have to be away from all this. It’s the only way to tell if it’s for real.”

  “I know what’s real, Ryan Brody. My feelings for you are real.” She rested her cheek on top of his hair. “Are you telling me there can be no us as long as I’m working on this book?”

  “I don’t know, Kacie.” He kissed her and whispered in her ear. “It’s time to go.”

  They walked to the wharf hand in hand. Was he right? Did the feelings they had for each other now exist in some alternate reality where fear and danger fueled their attraction? Would they have to step away from the fire to see the truth?

  They crossed the street to the wharf and turned left, toward the submarine. A cop car crawled down the street and Kacie poked Ryan in the ribs. “Do you think that’s our backup?”

  “Possibly.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I’ve got our first line of defense right here.”

  “I’m hoping it won’t come to that. He’ll give us the info we’ve been waiting for and slither back under his rock.”

  “Don’t count on it.” He squeezed her hand, but it didn’t soften his words.

  Their steps slowed as they approached the closed ticket counter for the submarine. Ryan turned his back to the counter, his posture erect and alert.

  A man climbed the steps to the walkway. “You made it.”

  “We’re here. Now, what do you have for us?” Kacie took a step forward at the same time the man stepped under the circle of light from the lamp hanging above his head.

  “Stop.” Ryan grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Don’t you recognize him, Kacie? He’s the man who tried to abduct you.”

  Kacie stumbled back against Ryan’s chest as she squinted across the darkness—same height, same prominent nose, same gray hair.

  Her heart pounded. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Guilty as charged.” The man spread his arms wide. “But I can explain.”

  Ryan drew his gun from his pocket and released the safety with a click. “You’d better start explaining right now.”

  “I just wanted to talk to you, Kacie.”

  “And that’s the method you chose? Drugging me? Carrying me off in my pajamas?”

  “It seemed like a good plan at the time. I had a car waiting by the side of the hotel. I was just going to whisk you away for a private meeting, a little one-on-one time.”

  “Why? Why all this scheming?”

  “I figured if I told you the truth, you’d never agree to meet me.”

  “That you had information for me? Why wouldn’t I agree to meet you?”

  “It’s more than that, sweetheart.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “What’s the truth? Let’s hear it.” Ryan had taken a step forward, shielding her body with his.

  “The truth? I’m your father, Kacie. I’m Russ Langford. Layla French was my girl. She had my daughter on February fourteenth—Kacie Louise. ‘Louise’ after my mother.”

  Her body stiffened as the truth of his words hit her. “Why now? Why are you contacting me now and what do you have to do with the Brody case?”

  “The Brody case is my case.”

  Ryan waved his gun. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Kacie, I’m your father and I’m the Phone Book Killer.”

  Cha
pter Fifteen

  His words roared in her ears and seemed to echo up and down the wharf. Then she laughed, a high-pitched giggle that frightened her as much as his proclamation had.

  Ryan wound his arm around her waist as if to hold her up.

  He growled at the man. “What are you talking about? Your ex was one of the Phone Book Killer’s victims.”

  “The first and the only one who mattered.”

  “Wh-what are you saying? You killed my mother?”

  “She’d left me and had taken you with her.”

  “You abused her.”

  Ryan’s arm tightened around Kacie’s waist.

  “That’s what they called it, but what we had was explosive.” He shrugged. “We lost control sometimes.”

  “You lost control.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ryan squared his shoulders. “Are you saying you killed Layla French, and then someone else killed the others, and because the M.O. was the same, Layla’s murder was tied to the others?”

  “No, Brody. I’m saying I was the Phone Book Killer. I killed Layla, and then I killed the others to cover the motive. After Layla’s murder, the cops were trying to find me in Ohio. I killed the others to get them off my trail.”

  “You killed other people just to cover one crime?” Her stomach flipped and she felt like vomiting.

  “It’s not like I hadn’t done it before. There were a few people in Ohio I had to get rid of.”

  Kacie gagged and covered her mouth.

  “That’s one of the reasons Layla left me. She had her suspicions.”

  Ryan snorted. “So all that bull about true love is just that. You came after Layla because you were afraid she’d rat you out.”

  “There was that.”

  “And the notes to my father? The kidnapping of my brother? Why did you go through all that?”

  He pushed his hands forward. “I didn’t.”

  “Liar. The Phone Book Killer contacted my father when he started investigating the second murder.”

  “It wasn’t me. I told you. I’ve never been to prison, and that’s why. I always kept a low profile. I’d never contact a cop like that.”

  “You’re saying some random person started sending those notes? And what about the kidnapping?”

  “I never touched your brother. Why would I do that?”