Joe nodded. “I haven’t seen them in a while, though. I heard one overdosed. I don’t know. Not my business.”
“Would you recognize them?” Donley asked.
Joe shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m like the three monkeys. You know, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.”
“Car unlocked?” Donley asked Ross.
“In this neighborhood?” Ross tossed him the keys, and Donley hurried around the corner to the front of the building.
Joe looked uncomfortable alone with Ross. After a beat he said, “I’m not into any of this stuff. I don’t even watch the videos. I got three kids of my own at home. I’m just a businessman.”
Ross rolled his eyes. “Right, Joe, and I’m a vampire.”
Joe became defiant. “This wasn’t my career choice, Detective, but we had to leave Iran, and you do what you do to survive. My son wants to be a doctor. My daughter is an honor student in engineering at Berkeley. I’m giving them a better life.” He waved toward the room. “You think this is all weirdos and freaks, but you’d be surprised who comes here at night when it’s dark and no one can see them. You would be damned surprised. In the morning, they put on their suits and ties and go off to their downtown offices with their secretaries and pots of coffee. But at night, they come here.”
Donley returned with his briefcase and pulled out the files Ross had given him documenting the deaths of Jerry Burke and Manuel Rivera. He opened both and showed Joe the photographs. Joe held them up, considering the faces. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s them.” He handed the photos back to Donley.
“Is this the only room?” Ross asked.
“You want to rent it, Detective? I’ll make you a good deal.”
“Nah, I like a room with a view.”
“Do you know what vampires and lawyers have in common?” Joe asked Donley.
Donley sighed—another lawyer joke.
“They both bleed you dry but never leave you satisfied.”
Donley smiled. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet, Joe. I don’t start drinking blood until midnight, but I might make an exception for you.”
Donley and Ross leaned against his Cadillac, eating Philly cheesesteaks and juggling Cokes while watching the night world pass. After experiencing the nightclub in the alley that smelled like urine, and watching young men and women parade past with hair more shades of color than a carpet factory, and bodies glistening with enough piercings to open a hardware store, Donley felt like he was a hundred years old.
Ross spoke through a bite of his sandwich. “So, Burke and Rivera were making videos with Bennet. We have ourselves a connection and a motive.”
“Blackmail,” Donley said. “Somebody got caught and didn’t like it.”
“It also gives us a connecting thread to Connor. He had all three files open, and he screwed up the evidence. We’re making good progress. I’ve had worse days.” When Donley didn’t respond, Ross asked, “Something else eating at you?”
“Something that Devine said. He said his father-in-law played golf with the governor, Augustus Ramsey. Why would the governor go to bat for a pedophile? Seems he’d run fast and far.”
“Because money talks in politics, and August Ramsey is so crooked, he couldn’t put on a straight-leg pair of jeans. I’m not surprised he’d bend the rules for a potentially wealthy contributor to the Ramsey political campaign, especially for his son.”
“Maybe, but when I met with St. Claire about the plea, she wasn’t the same fire and brimstone she’d been up to this point, either.”
“I’m not following.”
Donley shook his head. “The plea wasn’t her idea. I’m sure of that. She wasn’t happy being the messenger.”
“You think it came from Gil Ramsey?”
“Had to. She couldn’t do it without his blessing. But I can’t figure out why, and I’m not buying the argument that Ramsey just wants to get out of Dodge unscathed. Twenty-five years to life with a recommendation of twenty-five and parole after twenty is a hell of a concession, especially with a match of Father Tom’s blood type.”
“I agree. Your guy’s got courage, I’ll give him that,” Ross said.
“I can’t win, Ross.”
“What?”
“The motion. I’ve done the research. I can’t win. The evidence will come in under the case law. It might have been illegally seized, but they would have found it eventually. Trimble is going to have to let it in.”
“Then he lets it in. They still have to prove it to a jury, and they still won’t have a motive. All you need to do is show a reasonable doubt.”
“It’s a hell of a gamble.”
“It always is when they’re talking murder one. Look, this thing is a marathon, not a sprint. You lose that motion, we press on.”
“And an innocent man is put to death.”
“Not because of anything you did, Peter. You won’t have Father Martin’s blood on your hands; the State will. You’re defending him, not sentencing him.”
It didn’t feel that way.
Ross walked around the hood and removed a parking ticket stuck beneath the windshield wiper. He opened the driver’s-side door and threw the ticket into the backseat. “Tomorrow, maybe we pay old Augustus Ramsey a visit and ask him about Jack Devine. He won’t talk, but we can rattle some chains, let him know we know he’s pardoning pedophiles. That won’t go over well for his son’s political future. And it might also be time to give Aileen O’Malley a call and have a heart-to-heart with her.”
“Who’s she?”
“Connor’s lieutenant. We worked homicide together, back in the day. She might want to bring Connor in for a chat. I’ll pick you up. You like cinnamon rolls?”
Donley pulled open the passenger door. “If I keep eating with you, I’m going to need to go on a diet.”
“Humor a condemned man. I only have a few more days left before the new year, and then I’m eating carrots and broccoli.”
Chapter 19
Kim greeted Donley at the door with a hug and warm kiss. Dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans, she never looked more beautiful. He followed her into the living room and detected the smell of something spicy coming from the kitchen.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “I made lasagna.”
Donley smiled, hoping his breath didn’t smell like Philly cheesesteak. “Starved. Is Benny asleep?”
“God, no. They’ve been playing for the past two hours.”
“Simeon’s awake?”
She nodded. “They’re in the bedroom. He’s really good with Benny, and he’s a nice young man. Why don’t you go in and get Benny ready for bed?”
Donley walked into the bedroom. Before Benny was born, they’d painted the walls a bright yellow and trimmed it with a border of Noah’s ark animals. Danny Simeon was reading Benny a children’s book. Benny looked up from the bed and smiled when Donley entered the room.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, Ben.”
“Daddy done working?” he asked.
“Daddy’s done working.” He picked up his son and hugged and kissed him.
Benny squirmed. “Put me down.”
It was a game they played. “Put you down?” Donley held him upside-down by his ankles. Benny squealed. “Who loves you, Benny? Who loves you?”
“Daddy! Daddy!”
Donley turned him right side up and lowered him back onto the bed. He shook hands with Simeon and reintroduced himself. “I hear you’re a pretty good babysitter.”
Simeon smiled. He looked better than he had in his room at the back of the restaurant, though he still appeared worn out and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. “This kid’s smart. I’d get him into computers if I were you. They’re going to be the wave of the future.”
“You think so? Pretty expensive.”
“Trust me. Every home in America is going to have one. They’ll be turning on your lights and televisions automatically. You let me school him, and he’ll be teaching the other k
ids in his day care how to program.”
“I might take you up on that.” Donley changed subjects. “I’d like to talk to you about a few things.”
Simeon sat up, grimaced, and took a second to let the pain pass. Then he said, “Shoot. Anything you want.”
“Let me take care of Dad duty first. Then we’ll talk.” He picked up Benny. “Let’s go, Ben. Bedtime.”
Benny resisted, but the struggle was short-lived. Donley took Benny to his and Kim’s bedroom, where Kim had set up the portable crib. After reading Benny Go, Dog. Go!, Donley put him in the crib and got him settled. Then he went to talk to Simeon. He pulled the plastic crate they used to store toys close to the bed and sat.
“How’s Father Tom doing?” Simeon asked.
It felt like weeks had passed, but Donley realized Simeon did not know Father Martin had been beaten and was in the hospital. Donley leaned his elbows on his knees and picked at his fingernails. “Father Tom’s in the hospital. It’s a long story, but basically, some guys in jail did a pretty good number on him.”
“Is he going to make it?”
“Yeah, he’ll be OK, but he’ll be there a couple more days.”
Simeon’s face contorted. “This is all screwed up.”
Donley nodded. “You feel up to talking? How’re the ribs?”
“Sore.”
“I need to establish Father Tom’s whereabouts that night.”
“You need an alibi? I’m your man.”
“Father Tom told me he was in his office between seven and nine that night, paying bills. Can you verify that?”
“Absolutely.”
“What I mean is, did you see him? Talk with him? Can you place him in that office during those two hours?”
Simeon nodded. “I brought Father T a burger and fries right around seven forty-five, eight o’clock.”
“You remember that for certain?”
“I walk down the street to Burger King around seven thirty, after I check in with him for the night. I get him a number six: Whopper, fries, and a chocolate shake. That’s all the man ever eats. I get back to the office, like I said, near eight, and we eat together. Then I go to the dorm, I’d say eight thirty, to keep an eye on the residents and work on the computer.”
“That’s the computer in the back of the dormitory?”
“It will be if I ever get to finish it—a kick-ass computer, too.”
Donley smiled. “Father Tom said he checked on the dormitory before going to lock up. He says he spent about ten minutes there.”
“Father T came down to the dormitory at nine ten exactly.”
“How can you be so specific?”
“Because he stalls ten minutes every night before closing the front doors; you can set your watch by him. Like I said, the man is a creature of habit.”
“I take it he wasn’t covered in blood when you saw him?”
“What? No.”
“When’s the next time you saw him?”
“I heard the sirens and went into the hall. The police were already coming up the stairs. Father T was in the recreation room with his back to the door. He was on his knees, hunched over, holding Bennet. Next thing I know, I’m up against the wall.”
“What time was that?” Donley asked.
“Maybe nine twenty, nine twenty-five.”
“Can you be more certain?”
Simeon shook his head and grimaced, holding his side for a moment. “I don’t think so. Things got crazy after that.”
Donley had just narrowed Father Tom’s time alone from over two hours to about twenty minutes, maybe less. Still, it might not be enough.
“OK, so Father Tom came to the dormitory at nine ten. How long did he stay?”
Simeon thought for a moment. “Just a few minutes. We pulled the fire gag on a new kid.”
“Fire gag?”
“You can’t smoke in the shelter. Sometimes the new ones hide a cigarette or two. They think I’m one of them. Like I said, I was preoccupied with the computer and probably wasn’t paying attention. This red-haired kid was sitting by the window smoking—”
Donley sat up. “Red-haired kid?”
“Yeah.”
“Shaved on one side, earring in his nose, black T-shirt, plaid shirt?”
“You know him?” Simeon asked.
Donley stood. His heart raced. “He was there that night? You’re certain of it?”
“I checked him in.”
“And you’ve never seen him there before? He’s never been to the shelter before that night?”
“First time that I know of. We don’t get the punks too much.”
“Punks?”
“Punk rockers.”
The kid Ross and Donley had found at the shelter had lied. He’d been there that night. Donley was certain he’d just figured out how the killer got in the recreation-room door. He tried not to rush his questions, to proceed deliberately. He needed evidence. He needed to prove the red-haired kid had been at the shelter that night. “Father Martin says there’s a log-in sheet where he keeps track of everyone who comes to the shelter.”
Simeon nodded. “We log in everyone and everything they have. It’s all locked in a locker. I logged them in that night.”
“He’d be in it?” Donley asked. “The sheet would show the red-haired kid’s name?”
“He wouldn’t give his name. Just Red. Father T ordinarily insists on their names, but he told me to let it slide because it was the kid’s first night.”
“What about Bennet? Did you log him in, too?”
“Earlier, yeah. But he left.”
“What did he bring to the shelter? Do you remember?”
Simeon shrugged. “Not really. I’d say cigs and stuff.”
“You don’t remember a videotape?”
Simeon grimaced. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Could he have put one in the locker without you knowing?”
Simeon gave this some thought. “Yeah. I mean, it’s possible. I’m not watching them the whole time. I ask what they have and write it down. He could have just slipped it in the locker without declaring it.”
Donley fought to remain calm. “I went back to the shelter to try and find Father Martin’s logbook. It wasn’t there.”
“That’s because I took it.”
Donley stopped pacing. “You have it?”
“When I saw the police lights, I went down the hall. I saw the flashlights coming up the stairs and I hid in Father Tom’s office, and I remembered the book, the Bible. Father Tom puts the sign-in log in there. I took it and shoved it in my pants pocket and locked the door when I stepped out. I had it at the hospital when Connor showed up. It’s in my room back at the restaurant. I put it under the mattress.”
Donley smiled. He thought of calling Frank Ross. “Why’d you take it?”
“Father T once said he didn’t want the police getting it. It’s confidential. Some of the kids bring in some shit with them, drugs, you know. We don’t ask questions. Rule is they can’t use at the shelter and they can’t be high when they check in. We just lock it in the lockers. Connor wants the book. I can tell you that.”
Donley stood. “That’s why he came to your hospital room Christmas Eve. He told you he wanted the book?”
“Wanted it bad,” Simeon said.
And that was why Red went back to the shelter that morning. Connor wanted the book because Red’s name would be in it, and maybe a note of a videotape attached to Andrew Bennet’s name. What better place for Bennet to store it, someplace he didn’t think Connor could reach?
“When Bennet left, did he take what he’d put in his locker?”
Simeon shook his head. “He didn’t ask me, and I know he didn’t ask Father T because he was surprised Bennet had left.”
“How would I find Red? How would I find a kid like that?”
Simeon started to get out of bed, then stopped, grimacing. “I can show you some spots he might hang,” he said, sounding out of breath.
&
nbsp; Donley put out a hand and glanced at the door. “No can do, Danny. You’re not well enough yet, and my wife is tougher than I am. I can’t tell her where I’m going.”
Simeon thought for a moment. “Punks hang together. They don’t usually come to the shelter . . . what’s the matter?”
Donley looked at his watch. The vampires would start venturing out in a couple of hours, but Joe said the punks had the club tonight.
The night doorman at the Chronicle sat behind a counter with three television monitors. Frank Ross handed him a business card and told him he had an appointment to see Sam Goldman. The man used the phone to seek clearance before releasing the elevator in the lobby.
Frank Ross had been on his way home when Goldman called on the portable phone. He advised Ross that he was working on a late-breaking story and asked Ross to come by the newspaper office.
Goldman met Ross on the third floor in a secure lobby. With rich, dark paneling and stained glass, it looked more like a church vestibule.
“So, tell me what couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” Ross said.
“Today’s news is old tomorrow. You know that,” Goldman said, leading Ross down a red-tile hallway lined with plaques commemorating awards won by the newspaper. Cubicles and filing cabinets cluttered every available inch of the newsroom. Despite the late hour, reporters faced terminals, keyboards clattering, while they talked into headsets. Ross followed Goldman into a conference room with framed photographs of Chronicle reporters who had won the Pulitzer Prize. At the front of the room, a cluttered bulletin board displayed the front pages of local and national newspapers. Someone had marked up the pages with red ink.
“Things move fast around here,” Ross said.
“This? This is nothing,” Goldman said. “You ought to be around at four in the afternoon when everyone is filing stories. Right now, we’re trying to verify a report on a sniper taking shots at cars on the 101.”
“Really? Anyone hit?”
“Thankfully not, but we have an eyewitness who says there are at least two cars with bullet holes, and the police are descending on the place like reporters to a banquet table.” Goldman closed the door. “I want to show you page one for tomorrow.” He handed Frank Ross a mock-up of the morning paper. It still had blanks, but Ross caught the headline in the middle of the page.
The 7th Canon Page 23