Dead Drop: A Girl's Guide to Homicide

by D. A. Brown

  Once past Portland, she cranked up the engine and pushed it over eighty. It still wasn’t fast enough, the memories of the last few weeks coming in torrents. It wasn’t until she’d traveled over four hundred miles, that she realized the inside of her helmet was soaked with sweat.

  She arrived in Tiberon shortly before one am and pulled onto Beach Road, where she could see her parents’ home perched on Corinthian Island across Belvedere Cove.The lights were on in the living room, a sure sign that her father was still up, reading. The front porch light glowed as though it was powered by a thousand fireflies. Sophia took off her helmet and balanced it on her thigh.

  Not only had her father hated that she was a cop, but he despised David. Perhaps he saw something in David that she didn’t. Sophia was certain it took all of his will power to not say ‘I told you so’ when David nearly killed her.

  She started the bike and put on her helmet. It was only a matter of time before someone would call the police and she’d have to badge her way out.

  She sat until her father turned out the light. He stood at the window as though he was trying to make out the figure sitting on the motorcycle, then slowly pulled the curtains closed. As he did, Sophia fought the temptation to wave, to let him know she was home.

  Sophia gunned the engine and headed onto the 101, over the Golden Gate Bridge and into the Mission district. The streets were busy with scores of people straggling out of bars. She navigated slowly.

  Sophia pulled over on San Carlos at 18th and parked the bike between two trucks. Leaning it over and on to the kickstand, she stepped to the curb and took out her phone.

  “Hello?” The voice was smokey with sleep.

  “Gideon, it’s Sophia.”

  “Jesus Christ, Beni. What time is it?”

  “It’s really late. I’m sorry. I’m outside your apartment and I need a place to crash for a few hours.”

  “Hang on.”

  Muffled voices rose and fell in the background.

  “Hey, if this isn’t a good time, I totally understand.”

  “No it’s fine. Let me get the door.”

  Sophia grabbed her helmet and pulled off her jacket. Her soaked t-shirt hung over her jeans hiding her Glock model 27.

  “Try the door. It should be open.”

  Despite the darkness, Sophia could tell the lines of the building had changed little. The soft beige exterior of the Victorian inspired apartment building, blended into the background of the neighborhood. From the high-end European cars parked on the street, the Mission was no longer a haven for the down and out.

  The lobby smelled as it always had, flooding her with bursts of memory. It had been ten years since she’d been back to this place. The carpet was new, but already worn in places. The light fixtures had been updated, as had the wallpaper and furnishings, but the smell of the place hadn’t been affected. Cedar, offset by gusts of patchouli, lingered everywhere.

  Sophia climbed a flight of stairs where Gideon stood in the doorway of his apartment.

  “Hey”

  “It’s good to see you.” Sophia wrapped her arms around his lean frame before he had a chance to close the door.

  “Come sit down. You look terrible. What’s going on?”

  Sophia sat on the couch and laid her head back. “I’m sorry to put this on you.”

  “Like I said, forget about it. How come you didn’t go to your parents’ place?”

  “We’re still not talking much.”

  “Don’t hang on to that shit for very long, girl. It’s not worth it.”

  “I just can’t deal with it right now.”

  Gideon sat down and put his arm around her. Sophia leaned against him.

  There was a thump and a terse ‘fuck’ from the bedroom.

  “You ok in there?”

  “Yep,” a deep male voice replied.

  Sophia laughed. “So you’re back to men, I see.”

  “Women are just too much work. You know that…”

  Sophia shifted on the couch. “I don’t know about that. After all, it was a man who tried to kill me. That’s pretty high maintenance.”

  “You do have me on that one.” Gideon smiled. “You want some coffee, or do you want to try and sleep?”

  “Can I just crash here for a few hours? I’ll stay out of your hair. Go back in and entertain your gentleman friend.” Sophia curled up in a ball to fit on the small couch and planted her head on a throw pillow.

  “All right. I can go in a little late tomorrow. We’ll talk in a few.”

  Gideon covered Sophia with a blanket. She was out before he closed the bedroom door behind him.

  The sound of the front door clicking shut woke her. Disoriented, she sat up and scanned the room. Gideon had upgraded the furniture. Gone were the brick and board bookcases, stuffed with books on the coming revolution. In their stead, were tasteful cherry built-ins filled with art books and hand thrown pottery. The couch was paired with two leather chairs and a large wooden coffee table, covered a few days worth of the New York Times. The sun poured through the kitchen window, sending splinters of light into the room.

  “Good morning.” Gideon appeared, his hair wet from a shower. “How about some coffee?”

  “Sure.” Sophia’s head pounded from dehydration. She swore she’d sweated out half her body weight on the ride down. She shuffled into the kitchen and hugged Gideon from behind. “I hope I didn’t ruin a romantic night.”

  “No you didn’t. This isn’t a new thing. Parker still likes his apartment and his freedom and frankly, so do I.”

  “Good for you. For the both of you.” She looked around. “Did he leave already?”

  “He has a cat, so he has to get home pretty early to deal with that.”

  “A cat, wow. You’re dating a guy with a cat.” Sophia rubbed his back.

  “Hey, I remember you getting pretty tight with the house cat back in the day.”

  They had shared a house with three others during their days at San Fransisco State. It was the best time in her life. Away from home, she was able to stretch and experiment. She and Gideon had a fling that lasted exactly three and a half weeks, until they both realized they were about as wrong for each other as two people could be.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He set a large mug of coffee down in front of Sophia.

  “I shot someone.”

  “Someone who deserved it, I hope.”

  “He shot at me first.” Sophia was struck by the fact that was incredibly lucky to be eight hundred miles away, drinking coffee on a good friend’s couch.

  “Did anyone else get hurt?” He’d stopped mid sip.

  “No, I mean none of our guys. Another suspect broke his arm.”

  “Good, good.” Gideon leaned back in his chair. “So, what else is going on?”

  “David is dead.”

  “I’m sorry, I guess.”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Not by you, I hope.”

  She smiled.

  “Well it’s easy for me to say this, but that’s your job, to kill bad guys if they try and kill you. What was this guy doing that made him want to shoot you, anyway?”

  “Distributing child porn.”

  Gideon clapped his hands. “As a citizen of this great country, I salute you and thank you for your service. Fuck him.”

  “I wish I shared your enthusiasm.”

  “David wasn’t involved, was he?” He stopped and looked at Sophia.

  “I don’t think so but I’m pretty sure his death is related somehow.”

  “That blows.” Gideon finished his coffee and stood up. “Another cup?”

  “No, I’m good.” Sophia nursed the lukewarm liquid left in her cup.“Hey what time does Jason’s shop open?”

  “Which shop? He has a couple now.”

  “Whichever one he works at.”

  “Let me check.” Gideon grabbed his laptop and started to surf. “Thinking of getting work to commemorate your shooting?�
�

  “Not funny, dude.”

  “Sorry. If it were me, I’d totally tattoo the date and time on my arm to remind me that I managed to take a child molester off the streets.”

  “Can I take a quick shower?”

  “Of course. Clean towels are under the sink. Want me to call and make an appointment?”

  “Would you? Ask Jason if he can do a quick job this morning.”

  “Got it.”

  Sophia headed to the bathroom, passing Gideon’s rumpled bedroom. Sheets were jumbled across the bed and floor. The shades were open to the view of the building across the street.

  Her body ached from the trip, the battering from the wind and the vibration of the engine and the road. She closed her eyes and let the water wash over her face and neck, back and legs.

  Gideon knocked on the door. “He can do you first thing, but you’ve got to get there in a half an hour. Don’t spend too much time getting pretty in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hugged Gideon good-bye on the street, straddled her bike and secured her helmet.

  “Don’t be such a stranger. You don’t have to wait until you shoot someone else to come see me, you know.”

  Sophia hit him on the chest. “Stop it. I know. I won’t make it so long next time.”

  “And Soph,” Gideon took her hand. “Don’t freeze out your parents for much longer. They’ve already lost one kid.”

  She smiled and kicked the bike into gear.

  Jason greeted her with a wide smile and a bear hug. “What brings you down here?”

  “Need some work. Just one on each wrist. Nothing fancy.”

  He was six foot four, with a bald head and arms the size of Sophia’s thighs. His tight black tee shirt hugged his muscled frame. Colorful tattoos burst from his short sleeves and traveled to his knuckles.

  “You still copping?” His question was part small talk and part professional curiosity. Sophia suspected he dabbled in weed sales on the side. They’d developed a respectful detente over the years. She brought him business, he looked the other way when it came to doing ink for a cop.

  “Yep”

  “Let me give us some privacy.” He turned the ‘open’ sign around and led her to the back room.

  “I appreciate it.”

  Jason pulled out his tattoo machine and lined up his ink cups. “What’ll it be today?”

  He turned the music up so high, Sophia had to shout.

  When she was done, she sat on her bike and let the sun play on her face. She was careful to pull her leather gloves over the protective clear tape that covered her new art. On the inside of her left wrist, the word ‘lucky’ on her right, ‘survivor.’

  It was time to head home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Over the course of the next two weeks, Sophia took the opportunity to catch up on the little details in her life that she had disregarded for a year. She started a yoga class up in the Junction, and even found time to meditate for a few minutes every day. She and Bodhi went for runs at Lincoln Park and down at Alki, capping every one off with a cookie and a latte.

  Jess called a couple of times just to check in, uncomfortably aware of the elephant in the room - the fact that she couldn’t discuss the shooting with Sophia. But she was able to fill Sophia in on the current gossip on the department, including the persistent rumor that Tommy wasn’t coming back, that this was his swan song.

  The case was coming along, but Anderson hadn’t found any images of Grace on the hard drives. Despite her best efforts, Jess hadn’t been able to pull the little girl out of the Halifax home.

  “I wish I had better news for you,” Jess said, leaning against her desk, the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

  “Stewart Halifax is involved somehow,” Sophia said to Jess, scrubbing her kitchen countertop for the fifth time that week.

  “There’s nothing there. At least not yet.” Jess sounded tired. She’d been putting in double shifts trying to link together Sophia’s case and stay on top of her own caseload. “By the way, have you talked to Tommy?”

  “Nope. If he wants to talk, he can call me.”

  “That sounds a little harsh, like you’re breaking up with him,” Jess laughed. “But seriously, no one’s seen him since the shooting. Did he retire and forget to tell anyone?”

  “I just need some space right now. And he needs to figure out what he’s going to do. I hope he’s spending time with this wife and talking over his options.” Sophia stopped cleaning.

  “Jess?”

  “Yes.”

  “The day we went to David’s. Do you remember smelling anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I didn’t go into the apartment. I just looked in through the door. I don’t recall anything particularly pungent. Why do you ask?” Jess said.

  “No reason.” Sophia stepped out onto her back deck. “I miss everyone.”

  “We miss you, too,” Jess said. “I’ll check in with you in a couple of days, OK? Maybe come by in person, have a glass of wine or a cup.”

  “Sure.”

  “Detective Benedetti?” The woman said.

  “Yes.” Sophia paused and pulled the phone away again to double-check the caller ID, a blocked number.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Isabel Proust.”

  “Like the writer?”

  “Yes, but no relation. I wish.” The woman laughed softly. “I was David’s…” She paused as if to assemble the perfect words. “I was a close friend.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “I’m sorry to call you on your cell. I found your number in David’s things, and you were the only other person who seemed to know him. He was a bit of a blank slate when I met him.”

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure. I, I guess I thought it might help me find some closure. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t get to say good-bye.” Isabel’s voice cracked. “He spoke about you often. Would you be willing to meet for coffee.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Sophia said, “How about this afternoon? At the Starbucks around the corner from David’s place?”

  “I can be there at two. I’ll be the tall blonde,” she laughed.

  “See you then.” Sophia hung up and sat on the front porch with Bodhi. Her home faced west and the sun just peaked over the roofline to the southwest. She stretched her legs down the stairs. The neighborhood was quiet, with most folks working during the day. Bodhi put her head in Sophia’s lap and closed her eyes.

  Isabel sounded pretty normal. For all she knew, the woman was a raving lunatic or a witness in David’s death. Christ, she could be a suspect.

  She reconsidered the meeting. But there were too many unanswered questions and it was quite possible that Isabel Proust might be the last link to the mystery that was David’s life for the last two years.

  Sophia arrived at Starbucks early. It was busier than she expected, full of moms and babies. At the tables near outlets, sat a few folks, their heads deep in thought in front of laptops. Baristas busily prepared drinks. The roar of the milk steamer filled the room every few minutes.

  Sophia was dressed in Seattle casual - jeans and a loose white t-shirt, under a lightweight jacket. She ordered an Americano and took a seat in the back so she could watch the door.

  The door opened and a woman dressed in a pair of Ann Taylor pants and a Burberry coat walked in. She was on the phone, but scanned the room as she spoke. Seeing Sophia, she nodded but continued to talk on the phone. As she walked up to the table, she ended the conversation abruptly.

  “I’m Isabel. I recognize you from photos David showed me.”

  “I’m surprised,” Sophia said.

  “Surprised at what?”

  “That David ever talked about me.”

  “All the time.”

  Isabel excused herself to get a drink. She was an exquisitely beautiful woman. Her hair was combed back into a loo
se bun while tendrils of wispy blond hair framed her face. When Isabel sat down across from her, Sophia was transfixed.

  Isabel reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. She slid it across the table.

  “I found this in David’s things. It had your name on it.”

  It was another travel drive, this time in the shape of a mini-sized Snickers bar.

  “Well this beats the last one.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing. I was thinking about something else I saw recently.”

  “It’s a computer thing, right?”

  “It’s a portable storage device. Makes it easy for people to share data from one computer to another.” Sophia put the envelope in her pocket, dreading the idea of opening anything on the drive.

  Sophia stared into her coffee cup. “So tell me again, why did you call me?”

  “I guess I wanted to meet you, see you in person. David had a lot of guilt and grief over what he did to you.” Isabel took a sip of her drink. She looked at the scar on Sophia’s throat. “Do you know if they’ve identified a suspect in his murder?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been off work for a little while.”

  “Hopefully for a vacation.” Isabel sat back in her chair and swept back a wisp of hair from her face.

  “As you probably know, I was a prime suspect for a short time.” She glanced at the front door as it opened, startled at the noise. “And then when I was cleared, the detective didn’t seem to want to take my calls.”

  “That’s pretty standard. Unless you’re family or…”

  “Of course.” Isabel looked at her watch. “I’m sure you’re curious about my relationship with David.”

  Sophia shifted in her seat. She wasn’t convinced she wanted to know everything.

  “I’ll tell you what I told the homicide detectives - David and I met at a hospital.” Isabel sipped her coffee slowly and deliberately. “Actually, it was an inpatient treatment center over on the Eastside. We became friends and occasionally,” she blushed, “occasionally more.”