Tail of the Dragon

by Connie Di Marco

  thirty-two

  Typical of the houses on the Avenues, the Moulton house was a two-story, late 1930s wood-frame and stucco duplex, painted yellow, with a garage at street level underneath the house itself. The trim was white, with white shutters at all the front windows. Window boxes on the two stories overflowed with bright flowers and trails of English ivy. A large terra-cotta pot with trailing geraniums stood next to the polished oak front door, which sported a man-sized paper skeleton. Three small pumpkins sat at the side of the top steps. The brass of the door handle was original and highly polished.

  I rang the bell and after a few moments, a woman in her mid-thirties opened the door. She wore jeans and a striped sweater. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her complexion was clear with only a slight touch of makeup.

  “Rebecca Moulton?”

  “Yes. Well, it’s Rebecca Wilson now.”

  “My name is Julia Bonatti. I’m working for David Meyers at Meyers, Dade & Schultz.”

  A look of confusion crossed her eyes. “Should I recognize that name?”

  “Probably not, but two of the attorneys at that firm worked on the lawsuit you brought against the Bank of San Francisco and its insurers.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t exactly look thrilled to hear my explanation. “Well, you better come in then.” She stepped back and held the door open. A tall coatrack stood by the front door. On it hung two small jackets, with a basketball and a skateboard underneath on the lowest shelf.

  “Have a seat in there.” She indicated a room through an archway to the right. “I’ll be right with you. Just have to turn down the stove,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried down the hallway.

  Soft lamplight illuminated the living room. Plush area rugs covered polished hardwood floors. The furniture was large and overstuffed in a light-colored tweed pattern. The table at the end of the sofa held family photos in small frames. I sat in the armchair closest to the fireplace, where a log burned, and waited for Rebecca to return. She came back in, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

  “I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this, especially without calling, but there have been problems at our law firm. Some of the attorneys … well, if you’ve been watching the news recently, two of the attorneys at the firm have been murdered.”

  “Murdered?” The shock was evident in her voice. “What’s the name of the firm again?” Her brow furrowed.

  “Meyers, Dade & Schultz.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that name. What does this have to do with me? The Bank of San Francisco case was settled years ago.”

  “This may have nothing to do with the fire there, but the police and the private investigators working for the firm don’t want to leave any stone unturned.” I neglected to mention that no one was even slightly interested in my theories.

  “I’m still not sure I follow.”

  “They think it’s possible there might be a connection between that court action and the two attorneys who died.”

  “You mean they represented the bank?”

  “No, they were the attorneys for the insurance company.”

  “Look.” Her face had become very pale. “That was a tough time for me. I left it to the lawyers. I don’t even remember all the companies involved. I hope you’re not implying that I have any connection with this?”

  “Oh, of course not,” I lied. “But we thought it might be a good idea to talk to you to see if you know of anyone or have heard from anyone who might have a reason to wish them harm.”

  “It’s still not easy for me to talk about all that. One day my husband was here and the next he was gone. He just didn’t come home from work one night and I was left with two small kids to raise, but I have no gripe against the insurance companies involved. It’s because of them that I at least got my settlement.”

  “You seem to be doing well.”

  “I’m doing all right. I bought this house and invested the rest for my boys. I remarried last year and my husband has a small business. We’re not wealthy, but we’re managing.” She shook her head. “But there’s no amount of money that will ever compensate me for the loss of Max. And the boys will never know their father. There’s not a day I don’t look at them and think of him, dying, trapped in that burning building. The irony is that he was only working there at night because he was finishing school. His dream was to be an engineer. I don’t blame the insurance companies. I blame that drunk … that electrical contractor who did a rotten job on the wiring and killed my husband.”

  “Was he ever found guilty of negligence?”

  “No. Can you believe that? The district attorney originally pressed charges but they dismissed it. The only thing that happened was he lost his license.” Her hands had started to shake. She pulled a cigarette out of a box on the coffee table and lit it. “Sorry. I guess no matter how many years go by, it doesn’t go away.”

  “His name was Ward, wasn’t it? The contractor that was supposed to be at fault?”

  She grimaced. “Yes, I remember his name. It’s hard for me to go back over all that stuff again. But, yeah, Terry Ward, I think. May he rot in hell.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “I think I heard he died. I guess his wife’s a widow now too.” She smiled ruefully.

  “Do you know if he had any other family?”

  “No idea.”

  “Do you remember who told you Ward had died?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “I guess it must have been my lawyer.”

  “I thought someone mentioned he committed suicide.”

  “That may be right. I just don’t remember. I was in very bad shape for a long time. If he did, it had to have been out of guilt.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’ve remarried. That must be good for your children.”

  Her eyes softened. “Yes, it is. My older son, Todd, is twelve now and my younger one, Jeff, is seven. They needed a dad and my husband is really good with them. I’m sorry. You just wanted to ask a few questions and I went on and on.”

  “That’s quite all right,” I assured her.

  “I didn’t mean to lay all that on you.” She shuddered. “Murder. Well, I’m glad I know nothing about it.” I heard quick running footsteps in the hallway. A young boy appeared in the archway, half-dressed in a pirate’s costume, an empty plastic pumpkin in one hand. It had to be Jeff, the seven-year-old.

  “Mommy, when are we going trick-or-treating?”

  Rebecca turned her head. “It’s tomorrow, honey.” She turned to me and smiled. “He just couldn’t wait to try on his costume.”

  “Mommy, can I have a cracker?”

  She sighed. “Just one. I’ll get it for you. Don’t climb up on the counter.”

  “Todd said I could.”

  “And I said no.”

  Jeff looked crestfallen. He hung his head and turned toward the kitchen, rhythmically banging his pumpkin against the wall.

  I caught a whiff of dinner from the kitchen, some sort of pot roast I guessed. Rebecca smiled. “I love them so much. And whenever I look at them, I remember that their father never got to spend this precious time with them. My life’s okay. Maybe great compared to most, but yes, I admit to bitterness, and I still grieve. I still have some days when I wake up and it all comes flooding back. Maybe that’ll go away in time, I hope.”

  I could certainly relate to that statement. I thanked Rebecca as she let me out the front door. The wind had picked up, blowing fiercely off the ocean. I pulled my coat closer and hurried to the car, turned the key in the ignition, and flicked on the heater.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was no further along. If Rebecca Moulton, or Rebecca Wilson, as she was now, was bitter, it wasn’t toward the insurance company that had settled with her without a murmur. Jack and Ira had represented Rockwood Insur
ance only, which then went on to countersue others, but not the widow of the man who’d died in the blaze.

  I decided to take a chance and see if Hilary Greene’s gallery was still open. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been told she was the beneficiary of her ex-husband’s life insurance policy. It wasn’t exactly the kind of question one could easily slip into casual conversation. I drove up to Geary and headed toward the Pacific Heights end of Fillmore. Parking was just as bad as it had been before, but I lucked out and found a spot a block away from The Greene Room between a fire hydrant and a driveway. The lights in the window were dimmed, but a brighter light shone from the office in the rear. I tried the door and it opened. The bell tinkled as I entered and Hilary Greene peeked out from the back room.

  “Hi, Hilary. Remember me?”

  “Oh, yes … Julia, isn’t it? Come on in.” She looked surprised to see me again. The stone sculpture still occupied the center of the room. I moved closer and noticed that the artist’s name had been removed from the card.

  “I came back to take another look at this,” I said, pointing to the sculpture.

  “Oh?” A flicker of alarm crossed her face.

  “Maybe you could give me a little information about the artist? Or should I say, what he’s calling himself these days?”

  I was surprised at the rush of anger I felt. The events of the last few days had worn my patience thin, and I was motivated by a feeling of protectiveness toward Gale. She’d been set up by Henry Gooding and Luca. Whatever the reasons, I didn’t like it. Hilary remained quiet.

  “And maybe while we’re at it, you can tell me what Henry Gooding has to do with Len Ragno,” I added.

  Hilary took a deep breath and her shoulders dropped. “Okay … I guess you already know everything by now.”

  “Not really.” My anger remained. “I’m hoping you can fill me in.”

  “Len’s my brother. Years ago, he got into trouble with drugs. He went off the deep end and got desperate for money. He was arrested and charged and he did his time. But he was always a talented artist. He’s clean now and he’s straight.”

  “So why use a different name?”

  “Why not? It’s not against the law. Why shouldn’t he call himself Luca Russoli? It suits him. And besides, who’s going to want to buy high-priced art from an ex-con? I want him to stay straight and I want him to be a success. He deserves it. So what if I help promote him under a pseudonym?” She was silent a moment. “How did you find out?”

  “It just so happens I saw his work at an art show the day before I walked in here. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities.”

  “My own damn fault. I should have taken the card off that piece.”

  “And what does all this have to do with Henry Gooding? I know he approached Gale Hymson about an exhibit of your brother’s work.”

  Hilary smiled then. “Henry and I are planning to be married. We’ve been seeing each other for some time. He found out about Len and he’s been helping to promote his work. He was the one who first thought it would be a good idea to create a new identity for him.” She rubbed the base of the sculpture with her hand, as if to erase her mistake. “We’re not hurting anyone. I’m just trying to help my brother. I don’t blame you for being upset, but, believe me, we weren’t out to make fools of anyone.”

  As much as I didn’t like it, her explanation made sense. In fact, it was the only explanation that did make sense. “I know your brother was represented by Nora Layton at his trial. She was his public defender. Do they have any other connection?”

  Hilary hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t you ask him yourself ?”

  thirty-three

  Hilary led me to the back room where she’d served me coffee a few days before. Len was leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed on his chest.

  I stared at him, unsure what to say.

  “Julia,” he said with no trace of an accent, “I just want you to know my sister’s telling the truth. I never meant to hurt anyone. Especially Gale.” He had obviously overheard our entire conversation in the gallery. “Nora’s been after me since I got out, but I don’t want anything to do with her. I have no idea how she found out about my show. There were no pictures on the invitations, but she somehow knew. Maybe it was just a bad coincidence.”

  “I saw you two arguing outside the building that night. What was that about?”

  Len sighed. “She wanted me to say I’d been with her at her condo the day before. The police were questioning her about a murder. She said she was home that whole day and didn’t have an alibi.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her to go to hell. She was furious. Then she threatened to blow my cover and tell Gale and everyone who I really was.” Len shook his head. “She’s trouble. There’s no way I want to open that can of worms. I told her she was on her own. She could do whatever the hell she wanted.”

  “Look, I’m not trying to cause any trouble for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He smiled ruefully. “Gale gave me the boot anyway. So you can tell her whatever you want.” His voice betrayed his resignation.

  I wasn’t going to volunteer that I’d already shown Gale his mug shot. I turned to Hilary. “I’m sorry to barge in. It’s been a rough day.”

  Hilary walked me to the door. “Forget it. I’m sorry if your friend’s upset.”

  “She’s okay. I doubt she’ll say anything, but I needed to find out what was going on.”

  “Just don’t mess it up for him, okay? Just give him a chance.” Hilary’s look was pleading as I stepped outside. The lock clicked on the door behind me. As I walked slowly back to my car, the lights in the window went out.

  I started the engine and pulled a U-turn, following Sacramento, a street that runs straight through Laurel Heights. I remembered jotting down Suzanne’s address when I’d called her earlier and rummaged around in my purse for my notebook. I thought about calling Dani again but finally decided to go straight to Suzanne’s apartment and find out for myself if she was home. At the next red light, I found the note I’d written. Suzanne lived at 430B Laurel Street. I pulled up in front of a three-story Victorian painted in different shades of blue and gray with white trim and lots of gingerbread. Several lights were on in the front windows of the building. Parking was touch-and-go on this street too but I finally found a spot around the corner between two driveways.

  I headed back to Suzanne’s house and pushed open the unlocked front door. I stood in a tiny vestibule with individual old-fashioned buzzers for each apartment. I buzzed number two, Suzanne’s apartment. If she wasn’t there, then I hoped her roommate was home. After a moment, the intercom clicked and a woman’s voice answered.

  “Suzanne?”

  “She’s not here right now.” The voice was slightly lilting.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to bother you then. This is Julia Bonatti from the Meyers firm. Could I talk to you a moment?”

  “Sure. I’ll buzz you up. Just push the door.” I heard some clicks in the vicinity of the door lock and pushed the inner door open. A hallway table with a lamp and a large mirror was the only furniture in the entryway. The walls were papered in a small print designed to recall days of yesteryear. I climbed the stairway to the right which, in true Victorian fashion, was disconcertingly narrow and steep. My muscles were stiff and rebelling and my legs were sore. At the top of the stairs, I spotted an open door decorated with a small wreath of dried flowers and bay leaves. A petite blonde woman in jeans and a sweatshirt stood in the hallway. “Hi, I’m Joanna. Come on in. Your timing’s good. I just got back a few minutes ago.”

  “Hi, Joanna.” I smiled back. “Look, I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but when did you last speak with or see Suzanne?”

  “Well, it would have had to have been Wednesday morning. She was getting ready for work and we had coffee
together. I told her I didn’t think she should go in.”

  “Did she tell you what happened? That she’d discovered her coworker’s body Sunday afternoon?”

  “Yeah.” Joanna nodded her head sadly. “Look, I’m her roommate and her friend, but I really couldn’t say anything about this Jack guy. I knew he was a jerk and so did she. I warned her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I just mean I put my two cents in and told her to be careful.”

  “What made you dislike him so much?”

  Joanna shrugged her shoulders. “He wasn’t much to look at, but he was charming and smooth. He didn’t do anything for me, but who knows? Some women would find him appealing. I guess what I’m trying to say is, he didn’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who would ever help you with the groceries or feed your cat if you went out of town.”

  “Gotcha.” I knew exactly what she meant and it pretty much echoed everybody else’s opinion of Jack. I wasn’t sure if that was enough reason to murder the guy, but somebody obviously had a reason.

  “Did she ever talk about the relationship?”

  “Not a lot. And I never really wanted to straight-out ask for any more details. As time went on she seemed less and less happy about the whole thing. I was concerned about her ’cause I know she’s all alone in the city. Her family’s back east somewhere. And she doesn’t have any really close friends here, other than me, that I know of. She spent most of her time working.”

  “You know the police brought her down to the Hall of Justice for questioning on Wednesday, right?”

  “Yes. She left a message for me.”

  “Did she come home after that?”

  “I don’t know. I just got back. I have to travel a lot for work.”

  “She was at work yesterday afternoon. Dani saw her. But now the office is closed and I haven’t been able to reach her.”