by Diana Orgain
I got into the car and watched Jim move around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and sat behind the steering wheel.
“Did Nancy live anywhere near where you were hit?”
“Yes. On Chestnut; we were hit on Lombard Street.”
“We saw her at the consulate the same day,” Jim said.
“Yeah, we also saw Kimberly, who to date has denied even being there,” I said.
“She owes you some answers.”
“She’s at the top of my to-do list.”
Jim laughed and started the car.
The following morning, after feeding Laurie and snuggling in bed as long as possible, I rose to make breakfast. Jim was on a conference call, so I scrambled some eggs and made toast then brought them to him in the office. His eyes widened in excitement as he saw the food.
I motioned to him that I needed to go. He nodded and I proceeded to get myself ready. I left him a note with Laurie’s feeding schedule, like I always did every time I left the house.
I dialed Kimberly from the car but when she didn’t answer I drove straight to her house anyway. I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d say to her, but I figured she was the key to solving everything. I rang the bell and waited.
It was still early morning, only about 9:30 A.M. I wonder if she was with the consul or maybe at Calvin’s. Where did he live anyway? Should I try to track him down?
I thought of my parking tickets. I could certainly give him a piece of my mind about that.
I rang Kimberly’s bell again.
If she was with the consul, where would they be? At some five-star hotel? The Ritz or the Mark Hopkins.
Maybe she wasn’t with either one of them. Maybe she’d gone for a cup of coffee or a run.
At the thought of a run, goose bumps rose on my arms.
Nancy had gone for a run, or had been planning on it . . . what could have happened that morning? She’d left Ramon’s and then what?
I dialed Galigani; he picked up on the first ring.
“Kid, where’ve you been?”
“What do you mean? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
“You have?”
“I left you a bunch of voice mails.”
“Oh. Sorry . . . this stupid thing. My box filled up and I think I accidentally deleted stuff while I was out of town.”
Sounded like a sorry excuse. Maybe he was trying to backpedal for being mad at me.
“Out of town for what?” I asked, testing him.
“My daughter invited me up north for Christmas, but she couldn’t do Christmas so we did this week, only it was short notice.”
His daughter?
“I didn’t even know you had a daughter.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, there’s probably a lot about me you don’t know and probably a lot about me you don’t want to know. I talked to McNearny, though, sounds like they got the perp.”
My blood drained to my toes, leaving me feeling chilled. This was ridiculous, I should be happy that McNearny had figured it out . . . and yet.
I wanted to be the one to solve it first.
“Who?” I asked.
“Armand Remy. His DNA was on Nancy. They got some fibers off her, too. Looks like she was strangled with one of his bedsheets.”
Just like that? They could make a decision about something so important from fibers?
I couldn’t stop myself, the words just tumbled out. “Is that all they got? His apartment was broken into. Whoever it was could have taken a sheet!”
“The gangs in Chinatown and the Mission are really heating up, and we got the holidays going on and everything—”
“What? So! So, McNearny’s looking for a tidy close? Is that it? Blame Nancy’s death on the intern and then say he killed himself over the guilt?” I asked. “What about the bruising around Armand’s neck? Did he strangle himself?”
I listened to Galigani exhale. “Look, the ME says the kid bled out. If something was around his neck they can’t prove that he did or didn’t do that. Maybe he tried to hang himself first and it didn’t work. None of the neighbors saw anyone coming or going from his place on Sunday. At any rate, no one wants to deal with the consulate on this thing. You know, make a big international hoopla. The Board of Sups got wind and didn’t like it at all. There’s a lot of pressure to—”
“Who on the board? Calvin?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“I’m sitting on his girlfriend’s steps right now. She’s two-timing him with the consul.”
Galigani whistled. I watched the sailboats in the marina bob up and down.
“Did you say you’re sitting on Kimberly’s front steps?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell kind of way to do a stakeout is that? And how do you know she’s not inside listening to every word you’re telling me?”
“I wasn’t staking her out exactly . . . I was . . .”
“Get the hell out of there! She’s your missing key. She’s already lied to you, you think she’s gonna open up to you now that the police have someone they like for this?”
I gathered up my bag and stood. “I dunno,” I muttered.
I walked down the steps and back to the car. “What do I do now?” I asked him.
“Get out of sight and wait for me. I’ll join you.”
“Okay.”
Before I could hang up he said the words I was dreading, “Oh, one more thing, kid. How’s your mom? She with the other guy today?”
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR •
I waited in Jim’s car for Galigani, flipping through the auto trader magazine I’d picked up yesterday and thinking about my next car. While I waited, a woman rounded the corner. She was wearing blackout sunglasses, a large hat, and a gold-trimmed scarf. The silk scarf was wrapped around her neck and she had her face ducked into it. Nevertheless I knew it was Kimberly. She was moving rapidly toward her house and reached inside her bag, presumably to click an automatic garage-door opener because at that same moment, her garage door started to rise slowly.
Thank God she hadn’t been home listening to my conversation with Galigani!
Every inch of me wanted to jump out of the car and follow her into the house, but I was on strict instructions from Galigani to stay put. I watched as she disappeared inside and the garage door closed again.
I texted Galigani.
She’s here. Where R U?
My cell phone buzzed. I picked it up.
“I can’t text and drive!” Galigani said.
“Sorry. She’s here. How far away are you?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
I watched in horror as the garage door opened again.
Had she spotted me?
I prepared myself for her to come out of the house, armed and screaming. Instead I saw red taillights flash.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“What?” Galigani asked.
I watched as the red lights went out and then white reverse lights came on. She was backing out of the garage.
“She’s in the car. She’s leaving.”
“Follow her but, for God’s sake, don’t be obvious!”
I slouched down in the driver’s seat until she drove past me, then I started up the car and did a quick U-turn.
“We’re heading down Marina Boulevard toward Van Ness,” I said to Galigani.
“Okay. Stay on the line with me. Do you have a headset?”
“Of course,” I lied.
“Good, I don’t want you getting pulled over and ticketed for being on the phone.”
I shuddered. “Speaking of tickets—”
Galigani groaned.
Kimberly made a right onto Van Ness and I followed her. We could be going anywhere, of course, but we did happen to be heading toward Bush Street, which was where the French consulate was.
When we got to Grant Street, which was a block from the consulate, Kimberly pulled into a parking garage.
I filled Galigani in.
; “Don’t approach her. Just watch. Can you ditch your car?”
“No! Grant is Chinatown. There’s less parking here than up the street!” I whined.
“Just pull up to a meter. If you’re in the car they’re not going to ticket you.”
“Ha!”
I did as instructed and parked in a metered yellow zone. Between the stress of looking for Kimberly and watching for a meter maid I thought my head would explode.
While I waited, I asked Galigani, “So, can you do anything about a couple of tickets I got? I mean, do you know anybody?”
Galigani guffawed into my ear. “What are the tickets for? Speeding?”
I didn’t want to tell him about not curbing my tires and thankfully I didn’t have to because Kimberly walked out of the parking garage.
“I see her. She’s heading up the street.”
But she didn’t continue to the consulate. Instead, she stood at a corner café. There was outdoor seating, but the day was chilly and most of the crowd was inside. She stepped into the café, but because of the large glass windows I could still see her.
“You think she’s meeting the consul?” I asked Galigani.
“I don’t know. Take pictures.”
“Seriously? For what?”
“For what?” Galigani barked. “Do I have to spell everything out for you? You think the consul’s wife might be interested in those? You think Kimberly might not want the wife to see them? You think—”
“Okay, okay. Then I have to hang up now. My camera’s on my cell—”
“You don’t have a digital with a good zoom in your kit?”
What kit? Was I supposed to have a PI kit or something?
Christ! Another thing to add my forsaken list!
“Yeah. I have a knuckle sandwich for you in my kit,” I said hanging up.
I took a few shots of Kimberly sitting in the café, but I was so far away and the camera phone so poor you could barely make her out.
Could I risk getting any closer? With the amount of people in the street, I doubted she’d see me. It was getting another ticket that worried me.
Oh well, no pain, no gain.
With my hand on the door I looked in the rearview mirror toward the consulate. Christophe was bouncing down the block. I watched as he headed straight for the café. Christophe.
He’d been at the supervisor party, at the San Francisco Centre, and now . . .
He pulled open the café door and joined Kimberly, kissing both her cheeks. Their conversation seemed to be agitated. Kimberly’s movements were jerky. She was angry. Suddenly she pulled off her sunglasses to reveal a massive black eye.
Christophe buried his head in his hands and Kimberly quickly put the glasses back on.
What was this? Had the consul beaten up Kimberly?
Maybe Calvin?
No, that made no sense. If Calvin had hurt Kimberly she wouldn’t be running to the French consulate’s chief press guy.
Could she be threatening to report the consul?
How I wished I could hear their conversation. I daydreamed about having the entire café rigged with listening devices, Hollywood style.
I should probably purchase some recording devices and keep them handy in a PI kit. Okay, I should probably get a PI kit first.
I looked around at the crowd. Could I ask someone to go in and eavesdrop? I thought of Kenny; too bad he wasn’t with me. Kimberly had never seen him before and he would easily fit in with the café scene.
Before I could come up with a solution so I could overhear them, they both rose from their chairs. They separated at the exit and went in opposite directions. No farewell kisses. Christophe headed up the street—presumably to the consulate—and Kimberly turned back to the parking garage.
I dialed Galigani. “I think we’re leaving.”
He groaned. “Man, I’m just getting to Montgomery!”
“I’ll call you back,” I said.
Then on impulse I got out of the car and crossed the street to where Kimberly was. She was walking rapidly and seemed distracted.
If I were to follow her, it would inevitably lead to a confrontation, so why avoid it? I’d only waste time and it was already the fifteenth—I had Christmas shopping to do and I already missed Laurie like crazy.
Kimberly was looking down trying to fish something out of her purse. I took advantage of this and rammed straight into her with my shoulder, aiming for sunglasses. Her sunglasses flew off her face and she lost her balance. I grabbed her to keep her from toppling over.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I said. “I tripped.”
Her eyes widened in recognition. “Kate! What are you doing here?”
“Kimberly?” I asked in mock surprise.
She fumbled for her sunglasses, bending down to pick them up.
I bent with her. “I’m heading over to the consulate,” I lied. “One of their staff ran into me the week before last. Totaled my car. What happened to you?”
She replaced her glasses and straightened. “Nothing—”
“Did Calvin do this to you?” I asked.
“Calvin? No. No. Of course not. I fell.”
I leaned in close to her. “Did Eloi do this to you?”
She pulled away from me. “What do you know about Eloi?”
“More than you want me to, I’m sure.”
Her hand moved to her throat, a small protective gesture, one she didn’t even realize she was making. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you moving to Washington with him?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her and in my best Pepé Le Pew accent said, “L’ambassadeur.”
I had no idea how to say “kept woman” in French, otherwise I’d have thrown it in for good measure.
She scowled at me. “What are you saying?”
“I know about your affair with him. I know you were at the consulate with Nancy the day before she disappeared. I just saw you meeting with Christophe Benoit, the chief press and communication guy.”
She took a step back. “How did you . . .”
A crowd of people pushed past us, the lunchtime rush beginning.
“Did you kill Nancy?” I asked.
“What?” She looked at the people around us. “No. No! Of course not. Are you crazy? She was my friend.”
“Why aren’t you helping me find out who killed your friend?”
“The police know who killed her. It was the intern from the consulate. Christophe just told me, the case has been closed.”
She yelled this last comment at me and it drew looks from passersby, but in typical San Francisco style no one interfered.
I whispered to her, “I think that’s a lie. I think the intern’s a fall guy. Why would he kill Nancy?”
Her shoulders shot up. “He was probably in love with her and she wouldn’t—”
“Where was Eloi last Thursday? The morning Nancy was strangled in Golden Gate Park? Was he with you? Or does he just want you to say that? Is that why you have the shiner?”
Kimberly looked aghast. “Eloi didn’t kill Nancy!”
“And you know this how?” I pressed. “Because you were with—”
“It was the intern. I wasn’t with the consul. We’re not having an affair—”
I smiled. “I saw you and him together on the balcony the night of his Christmas party.”
A wave of indignation rose around Kimberly. She secured her scarf and hat, then through gritted teeth said, “You don’t know anything. I’m not going to let you ruin this for me.”
She pushed past me and raced to the parking garage entrance. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Where are you?” Galigani asked.
“I’m walking to Union Square.”
“What? Did you lose her?”
“No. I need to park legally first, then I’m going Christmas shopping,” I said. “Wanna come?”
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE •
Galigani joined me at the shoe counter in Macy’s. I was purchasing Laurie a pair o
f tiny black patent leather shoes, size one, for our Christmas dinner.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I blew it,” I said, pulling out my credit card and handing it to the clerk. “She denied everything.”
Galigani gave me a halfhearted pat on the back.
After a moment of silence he said, “What can I get your mom?”
We collapsed into a fit of laughter. He shopped with me for the balance of the afternoon. We talked about everything under the sun except the case and my mom and his daughter, who he refused to talk about as soon as I’d brought her up.
I found a beautiful leather valet tray for Jim. For Laurie, I bought a “Baby’s First Christmas” toy collection. Inside a soft, zippered Christmas ornament bag was a silver frame ornament that I had engraved, a little peppermint stick rattle, a tree-shaped plush toy, and a gingerbread man teether.
I bought baskets to package the fudge I planned to make Paula and David, Galigani, and to ship back to my brother and his wife. For Danny I selected a portable train station. I had a hard time picking out anything for Mom and finally decided on a photo collage tote that I could put photos of Laurie in.
Galigani hemmed and hawed over what to buy Mom, but ended up purchasing a bracelet made up of rose-colored crystals.
As we left Macy’s I saw signs for the San Francisco Ballet performance of The Nutcracker. I sighed. I’d love to see the ballet with Jim and Laurie. How old did Laurie have to be to take her to a show?
Suddenly Galigani said, “So, you suspect the consul?”
I nodded.
“We need proof,” he said. “You are not allowed to fly off the handle and confront him.” He looked me square in the eyes. “Do you understand?”
“Of course,” I lied.
Well, technically it wasn’t a lie. I understood him, I just wasn’t going to promise that I wouldn’t try to meet with the consul.
I arrived home exhausted and depressed. After feeding Laurie, I lay down for a nap with her hoping to sleep off some of my sluggishness.
How could SFPD just close the case like that? Surely they couldn’t really believe Armand had killed Nancy. And then again, what did I know? Maybe he had and I should be glad the case was over.