by Linda Barlow
The site also commanded a stunning view of San Francisco. On a clear night the city was spread out in a mass of twinkling lights set like jewels against the velvety darkness. Tonight, though, the sky was cloudy, the visibility poor.
Annie parked in the lot at the foot of the tower and looked around. Seeing no one, she got out of the car and leaned against the door. Almost immediately she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see a young woman in jeans, a peasant blouse, and Doc Martens walking toward her. Despite a fragile body, she was a bit thick around the waist. Her condition was starting to show.
Annie bit back the impulse to simply put her arms around Paolina and hug her. She didn’t want to do anything that might spook her. “Are you okay?” she asked. “No one’s been able to find you, and we’ve all been worried.”
The girl nodded. She cast a glance over her shoulder toward a beat-up old Chevy parked on the far side of the lot. Was Vico hiding in that car?
“Where is he, Paolina?”
The girl pressed her hands together and rubbed nervously. “Who?”
“Look, no more games, okay? I’m here to help you, but please, you’ve got to be honest with me.”
She nodded slowly. “We don’t know what to do.” Her eyes darted about. “He is very upset. Giuseppe raised him, you see. He was like his father. Vico’s real father died when he was a small boy.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“And now he is angry as well. He is frustrated because he must hide instead of taking action, taking revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“For the murder, of course! He says it’s his duty to kill the person who murdered his uncle.”
“Paolina, the police think he did it himself.”
“Well, that’s a lie!”
Annie’s head was spinning. She was also cold. The city’s famous fog was rolling in from the Bay, and the moist, cool air seemed to envelop them both. “Let’s get into my car, where it’s warmer,” she said. “How are you feeling, Paolina? Are you taking care of yourself and of the baby?”
The girl nodded. “I’m fine now. I felt sick at the start, but that has passed. I’m not worried about myself.”
“So where is Vico?” Annie asked again when they were settled in the front seat with all the windows rolled up.
Paolina avoided her eyes. “I can’t say where he is. But he’s safe.”
“And you’ve been with him? Or did your father let you come home?”
She hung her head. “He let me. My mother convinced him, I think. But I don’t stay there much. Vico needs me.”
“Paolina, are you aware that he’s being hunted by the police? He must give himself up. If he’s innocent, his name will be cleared.”
As she said it, she thought of Matt. He’d been a wealthy and highly respected businessman when he’d been accused of murder. How much more likely to be charged was a young troublemaker like Vico?
“He can’t give himself up!” The girl said passionately. “He doesn’t want to die like his uncle did!”
“And how did his uncle die? Paolina, please. You know what happened, don’t you?”
She shook her head, looking panicked now. “I can’t talk to you. Vico said I could find some way to contact you as long as it wasn’t while you were at work, so I followed you this morning and left the note. But he insists on talking to you himself.”
Annie nodded. That was fine with her.
“But first you’ll have to give me your promise that you will not betray us. Vico says his life will be worthless if anybody finds out what he knows.”
Annie considered what she knew about Vico. During the several times they’d met, he’d struck her as a very intense young man. She had a clear image of his dark brown eyes, which seemed to burn with deep and powerful emotion.
As for Paolina, she was angelic, and her delicate skin was lightly dotted with tiny freckles and skeins of strawberry blond hair. There was something ethereal about her, and Annie could understand why these two young people were attracted to each other.
“I’d be glad to talk to him,” she told the girl. “And I give you my word that I’ll tell no one of his location. But please keep in mind that if Vico has evidence of a killing, he’ll have to go to the police at some point. And if, heaven forbid, he is responsible for Giuseppe’s death, then I’m sorry, but he must answer for it.”
Paolina shook her head, obviously daunted by the prospect of explaining this to Vico. “He won’t talk to the police. He can’t. Somehow you’ve got to fix things to keep the police out of it. Can’t you do that?”
“I don’t think so,” Annie said. “I work for an architectural firm. I don’t have any influence with the police.”
Agitated, the girl started to get out of the car. Annie put a restraining hand on her arm. “No, wait, please. I’m trying to be honest with you, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t do everything I can to help you and Vico. Paolina, you were in the cathedral when Giuseppe died, weren’t you? Do you know who the killer is?”
The girl bit her lips and looked away, squeezing herself with her thin arms. “I don’t know. But Vico does. Now I’ve got to go. Don’t try to stop me.” With that she ducked out of the car.
“Damn!” Annie flung open the door on her side. “Paolina, please, listen to me!” She was afraid that if Paolina got away without telling her where Vico was, she’d never hear from the girl again.
The fog was even thicker now, and Paolina melted away into it. But Annie could dimly see the old Chevy there in the parking lot, possibly with the boy hiding inside….
As she approached the car it started up with a roar and careened rapidly around the parking lot. As it whipped past her Annie saw two people inside, one of them a dark-haired male.
Annie jumped into her car. She wasn’t sure what possessed her—maybe it was the night itself, dark and wet and secretive with fog. It was the kind of night when strange things happen. She tried to tell herself that this wasn’t her business—that she ought to forget about it and let the police find Vico—but she felt compelled. She had to know what Vico knew. If Paolina was telling the truth, he must have seen the killer.
They couldn’t get too far ahead on the hilly road that wound down from the Coit Tower. Heavens, how fast could he go?
Fast, she realized. Very fast. Let me just keep them in view. He’s got a hideaway somewhere, and if I keep up with him, he’ll lead me to it.
In her concentration, Annie didn’t notice that the only other car in the Coit Tower parking lot nosed into the street behind her. As Annie chased Vico westward through the city, she was followed by a gleaming dark sedan.
*
The fog lifted suddenly, as it was wont to do, but the improved visibility just encouraged Vico to drive faster, and at some point Annie realized that she was no match for a macho teenage driver. Vico took risks with that old car that she would never have dreamed of taking—risks that chilled her, considering the condition of his passenger. Maybe it was better just to let them go.
At this rate, the impetuous Vico would either crash that car or hit a pedestrian or attract the attention of the very police that he was trying to avoid.
As they roared into the Pacific Heights district, she fell back deliberately. Let them think they had lost her. Maybe they’d slow down. Maybe she’d catch up with them if they did. And if that didn’t work, well, maybe Paolina would get up the nerve to approach her again. She and Vico couldn’t hide forever.
The houses in Pacific Heights were large and lovely. Here, overlooking San Francisco Bay, were the stately homes of some of the city’s wealthiest residents. Matt lived around here somewhere, she remembered. On the night she’d come, she’d approached the area from the other direction. His place was on a cross street, no more than two or three blocks away….
Damn, she’d lost them. She came to an intersection and had no idea whether to go straight or to turn.
On pure instinct, she hung a left and accelerated. At the n
ext intersection she turned left again, and up ahead of her she saw taillights that looked like the ones on the Chevy.
They were moving more slowly now. The street they were on sloped steeply down toward the Bay. Annie fell back even farther. Ahead, the taillights flashed bright red and remained that way. She slowed to a crawl. She saw the car turn abruptly into a driveway in front of one of the houses in the next block and vanish, presumably into a garage.
Annie stopped, confused. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was still Vico’s car she’d been following. But if it was, whom could a poor boy from the Mission district possibly know in Pacific Heights?
She started looking for a place to park. Parking was always a problem in San Francisco. Street parking was almost always reserved for residents, and many of the smaller houses had tiny driveways that only the owners were allowed to block.
It seemed that all the residents of this district were at work, their cars jamming the streets, driveways, and even the sidewalks. But then a new set of red taillights up ahead alerted her to the possibility that somebody might be leaving. She depressed the accelerator, her adrenaline rushing like a hunter’s. A parking place. Yes!
Annie pulled up behind the exiting car, her left blinker flashing as she waited for the spot. Expertly, she parallel parked in a tiny spot with only inches to spare, got out, and locked her car.
She walked along the street as the black mirror of San Francisco Bay reflected placidly at her from the bottom of the hill.
She was looking for a house with a short driveway that, presumably, led to a garage. There were several that fit the description, but it was difficult to judge distances in the dark. They didn’t seem to be quite as far away as the place where she thought Vico—if it had been Vico—had turned in.
She saw several cars parked in narrow driveways, but no elderly Chevys. Had she lost Vico on one of the turns and ended up following some innocent resident of Pacific Heights?
Damn! It was a good thing she wasn’t trying to support herself as a private detective! She certainly hadn’t acquitted herself very well so far.
Annie wasn’t sure, afterward, what had alerted her. The neighborhood was generally considered safe, so she wasn’t paying quite as much attention as she would if she’d been walking in a rough area south of Market. But as she was standing there, puzzled, a chill touched the hair on the back of her neck, and she whirled around to see a dark sedan coming down the street toward her. Then the car accelerated, heading straight at her.
The street was narrow, and Annie dived to the side. But the cars were parked so closely together that there was no clear way through to the sidewalk. And there was no time! The dark car was coming too fast….
Annie threw herself at the obstacle in her way: an ancient, round-hooded Volkswagen. Some miraculous spurt of adrenaline lifted her up and over its hood just as the dark sedan roared by with only inches to spare. Annie’s momentum kept her going and she rolled off the VW and landed hard on the sidewalk. She heard the screech of brakes. He had missed, but he was coming back!
Stumbling, she jumped to her feet. Her hip and thigh, which had taken the worst of the impact of her fall, were crying out in agonized protest. The dark sedan had reached the end of the block, and its white back-up lights were illuminated. He was turning around. He was going to make another pass at her. Perhaps this time he’d get out….
Panting, Annie darted between two parked cars and streaked across the street. Adrenaline was controlling her now, and without stopping to think, she ran headlong into a narrow alley between two large houses.
The alley was lush with window boxes and flowers. Annie slowed up a little, her common sense reasserting itself. The alley was too narrow for the car to enter. But the driver could certainly follow her on foot.
Someone was trying to kill her.
Or at least to frighten her badly.
Goddammit! Who? Vico? Had he swung around and gotten behind her somehow? Or someone else? Had somebody been following her while she followed Vico? What if it was the crazy person who’d been writing the threatening letters?
“Entered into rest, Anne Jefferson, designer of church interiors. Suddenly.”
We’ll see about that, she thought grimly. She was operating on instinct now. And memory. Those long-ago days when she’d lived on the streets and survived with her quick thieving fingers and her fists came surging back to her.
That’s what they don’t know about me. They think I’m some clueless interior designer who’s liable to faint at the thought of violence. They don’t know who they’re dealing with here.
The guy in the dark sedan—who was he?
A friend of Paolina and Vico?
An enemy of theirs?
The poison pen?
Or Giuseppe’s murderer?
Annie jogged to the end of the alley, then warily checked out the street ahead of her before venturing forward. It looked very much like the last one—neat rows of luxury houses on both sides, and cars taking up every parking space. There was no sign of the lethal speeding car.
“Damn,” she muttered.
To the left she saw a gloomy bank of overhanging trees on the edge of a larger-than-usual property lot. She stopped, staring. She knew this spot. She was standing outside the grounds of Matthew Carlyle’s home.
Situated on the top of a hill, his home was slightly above her. There was a five-foot-high wall on the south edge of his property, and a set of brick steps leading up through the garden to the house.
Annie was suddenly conscious of the increasing pain in her left side and thigh. She must have hurt herself more than she realized when she’d landed on the sidewalk.
Matt would help her. He had to.
Chapter Twenty-three
Annie was limping up the garden steps to Matt’s house when she saw headlights approaching slowly down the street. Still jumpy, she squatted behind a shrub until the car had passed the house.
She heard a faint whirring sound near the end of Carlyle’s driveway and realized that it was the metal gate, opening. The car from the street turned into the driveway and proceeded up the incline toward the house. He’d been out, obviously. He was returning home, thank goodness. Good timing.
She was about to stand up and wave to him when something about the headlights niggled at her. Headlights were headlights. Two bright bulbs, widely spaced—they all looked alike. Well, almost all. These were unremarkable. The headlights on the car that had tried to ram her had been unremarkable.
She stayed down.
From her position she saw the car pull past her. There was another whirring sound as the garage door was activated, probably from a remote control inside the car. She recognized Matt’s profile as the floodlights in the front garden shone on his face as he pulled the car into the garage.
The car was a dark, late-model, two-door sedan. She couldn’t swear what make or what model, but she could swear that it looked very similar to the car that had just attacked her.
“I don’t forget and I don yt forgive. Sooner or later, I even the score. “
Crouching, Annie turned and ran back across the small square of lawn that led to the steps. She felt thoroughly spooked and very vulnerable. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but this wasn’t the time or the place to try to figure it out.
Was Matt Carlyle a killer after all?
Had he just tried to kill her?
Her heart rejected the idea, but her mind kept throwing up contradictory fragments—things he’d said, things other people had said about him. Could she trust him? How well did she really know him? Suppose everything he’d told her about himself had been a lie?
The streets were safe now, surely. He and the car were home. She’d get back to the street and find a phone or pound on some neighbor’s door or simply scream as loudly as she could until somebody called the police. That’s what she should have done in the first place—screamed. To hell with this trying-to-be-brave nonsense. To hell with self-control.
The fog had rolled back in and now shrouded the small garden. For a moment she was disoriented, unsure where the staircase started. The steps had beenslippery, she remembered; she shouldn’t run, shouldn’t rush—she didn’t want to fall and be stuck here. He didn’t know she was here. He’d given up, at least for tonight.
Annie had just found the top of the stairs when she heard growls and then loud insistent barking. He must have let the dogs out. The furious barking stopped abruptly, followed by an ominous silence. She remembered a stray scrap of information: Attacking dogs do not make a sound
Stressed out and totally confused about who were the good guys and who were the bad, Annie did the worst possible thing. She ran.
She knew that she couldn’t outrun attack dogs, but she had seen a tree just a few yards back—thick and sturdy, and with branches low enough to climb.
Annie stumbled and fell as she reached the tree and grabbed at the lowest branch. She let out an involuntary cry as she cracked her head on the tree trunk and her knee on something hard. As she heard the whoosh in the bushes behind her, she knew that the dogs—which Matt had locked up the last time she’d been here—were almost upon her.
Annie’s palms were sweating as she clambered to her feet and snatched at the branch overhead. With a powerful heave, she pulled herself up just as the dogs burst out of the brush behind her. Seizing the next branch, heart hopping, she climbed another few feet and then another, hugging the tree trunk as two enormous hounds from hell—or so they appeared in the fog—barked and leaped against the bottom of the tree.
So much for escaping quietly.
It was only a couple of minutes before she heard him coming. First was the blinding beam of a powerful flashlight, then the low voice she recognized. He spoke to the dogs, which, with obvious reluctance, backed away from the tree. As they vanished into the fog, Annie heard the jangle of chains.