by David Carnoy
“Relief, I guess,” he said after a moment. “Relief it was over.”
“And then what?”
“Humiliation. I felt humiliated. Embarrassed.”
She nodded. “Why didn’t you tell your parents?”
“He warned me not to. Said if I did, he’d make sure no one believed me. I believed him. But I also didn’t want them to know. I thought my father would have been mad at me because I let it happen.”
“But now you regret it, not telling them?”
“I do. Because he did the same thing to other kids. I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him.”
“What if you had told them?” she said. “What would your parents have done? What would your father have done?”
Madden’s eyes dropped to floor as he pictured his father’s reaction. “He would have—”
He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing where she was going. He looked up at her. She was talking about her parent. Except it wasn’t her father she was talking about, it was her mother.
“Your father was molesting you?” he said. “That’s what was going on? And she killed him?”
“No.”
The answer didn’t come from her, though. It came from a voice behind him. A familiar voice. Madden wheeled around in the club chair and saw Marcus standing there, pointing a small gun at him.
“I did,” he said.
32/ The Oracle
THAT MORNING FREMMER GOT A CALL FROM THE 92ND STREET EQUINOX. The same fitness manager who’d berated and fired him the week before was now begging him to come in. The instructor scheduled to teach back-to-back classes at ten and eleven had called in sick at the last minute and they needed a sub ASAP.
Fremmer liked to think they called him thanks to the barrage of requests from his regulars wanting him back on the schedule. But the more likely scenario was they couldn’t get anybody to come in on such short notice, and Fremmer lived fifteen blocks from the gym.
His first impulse was to decline the invitation—or at least play hard to get—but then he thought better of it. Double sessions were hard to come by and not only could he use the money but he needed the exercise.
In the middle of the second class he saw Detective Chu’s number come up on his iPhone. Fremmer had all his Spotify playlists set up on an iPod Touch that he connected to the studio’s audio system. He used an app on his iPhone as a timer for the interval-based sections of his programs or “courses,” as he called them. He let Chu’s call go to voicemail and called him back when he finished class, a few minutes after noon.
“You saw the news?” Chu asked.
“No, what?”
“Your client passed away early this morning.”
“Candace?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Are you kidding me? What happened?” He was asking and Googling at the same time.
And there it was: Victim of Homeless Pusher Dies.
“The report we got was from the hospital was that there were complications from surgery. We were preparing a statement, but the media beat us to it,” Chu said.
Fremmer didn’t even know she was having surgery. Why hadn’t Bernstein called him? Oh, Christ, it was Thursday. Bernstein never worked Thursdays.
Apparently Morton had just heard too because now he was calling him. “Hold on a sec,” Fremmer told Chu, “I have to take this call.
“I gotta call you back,” he said to Morton. “Sorry.”
“You heard?” Morton asked.
“Just now. I was teaching a spinning class. I’m on the phone with Chu. The detective.”
“They’re upgrading the charge to murder two,” Morton said. “I just spoke to the DA’s office.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. I’ll call you right back.”
Fremmer got back on the phone with Chu, who told him the same thing about the DA upgrading the charges. But that wasn’t the real reason he was calling.
“It’d be good if you could stop by the station,” Chu said. “I’m not asking you to come in, but it would be good if you happened to stop by because you felt like talking to me.”
Chu was clearly speaking the way he was for a reason. Fremmer didn’t know quite what that reason was yet, but he went along with it.
“Always love to chat with you, Detective,” he said.
“You still have an appointment with Zander today?” Chu asked.
“Yeah. Assuming he doesn’t cancel. Why?”
“Well, we checked him out like you said to and well, we found some interesting shit. Dude’s pretty shady. He’s got a record.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked to hear that. How ’bout the woman? Isabelle?”
“She came back clean.”
“She’s not,” Fremmer said.
“We spoke to her. She told us some things about Zander. Did you know he works for the Lucidity Center?”
“Yeah, I think he still cleans Braden’s fish tank.”
“Apparently he also handles a lot of their bookings and manages the website. He also gets a commission for bringing people in, acquiring new customers so to speak. He’s been involved with the Center almost as long as Isabelle has.”
“Interesting,” Fremmer said.
“We’re going through the thumb drive now. We need to talk you before you go to that appointment. We also found something else.”
“What?”
“We’ve got Zander near that intersection on CPW a week before your client got hit. It looks like he said something to Ronald and took some photos of him with his phone.”
Photos? Fremmer thought. What had Ronald said back in the holding cell? Something about a guy taking a picture of him. The Oracle.
“You got him on video?” Fremmer said excitedly. “You got that?”
“Just come by, OK? I’d rather talk face-to-face,” Chu said.
“I’m at the gym. Just have to take a shower and I’ll be right over.”
Fremmer needed to pull himself together. He felt awful about Candace worrying about her daughter, feared that her death would impact his attempts to reveal her true identity, and was exhilarated by the prospect of Zander as a suspect. He was also a bit paranoid. Maybe Chu was messing with him, giving him enough information to get him to the station. But why? He needed to call Madden. Madden would have answers.
But the first thing he had to do was call Anna, the woman taking care of Mia, Candace’s daughter, and to ask how she was doing. What could he do to help?
“It’s hard to tell how she’s really taking it,” Anna reported. “Part of her thinks it’s maybe better she passed away because she’d never be the same again.”
After that conversation, Fremmer decided to decompress in the steam room for ten minutes. It was all moving too quickly. So much so that he forgot about Madden. He was a few blocks from the police station when he finally tried to reach him. Getting no answer, he sent a text.
33/ View To A Kill
MARCUS WALKED OVER TO CATHLEEN, PULLED HER HEAD TO HIS chest with his free hand, and the two hugged warmly.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I tried to get here sooner. I got in the car as soon as I got the Google alert. I was hoping you wouldn’t see it.”
“I saw it after I got out of the gym,” she said. “I thought it was a mistake. I thought she was improving.”
That solved the mystery of how Marcus had gotten there so fast. Madden realized that he was already en route when she texted him about Madden’s unexpected visit. But Marcus had a gun. Where did the gun come from?
“It’s better that she passed,” Marcus said. “She wasn’t ever going to be the same.”
Madden felt completely out of place. They were experiencing a deeply personal moment and he was standing there watching it. If not for the gun trained on him, he would have gladly disappeared. He saw that it was an ultra-compact Ruger, the LCP .380, prized for its concealability. In Marcus’s hand it looked like a toy.
When they broke their embrace, Madden repeated the s
peech he gave Cathleen.
“My associate in New York knows exactly where I am,” he warned Marcus. “If I don’t call him by noon—three o’clock his time—he’s going to call the police.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Hank,” Marcus said. “Now just sit tight for a minute.”
He and Cathleen walked toward the kitchen for a quick powwow. Marcus kept an eye on Madden the whole time they chatted. While Madden couldn’t make out everything they were saying, he did hear enough bits and pieces to get that she was rehashing what she thought Madden knew and what she’d told him.
Madden considered an escape. He saw a sliding glass door that led out to the backyard, but the backyard appeared to be fenced in—and that fence was a good five or six feet tall. There had to be some sort of side gate that led to the front of the house, but he didn’t know that for sure. And then there was the dog. Dakota kept coming up to the glass and looking at him, wagging his tail. Would he run after him, thinking he wanted to play, and maybe trip him up?
A younger version of himself might have bolted—or maybe even tried to take Marcus down—but he didn’t feel the current, post redeye version was up to the challenge.
Marcus continued to console Cathleen. Madden sensed an intimacy in their relationship; they were clearly much closer than he’d ever imagined. He heard Marcus assure her that everything would be all right, an opinion Madden didn’t quite share.
“Let’s take a ride, Hank,” Marcus said as he walked back into the living room. “I want to show you something.”
Madden didn’t like the sound of that. “You know, when you say something like that, I hear a certain ominous connotation in it. Especially since the guy who’s saying it has a gun in his hand. No offense, but it seems a little too cute for you.”
“It’s hers,” Marcus said. “But I taught her how to shoot it.”
“I didn’t realize you guys were so close.”
“You didn’t realize a lot of things. Come on, let’s go. You said we’ve got ’til noon, right?”
“You mind if I hit the john first? Coffee’s run its course.”
Marcus considered the request. “Give me your phone,” he said.
Madden handed it to him. Marcus told him to lift his pant legs, gave him a quick pat down to check for a weapon, and then he pointed him toward a door off the kitchen.
“Right there,” he said. “Keep it open.”
Marcus kept an eye on him as he did his business, but didn’t watch too closely. He didn’t normally stand outside bathrooms and watch men pee, especially older men, and Madden could tell he wasn’t enthralled with the task.
Turning on the water to wash his hands, Madden noticed a wad of used tissues at the bottom of the small garbage bin to the left of the sink. That got him thinking. Cathleen had been crying. She must’ve wiped her eyes or blown her nose into one of those tissues.
He put both hands in the sink, but only put one of them under the stream, keeping his right hand dry. He turned off the water, removed the hand towel from its rack and dropped it on the floor. His back turned toward the door, he reached into the bin, gathered the tissues with his dry hand, then picked up the towel with his wet hand. He quickly stuffed the tissues in his jacket pocket, then took his time using the towel to wipe both hands, turning toward Marcus as he did.
He folded the towel and returned it neatly to its rack.
“Come on,” Marcus said impatiently. “Let’s go.”
Outside, Marcus walked right behind him, which made Madden nervous. He didn’t trust Marcus handling that gun. It might be petite, but it was deadly nonetheless.
His car was parked on the street. Madden realized right away that he’d seen it before: It was the white Audi he thought had been following him a few months back. The license plate was the same. Dupuy had someone run it for him then. The car was registered to Jorge Rodriguez of Redwood City. No one saw the connection so they let it drop.
“I’ve seen this car before,” he said to Marcus as he got in. “You were the one following me, weren’t you?”
“A little,” Marcus said. “In the beginning. Until I realized you weren’t a threat.”
“Who’s Jorge Rodriguez?”
“He used to work for me. Young kid. Did him a favor and bought his car when he went back east to law school in the fall. I gotta get it re-registered.”
Madden watched the road as they drove out of town.
“We going far?” he asked.
“You’ll see.” Marcus held the gun in his left hand, the steering wheel in his right.
“You do understand how things work these days?” Madden said. “They can track me from my cell phone. They’ll know I went to Cathleen’s house. They’ll see exactly where you drove me. And even if you ditch the phone, they’ll know I was up here.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Marcus said. “Just chill out. We’ll be there soon enough.”
“At least tell me how you killed him. Tell me what happened.”
“Play your cards right and I might,” Marcus said.
Madden didn’t know what that portended—as far as he could tell, he didn’t even have a pair in his hand—but he took at it as a positive.
Marcus got on the 101 and headed north. After about fifteen minutes he turned off at the 481B exit, headed east past Sonoma State University and drove up into the hills, where the landscape became decidedly more rural. They drove down a two-lane paved road for a little bit, then Marcus slowed and turned off onto a dirt road marked by a rustic gated entrance. Above the gate was a crested shield with the bold “NF” logo of Never Found Vineyard at its center.
Madden’s eyes opened wide when he saw the name, but his mouth stayed shut. Marcus turned right at a fork on the dirt road, up a gently sloping path. Soon, they were pulling into a driveway in front of a farmhouse that was either new or had been recently renovated.
“Here we are,” Marcus said as he got out of the car.
“This is yours?” Madden asked, standing beside him.
“And my wife’s. But my little hobby.”
Marcus motioned for him to start walking. “Go that way,” he said, “I want to show you something.”
Trailing closely behind, he guided Madden to the back of the farmhouse, where there was a rectangular pool, a lush expanse of green lawn, and a partially covered patio with different seating areas. It was all very tastefully appointed, though not estate fancy—or estate scale. Whoever had remodeled the property had done it well. It blended perfectly with its surroundings and looked expensively sophisticated without being ostentatious.
Marcus guided Madden up a path that led into the vineyards. There were perhaps forty rows of grapevines, many of them with fruit already showing. Most of the vineyards Madden had visited were on flat ground. But this one—at least this part of it—had been planted on the side of a hill.
When they reached the summit, Marcus stood beside Madden and looked out at the view. They were high enough to see into the valley past the gently rolling hills ahead of them. Madden spotted what he suspected was the town of Santa Rosa. It was a beautiful day, the sky an electric shade of Sonoma blue and practically cloudless. If he had to choose a place for it all to come to an end, this might as well be it.
“Not bad, right?” Marcus said.
“Not bad,” Madden agreed.
A little further down the hill Madden saw a set of three structures linked together, which he realized must be the winery. Parked outside the buildings he could see a car and two pickup trucks. He didn’t see the people the cars belonged to. He assumed they were inside and the building was where the wine was made and stored.
“We’re small,” Marcus said. “I’m still trying to figure things out. It’s been a learning process. This’ll be our third harvest. We’re getting better each year.”
“What are you making?”
“Pinot and Chardonnay. In the hills here we’re dealing with various microclimates. Those grapes grow well here.”
&nb
sp; “It’s a long way to go from bartender at a pub to this,” Madden said.
Marcus smiled. “It was my dream. I always wanted this. Since I was a little kid. I’m living the dream, man.”
Madden looked over at him. The problem with people living the dream was they had a hard time giving it up. He got the feeling that one of them wasn’t walking off that hill.
“How did Ross die?” Madden asked. “Did you find him in Vietnam?”
He didn’t think that was what actually happened, but he suspected Marcus would be more likely to react to a more specific question.
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I did bring him there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here’s the deal, Hank. I’m going to tell you everything. And when I’m through, I’m going to make you a proposition. And you will either accept my proposition or you won’t. OK?”
Madden nodded. He had a pretty good idea what Marcus meant by the choice so he didn’t bother asking for clarification. Besides, he was too eager to get answers to worry about that now.
“Ross was always a bully,” Marcus began. “Stacey didn’t see that quality in him. Not right away. Not until after they got married. They had their little spats but, for the most part, he treated her like a queen. At first. He might’ve really loved her, in his way. But then he changed. I don’t know if he was manic or bipolar or what, but something was off. He became very controlling and paranoid. He told her what she could wear, who she could see. He went nuts if he saw her even look at a guy, stuff like that. But Stacey wasn’t one to deal with anyone telling her how she could or couldn’t look at anyone. So she started looking at more guys.”
“Was this before or after they had Cathleen?” Madden asked.
“A little before.”
“So I guess things weren’t so bad that they weren’t having sex.”
“Well, it wasn’t always consensual. At least that’s what she told me. But don’t get me wrong, Stacey had her issues. She was no saint, always sleeping around. Even in high school. I didn’t know her well. She was a year ahead of me. But I heard the stories. She probably shouldn’t have ever gotten married. But she had these periods in her life—I call them her conformist phases—where she wanted a normal life so she’d walk a straighter line, so to speak. She was in one of those phases when she met Ross. And he kind of swept her off her feet. In some ways, I think they were both pretending they were somebody they weren’t. He was the same way.”