Killer Karma

by Lee Killough

  That thought brought him up short. Cole hurriedly moved to the sidewalk. He had enough problems without becoming addicted to internal combustion.

  The seedy Victorian in front of him had been divided into flats, with the mailboxes indicating that K. G. Hayes lived on the second floor. But a tricycle and some toy trucks on the floor of the apartment’s livingroom made Cole doubt the Hayes he wanted lived here. One look at the very pregnant female half of the couple he found asleep in one bedroom confirmed that.

  Cole returned to the street. One K. Hayes down, two to go. Maybe she was the one in Haight-Ashbury. Did he know a location near the address well enough to try ziptripping there? Nothing closer than he was right now, he decided…and broke into a jog.

  The Haight address brought him to another divided Victorian, this time partitioned into studio apartments. K. T. Hays occupied the rear of the ground floor. Opening his eyes after passing through the door, Cole found a woman asleep on the sofa bed. She lay on her stomach, face hidden in the crook of her arm, but photographs on the top shelf of an entertainment center told him he had the right Hayes. One showed Kenisha Hayes and Sara skiing, while in another they lounged on a sunny beach with a fit-looking man in his fifties.

  Cole sat on the side of the bed and ran his hand along the exposed arm. “Miss Hayes.”

  Without waking, she shivered and pulled the arm under her quilt.

  A shoulder remained exposed. He rubbed it. “Kenisha…Ke-neee-sha, baby.”

  Squirming farther under the quilt, she mumbled, “What.”

  Still not awake, he judged. Fine, as long as she answered coherently. “I need to ask you about Sara.”

  “Sara?” Hayes’s breathing paused. Her eyes cracked open. Her squint abruptly turned wide-eyed. “Inspector Dunavan?”

  “Not in the flesh.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “The chain and deadbolts on your door are still secure. I’m just a dream.” He walked up to the ceiling, then back down and sat on a virtual chair beside the bed, propping one ankle on his other knee. “See?”

  Her eyes drifted closed. “What about Sara?”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Hayes grunted. “In the dream I was just having, we were cruising down to Baja. The sea was calm; the sun was warm. In real life, the last I heard she was planning to spend the weekend in the sack with you.” Her eyes opened again. She frowned. “I wonder why I’m dreaming about you being here?”

  “Maybe you’re unconsciously worried about the questions she was asking around the office. Maybe Mrs. Gao was watching her in some threatening way?” He leaned back with his hands behind his head and propped his feet up on the edge of the bed. “If you’re worried, how better to deal with that than calling up a minion of the law.”

  “Why would I be worried?” She scooted semi-upright against the back of the sofa. “Sara was just asking who used to have the books for certain stores, and all Gao said was if Sara worked on her accounts instead of gossiping, she’d finish up in the regular business hours.”

  Cole returned his feet to the floor and leaned toward her, elbows propped on his knees. “Did you have any of the stores she was asking about?”

  She nodded. “A Different Country.”

  It had been burglarized three years ago. “How was it doing financially before the account was reassigned?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  After three years, possibly not. “Do you know where Sara might go if she wanted to hide?

  Hayes’s eyes widened. “Hide? Why would she need to hide?”

  “She didn’t come asking you for help?”

  “No. If she’s in trouble, maybe she went home. That’s what I’d do. Her parents are in Bloomington, Indiana.”

  A logical choice that needed checking out…though if the threat to Sara came from Gao, the personnel files would tell anyone looking for Sara where to go. “How about the man you were supposed to cruise with this weekend?”

  Hayes shook her head. “She just met him last week and I expect he’s off on his yacht right now.”

  “What about other male friends?”

  She shook her head again. “Most are only weekend flings…like you. I don’t know any names. When she’s telling Joy and me the juicy details, she just uses first names or nicknames. The few guys she sees semi-regularly, she doesn’t talk about at all.”

  “You must know the dude in the bathing suit.” Cole pointed at the photographs on the entertainment center. “Or was he just a fling, too?”

  Her gaze followed the direction of his finger. “Jerry? I forgot about him. He’s gay. He can’t bring himself to come out, though, so he calls Sara when he needs a female on his arm. But he’ll take her places just for fun, too, because they like each other. A few times he’s let her bring me along. He has a great flat in London and house in Belize that’s to die for.”

  Belize. A sweet place to lie low. He must have a place here in town, too. It was definitely worth checking out. “And Jerry’s full name and address are…what.”

  “Gerald Lockhart. I’m not sure of the address, but it’s in Seacliff.”

  Donald Flaxx’s neighborhood. It would be interesting if Sara turned out to be hiding next almost next door. “Do you have Miss Quon’s address?”

  “Joy?” Hayes shook her head. “She keeps her family life separate from the office and us. We’ve never been to her house.”

  Razor could locate the address and talk to Quon. Cole stood. “Thank you for your time.” He could not resist adding: “I now return you to your regularly scheduled dream.” Then he headed for the door. Rear vision spotted Hayes shaking her head and closing her eyes even before he passed into the hall.

  Leaving the house, he felt satisfied. She had given him several leads to follow. Now he needed a computer. He headed for the Park District station a few blocks away.

  Outside the holding cells there, Cole found one computer in use. The single occupant of their holding cells, a woman, lay sleeping on the her bench, an arm across her eyes. No one paid attention to the other computer.

  Using it turned out to be a bitch. The chair pushed under the desk forced Cole to operate the computer standing up. Experience on the Southern Station and Braff’s computers did not make working with this one any less tedious, either. Hunting and pecking, he kept global vision watching the officer at the other computer and the rest of the room, hoping no one noticed the action on this screen. Luck seemed with him so far. Even when another officer joined the first and they turned to gather the pages collecting in the printer tray, neither looked his computer’s direction.

  A commotion in the hall became officers hauling in a young black male.

  He struggled between them. “You got the wrong man! That bitch is lyin’!”

  Cole kept plugging away, forcing himself not to rush so he made no wrong key strokes.

  The officers unlocked a holding cell and shoved their prisoner in, leaving him cuffed. He swung back to the door, voice rising into soprano. “I done tole you, I never even seen the bitch before.”

  Before shutting the door, one of the officers shook his head. “Jerome, Jerome. You might get away with the innocent act if you’d learn to lie better.”

  Cole mentally pleaded with his fingers and the computer to work faster.

  “You know how we know you’re lying? Because when you do, your left eye starts winking.”

  Jerome immediately turned the left side of his face away.

  All the officers grinned. Even Cole, as he tried to stay focused on the computer. He almost had the data on Lockhart. If Jerome could keep them occupied just a minute longer now. But while one officer locked the holding cell door, the other headed Cole’s direction.

  Cole swore silently.

  The officer reached through Cole and pulled out the chair.

  “Come on, come on,” Cole whispered at the computer.

  The officer paused, feeling along the back of the chair.

  “Something the matter?” anot
her officer asked.

  “It feels like it’s had an ice pack on it.”

  Lockhart’s address and telephone number came up on the screen.

  Cole hurriedly memorized them and glanced at the clock. If he wanted to catch Lockhart asleep, he better head for Seacliff. The idea of trekking across the city was more aggravating all the time, though. He had to nail ziptripping! In the interim, it suddenly occurred to him, could he imagine himself a virtual car, or better yet, a virtual flying car?

  Outside the station he sat down at the height of a car seat, lifted his feet clear of the ground, and visualized himself in a vehicle. Then he stepped on a gas pedal, pulled his hands back as if holding the yoke of a plane, and pictured his vehicle moving forward and up.

  Nothing happened. He remained sitting in mid-air.

  Cole stood up. So much for that. Apparently travel required physical motion on his part. While the flying car was out, though, there was no reason not to go one better than his previous walkway and make it an aerial route. Call it the Dunavan Diagonal.

  Virtual stairs took him high enough to clear all the surrounding buildings, so nothing lay between him and Seacliff’s lights to the northwest. He aimed for them and launched into a run.

  He started racing flat out, but as he crossed a corner of Golden Gate Park into the Richmond area, he stopped short, goosebumps running down his spine and arms. He had an aerial view without the obstruction of a plane beneath him. The city spread out below like something under a glass ceiling…ablaze with light — street lights, headlights of vehicles moving through the streets, lights on the Bay Bridge behind him strung like a necklace across the bay. Ahead of him beyond the Presidio, the Golden Gate Bridge towers rose out of fog. More fog, puffy billows set aglow by the lights inside it, blanketed the northeast portion of the city from the Marina and Fisherman’s Wharf toward the Financial District. Climb higher and he would see the whole Bay Area, he mused. That should be even more spectacular. He did not have to stop there. Looking up, it occurred to him that he could climb high enough to see the whole planet…or even visit the moon. It would just be a really long walk.

  Flashing lights broke into the thought. Below him, a police unit raced up one of the avenues. That jerked him back to reality with a quick stab of guilt for forgetting why he was here…Sara.

  Cole re-focused on Seacliff and resumed running.

  At Gerald Lockhart’s address, the low, Spanish style house looked modest behind gates that were more sculpture than security, iron wrought into elaborate trees with copper leaves. Inside the house, Cole found that the gates indicated where Lockhart preferred to spend his money. He had enough paintings and sculpture for an art gallery. He had also paid for location. Beyond the wall of glass and terrace at the rear of the house stretched a spectacular view of the Pacific and Golden Gate Bridge.

  Searching for Lockhart’s bedroom, Cole hoped the man lived alone, or least slept by himself. So far he had been lucky in that respect with Razor and Hayes. Making the dream visit work with a lover there would be…probably impossible.

  But fortune still smiled. Only one of the house’s bedrooms was occupied, and it had just a single sleeper burrowed into the massive four-poster. Like the front rooms, the bedroom had an exterior wall of glass, with the bed placed to take advantage of the view. For this house, Cole decided, he envied Lockhart’s money. Sherrie would love waking up in such a bed with that view.

  Nothing of Lockhart showed except an ear and salt and pepper hair. Cole leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of the ear. “Jerry.”

  It brought no response. Cole grimaced. Damn. Was Lockhart going to turn out to be ghost blind? He rubbed the ear. “Jerry. Hello-ho. Talk to me.”

  To his relief, Lockhart grunted and turned over. As Lockhart opened his eyes and squinted up, Cole waded through him and the bed to the windows. With luck, that would sell this as a dream without him saying so. He passed through the windows onto the terrace. Lockhart saw him. Rear vision watched the man sit up and stare sleepily after him.

  After a few moments, Cole returned inside. “You have a great view. Sara said I’d like it.”

  Lockhart’s forehead crinkled in puzzled furrows. “Sara?”

  “Benay.”

  Lockhart’s expression cleared. “Oh…yes…Sara. And who are you?”

  “Just a dream figure.” Cole waded far enough into the bed to lounge back against the post at the foot of the bed. “Have you talked to her lately?”

  Lockhart shook his head. “I haven’t seen her for a couple of months.”

  That could be considered an evasive answer. Hope rose in Cole. “Have you talked to her? Did she call here Wednesday night asking for your help…maybe asking to use your place in Belize for a while?”

  Lockhart blinked. “What? No.”

  A thought struck Cole. Sara might not necessarily have called, just run. “Do you have permanent staff down there, or is it closed up when you’re gone?”

  “There’s a caretaker couple.” Lockhart smiled wryly. “If someone doesn’t keep the jungle beaten back, it takes over.”

  “Has Sara visited often enough that they’d know her on sight?”

  Lockhart considered. “Probably. Why?”

  “Then might they let her in if she just showed up and said you’d given her permission to stay there?”

  “I can’t see Sara doing that. Why would she?”

  “She could be in trouble and need a place to hide.”

  “Hide?” Lockhart stiffened. The last of sleep disappeared from his face. He ran his hands back through his hair, smoothing it. “Why- ”

  “Would the caretakers let her in?”

  Lockhart eyed him a moment. “Not without checking with me. I always let them know when I’ve authorized someone to use the house. If they recognized Sara, they’d call me and ask about her. Otherwise they’d call the police and then let me know what happened.”

  So Sara had probably not gone to Belize. The matter of visas probably prevented any spur of the moment trip there anyway. What about the flat in London. “Do you have staff at the London flat? Or does she have a key to it?”

  “There’s no staff and Sara doesn’t have a key. She isn’t that good a friend.”

  It might be worth checking anyway. Cole straightened and stepped out of the bed. “If you do happen to hear from her, you ought to let Inspector Kevin Rasgorshek know. He’s in Night Investigations at the Central Police Station.”

  Leaving the house, Cole reflected that the chances of Lockhart acting on dream instructions were nil. The department would have to contact him. Which meant letting Razor know about Lockhart and where Sara’s parents lived so he could pass the information on to Homicide.

  The question was, how to tell Razor. Not with another dream visit. He had to make the information real and credible this time. Could he do that with a note on Razor’s computer? Cole jammed his hands in his coat pockets. So much of this ghost business felt like banging his head against a wall. Too damn much. Did he have any hope of working it out in time to help Sara?

  11

  It took two tries, but Cole managed another ziptrip to Razor’s place. For whatever reason, it did not work without thinking about the Coit Tower when he visualized the apartment.

  The fact it finally did work let him arrive while Razor and Holly still slept. Razor kept the computer in his bedroom, so Cole hoped Holly slept soundly. She appeared to be doing so when he slipped into the bedroom.

  Once he had the computer booting, Cole realized he had no idea of the sound scheme. To his relief, the desktop activated with only a modest ta-da. A quick check backward found Holly continuing to sleep undisturbed.

  Watching the time on the bottom of the screen, he laboriously opened Razor’s word processor and started typing. This time he gave up on perfection in favor of speed. The process still went glacially slow. In the middle of just the first sentence, the sound of Holly’s breathing suddenly changed.

  Rear vision found her sittin
g up, blinking sleepily. Damn! What if he told her to go back to sleep. Would she hear him as a subliminal suggestion?

  Too late. She stared toward the computer, eyes widening, then slid out of bed and padded over. He moved aside.

  “Daddy!”

  Razor arrived as fast as if he had ziptripped. “What’s the matter?”

  She pointed at the screen.

  Razor had left his glasses in the front room. He squinted at the screen. “‘Tell homicide sara’s friend gerald lockhart owns…’” He looked down at Holly. “Do you know how that got there?”

  Her forehead furrowed. “Well, when I first woke up I thought I saw Uncle Cole over here.”

  Cole saw goosebumps raise on Razor’s neck. Belying the cheerful smile he gave Holly. “How about that. We both dreamed about him.”

  Too bad Holly was there. With Razor thinking about him, this had to be an ideal time to make a consciously awake Razor see him.

  “Then who turned the computer on?” Holly asked.

  Razor kept lying. “Me, probably. I dreamed about using the computer, too, and must have sleep walked.” After peering at the time on the screen, he shut down the computer, then ruffled Holly’s hair. “I don’t think there’s any point in going back to sleep, do you? What say we get dressed and have waffles at Denny’s.”

  That gave Cole the urge to go home and watch Sherrie and the kids have breakfast. Reluctantly, he decided against it. He needed to wait for another chance to make Razor see him. So he stick with Razor, riding in the Cavalier’s back seat, while Razor and Holly went first to Denny’s and then on to Holly’s school.

  Cheerful Daddy Razor vanished as soon as the car pulled away from the school. He frowned. Every few breaths he took a deeper one, or grimaced. He drummed on the steering wheel. He ran a hand back through his hair and fiddled with his tie as though it were choking him.