“Thanks, got it,” Barnes said.
“Meanwhile,” said Torres, “go down to the morgue in Oakland and see what forensics you can get on Grayson. Coroner’s running a full toxicology screen. Given an overkill shotgun thing in the wee hours of the morning, I’m still seeing red flags for a dope deal gone sour. Her blood turns up dirty, we’ve got a new kind of complication. Afterward, grab some dinner and clean up before town hall. I want you both presentable.”
“We’re not presentable?” Amanda asked.
“You are,” Torres said. “Barnes looks a little wilted.”
“I’ll unwilt, sir, maybe even shave. When should we leave for LA?”
“Book a seven AM tomorrow. Call up Southwest and JetBlue. Go with whoever’s cheaper.”
It took ten minutes for Amanda to connect with the deputy coroner in charge of Davida Grayson’s autopsy. Dr. Marv Williman was in his late sixties but had the voice of a much younger man. “Detective Isis. Well, this is kismet. I was just about to call you.”
“And here I am,” Amanda answered. “Will Barnes and I are on our way to see you.”
“I finished up the autopsy an hour ago. That means we can meet somewhere other than the crypt.”
“That’s fine with me. I’m wearing a designer suit.”
“Hoo hah,” said Williman. “Berkeley’s coming up in the world. I’m a little hungry. There’s a great Italian place named Costino’s about three blocks from my office, more trattoria than osteria.”
“Sounds good.” Amanda secured the address. “We’ll see you in about thirty, forty minutes.”
“What sounds good?” Will asked.
“We’re meeting Dr. Williman at an Italian restaurant instead of the morgue.”
“Pasta in place of pancreases, excellent. It’s been awhile since I ate something serious.”
“What constitutes awhile?”
“Depends on my mood.”
The pasta was excellent but Barnes was so hungry, he barely registered the taste until he polished off the plate. Linguini with fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, smoked ham and fresh parmesan cheese. Williman seemed equally enamored of his osso buco. Amanda nibbled one slice of her mini white pizza and picked at her salad greens.
“Are you going to eat that?” Will asked, pointing to the pizza.
“Knock yourself out,” Amanda answered. “Want a slice, Marv?”
Williman said, “You’re not going to eat it?”
“I’m full.”
“Big lunch?” Barnes asked.
“Just trying to take off a little weight.”
“Where?” both men asked simultaneously.
“I hide it well.” She put down her fork. “So what can you illuminate for us, Dr. Williman?”
The doctor took a gulp of Chianti and set down his wineglass. “Actually I have a couple of important things to pass on.”
“Wait a minute.” Barnes wiped his face with a napkin, appalled at all the sauce it had soaked up, then fished out his notepad and pen. “Okay, go, Doc.”
Williman opened his briefcase and handed Amanda and Barnes a two-page stapled summary of the autopsy. “I haven’t finished the complete transcription but I wanted to give you this right away.”
He let them scan, then continued. “As you can see, the tox screen came up negative for the usual array of street drugs—”
“Is that blood alcohol level right?” Barnes remarked.
“Ah, you noticed. Very good. Yes, we ran it twice. Did this woman hit the bars last night?”
“I was told she went out to dinner with her mother at the ladies’ club then headed straight to the office. According to the server, they left around nine. Her mother was the last person to see her alive, other than the killer.”
Williman said, “I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t work very effectively with a BAL of .22. Any idea how much alcohol she consumed over dinner?”
Amanda said, “According to the waiter, it was the old lady who was shooting back the booze. Davida just had a single glass of wine.”
“Well, she made up for lost time, later. And her drinking wasn’t a one-shot deal. Her liver was in the early to middle stages of fatty cirrhosis.”
Amanda said, “I don’t recall anyone saying Davida was a heavy drinker. It’s Minette who imbibes.”
Barnes said, “The people I’ve talked to say Davida spent most of her time working, a lot of that alone. Maybe she was a secret drinker.”
Williman said, “She got booze in her system somehow. Chronically.”
Amanda said, “A BAL of .22 could explain why she was napping at her desk and didn’t hear anyone enter her office.”
“True,” said Barnes. “I like that.”
“I’ve got something else to add to the mix,” Williman said.
“Don’t tell me,” said Barnes. “She was pregnant.”
“Close—”
“She had had an abortion?”
“No—”
“Willie, you’re fixating on her female parts,” said Amanda.
“Because everyone’s fixated on their respective parts.”
“In this case,” said Williman, “Detective Barnes is on target. Davida had gonorrhea.”
The table went silent. The doctor continued. “Now, I’m not saying it isn’t possible to transfer the disease from female to female, but it’s considerably more likely to transfer the disease from male to female.”
Amanda said, “Did she know?”
“There were no external symptoms,” said Williman. “With women especially it can be like that. Makes it worse, by the time you find out, there’s damage.”
Barnes said, “Did you happen to find semen? Something we can send to the lab for DNA?”
“No semen, just bacteria,” said the pathologist. “And it took an eagle eye to spot ’em floating around.” He polished his knuckles. “So to show your gratitude, I’ll let you pick up the tab.”
11
The Berkeley City Council met in the old unified school district building—an imposing two-story white, Neoclassical structure adorned by Corinthian columns and topped by a cupola with a spire that reminded Barnes of an old-fashioned Prussian army hat. It was next to the police station and the juxtaposition of newer Deco and older Beaux Arts was yet more stylistic chockablock.
By seven forty-five, the auditorium was filled to capacity, with spillover distributed to two additional rooms set up with video monitors.
After going over the list of mock questions, Amanda felt well prepared. Barnes, on the other hand, was nervous. Intellectuals scared him and everyone in Berkeley imagined themselves an intellectual. Using big words when simple ones did the job just fine, going on talking jags and rambling from topic to topic and never making a point.
Maybe that was the idea, to be so vague that the debates would go on forever.
Barnes didn’t deal much with the locals. Homicides in Berkeley were usually drug-related, the bad guys imported from Oakland—Alameda County’s real city. Lucky for him Amanda was a great mouthpiece and would be doing most of the talking.
The two of them sat backstage in a room not much bigger than a closet, waiting for their cue to go onstage. The city council was talking about safety issues, trying to calm down a jumpy, muttering audience. Pronouncing profoundly about vigilance, caution and the need for a “supplementary police presence”—which brought on a whole different flavor of muttering.
This part of the meeting had been allotted thirty minutes but had already eaten up an hour. Not necessarily the council’s fault—though every one of them could speechify like Castro. Tonight, it was the public who kept interrupting with pointed questions. Gray-haired guys with ponytails and women in blousy dresses wearing the kind of makeup that resembled no makeup at all. Words like “accountability” and “personalized security” and “Guantanamo-type vigilance” kept cropping up. So did “necessary evil,” countered by quotes from Che Guevara and Frantz Fanon.
Amanda finished her cro
ssword and put the paper down. She leaned over and whispered, “Eventually, we need to compare notes. Every time I have something to ask you, there’s always a third party in the room.”
“Anything specific?” Barnes whispered back.
“For starters, who told you Davida kept long, lonely hours?”
“Her mom complained she worked too hard and too long.”
“That could be just a mother talking.”
“Minette Padgett also mentioned that Davida worked too hard.”
“That could be a lonely lover talking.”
Barnes grinned. “How about this, Mandy: Alice Kurtag, the scientist helping with the stem-cell bill, said she’d worked long hours with Davida. Some nights they’d go to dinner, come back and confer in the lab.”
“Hmmm…”
“Exactly,” said Barnes. “She swears there was nothing between them.”
“Was Minette ever with them during these work orgies?”
“If she was, Kurtag didn’t mention it. Let’s ask Minette.”
“Did Kurtag say anything about Davida drinking in excess?”
“No.” An idea was scratching Barnes’s brain. “It’s funny. Minette’s been described as the drunk but Davida’s liver was in trouble.”
“The two of them drank together.”
“Maybe together and in excess,” Barnes said. “Davida wasn’t characterized as a drunk but maybe she was good at maintaining.”
“And Minette’s younger,” said Amanda. “Give her time to develop her own cirrhosis.”
Barnes nodded.
Amanda thought a moment. “If someone knew Davida drank herself asleep, be easy to take advantage and shoot her while she was out.”
“And who would know more about her drinking habits than Minette?” said Barnes. “Minette’s hetero fling, Kyle Bosworth, told me he left the apartment by two in the morning. Kyle’s partner verified Kyle was home around two fifteen. Minette had plenty of time to go down to Davida’s office, share a bottle with her lover, wait until Davida had nodded off and blow her head off.”
“Clear opportunity,” said Amanda. “Clear means if we can connect her to a shotgun. Now what’s the motive?”
“Davida had the clap and Dr. Williman said it was passed easier from man to woman. Maybe she was having her own hetero fling.”
“Still, it’s not impossible from female to female,” she said, louder. Barnes put his finger to his lips and Amanda dropped her voice. “Any indication that Davida had a man on the side?”
“Not yet. No special guy shows up in any of her e-mails.”
Amanda played with her hair. “To my mind, Willie, it makes more sense that Minette got it from Kyle and gave it to Davida. Minette was the one with the free time to carry on an affair and we know she slept with a man.”
“Dr. Kurtag thought Davida might have suspected Minette’s affair. Maybe she learned Minette had given her gonorrhea and blew up big-time. When Davida tried to break it off, Minette became enraged, an argument ensued and boom.”
Amanda said, “Minette passed the gunpowder test.”
“All that means is that she washed her hands really well. Man, I’d just love to examine her clothing for blowback blood spray…or powder.”
“Do we even know if Minette ever came near a shotgun, let alone knows how to use one?”
Barnes shrugged, took out his pad and pen, and scribbled some notes.
An assistant to one of the councilwomen poked her head in. “Berkeley PD, you’re on in two.”
The detectives stood. Amanda lifted Barnes’s bolo tie, let it fall back to his chest and smiled. “This and that big-ass belt buckle, pard. Taking out a billboard that says, ‘I’m a shit kicker’?”
“Hey,” said Barnes. “This is the land of tolerance. And you’re doing most of the talking, Ms. Couture. Ready for your close-up?”
Amanda smoothed her black wool skirt and tucked in her white blouse. “Ready as I’m going to be.”
As they neared the stage, she saw Will straighten his tie. Tight jaw; she hadn’t meant to rattle the big guy.
She said, “I like your theory about Minette drinking with Davida and blowing her head off. And I’d love to see Minette’s clothing, too. Unfortunately, a theory’s not enough to get us a warrant to search her apartment.”
Barnes’ss brain ran through a series of possibilities. Now his jawline was a track for ball bearings. “How about this: Minette’s apartment is also Davida’s apartment. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting a victim warrant. If we happen to find bloody clothing and brain tissue in the sink’s drain traps…well, then, that’s the way it goes sometimes.”
“Viva accidents,” said Amanda.
“That and Zapata,” said Barnes. “He’s one of the good guys around here, right?”
As he stepped into his pajama bottoms, Will thought about the town hall meeting and the press conference. Amanda had summarized the investigation better than he could’ve, speaking clearly and simply, personable but terse. Captain Torres did a decent job of easing community fears, keeping his cool under a barrage of questions thoughtful and stupid.
Then there was him.
Speaking into the microphone with that little nervous stutter in his voice that told the world he was a shit-kicking dufus. The tie and buckle didn’t help either; he could almost taste the contempt.
Made him drawl even more, until he ended up sounding like Gomer Pyle on downers.
What a—he stopped. Self-reflection was for chumps.
The phone rang. Good. Maybe Laura, that new relationship biting the du…Torres’s voice shot over the line. “You know the warrant that you requested to search Davida’s apartment?”
“I haven’t put it in yet, Cap.”
“Don’t bother, you won’t need it. Minette Padgett called in a 911 emergency about twenty minutes ago. The whole damn place has been ransacked.”
“They got me as I walked through the door,” Amanda said. “What about you?”
“I was just about to go to bed.”
Amanda made a sour face. “I wasn’t anywhere near going to bed. This commute is a killer. I really should move.”
“You shouldn’t even be working,” Barnes retorted. “Man, if I had a thousandth of your money, I’d be sailing or playing golf or—”
“Willie, if you quit the force, you’d be cranky twenty-four/seven.”
“I’m already cranky twenty-four/seven!” Barnes looked around at the living space in complete disarray. “What a total shit pile.”
“That’s the bad news,” Amanda said. “The good news is now we can look for evidence against Minette without raising any hackles. So stop sneering, pard, and let’s get to work.”
Barnes took out a camera and began snapping pictures. Had it been tidy, the living room would have felt generous with the wall of picture windows and a high ceiling. But it was hard to look beyond the mess. Craftsman-style seating had been overturned, madras throw pillows were strewn across the floor. Oak bookshelves had been emptied, a couple of cheap glass vases—the kind that come with flower deliveries—were shattered.
The only breakage in plain sight. The open floor plan allowed Barnes a view of the kitchen. Cupboard doors flung open but the crockery within was untouched. The contents of the kitchen drawers, on the other hand, had been emptied and dumped on the floor.
The detectives walked as best as they could, trying not to squash evidence under the soles of their paper-sheathed shoes. The condo had three bedrooms—a master and two smaller guest rooms identical in size. The first of the smaller bedrooms had been converted into a home office; the floor space of the second was taken up with gym equipment.
When you got past the disorder, the master bedroom was a great space—generous and airy with a striking view of the city below and the bay beyond. Davida’s sanctuary at the end of a hectic day?
The room’s current ambience was chaos, clothing tossed on the floor, drawers dumped, bed linens stripped from the mattress.
He nodded at Amanda and she got it without his having to say a word. The two of them moved to the home office and surveyed a snowstorm of paper through the doorway. Same drawer-emptying, file-dumping mess, books and videos on the floor, the swivel desk chair overturned in a way that suggested calculation. Barnes’s large feet couldn’t manage a baby step without crunching something under his feet and he retreated.
“Someone really did a number,” Amanda said.
Barnes said, “All this disorder and the plates and dishes are intact? A lot easier to clean up paper and upright couches and chairs, much bigger hassle clearing broken china.”
“Why would Minette stage this?”
“Could be her or someone setting her up.” Thoughts were rolling around Barnes’s brain. “Or maybe even the real deal. When I mentioned Harry Modell to Dr. Kurtag, she told me that Davida wasn’t afraid of him because she knew some things about him.”
“What things?”
“She didn’t tell Kurtag. Someone crazy, who knows what they’ll do.”
Amanda considered that. “Maybe, but it’s a reach so unless we know Modell’s here in town, he’s low on the list.”
“Minette’s at the top?”
“You bet. Wonder where she is.”
“Torres took her complaint and let her go.”
“Torres is taking citizen complaints now?”
“Significant other of a high-profile vic,” said Barnes. “She’s staying with some friends for a couple of days. Which I like. We can sift through the stuff without her poking around in our business.”
Amanda surveyed the toss. “How long do you think it will take us to go through all this material?”
“Most of the night,” Barnes said. “When’s our flight to LA?”
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