Not a good start, he thought, opening his notebook as Al tipped his hat to her, his eyes lit with the right mix of fatherly concern and empathy. “Anything you can tell us at all,” Al said, making Casey wish he could perfect the technique for himself.
She eyed Al. “About…?”
“The Salvatoris? You seem upset. Were you close to Trudy?”
She sniffed as she lifted the tissue to her nose. “Closer to her husband…I mean, I dealt with him on the real estate transaction. I’m afraid his wife doesn’t—didn’t—like me.”
Al nodded, his empathetic expression never wavering. “The sale. Is Mr. Salvatori still planning to go through with it?”
“I don’t think he has a choice…”
“I thought, well, with Trudy gone, maybe…?”
She gave a cynical laugh, eyeing Casey as he wrote down what she said. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Trudy spent more money than the two of them made. It was one of the reasons they were divorcing.”
“One of the reasons?” Al said. “What were the other reasons for the divorce, if you don’t mind my asking.”
She hugged her arms tighter about her, giving a slight shrug as her cheeks reddened. “Tony was…He and I were…involved.”
“For how long?” Casey asked, always amazed at how Al was able to elicit information so easily.
“Shortly after they listed their house with me. Almost three months? We’d dated years ago. In college. And then…it just happened. And for what it’s worth, Tony broke it off over a week ago. He felt it was best that if we were—well, to wait until after the divorce.”
“Who do you think killed Trudy?”
Her gaze widened. “I thought it was the Strangler guy. That’s what they were saying on the news, wasn’t it?”
“Just trying to do a thorough investigation,” Casey said, closing his notebook and smiling at her. “Thank you for your time.”
“That’s it?”
“Unless you can think of something else.”
She shook her head, walked around to the driver’s side, then opened her car door. Just as she slid in, Casey said, “Anyone else know about it? Your affair with Tony?”
“Trudy, possibly. Though I can’t imagine if she found out that she’d be all that upset. It wasn’t like she wasn’t screwing around herself.”
“Trudy? With whom?”
“I guess it depends on which day,” she replied.
“Most recently?”
“Look. I have no confirmation about this whatsoever, so you won’t catch me saying anything publicly. Tony, however, believes his wife was sleeping with her manager.”
“Manager?”
“At Congressman Parnell’s campaign office.”
Casey eyed the real estate agent as she got into her car and drove off. “You get the feeling that we’re missing something big? We have a dead suspect. We’re pretty sure he’s the killer. So why is everyone giving us a different story?”
Al got into the car and buckled his seat belt. “Just because everyone’s in bed with everyone else doesn’t mean jack. It’s more about the ripple effect. Someone’s murdered, and we get called in and have to dig through all of it to find out why. One thing leads to another. And sometimes it gets ugly. People don’t like it, but that’s our job.”
“And now we’ve got someone involving a US congressman.”
“Someone in his office, you mean. Whether it’s actually Parnell or not matters little. At this point it is unsubstantiated rumor. Therefore my suggestion to you, if you value your career, is keep his name specifically to yourself until that time when it becomes relevant.”
“And how do we know when it’s relevant?”
“Not just when, but if. Trust me. We’ll know. That man’s got friends in high places at the PD. So for now, we note it and move on. We can ask about an affair, just no name-dropping. No sense committing career suicide based on rumors. Capisce?”
“Where do we go next?”
“Personally? I’d call up Mr. Valentine. Get him down to the Hall and figure out if he can shed some light on why his wife is lying. That, at least, we know isn’t a rumor. Damned hard to close out a murder case when everyone else’s agendas don’t match ours.”
Casey called Devin Valentine’s cell phone. “Sorry to bother you at work, Mr. Valentine. But we have a few more questions. Can you come to the Hall of Justice?”
“Not at the moment,” Devin said over the sound of an engine running, then a high pitched steady beep, the sort that might come from a truck backing up. “I’m on a jobsite with about twenty men waiting on orders. A lot of heavy equipment moving around right now.”
“We can drive out there if it helps.”
“Yeah, okay. If it doesn’t take too long.”
“Tell me where.”
He gave the address, adding, “Not too far from Fisherman’s Wharf.”
“I know right where it is. See you in a few.”
The location was a ten-story high-rise currently being retrofitted. Both Casey and Al were given hard hats on arrival and told to wait near the guard shack, and someone would be there to take them up, or find out if Valentine was coming down.
The latter, apparently, because he appeared at the guard shack about five minutes later. “Hey, sorry about making you drive all the way out here. Just, when we have people working on those open floors at the top, you can’t let your guard down, even for a second.”
“We understand,” Al said, craning his neck upward. “Nice-looking building.”
“It’s coming along. Just the penthouse floors left. I tell you. With all the new restrictions placed on building heights blocking water views, finding something like this come on the market? Deal of the century.”
“Used to be a bank, wasn’t it?”
“At one time. So what are you here for?”
Al deferred to Casey, who opened his notebook, saying, “We just wanted to clarify a few things. On the morning that Trudy was killed, you were at home getting ready for work when your wife went running?”
“Yeah.”
“What time did you say that was?”
“Seven. Same time as every morning. Why?”
“Just trying to pinpoint times is all. And you left for work when?”
“Not quite ten minutes later.”
Casey noted it. “Any chance you got the time wrong?”
“No. I gave you the Starbucks receipt. That’s about a block from here.”
“Your wife, I mean. When she left.”
“Oh. Definitely not. I looked at the clock. Why?”
“Double-checking times is all. Trudy’s husband says his wife left maybe five after seven?”
“That’d be about right. I saw her from the window.”
Casey looked up from his notebook. “From your bedroom?”
“The front room, actually. I’d gone downstairs by then and was just getting ready to leave for work myself.”
“Got it.”
Devin looked at his watch. “Anything else? We’re short. It gets expensive if I’m down here instead of up there.”
Al gave a slight nod, and Casey asked, “Your wife mentioned that you’re having an alarm installed. Something about intruders?”
Devin rubbed at the back of his neck then gave an exasperated sigh. “I told you my wife had a nervous breakdown?”
“We weren’t aware, no.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m sure it’s because of the murder, but it’s starting up again. The meds that used to keep her calm…” He shook his head. “Things missing. The forgetfulness. Jumping at every sound. Thinking that someone is following her or plotting something that isn’t even remotely true. Which is why I had one of my guys come out and install some security cameras—if nothing else, to show that nothing is going on.”
<
br /> “She said something about hang-up calls?”
“Honestly? I’ve never been home when she’s gotten one, so I can’t say. What I can tell you is that for my wife, it’s been a nightmare. She lost her teaching job because she was so paranoid. I’m just trying to get the bills paid the best I can, or I’d be there with her.”
“She also mentioned something about a noise the other night?”
“That I did hear. But I checked. There was nothing there.”
“Anyone call the police on any of this?”
“For what? How do you know what’s real and what isn’t? My suggestion? Call her doctor. Maybe you can convince him that whatever he’s got her on, it’s not working. I’ve tried.”
“Was Trudy having an affair, Mr. Valentine?”
The question clearly caught him by surprise, and his face turned red as he looked from Casey to Al, then back. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Funny thing,” Casey said. “We were talking to the real estate agent, and she mentioned an affair.”
Devin shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Even if Trudy and I were having an affair, I would never have killed her. I—” He looked away, ran his fingers through his hair. “You don’t think my wife killed—? Oh my God…” Devin turned, took a couple of agitated steps, then faced Al once more. “Are you saying the person who killed Trudy is not that guy who got run over by a car? That’s what the news was saying. That he might even be this Strangler person you’re looking for.”
Al, his voice laced with concern, said, “We’re simply conducting a thorough investigation. We have to look at every lead. Which brings me to my next question. What do you think would happen if she found out? About you and Trudy?”
“I have no idea. Marcie was furious at Trudy for simply suggesting that she have those damned eucalyptus trees behind our houses taken out. I can’t imagine what she’d do if she thought Trudy and I were—I love my wife. But the last six months, between her breakdown and the doctor bills, we hit our insurance limit. I was a mess. I just needed someone to talk to, and—Trudy was there for me. That’s it. But my wife…She’s already messed up as it is. This would ruin her.”
“Yo! Val!” The shout came from the man who had given Casey and Al the hard hats. “They need you in the penthouse!”
He looked at his watch. “I really have to go, so if there’s nothing else?”
“Actually,” Al said, “one more question. Why do you think it was that your wife arrived after the homicide occurred, but she left before Trudy did?”
Devin’s brow furrowed as though he’d never thought of the possibility before now. “I have no idea. I—I suppose Marcie could have taken a different route? A longer one?”
“That’s probably it,” Al said. He smiled. “Thanks again for your time. And good luck with the project,” he added, nodding toward the upper floors of the building.
They returned the hard hats to the man at the guard shack then walked to the car. Once they were out of earshot, Casey said, “So nothing about an affair with anyone from Parnell’s campaign.”
“Yeah. Seems he took it rather personal.”
“You think Devin did it? To keep his wife from finding out?”
“Not sure how, unless he magically appeared in two places. In the meantime, let’s rule out your dead suspect before you start hooking up spurned spouses.”
On their way back to the Hall, they grabbed a quick late lunch then stopped off at the morgue to see if there were any results on the pending autopsies.
Investigator Melton happened to be eating lunch at his desk when they got there. A sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other, he was doodling on a pad while he ate, coloring in the details of a muscled man in a dark-blue cape and a black mask and the letters DI emblazoned on the front of his superhero costume.
“DI?” Casey asked.
“Death Investigator. Solves crime in a single leap of logic.”
Al eyed the drawing as Melton finished his sandwich. “Let me know when he comes to town. We could use his help.”
“Funny,” Melton said, setting his pen down. The bulletin board next to his desk was covered with similar illustrations. An accomplished artist, Melton moonlighted as a coroner’s investigator, while working on his true passion, being an illustrator. “And if you’re here for the autopsy reports, get in line.”
“Come on,” Al replied. “There’s gotta be something you can feed us?”
“How about the same line the pathologist told me? Budget cuts. One body at a time. Why do you think I’m eating at my desk? Someone has to man the phones while the clerks get lunch.”
“You have to have something by now,” Al told him. “The captain’s ready to boot us back to patrol if we don’t solve this.”
“She got to one. I think yours,” he said to Casey. “The victim, not the suspect.”
“And?” Casey asked.
“Definitely choked, but the bruising doesn’t match up to your serial Strangler cases.”
“How?” Casey asked.
“Come on back. I’ll show you.”
He woke up his computer, accessing photos from a case file. “This is the second Strangler victim, the one that led us to believe we were actually dealing with a serial killer. See this?” He pointed to the photo of the victim’s neck.
Casey leaned in for a better view. “What about it?”
“No bruising at all in the front. That crisscross pattern beneath her jaw and the side of her neck is bruising from the suspect’s watch or buttons on his sleeve, we think. Something hard enough to bruise her. Similar to markings we found on the other Strangler victims. Like he had her in a carotid hold and kept it tight until she died. Knew what he was doing.”
The carotid restraint being the suspected cause of death was a detail they’d held from the press. And would continue to do so until the suspect was caught.
“Not so with your Presidio victim. Come on back and I’ll show you.” They followed him through the offices into the morgue, its antiseptic smell evident the moment he opened the door. He led them to one of the refrigerated drawers, which he pulled open. “This is your Presidio victim. Probably see it better in the photos beforehand, but see all this bruising around her neck?”
In fact, the bruising continued all the way around.
“You can actually see where his fingertips pressed in. Definitely more violent,” Melton said. “And definitely different than the suspected Strangler cases.”
“Is there any way we can actually pin her murder on my dead suspect?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Mind you, it’s only preliminary. Nothing confirmed officially. But she fought back. He had her around the neck, and she scratched at the back of his hands.”
Al looked skeptical. “How can you tell, when he ate the pavement after that car hit him? Gotta be covered in road rash.”
“Except in this case she had a pretty good chunk of his skin beneath her fingernail. Fits like a missing jigsaw piece to the corresponding hole she gouged from the back of his hand.” He opened a file folder, showed a photo of the skin recovered from beneath her fingernail, the doctor holding it out with tweezers next to the shallow wound on his hand. “Like I said, just a matter of formality waiting for a DNA match. But even the doc says he’s your guy. Or rather, they had close contact within a very short period before their respective deaths.”
“Thanks,” Casey said, somewhat disappointed he wasn’t going to be the one who solved the case of the decade.
“Tough break, kid,” Al told him as they walked back up to Homicide. “Would’ve been nice if it was the Strangler. Wrap it all up in a neat package. But it’s not. Which means you have to look at the whole motive thing.”
“What motive? The guy committed a copycat murder by choking a girl near a landmark. Happens all the time in serial kill
er cases, or they wouldn’t have a name for it.”
Al dropped his hat on the coatrack hook. “If you say so.”
“Why? You think it’s something different?”
“I’m not the one writing it up,” he said as Casey’s phone rang. “I’m just saying, cover all your bases.”
Casey answered on the next ring. “Kellog. Homicide.”
“Hi.” A woman’s voice. “This is Jenn Barstow…from the Union-Examiner. I was wondering if you had a moment. I was hoping to talk to you about those old cases.”
“Jenn—Miss Barstow,” he corrected, worried that anyone listening in might misconstrue their relationship. “Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of a big investigation right now.”
“Sure.”
He disconnected, then got to work on the Presidio report, completely forgetting about returning Jenn Barstow’s call. It was well after six by the time he and Al left for the day.
Al grabbed his hat and coat on the way out the door. “How’s that report coming?”
“The way I see it,” Casey said, buttoning up his jacket. “With that piece of skin matching up to the suspect’s hand? We know who our killer is. Pretty sure I can get this wrapped up in a day or two.”
“Positive thinking, eh, College Boy? Let me know how that turns out for you.”
NINETEEN
Jenn Barstow’s feet ached from the high-heeled shoes as she tried walking across the restroom floor at their office building the next morning. “Why can’t I wear flats?” she asked. “These shoes suck. Even more than the red ones the other night.”
Taryn eyed her with approval. “It’s all about the way you look.”
“Like a call girl?”
“Trust me. You look nothing like a call girl. And if you did, at least it’d be a high-priced call girl,” Taryn said as she put all the newly purchased makeup into a zippered bag, then set it on the counter. “The point is, you succeeded the other night. I can’t believe you actually kissed him.”
“It was more a peck on the cheek.”
“Whatever it was, it was pure genius. He kissed you back. Which means there is no way he’ll ignore you now.”
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