The 9th Judgment
Page 19
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 21
MARCUS DOWLING OPENED his door and showed us to a sitting room decorated to the hilt with English-style roll-arm sofas, Flow Blue platters on the walls, and Foo dogs on the mantel. Mayfair meets the City on the Bay.
A woman in a black dress, not introduced, offered beverages and quietly left the room, returning with bottled water for Conklin and me, Chivas for our host.
I said, “Mr. Dowling, tell us again what happened last night.”
He said, “Jesus Christ, I told you everything, didn't I? I thought you were coming here to tell mesomething.”
Conklin, who is a sensational good cop to my badass bitch, said, “We apologize, sir. The thing is, your telling us what happened again might trigger a memory or a new thought about who did this.”
Dowling nodded, leaned back in his leather chair, and put down a healthy swig of scotch. “The Devereaus had gone,” he said. “As I told the other officer, I was putting things into the sink--”
“The lady who brought the beverages,” I interrupted. “She wasn't here to help?” “Vangy only works days. She has a child.”
Dowling repeated how his wife had gone upstairs before him, how he heard shots, how he found his wife on the floor, not breathing, and how he'd called the police. I said, “Mr. Dowling, I noticed last night that your hair was wet. You took a shower before the police came?”
He grunted and gripped his glass. I was watching for a tell--a guilty look--and I thought I saw it. “I was devastated. I stood weeping in the shower because I didn't know what else to do.”
“And your clothes, sir?” Conklin asked.
“My clothes?”
“Mr. Dowling, let me be honest with you,” Conklin said. “We know you're a victim here, but there are certain protocols. We take your clothes to the lab, and it puts down any questions that might come up later.”
Dowling gave Conklin a furious look and called out, “Van-gy! Take Inspector Conklin upstairs and give him whatever he wants.”
When Conklin and the housekeeper left the room, I asked, “Mr. Dowling, when was the last time you had intimate relations with your wife?”
“My God. What are you getting at?”
“Someone had sex with your wife,” I said, pressing on. “If it was her killer, he left evidence that could help us--”
“Casey had sex with me!” Dowling shouted. “We made love before dinner. Now what exactly does that tell you?”
Fifteen minutes later, Conklin and I left Dowling's house with a printout of his phone contact list, a cheek swab, and all the unlaundered clothing he owned. Presumably that included what he was wearing when his wife was shot.
“I took everything in the clothes hamper and whatever was on the hook behind the bathroom door,” Conklin said as we walked out to the car. "If he shot her, we'll have gunpowder. We'll have blood spatter. We'll have him.
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 31
YUKI HUGGED THE tanned, graceful woman who opened the door.
“God, it's been what, six years? You look the same!” Sue Emdin said to Yuki, the whole time looking at her like Gee,Ihaven'theardfromyousincegraduation,sowhat'sthis about?
As they walked through the house, Yuki and Sue chatted about their days at Boalt Law, and once they were comfortably seated outside on the wraparound porch with iced tea and cookies, Yuki brought up Casey Dowling and how she'd died.
“You want to talk about Casey officially?” Sue asked.
“Uh-huh. But what's the difference, Sue? Casey is dead, and we owe it to her to help catch her killer.”
“Understand, both Marc and Casey are my friends,” Sue said. “I don't want to say anything behind Marc's back.”
“I do understand, and right now, this is between us,” Yuki said. “If you know something, you have to tell me, and you have to let me use my judgment. You'd expect the same from me.”
“All right, all right. But try to keep me out of it, okay? When was the last time I asked you for a favor?”
Yuki laughed, and Sue joined her, saying, “Never, right?”
“This is the first time.”
“Between you and me, Casey told me she thought Marcus was having an affair. There. I said it.”
“Did she have any proof? Did she suspect someone in particular? Did she confront Marcus?”
“Slow down. One question at a time,” Sue said.
“Sorry. Backing up, now. Did Casey have any proof that Marcus was screwing around?” “No, but she was suspicious. Marc's always been a letch. He put his hand on my butt once or twice. Hell, he's a movie star. But Casey said, and I quote, 'He's gone off me.' Meaning he didn't have the hots for her anymore. That's all the proof she had--none-- and at the same time, she was alarmed.”
“Did she confront him?”
“Yuki, you're not thinking Marc shot Casey?”
“Not at all. He's clean. But it helps to know if there was trouble in the marriage.” “I'm a lawyer, too, remember, and I'm telling you Marcus didn't do it. Marc totally loved Casey. He thought she was a riot. He said he'd never had a boring moment in the four years he was married to her. Ben and I went over to Marc's house last night, and he was devastated. He said he was dying from grief. And even if he was fooling around, he wouldn't have left Casey. He certainly wouldn't have--I can't even say it.” “Would Casey have divorced him?”
Sue Emdin sighed. “I don't know. Maybe. She told me that if she found out he was cheating, she'd leave him.”
“When did she say that?”
“Tuesday night.”
“Sue, Casey was killed on Wednesday.”
“Look somewhere else, Yuki. Trust me on this. It was that cat burglar. Marcus didn't do it.”
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 41
CLAIRE WAS STOWING her camera by the time I made it back up to the fourth tier. She looked into my face, and I saw my own horror reflected in hers. We opened our arms and held on to each other, and this time I didn't care who thought I was weak. “These babies. I can't take the babies,” I said.
“It's notgoing to be all right,” Claire said into my shoulder. “Even when you catch the bastard, it's notgoing to be all right. Not ever again. You know that, right?” We broke apart as one of Claire's assistants asked her if it was okay to start bagging the victims' hands. The grim work of deconstructing the crime had begun. I said to Claire, “Did you see the letters on the windshield?”
“Uh-huh. CWF. That's another kink in the pattern. The 'C' and the 'W' are still next to each other, so the 'F' is moving around. And that's all I've got except for two more DBs to work up who shouldn't be dead.”
Claire pulled at my arm, and I stepped out of the way as Clapper's crime scene-mobile steamed up the rise and stopped beside the ME's van. CSIs poured out of the back, and Clapper stood over the sickening tableau and said to no one in particular, “Makes you wonder if the Good Lord has just given up on humanity.”
Cameras flashed and video was shot of the bodies and of the bullet dings in the car both inside and out. Slugs were collected for evidence. Markers were set out, sketches were drawn, and notes were taken.
I stood aside and watched the CSIs work, thinking about how an hour before, Elaine Marone had been shopping with her husband and her toddler, and now Claire's team was wrapping their bodies in clean white sheets, zipping up the body bags. I was glad the cold finality of those zippers closing was something Francis Marone would never hear.
I was wishing again, hoping that the spent slugs would compute, that there would be some useful physical evidence in this bloodbath, when Conklin called out, “Linds. Check this out.”
I walked over to the Marones' minivan and saw that my partner was pointing to the three-letter signature on the windshield. He turned his brown eyes on me and said, “That's not lipstick.”
I shined my light on the letters and felt my stomach drop.
Could it be?
Had the Lipstick Killer gotten so lost in his madness, he'd left a bloody print behind for the good guys?
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 51
CONKLIN MUTTERED TO me as he parked the squad car in front of the Tudor-style mansion on Russian Hill.
“What a coincidence, huh? Hello Kitty does a job the same night the Lipstick Killer attacks Elaine Marone and her child.”
“Rich, when my eyes flash open, you know? After three hours of sleep, I think it's all too much, that the Job is getting to me, that I should quit before it kills me. And then I ask myself what the hell I would do after that.”
“When I get those thoughts, I think of opening a scuba shop in Martinique.” “Well, be nice to the Morleys. They can probably help you out with that.” Conklin stifled his laugh as the massive front door opened. Dorian Morley was tall, about forty, an attractive woman in a flowered tunic and black pants, her brown hair twisted up and pinned with a clip. She was also red-eyed and looked shaken. She invited us into the kitchen--a vast, well-lit space with sea-green glass counters and stainless-steel everything else. Her husband was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in his large hand. He stood as she introduced us.
“I feel like an ass,” Jim Morley said when we'd taken seats at the table. “The bedroom door was locked. That was weird. I said, 'Hello Killy? Is that youuuu?'” He made a gagging noise and shook his head. “Why is it you never think it could happen to you?” Morley went on to say that he'd gone through the guest room and gotten into the bathroom that way.
“You saw the burglar?” I asked, hoping against disbelief.
“Nah, the lights were out in the bedroom,” Morley said. "She pleaded with me, asked me to give her some privacy, and that's what convinced me it was a friend of ours, Laura Chenoweth. She and her husband, Jesse, are going through a rough patch, and I thought they were making up, you know, in private.
“Anyway, the newspapers keep referring to Hello Kitty as a man, right?” I was reeling from this new information.
If Hello Kitty was a woman, it was our first real lead. A blind lead to be sure, but something!
“I just tossed the jewelry from the party on top of the dresser,” Dorian Morley said. “I didn't even know we'd been robbed until I went to put my jewels in the safe.” She lowered her head into her hands and began to cry softly. Her husband said to us, “A lot of the jewelry belonged to Dorian's mom. Some of it was her grandmother's. What are the chances of getting it back?”
I was still stuck on the idea that our cat burglar was a woman. I heard Conklin say that so far none of the stolen goods had surfaced from the previous Hello Kitty burglaries, and then Dorian Morley lifted her head and said, “It's not just about the jewelry, Jim. It's about the fact that a murderer was inside our house. Inside our bedroom. ”What if you had challenged her instead of walking away? My God, Jim, she could have shot you!"
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 61
I CAME OUT of the underground into Civic Center Plaza, a clipped, tree-lined park flanked by gilded government buildings, banks, and cultural institutions--a fine public place encroached upon by the hopelessly addicted.
I searched parked cars with my eyes, hoping to see backup as I walked from the BART station to the Hotel Whitcomb. I heard a car take a fast left onto Market and saw a plain gray Ford pull up on its brakes. I couldn't turn without showing the camera who was driving, so all I could do was hope that Jacobi or someone was on my tail. I crossed Market to the Whitcomb, an elegant four-hundred-room Victorian hotel, and entered the opulent lobby, glittering with crystal chandeliers, marble floors underfoot, wood paneling everywhere, and humongous floral bouquets scenting the cool air. My personal tour guide sent me with instructions to the Market Street Grill, a beautiful restaurant that was nearly empty. The trim young woman behind the restaurant's reception desk wore her dark hair pulled back and a name tag on her blue suit jacket reading SHARRON.
Sharron asked if I'd be dining alone, and I said, “Actually, I'm here to pick up a letter for my boss. Mr. Tyler. He thinks he left it here at breakfast.”
“Oh yes,” Sharron said. “I saw that envelope. I put it away. Hang on a minute.” The hostess dug inside the stand and, with a little cry of “I've got it,” handed me a white envelope with “H. Tyler” written in marker pen.
I wanted to ask if she'd seen the man who'd left the envelope, but the killer's warning was loud in my head. “Screw with me in any way, and I'll hang up. After that, I'll kill a few more people, and their deaths will be on you.”
I thanked the hostess and walked down the hallway from the restaurant toward the lobby.
“Open the envelope, sweetheart,” the killer said, and, gritting my teeth, I did it. Inside, I found a ticket stub and twenty-five dollars in crisp bills. The stub was marked TRINITY PLAZA. I knew the place, an all-day lot nearby.
“Having fun?” I asked the Lipstick Killer.
“Loads,” he told me. “If you're bored, tell me about yourself. I'm all ears.” “I'd rather talk about you. Why did you shoot those people?” I asked. “I'd tell you,” he said, “but you know how the saying goes: then I'd have to kill you-- Lindsay.”
“Who is Lindsay?” I asked, but I was rocked. My stride faltered and I nearly stumbled down the hotel steps. How did he know my name?
“Did you think I didn't recognize you? Gee, princess, you're almost a celebrity around this town. I knew, of course, that they'd put a cop on this gig. But, to my delight, it's you. Sergeant Lindsay Boxer, my girl on a leash.”
“Well, as long as you're happy.”
“Happy? I'm ecstatic. So listen up, Lindsay. I'm just a Google click away from knowing where you live, who your friends are, who you love. So I guess you've got an even better reason to make this a payday for me, don't you, sweetmeat?”
I pictured Cindy in the camera's eye, Conklin, Joe working in his home office, Martha at his feet. I saw myself with my Glock in my hand, sights lined up between the no-color eyes of a guy in a baseball jacket. I squeezed the trigger.
Problem was, I didn't have the Glock.
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 71
SARAH'S ARMS BURNED so much, the pain was like fire, only worse.But she maintained the static hang from her chin-up bar until her muscles simply refused to obey any longer.
She dropped to her feet and shook out her hands for five minutes. Then, workout over, she went into the living room and settled into Trevor's ugly but incredibly comfortable recliner. She opened her laptop and was grading tests, half listening to the TV, when she heard Kathryn Winstead, Crime TV's most appealing reporter, engaging Marcus Dowling in an emotional interview.
Looking at Dowling, Sarah felt a shock of pure hatred. Still, she dialed up the sound and studied how much the monster had changed. Dowling had grown a beard and lost weight, and although he looked haggard, he still had the formidable presence of a movie star as he played the grieving husband role to the max.
Dowling's voice cracked and he even stammered as he told Kathryn Winstead that he was “empty inside.”
“I wake up soaked with sweat,” Dowling told the reporter. "For a m-m-moment, I think I've had a nightmare and I turn to where Casey should be lying beside me, and then it all comes back and I remember her c-c-calling out to me, 'Marc! Someone is in the room.' And then the shots. Bang.Bang.
Sarah grabbed the remote and rewound the DVR.
Whatdidhesay?
She listened again as Dowling quoted Casey calling out to him. As far as Sarah knew, he had never gone public with Casey's last words before. The funny thing was, Casey hadscreamed out for her husband. That was true.
Buttherehadbeennoshot
s Sarah put her laptop aside and went to the kitchen. She washed her face under the faucet, got a bottle of tea out of the fridge, and gulped it down. That movie star had balls the size of coconuts. He was counting on her not to come forward because no one would believe her if she did. It would be Marcus Dowling's word against hers--and she was a thief.
Sarah returned to the TV, wound back the interview, and watched a sympathetic Kathryn Winstead say to Dowling, “And the police still have no suspects?” “I haven't heard from them in several days, and mean-while Casey's killer is still out there with a fortune in jewels.”
Sarah snapped off the TV.
This was classic Samson and Delilah.
“Terror” wouldn't be home for two hours, and if she used that time efficiently, she'd be able to give Marcus Dowling a haircut. She couldn't allow him to get away with murder.
Womans Murder Club 9 - The 9th Judgment
Chapter 81
THE BRIGHT WINDOWS at Whole Foods were in sight when Sarah heard a car slowly coming up behind her on the dark street. The vehicle crawled, keeping pace with her, its headlights elongating her silhouette on the pavement.
Was it the cops?
Half out of her mind with fear, Sarah fought her compulsion to turn toward the car. Panic would show on her face. And if it was the cops and they stopped to question her--she was cooked.
Who was it? Who was trailing her?
A horn blared and then tires squealed as the vehicle behind her peeled out and flew past, an old silver SUV with a jerk hollering out the window, “Sweet ass, baby!” Sarah lowered her head as whoops of laughter receded.