Pathology would analyze forensic information taken off the body. Amanda had gone through Davida’s cell phone and her BlackBerry. That left Barnes with the onerous and time-consuming task of scouring Davida’s computer, desk calendar, business files and written correspondence.
With Melchior’s password list in front of him, he sat down, flexed his fingers and began. Several screen names appeared but none of them looked to be an official representative address with the.gov suffix. An hour of trial and error later, he hit the winning combination. Screen name: DGray, password: LucyG.
Her mom as entry to cyberspace.
Forty-eight e-mails.
He printed them all out. The vast majority were what seemed to be inconsequential communications from friends and community members. A few were personal- mostly from “Mins,” two of those graphically sexual.
Lovers hot to trot. There didn’t seem to be anything overtly hostile in any of the exchanges with Minette Padgett although in two of the letters, Mins complained about the long hours that Davida was keeping.
So did Lucille.Grayson@easymail.net. Mom was very unhappy about Davida’s lack of attention to her own well-being. Her latest one implored her daughter to be careful. Something beyond the egging? Mom was a must-interview.
Barnes felt someone looking over his shoulder. Max Flint, the CSU computer guy. “You got into her e-mail. I’m impressed.”
“I had a cheat sheet.” Barnes gave Flint the list of passwords.
“Should I be looking for anything specific?”
Barnes checked his notes. “Dig up whatever you can find regarding the victim and Representatives Alisa Lawrence, Mark Decody, Artis Handel and Eileen Ferunzio…” He spelled Eileen’s last name. “She was doing political battle with all of them and I heard some of it was intense. Plus, there’s a guy, Harry Modell, executive director of Families Under God. See if he wrote anything threatening to her. Finally, give me anything that might’ve been sent by the White Tower Radicals. Looks like they were behind the egging and possibly a threatening note.”
“Lots of enemies,” Flint said.
“She was a politician.”
6
When the woman stepped outside of the silver Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, both Barnes and Amanda took note of how dignified she looked. Head held high, shoulders back, thin as paper in a black suit, white silk blouse, seamed stockings and orthopedic pumps straining to be fashionable. Atop her gray coif was a black pillbox hat fronted by a small veil. A uniformed chauffeur held her arm and propelled her forward. Taking her other arm was a rawboned, stoop-shouldered man of medium height and weight. His tightly waved hair was equal parts sand and salt but his handlebar mustache was completely white.
The Donnie Newell that Barnes remembered was a skinny blond kid, skateboarding up and down the basketball courts, getting in everyone’s way. Neighborhood boys used to call him “Surfer Joe,” a ludicrous moniker because Sacramento was hot and dry and hours from the ocean. In a snapshot of time, Donnie had turned middle-aged.
So what did that say about Barnes?
He glanced at Amanda. The woman was married to a gazillionaire and was pushing forty but she was beautiful, bright, funny and could’ve passed for a grad student. If you scratched the designer duds.
Born under a lucky star. He harbored a pang of envy then his eyes went back to Lucille Grayson’s withdrawn face, staring out at nothing with vacant eyes.
Both kids gone. Hell on earth, what a jerk he was for being petty.
On the other side of the crime-scene tape, the captain was still answering press questions. Good; it kept the focus away from Lucille.
Amanda saw him studying the old woman. “As you remember her?”
“She looks older but not that much older. I think women of that generation dressed dowdier- or maybe I should say age appropriate. Man, I’d like to have a nickel for every fifty-plus woman I see walking around in a miniskirt.” Barnes raised his eyebrows. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Amanda tolerated the borderline-letch dialogue. Everyone had to deal with sorrow in their own way.
The two detectives began walking toward Lucille, but before they could formally introduce themselves, Ruben Morantz emerged from the crowd and intercepted, offering the frail woman his hand and a round of sympathy.
Maybe some of it was heartfelt, Barnes allowed. The mayor of Berkeley had known Davida Grayson for years and had worked with her on various committees. Though they had had their conflicts, they had also shared victories. Morantz was slight and mild-looking with a narrow torso and sloping shoulders. Innocuous on first impression, but the restless brown eyes, dazzling white smile, and perpetual tan were pure politician.
Hizzoner wore a long black coat over a white shirt, gold tie and tan slacks. Pointy toes of lizard-skin cowboy boots poked under the break of his pants. While he and Lucille chatted, Barnes managed to grab Donnie Newell’s attention. Donnie excused himself and walked over.
“Lookin’ good, Willie. I think the climate agrees with you.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“A little thicker in the gut. A little grayer in the head.”
“That’s how it goes.” Barnes made introductions and then looked back at the old woman. “Poor Lucille. I don’t know how she’s standing on two feet.”
“She’s tough but how much can even a tough woman take, losing two children?”
The mayor led Lucille away from the crowd, and back to the limo, which the two of them entered.
Amanda regarded Newell. “How well do you know Mrs. Grayson?”
“Davida used to have me look in on her once in a while.” Newell smiled at Amanda. “Guess I should bring you up to speed. Davida and I were an item in high school. She came out her senior year, but I suspected something wasn’t right long before. She liked to…well, experiment is the best way I can say it. I didn’t care. I had more fun with that girl. She was a pistol, she and her best friend, Jane Meyerhoff- can’t tell you her latest married name. Don’t reckon if I ever knew it, she’s had so many. I heard the last one ended really messy.” Newell turned to Barnes. “Janey lives here now, doesn’t she?”
Barnes nodded. He knew all about Janey because he’d picked her up at a bar and they’d dated a few times. Janey wasn’t so much a pistol as a machine gun. “Bring the file, Donnie?”
Newell held up a manila envelope. “Been looking into the Nutterly brothers. Far as I can tell, these two boys are a step below Neanderthal, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. Stupid and mean is a dangerous combination, right? Still, I don’t think they’d act without receiving orders from someone else.”