January 12, 2027
For Camille Radovic, it was supposed to be a fun morning at the park.
“The girls love it there,” she said.
“There” refers to India Basin Shoreline Park, a small, serene recreational area on the waterfront near Hunters Point. Radovic, a nanny to twins, would bring them to the park’s tot lot “three or four times a week.”
On the morning of January 8, 2026, Radovic was watching the children play on the slides.
That’s when she noticed the body.
“It looked like someone swimming,” she said. “It was coming straight toward the rocks.”
As the person drifted closer, Radovic realized that something was wrong.
“His arms and legs weren’t moving,” she said. “I couldn’t see him breathing, either, or lifting up his head.”
Radovic called 911.
Paramedics pronounced the individual dead at the scene.
The body did not have any identification on it, and it took the medical examiner and police over a week to identify the deceased as Linus Hao, a 27-year-old Mountain View resident.
According to SFPD spokesperson Sgt. Joe Guzman, Hao lived alone and worked from home, and his absence went unnoticed by co-workers. Hao’s sister Agnes alerted police after she was unable to reach her brother for several days.
An autopsy revealed Hao’s cause of death as drowning. He had also suffered extensive blunt force injuries and was intoxicated, both of which would have impaired his ability to swim, according to SF Medical Examiner’s Investigator Alexi Malgin.
The death was ruled a homicide.
Sgt. Guzman stated that although the department has pursued a number of leads, currently there are no viable suspects.
Last November, SFPD Inspector John Pettit was assigned to review the case.
“It’s not one of those situations where we have a smoking gun,” Pettit said. “Somebody out there knows something, and we’re asking them to listen to their conscience.”
In the meantime, life has gone back to normal at Shoreline Park, the tot lot once again alive with the happy sounds of children at play. Asked if the incident gives her second thoughts about coming here, Camille Radovic shook her head.
“This is the city,” she said. “You get used to anything.”
Linus Hao’s LinkedIn had him majoring in computer science at Pomona. He’d worked for several tech powerhouses before landing at an information security start-up. While he did have an Instagram page, he posted less frequently, and in less intimate detail, than his peers. Mostly he recycled memes.
What Hao shared with Adam Valois was a South Bay address and a job that kept him at home. They lived in different cities, though, and Adam was an artist, not a coder. He was also six years older than Hao — an eternity in today’s demographics.
Denny Kudelka, on the other hand, fit Hao’s age cohort. Socially and geographically, they occupied separate worlds.
As for John Doe, I had nothing to compare.
Hao was a common enough surname that I had difficulty pinpointing his parents. My best guess for his sister, Agnes, was a gastroenterology resident at Children’s Hospital Colorado in Aurora. I left a message at her department.
Next I searched for Camille Radovic, the nanny who’d called 911.
Jackpot.
Her social media persona was SFNanny4Twins. She’d cultivated around three thousand followers with clickbaity how-tos like “The Best Swaddle: No More Breakouts,” “End Diaper Rash for Good,” and “Mo Veggies, Mo Problems.”
Mixed in were photos and videos documenting her daily activities — playground outings, museums, music class, mealtime. She hid the children’s faces behind outsized emojis, making them look like parade float characters.
I messaged her, then called the SF Medical Examiner and asked for Alexi Malgin.
He wasn’t available to talk to me. I requested a copy of the Linus Hao file.
Five days later, it arrived. By then I’d tried Malgin twice more. I’d tried SFPD inspector Pettit three times. I’d tried Alan Mendes, Aaron Grouse, Gary Kinney, Tiffany Reuss.
Nobody was available to talk to me.
Regina said, “Get in line.”
She and Olivia had been texting, unable to find a mutually agreeable time for a follow-up interview. No matter what Regina proposed, it somehow conflicted with Olivia’s busy schedule.
“Stalling,” I said.
“That’s my read.”
“We could ambush her.”
“Let’s give it a few more days,” Regina said. “I’m still on my deep dive.”
“How’s that going?”
“The dentist she works for describes her as polite and punctual. None of their friends seem to have a clue about Adam’s extracurricular activities. I also reached out to her mom. No answer.”
“Must run in the family.”
Linus Hao’s autopsy protocol described a well-nourished Asian male between the ages of twenty and forty. He was better preserved than the other drowners, implying less time in the water.
“Better preserved” didn’t mean “in good shape.” The pathologist documented a host of injuries: fractured collarbone, scalp lacerations, missing teeth, multiple contusions, damaged laryngeal cartilage. The bruise patterns suggested a hard, narrow object, six to twelve inches long — a pipe or rod. Defensive wounds to the forearms: trying to fend off an attack.
Not just another drowner.
The tox screen showed ethyl alcohol, ketamine, Versed, Flexeril.
The cover sheet, written by SFME investigator Alexi Malgin, listed the time and location of discovery as eleven a.m. in India Basin Shoreline Park. A round number for the hour was often a placeholder, and without more precise coordinates, I decided to hold on contacting Jake Brenner. I didn’t want him to short-circuit.
I drove to San Francisco.
Exiting the Yerba Buena Tunnel I saw downtown spring up, skyscrapers crowding the waterfront like a tourist mob while real tourists wandered the Embarcadero in search of a magic long gone. They’d have to console themselves with a spin in a self-driving taxi and ice cream at nine bucks a scoop.
Far below, white vessels dotted dark-green felt.
I cut through the Mission and Potrero Hill, past Zuckerberg General Hospital, its trauma center funded by innumerable Likes. Cesar Chavez Street delivered me into the city’s neglected southeastern corner, a quilt of warehouses, light industry, and residential redevelopment. More trucks were out than cars, more work crews than pedestrians, and the sidewalks appeared relatively free of tents, trash, or needles — a testament to the lack of street life.
A five-minute walk separated India Basin Shoreline Park from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. I could imagine the jokes flying around when they got the call to remove Linus Hao’s body.
Fuck the van, we’ll carry him.
The facility was cuboid and sterile. It might’ve been home to an information security start-up, but for the Mobile Command Unit parked by the curb and an abstract steel sculpture that screamed municipal arts grant.
I showed my ID to the lobby guard and asked for Alexi Malgin. All the surrounding counties had converted their staff to sworn sheriff’s deputies, but San Francisco did things their own way, continuing to employ civilian coroners. Malgin shouldered out in business casual chinos and a blue button-down.
The boots gave him away. Steel toes, rubber exterior. Morgue gear. Hose ’em down.
He was in his twenties, rail-thin from the neck down and pudgy above, as if all his baby fat had migrated to the penthouse. A dark-blond beard meant to loan gravitas almost worked. He made eye contact but didn’t stop, proceeding straight through the lobby and out of the building.