“What’s the status on everything else?” Roselli said.
“We like Shook for Donner, but we have nothing to puthim to Becker and Nunn, except for the stuff today,” Mikelson said. “Nothingback yet on the blood on Nunn’s severed braids. Shook also matches the generaldescription of the suspect in Becker and Nunn. But it’s not enough.”
Inspector Randy Baker, a young, bright Berkeleygraduate, said they were using the bar code from the meat wrapper found at theNunn home to pinpoint the store where the hamburger used to lure Gabrielle’sdog was purchased.
“And we’re using the partial tag we have on thesuspect pickup, cross-referencing it with owner’s registration, driver’slicense pictures, and specifics to create a suspect pool,” Gonzales said.
“If that’s it”-Roselli rolled up his file on Shook andslapped it against the table-“Then make a goddamn arrest and clear this file.”
***
Turgeon was silent leaving the meeting. She didn’tutter a word, walking to the parking lot with Sydowski. But once he started theunmarked Chevy, something inside her ignited.
“Why, Walt?”
“I’m sorry, Linda.”
“But why? Do you know how humiliating that was? Do youhave any idea? I thought we were partners. I requested to work with you.”
“You weren’t my partner then. At the time, I waspretty well working Donner alone. I had to protect the integrity of the case. Inever meant to hurt you.”
“But you could’ve told me about the note in hermouth.”
Sydowski said nothing. What could he say? He was anarrogant Polish cocksucker and he knew it.
Turgeon turned away from him, letting the street andthe minutes roll by. “What the hell are your ‘hopeful leads,’ Walt?”
“Well, I’m still hoping for them.”
Turgeon smiled. “You are a son of a bitch.”
“I am.”
“Where you taking me, your prick?”
“We’re going to visit Kindhart, on the job in HuntersPoint.”
“Think we can squeeze anything more from him?”
“Maybe. If you offer him sex, he might give us VirgilShook.”
She rolled her eyes.
Kindhart was not happy to have two Homicide detectivesquestioning him at his job. He told them that Shook may be living in aTenderloin flophouse and hanging out at a shelter somewhere. Then he threatenedto call a lawyer if they didn’t stop harassing him.
“Either charge me, or stay the fuck out of my face.”
Sydowski and Turgeon returned to the Homicide Detail.The Royal Canadian Mounted Police had called with the names of two of Shook’sassociates in the Bay Area. They were new names that weren’t on his file. Theycame from a relative in Toronto.
As Sydowski talked on the phone with the Mountie fromOttawa, Turgeon read their messages. She went through them quickly. Routinestuff, so she set the batch down and opened Shook’s file. But something niggledat her. Did one message say something about evidence? Turgeon shuffled themagain. Here it was, from a Florence Schafer. Gaines had taken the call.
“Schafer says she has crucial evidence in one of yourmajor cases, Walt,” Gaines wrote. He ran Schafer’s name through the Task Forcehotline. Schafer had called three times before, according to the caller historyprintout Gaines attached to the latest note.
“Nutcase?” Gaines scrawled on the printout,underlining the passage where Schafer claims she heard Tanita Marie Donner’skiller confess to God at Our Lady Queen of Tearful Sorrows Roman CatholicChurch on Upper Market.
Hadn’t they just built a new soup kitchen there? Turgeonremembered something about it in the papers. She tapped Sydowski’s shoulder.And Catholics confess their sins. She should know. Turgeon tapped harder. Andthe FBI’s profile said the killer lived in a fantasy world that could bestimulated by religious delusions. Turgeon was now pounding Sydowski’sshoulder, forcing him to cover the telephone’s mouthpiece.
“Jeez, Linda, what is it?”
She held Florence Schafer’s messages before his face.
“Walt, I think we’ve got our lead.
FIFTY-ONE
The yellow ribbon affixed to Florence Schafer’s mailbox quivered in the Pacificbreezes sweeping up the rolling streets of Upper Market and over her framehouse. Turgeon pressed the buzzer. They waited. When the door opened, theirgaze dropped to a child-sized, bespectacled woman in her sixties.
“Florence Schafer?” Turgeon said.
“Yes.”
“I’m Inspector Turgeon.” She nodded to Sydowski. “Thisis Inspector Sydowski, San Francisco Police. You have information for us on acase?”
“May I see your identification?” Florence said. Shesaw their unmarked car parked on the street. None of her neighbors appeared atthe windows. Florence inspected their badges.
“Please come in.”
Turgeon took in the living room, raising her eyebrowsat Florence’s books. All were about crime. Sydowski went to Buster, who waschirping on his perch, preening his olive green plumage.
“He’s a beautiful Scotch Fancy,” he complimentedFlorence, accepting a china cup of tea and joining her on the sofa. She sat onthe edge so her feet could reach the floor.
“You know something about canaries, Inspector?”
“I breed them for showing, mostly Fifes.”
“It must be a relaxing hobby for a man in your line ofwork.”
“It can be.”
Turgeon took the nearby chair. The room had the fragranceof guest soap, reminding her of childhood visits to her grandmother’s home.Doilies under everything, even the King James Bible on the coffee table.Turgeon kept her tea on her lap. “Excuse me, Florence. I’m curious. Why so manycrime books?” she said.
“Oh yes, well crime is my hobby.” She smiled atSydowski. “May I please see your shield again, Inspector?”
Sydowski obliged her. It was obvious Florence washappy to have company. Too happy, maybe. Turgeon and Sydowski exchanged quickglances. They’d give this nutbar another five minutes.
Florence admired the shield with the city’s seal andmotto in Spanish. Oro en paz, fierro en Guerra. “Gold in peace. Iron inwar.” Florence said. “I know the city’s crest and motto. I’m a retired city taxclerk.”
“Florence,” Turgeon interrupted her reverie. “Youcalled Homicide and said you heard Tanita Marie Donner’s killer confess?”
“Yes, I did.” She returned Sydowski’s ID.
“You said you have evidence of that confession?”Sydowski said.
“Yes.”
“What sort?” Turgeon produced her notebook, but didn’topen it.
“He must never know it came from me. I’m afraid.”
“Who must never know?” Sydowski said.
“The killer.”
“We’ll keep it confidential,” he said. “What is yourevidence?”
“It’s on tape. I taped him confessing.”
Sydowski and Turgeon looked at each other.
“It’s on tape?” Sydowski was incredulous.
“I’ll play it for you. I have it ready.” Florence leftthe room to get it.
“Walt?” Turgeon whispered.
“I don’t fucking believe this.”
Florence returned with a micro-cassette tape recorder.She set it next to the Bible, turned the volume to maximum and pressed the playbutton. Sydowski and Turgeon leaned forward as it played, the voices soundingotherworldly, echoing through the church’s air ventilation system. For thefirst few minutes the priest argued with the confessor, saying that he couldnot absolve him because he was not convinced he was truly sorry, that if he wassorry, he should go to police and give himself up.
The killer remained lost in his own fantasy world.
“…we took her to a secret spot I know in theTenderloin. Oh how she screamed…Then we took her…”
Turgeon struggled with her composure as the killercheerfully detailed what he did to Tanita. She kept her head down, takingnotes, bile seeping up the back of her throat.