Morrison shrugged. “It was a vicious attack, indicating extreme anger or psychosis. In the minds of people like that… Well, for a lot of them, it’s never finished until the victim’s dead.”
“He used a knife last time. Would he have been likely to switch to a gun?”
“You can’t predict what people like that’ll do.”
Julia looked around the trashed apartment, blocking out the bloodstains. The furnishings were old and worn; there were no pictures or mementoes; it felt like the lair of an animal who had dug in and was waiting to die.
And now she had.
RAE KELLEHER
The Pro Terra Party. Founded in 2002 by environmentalists Cheryl Fitzgerald and Don Beckman. They’d had a falling-out in 2004, and Beckman quit the party; Fitzgerald left in 2006, for unspecified personal reasons. Since then Pro Terra had been run by a board of directors, of which Lee Summers, the dead woman’s father, was chairman. Their most notable political win had been Paul Janssen’s election to the state house of representatives in 2008.
Rae Googled Cheryl Fitzgerald. The woman had been flying below the search engine’s radar since she left the party and took an executive position with a Silicon Valley firm that developed alternative energy sources. Don Beckman had died of a heart attack in 2005. Rae went to one of the search engines the agency subscribed to for more information on Fitzgerald. She was still with Alternative Resources, whose office address was in Cupertino. Rae noted that down, then did a search for Lee Summers.
He had an impressive background: bachelor’s degree in prelaw from Stanford, law degree from Harvard. He’d made partner at one of San Francisco’s prestigious appeals firms in record time. His personal life was unblemished: he’d been married to his wife, Senta, for twenty-four years; was a regular churchgoer; was a member of two country clubs; served on the boards of various charities. Alicia had been the couple’s only child. Five years ago Summers had cut back on his legal practice to devote his energy to the Pro Terra Party, and had been instrumental in Representative Paul Janssen’s victory.
All squeaky-clean. Which made Rae uncomfortable. Everybody had something to hide. She certainly did.
Well, maybe that was specious reasoning. If she Googled herself, there would be no mention that in her teens she had been the primo slut of her hometown, Santa Maria. But the details of her very public affair with Ricky would be duly noted…
She moved on to another search engine and dug deeper.
Aha! In 2008 Lee Summers’s wife had filed for divorce, but withdrawn the petition two weeks later. Irreconcilable differences had apparently been reconciled. Or a compromise-given that he was involved in an intense political campaign-had been made. Just about the time Alicia had left home and become a prostitute here in the city.
Maybe that high-school counselor’s intuitions were wrong. Maybe Rae should rethink the abuse angle.
The phone rang. Rae grabbed it before the call could go to the office machine. Jane Koziol, the Acalanes High School counselor she’d just been thinking of.
“I’ve been in touch with Alicia’s mother, Senta Summers,” she said. “She’d like to talk with you. Would tomorrow afternoon at two be okay?”
“Of course.” Abuse, just as she’d suspected.
Koziol gave her directions to the Summerses’ house in the Lafayette hills and said she’d meet her there.
The timing was perfect. In the morning Rae could drive to Cupertino and appear at Cheryl Fitzgerald’s office first thing, when the woman’s and her gatekeepers’ guards were apt to be low, and go from there to Lafayette for the meeting with Mrs. Summers.
HY RIPINSKY
The file on the Teller investigation is gone,” Ted said to Hy.
“Shit.”
“I happen to know a very capable computer forensics expert who can retrieve it.”
“Mick? He’s been incommunicado since last night.”
“Derek’s almost as good as he is.” Ted was already on the phone, hitting the fast dial. “Hey, Derek, I need you at the pier… Forensic job on our own system… Okay, see you then.” He replaced the receiver and said to Hy, “He’ll be here in half an hour.”
Hy was silent, distracted.
“You okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
“No.”
“Neither do you.” Ted’s Western-style shirt was rumpled, and he hadn’t trimmed his usually neat goatee.
Ted said, “None of us is. Shar… it scares me to death. Neal and I went by today, but they wouldn’t let us see her-doctors, nurses, visitors backed up out the door.”
“Try late at night or early in the morning. There’re no restrictions on visiting hours.”
“But I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Believe me, you won’t. In spite of not being able to move or talk, her energy’s still high. Seeing the people she loves keeps her going.”
Ted nodded. Hy knew he wanted to ask about Shar’s condition, but was hesitating because he thought it would upset him.
He said, “As recently as a few days ago I wouldn’t have believed it, but McCone’s not only fully aware, she’s working her own case.”
“What? How?”
“She’s taking verbal reports from everybody, and I can tell she’s focused on the facts and theories they’re giving her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one who puts it all together and IDs the perp. And then finds a way to communicate it to the rest of us.”
“My God. You can’t stop the woman, can you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never dared try.”
“Okay,” Derek Ford said, “I’ve got it.”
The tall, slender Eurasian leaned forward, gazing intently at the computer screen, his thick black hair flopping onto his forehead. He hit the save command, said, “All yours,” and stood. He was urban chic, perfectly groomed and outfitted, even on Sunday, with a tattoo of linked scorpions around his neck and numerous silver earrings.
Hy took the chair Derek had vacated. On the screen was the first page of the standard agency report form: client name, address, phone numbers; case number; operative assigned. Client request: deep background on Lee Summers, the Pro Terra Party, and Representative Paul Janssen. The client: the late Amanda Teller.
Hy scrolled down and read on.
SHARON McCONE
Julia and Rae arrived with their reports shortly after Craig and Mick left.
My night nurse, Melissa, preceded them, asking if I was up to having more visitors. I blinked. The frequency of visitors tired me, but it also made me feel a connection to the world I’d involuntarily left behind.
They were still there at ten o’clock when Hy arrived with the information that the file on the background investigations Amanda Teller had requested last year had been deleted from the office’s system but recovered by Derek. Hy had read it and found it was a simple background check on people Teller had considered potential political allies or adversaries.
But it had been deleted. Now I had a lot more to process.
If I could talk, or even write, I would’ve brainstormed with the three of them. Explained the connections I sensed, even if I couldn’t back them up. Asked them to look for the missing pieces. But for some reason Julia wasn’t reading the signals I was trying to give her with my eyes-probably exhausted from nonstop working. And Rae was reading too much into them. It made me afraid for her; she had a tendency to stray unprepared into dangerous territory.
Hy, on the other hand, understood. We were closely attuned to each other, as always. “You’re putting something together, but you need more facts.”
Blink.
“Well, maybe tomorrow…” He lapsed into silence as Rae and Julia gathered their things and left.
Hy looked discouraged, slouched in the armchair, his hair tousled and his cheeks stubbled. His cellular rang, and he checked it, said he had to take the call, and went out into the corridor. Since the shooting my hearing had become more acute-a compensation for the loss of other functions. Hy probably thought he was out of my earshot.