Inmate 1577 (50 page)

“And what?” Dixon asked.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Oh, okay,” Burden said, nodding animatedly. “So don’t tell us.”

Vail managed a slight chuckle. “The offender probably did this whole thing with Robert for two reasons. One you know—to fuck with us. Show his superiority. The other was...to keep us occupied.”

“Occupied?” Dixon asked. “Occupied while he did what?”

“Exactly,” Vail said. “That’s the problem. I have a feeling some bad shit’s gonna go down.”

The male medic who was hunched over Friedberg’s left arm straightened up. “IV line established.”

“Hang saline and give him O2,” the woman said as she applied a compressive pack to Friedberg’s leg. “Neuro intact. No other wounds. Looks like he might’ve nicked the femoral.” She turned to Vail while she finished wrapping the bandage. “The Inspector probably would’ve bled out if you didn’t get him out of there when you did.”

Thanks, lady. But I was more worried about the goddamn cable severing his head.

“Vitals stable.” The male medic placed the oxygen mask over Friedberg’s face. “Ready to transport.”

The medics moved to either end of the gurney, released the legs, and then pushed it into the open ambulance bay.

As the woman grabbed the right door to swing it closed, she said, “Anyone riding with him?”

“Yes...” Friedberg said weakly, the clear plastic mask riding up and down with the motion of his jaw.

“I’ll go,” Vail said. “Burden—I think you should come too. Roxx, you wanna follow in the car? See if you can reach Carondolet and Yeung, maybe they’ve got something on Hartman’s phone.”

Vail and Burden climbed in behind the male paramedic, who sat at Friedberg’s head. He immediately began adjusting the IV line and the two hanging bags.

“So weak,” Friedberg said.

The man reached across Friedberg’s body and reseated his oxygen mask. “You’re one tough hombre, Inspector. To think clearly, let alone talk—pretty impressive. Soon as we get your fluid levels up, you’ll feel a little stronger.”

Vail leaned a hand on the gurney’s frame. “Can you tell us what happened? Did you see the offender?”

“Smoke. Want...one.”

The medic swiveled, nearly knocking out the IV. “A cigarette? Are you crazy?”

Friedberg lifted the left corner of his mouth in a one-sided grin, then rolled his head toward Vail. “Thanks. For saving my life.”

She lifted the mask an inch away from his mouth. “Tell us about the offender.”

“Hit from behind, never saw him. Woke up in a dark place. Never spoke.”

“Any idea where he had you?” Burden asked.

“Oil smell, grease. Heard noises...but he had something over my ears.” Friedberg closed his eyes.

Vail looked over at Burden. “The cable car barn?”

Friedberg said, “He moved me once—no, twice, I think. Gave me something, drugged me.”

“How long’s he gonna be laid up?” Burden asked the medic.

“The doc’s gonna be able to give you a much better answer. But assuming no internal injuries, infections, or neurological damage, two to three days. Best case.”

Friedberg closed his eyes again. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Vail said. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Get your strength back. We need you. Apparently, the offender is fixated on San Francisco bakeries.”

“Bakeries.” Friedberg’s eyes opened. “I’m reading a book—”

“I know.” Vail grinned, then gently set the mask back in place. “Get better. And get back on the street.”

Vail and Burden left Friedberg at the entrance to the Saint Francis Memorial Hospital emergency room. Dixon, following in the Taurus, swung by and rolled down her window. “Get in—we’ve got something.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. The moment Burden hit the backseat and Vail the front, Dixon accelerated.

“Yeung got Hartman’s cell phone logs. He’s working on it with our guys at Bryant Street, but I can tell you one name stood out like a bullet hole in the forehead.”

“Someone we know?” Burden asked.

“Stephen Scheer.”

Vail’s mouth dropped open. She immediately held up her hands. “Hold on. Let’s think this through before we pull the trigger. They both live in San Francisco, Hartman handled major crimes and Scheer’s a police reporter for a major newspaper. Maybe Hartman had a case Scheer was covering.”

Dixon, driving twice the speed limit and weaving through the light traffic, was nodding at each of Vail’s suggestions. But then she said, “Certainly possible, and very logical. But it doesn’t appear to be the case. The calls all came within the last few days. And all of them were before you got that note from the offender.”

That’s not good.

“As if that’s not enough, his last call was tonight. While we were at Alcatraz.”

Burden grabbed the front seat and pulled himself forward. “That’s who called Hartman when he left the cellhouse?”

“Looks like it.”

Can that be? Was I standing right next to the offender and didn’t see it? Is that possible? No. Yes.

“Where’s he now?” Burden asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Dixon said, blaring her horn at a truck that pulled in front of her. “Yeung and Carondolet are on their way to Scheer’s house right now. And, coincidentally, so are we.”

THEY ARRIVED AT THE NARROW two-story home on College Avenue in Berkeley twenty minutes later. A Ford was double-parked haphazardly, blocking the narrow street.

“So they’re here,” Burden said as they got out of the Taurus.

They marched up to the door and were about to knock when Yeung pulled it open. “We woke his wife and sons. She went to put the younger one back to bed.”

Vail, Burden, and Dixon walked into the entryway. It was a modest home with spartan furnishings. Children’s toys littered the floor in front of an old tube television. Framed newspaper clippings of what were presumably Scheer’s early articles hung over the couch.

A woman in her late forties walked in, pulling her auburn hair back in a bun. She stopped when she saw another three cops standing in her home.

Vail, Burden, and Dixon identified themselves. Vail asked, “Ms. Scheer, do you know where your husband is?”

“You can call me Kathleen.” She bent down and began picking up the mess of toys strewn across the weathered wood floor. “What’s Stephen done now? Drunk in public again? Peeing on some homeless guy?” She uttered a pathetic laugh. “He did that once.” She stopped and put a hand to her forehead. “So embarrassing. I met the editor of the paper down at the police station and had to watch while he called in a favor so they didn’t charge him. Just a misdemeanor, but it’d be humiliating to the paper.”

“Kathleen,” Burden said. “It’s not like that. We think he can help us with a case he’s been working on.”

“Must be important if it can’t wait till morning.”

They stared at her, feeling their explanation was sufficient.

Finally, Kathleen straightened up and said, “I don’t know what you want from me. Have you checked his apartment?”

“We weren’t aware he had one,” Yeung said.

“We separated last month. I’d had enough.”

Burden asked, “Did he...abuse you?”

“He had an addiction problem, Inspector. Mostly alcohol, some drugs. He’d go through rehab, then start drinking and we were off and running all over again. It was a never-ending cycle. I finally played the only card I had. I told him I didn’t want him around our boys if he couldn’t keep himself straight. I changed the locks. He got the apartment, and hasn’t stopped calling and apologizing.”

“Can we have the address?” Dixon asked.

“It’s in Rockridge,” Kathleen said, then gave them the street and number. “Is he really a witness? Or a suspect?”

“We think he has answers to a case we’re working and we really need his help,” Vail said.
The truth.

“Have you noticed any strange behavior the past couple of weeks?” Dixon asked.

She set both hands on her hips. “Now that doesn’t sound like a question you’d ask about a witness now, does it?”

Carondolet checked his watch. “Please, Ms. Sch—Kathleen. Just answer the question.”

“His behavior’s always a bit strange. I mean, people with addictions aren’t normal, are they?”

Depends on your definition.
“Behavior that you’d consider outside Stephen’s norm,” Vail said.

“No. But I also have been trying to avoid him, so I’m not sure I can answer that.”

And that could’ve been his trigger.
“Is he an empathetic person? Does he socialize well, form bonds?”

“Stephen does what he needs to do his job well. So he socializes when he needs to. But it’s an effort for him because he’s always been a pretty closed person. Sometimes it’s hard to get close to him. He shuts me out. And that was another source of frustration for me.”

She’s holding something back.
Vail took a step closer. “Kathleen. Is there something else you’d like to tell us?” Vail held her gaze.
Talk to me.

Kathleen looked beyond Vail at the men. They apparently got the message because Burden said, “We’ll wait outside.”

When the door clicked shut, Vail led her over to the couch. Dixon remained standing.

“There’s more to it than Stephen just being antisocial, isn’t there?”

Kathleen looked down and waited a moment before speaking. “Stephen has a dark side. That’s really why I left him. I mean the addiction was a big part, but...” She bit her lip. “He’s always been a little secretive, and when I’d call him on it, he’d explain it away. He’s a reporter, he’d tell me, and reporters sometimes work all hours, and go away for days at a time while they’re researching a story.

“I figured he was having an affair, but I found some...things in his locked drawer. He was in the shower and I grabbed his keys and looked. He had photos of naked women, as if he’d taken them with a telephoto lens. It looked to me like he was some kind of peeping tom. And then I found a ring. A diamond ring, from the looks of it. It could be fake, I don’t know. But it wasn’t mine, I can tell you that.”

A trophy? Or nothing?

“I put it all back then found a divorce lawyer. He doesn’t know about the lawyer, I just said I needed some time.”

“Does he know what you found?”

“I haven’t told him. I was afraid...I just didn’t even want to know what it meant. I’d been hurt enough. Once I made the decision, it really didn’t matter.”

“Thank you,” Vail said. “I know it wasn’t easy telling us that. We appreciate it.” She stood up. “Call us if you hear from him.” She handed her a card, then walked out with Dixon.

They congregated outside in front of Burden’s Taurus and Vail filled them in on Kathleen’s disclosure.

“What do you make of that?” Dixon asked.

“Maybe nothing, maybe something. The voyeurism could go with the addictive personality, or it could be more significant. Some psychopaths are substance abusers. But here’s where it’s important. Their psychopathy becomes more pronounced and they become more aggressive when under the influence. That said, what we see most of are psychopaths using drugs and alcohol to manipulate and compromise their victims—like slipping Rohypnol into their drink at a bar. Either way, given what we now know, we’ve gotta look hard at Scheer.”

“What about MacNally?” Carondolet asked. “We should have some stuff on him very soon, but I don’t think we should eliminate him.”

“Absolutely. We look hard at MacNally too.” Vail grinned. “From no suspects to two in a space of a couple hours. This is a good problem to have.”

“Let’s go by Scheer’s apartment, see what we find,” Carondolet said.

Yeung’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and said, “Mike Hartman’s section chief.” He stepped away and answered it.

“We don’t have enough for a warrant,” Burden said. “If he’s not home...”

“We may be able to get one,” Dixon said. “If we get a judge who’s willing to stick his neck out a bit.”

Vail tapped Yeung on the shoulder, and then explained that they needed a warrant. Hopefully, the section chief had enough juice to get it for them.

Burden glanced around the quiet street. “At the very least, we should go over to Scheer’s place and see what we can stir up, talk to his neighbors.”

“A canvass at this time of night?” Dixon asked.

Yeung turned to face them. “His section chief said Mike had a personal phone. If we can’t find his Bureau-issue BlackBerry, his other cell may have something. I’ve got his carrier. Why don’t you three go to Scheer’s apartment and we’ll try to track down Mike’s BuCar in case his phone’s in there.”

“And the warrant?”

“Chief said he’d make a call. No promises.”

“We’ll be in touch when we know something,” Burden said.

They got in their vehicles and headed off.

As Dixon locked in her seatbelt, she said, “If Scheer’s the offender, does that make sense? Does he have a connection to Alcatraz?”

“Send it over to the interns,” Burden said to Dixon. “See what they can dig up.”

“Does he fit the profile?” she asked as she thumbed her iPhone.

Vail grabbed the door handle as Burden swung out into traffic. “Before we had that hit on MacNally, I was thinking we were dealing with a middle-aged man. That matches up. He’s educated and, based on what we saw of his workspace, it appeared to be neat. I didn’t get a sense that he’s psychopathic, but they can be very good at disguising it. His wife said he’s a closed person, that it takes effort for him to socialize. That could be pathognomonic of psychopathology. But it can also just be that he’s an introvert.”

“So you don’t know,” Burden said.

“Off the top of my head, no. I mean, the offender’s played it brilliantly. He kept us busy, he took our minds off the ball, processing and evaluating multiple vics, chasing cryptic clues that he kept feeding us, dealing with Friedberg’s disappearance. He totally knew how to work us. And unless something stands out, unless you pick up on some warning sign, you don’t think to look at the people around you.

“If it is Scheer, that’s a very bold strategy because we’ve had a lot of contact with him. Shit, Burden, you’ve known him for years. Not well, but if he is the UNSUB, he’s been killing in your backyard and you didn’t know it. That’d certainly fit his ego, to be around us at the height of a crisis and we’re still not seeing him. But I need time to look everything over, all the crime scenes, all the vics, and think things through. I’m a little overloaded with facts and the UNSUB’s subterfuge. I’ve gotta cut through all the shit and boil it down to an offender profile.”