Every Move She Makes (34 page)

"Now all you gotta do is prove Scolari didn't kill his wife. Think
you're up to it?"

"Of course," I said. I wished.

Torrance indicated the men should be seated, and when Lieutenant Andrews
wandered in a moment later, I realized they'd at-ranged some sort of
task force themselves. "Regardless of where our loyalties are,"

Torrance said, keeping his gaze from mine, "I think it's apparent that
until the Mead-Scolarl case is solved, as well as the murders of Smith
and Martin, this organization will suffer. Andrews agrees with me that
we need to make this a top priority, without the interference of the DAS

office, or any other political party's influence." Translation: my ex,
the DA, and the Chief of Police. Lieutenant Andrews said, "I think, now
that we are fairly certain that Scolari is not the Slasher, we need to
focus less on those cases and more on what brought this all to a head.

The death of his wife. Even so," he looked right at me, "we need to
remember that he is still a suspect. And unpredictable. Therefore, what
I suggest is that we divide and conquer. I'd like to see us each
concentrate on a different aspect of the case, continuing to meet and
analyze as necessary." "How's that different from what we're already
doing?" Markowski asked Andrews. "It's really not, except that, as
Torrance explained, we're leaving certain factions out. They will
continue to run their investigation as they see fit, but we will be
answering to our own entity. You need approval, you come to me, not the
task force. Just remember, if my head rolls, it rolls downhill. That
warning aside, let's get back to business. Okay," Andrews said, looking
at his notes from the earlier meeting. "Markowski and Shipley. You two
continue on with the Martin, Smith homicides. But forward your report to
Gillespie. Gillespie, I want you off the Slasher case." I leaned forward
to protest, but he put his hand up, stopped me. "You've done a hell of a
job. It won't go unrecognized. But now that you've presented us with the
new leads, I'm turning it over to Zimmerman. He's still TEMPORARILY

assigned to the Homicide detail to work on that case alone. Full-time."

I wanted to tell him that had Zimmerman not tried to sabotage my career
in the first place, the Slasher case might have been solved long ago. It
was at a breaking point. The solvability factor had shot sky high from
the near zero percent in a e it at. "You can't give it to Zimmerman," I
said. "Why not?" Anything I said would sound like whining, pure and
simple. I couldn't believe he'd purposefully lost the case, it was his
word against mine. And I didn't doubt that if I looked, I'd find some
record of it in the papers he'd turned over to me when I transferred
into homicide.

"Because I'm that close to solving it," I said. Great answer.

"Consider yourself temporarily assigned to Management Control," Andrews
replied. "You can work most of that sitting in this office with
Torrance. After last night, I'm not sure I want you running around the
city following up on leads that may or may not go somewhere. Unless you
think the Slasher is the one who showed up at your place last night?"

"No."

"Okay. Then it's settled. Turn over everything you have to Zimmerman.

From this point on, you'll be concentrating on Patricia Mead-Scolari,
and this seed theory of yours." "I don't get it," Shipley said. "Why
would someone kill over a few seeds?"

"Maybe it's seeds from some prizewinning rosebush.

Like the stud services of the Triple Crown winner," Rocky said. "Couple
spurts of semen worth millions."

"Sorta like yours, Markowski?" Shipley quipped.

I had a feeling that Rocky wasn't far off in his analogy, but doubted
I'd find the answer in any mail-order seed catalogue. Andrews ignored
their wisecracks. "Go with it," he told me. "I also think you should
explore the doctor's connection to them. We need a complete profile." He
jotted down a few notes. "I want a daily report. Keep in touch with each
other, and keep your egos out. And Gillespie. I think after last night,
it goes without saying that you don't go anywhere without a backup,
regardless of whatever else is going on." Torrance's phone rang, and he
answered. "It's Berkeley PD," he said, covering the mouthpiece. We
listened to one side of the conversation, which informed us of nothing,
Torrance's expression not giving anything away. He hung up, looking
straight at me. "They put a rush on the print they found on your
windowsill. Ran it through ALPS." ALPS was the Automated Latent Print
System. "Did they get a hit?" I asked with far more calm than I felt.

ttyes." My heart sped up a notch in anticipation of his answer. "It came
back to Antonio Foust." I'd wanted so much for Scolari not to be
involved, it took a moment for his words to sink in. For me to realize
he hadn't said, "Sam Scolari."

"Holy shit," Rocky said.

"Foust?" I repeated, stunned.

"Yes.

I swallowed. Antonio Foust. Nick Paolini's hit man. oust's presence in
my house made a lot more sense than anything else so far. Granted, I
wasn't pleased about being the target of death threats or attempts, but
at least he was a known entity. What the hit didn't explain was if
anything else we'd examined had any relation.

Where the hell did Scolari fit into this?

"Shoots the seed theory right down the toilet," Shipley said. "Maybe
not," Rocky countered. "What if Paolini has an interest in the seeds? If
there's money involved, he's there. Why else send his hit man out?"

"Which means Foust killed the doctor? She had an interest in the seeds.

She found them," Shipley said.

"Not Foust's style," Andrews said.

We all knew Foust was suspected of several hits, including the attempt
on my life that night at the Twin Palms, but nothing was ever proven.

What was hard to believe was that he'd left a print to begin with. The
man was a professional. But then, I wondered if perhaps Mathis had
interrupted him. Surprised him, perhaps made him lose the gloves in the
first place. Which meant he'd taken Mathis out on his way up. Apparently
before he'd put the gloves on?

"Now what?" I asked..

"Now we continue on with what we we're doing," Andrews said. "Only, with
a lot more care. I think we can safely conclude that Foust is not the
Slasher. And that Paolini still wants you dead, Gillespie. Makes sense,
with his appeal on the calendar. From what Bettencourt told me this
morning, his case is being heard tomorrow. In light of the evidence
being destroyed before his appeal could be heard, they expect a full
dismissal." "Of course," I said, "we need to look at the possibility
that Foust took out Smith and Martin to gain Paolini's freedom." "Good
point, Gillespie. Check into it." Andrews said. He looked at his watch,
then at Torrance. "Mind if I have a minute of your time?" We vacated the
office while he and Torrance remained behind in a closed-door
discussion. Shipley paced while Rocky balled up scrap paper, tossing
wads of it into the wastebasket beside Mathis's desk. He paused before
making his second shot. "So, what's with you and Torrance?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"After you left, the deputy chief ripped into him for letting you run
the show for the task force. Thought Torrance was gonna toss his badge
on the table." I must have stared at Rocky for several seconds.

"Why?"

"Why d'ya think? Torrance was telling the man to screw himself if he
took you off the task force-not that the guy had a clue. It was
classic." He lobbed another paper ball. Missed. My glance strayed to the
window of Torrance's office, to the back of his head as he listened to
whatever it was that Andrews was telling him. "What'd the deputy chief
say?" "Never got a chance. The chief told him to shut the hell up, and
for Torrance to get with Andrews and fix this thing fast. Of course,
you shoulda seen the DA's face when he realized he was being left outta
the game." He tossed a few more wadded paper balls. "So, you 'n Torrance
an item?" "No." Shipley paced the room, giving no indication the matter
concerned him at all. Finally he stopped, turned to Rocky, and asked,
"What'dya think?"

"About what?"

"About Foust doing Martin and Smith." "Right up his alley. Not that it
bodes well for Gillespie. You aren't going home soon, are you?" he asked
me. "No," I said. The way things were progressing, I wasn't sure if I'd
ever get back home. "Where you staying at?" I was prevented from
answering Markowski, because Andrews exited Torrance's office, telling
him, "Let's get moving. We've got a lot of evidence to sort through."

Markowski made one last pitch. It hit the edge of the wastebasket, then
dropped in. "He scores!"

"In dreams," Shipley said, pushing him from the room.

Swiveling around in my chair, I looked in Torrance's door. He sat at his
desk, his chin resting on steepled fingers. His shoulders rose and fell
with an inward sigh, and I wondered if he wished he'd never become
involved with me and this nightmare of a case. And if he wanted to go
home. When had he last seen his own house?

"Dollar for your thoughts," I called out from where I sat.

He turned toward me, schooling his features into a facade of granite.

"Isn't it 'a penny for your thoughts'?" "Inflation." I won a glimmer of
a smile, and I thought, I know where your fissures are. The knowledge
did me little good, since Torrance had made it clear by his lack of ...

attention during potentially intimate moments that we were a
professional team only. After that, who knew? It was something I
couldn't dwell on. Not if I wanted to concentrate on my cases. "I was
thinking about Paolini and where he comes into this," Torrance said. "I
think we need to discuss our options."

"Options to what?" I queried, moving into his office.

"Is he connected to the doctor's death? Is that why you're being made
into a target? This case is becoming more complicated by the minutes"

"I was a target before she got killed. Only they missed."

"Maybe we need to go back to the basics." I pulled a chair to his desk
and sat opposite him.

"Such as start at the beginning."

"I'm listening." "Good, because I'm not quite sure where the beginning
is." I leaned back, propping one foot on my knee. "If we start with
Paolini, we'd go back a year ago to when I got shot at the Twin Palms
Motel. Which was also the night of the first known Slasher case. I can't
imagine they're related, because we didn't know I would ever be
investigating the Soma Slasher."

"Coincidence, then?"

"Has to be. I started a chart at home, listing the suspects victims,
trying to sort through this, see what was related." I dug it out of my
pocket and unfolded it. Torrance got up. On the wall to the left of the
door was a dry erase board. He took a red marker and uncapped it. The
marker's strong odor like nail polish filled the room. As I read off
each of the victims, he listed them down the left side of the board: Ice
Man, Patricia Mead-Scolari, Martin/Smith, and myself. Beneath each name
he drew horizontal lines that ran the entire length of the board. Then
he drew vertical lines down to form a grid of squares like a giant
tic-tac-toe game, but with four squares across and down instead of
three. While I looked at the board, Torrance poked his head out the door
that led to his secretary's office, asking her to bring us a couple cups
of coffee, and real half-and-half, if possible. He returned to the
board. "Anything else?" "I'm working on it. Let me get a boost of
caffeine." We waited for the coffee, which his secretary brewed fresh,
then brought a few minutes later. We both stared at the board, sipping
our coffee. "the process seemed right, but we were still missing our
suspects. "I guess what we need to do is start making a connection," I
said. "So far the common thread in all these cases appears to be these
seeds. If the seeds were a suspect, we could put an X in every box."