Muller, Marcia - [10] The Shape of Dread (v1.0) (html) (26 page)

"You saw Annette? Why would she… what do you want? I haven't done
anything."

The questions I'd rehearsed on the plane were no longer applicable;
the scene I'd envisioned had failed to materialize. I
said, "I'm working on the Bobby Foster case, for his attorney."

She stiffened. "Bobby… they sentenced him to death."

"There's going to be an appeal. We've found evidence that proves he
made a false confession. I'm talking to everyone who was at Café
Comedie that night, so we can put together what really happened to
Tracy Kostakos."

"I… I don't know anything about that."

"You may know more than you realize. May I come in and talk with
you?"

She looked as if she would like nothing more than to slam the door,
but then she shrugged and motioned for me to come inside. There was a
listlessness in the gesture and a resignation in her brown eyes that
told me that, given an unpleasant situation, Lisa would usually opt for
the path of least resistance.

The apartment was fully as dismal as Annette Dowdall had said. The
room was not more than twelve by twelve; most of the floor space was
taken up by an open and rumpled hide-a-bed. A kitchenette ran along one
wall, its counter cluttered with an accumulation of dirty cups and
glasses and frozen food trays; the half-open door to the bathroom
revealed a litter of castoff clothing and towels. The tiny balcony
overlooked its counterpart in the next building. A black-and-white TV
with a snowy picture was tuned to a game show. Lisa went over and shut
it off.

I looked around for a place to sit, overwhelmed by the air of
hopelessness trapped in the confined space. A rattan chair with a
basket of dirty laundry on it stood next to the balcony door. Lisa
said, "Just move that stuff off of there," and went to close the door
to the bathroom.

I set the clothes basket on the floor and sat. Lisa faced me, her
posture defensive, as if she expected me to remark on the apartment's
chaotic state. When I didn't speak, she said, "I could
make some coffee."

"I don't want to put you to the trouble."

She nodded, clearly relieved. I suspected that to her, most things
would be too much trouble. When she sat down on the edge of the unmade
bed, she slumped forward, fingers splayed on her denim-covered thighs.
For a moment I wondered if her apathy was genuine, or if she'd assumed
it in an effort to appear unconcerned about the matter at hand. Then I
decided that wasn't important; a few questions would shake her out of
it.

I began innocuously enough. "You worked at Café Comedie how long?"

"Six months, maybe."

"You like it there?"

"It was okay."

"Was Jay Larkey a good boss to work for?"

That got a reaction: a mere flicker of her eyelids, but the mention
of his name had touched a nerve. "… He was okay."

"What about the other people who worked there?"

"What about them?"

"Did you enjoy working with them?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"You knew Bobby Foster?"

"Pretty well."

"Marc Emmons?"

"Yeah. He's a nice guy."

"Tracy Kostakos?"

She drew her hands together and pushed the fingers down between her
knees. "I didn't know her well at all. She was one of the… stars there.
You know."

"I'm not sure I understand. From what I've seen, it's a small club,
and the comedians mingle with the other employees. Besides, Tracy was a
waitress like you before Jay let her
try her hand at stand-up."

Lisa's mouth twisted bitterly. "Tracy was never just a waitress. I
could tell that the first time I laid eyes on her."

"I see. Let's go back to the night she vanished. Tell me everything
you can remember about it."

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Is this really going to help
Bobby?"

"Yes, it is."

"I want to help him. It's just that… I don't know anything about
what happened. I went to work, waited tables like usual, and went home.
It was just a normal night."

"I don't think so, Lisa."

She looked down at her hands. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"For one thing, you and Jay had a confrontation in his office around
closing time."

"Who told you that?"

"Kathy Soriano."

"God. Well, it wasn't anything, not really. He was mad at me for
screwing up some drink orders. He used to yell at me a lot. As far as I
was concerned, that was a normal night."

"Except that Tracy disappeared. And after that night you never went
back to the club, not even to pick up your paycheck."

She was silent, still looking down at where her fingers were trapped
between her knees.

"Lisa," I said, "you left San Francisco because of something that
happened at Café Comedie that night. Will you please tell me about it?"

"That's not true. I left town because I… wanted to. It didn't have
anything to do with… anything. Tracy got killed, and I'm sorry, but
there's nothing I can do about it."

"I don't think you're sorry she got killed."

Now she raised her head, lips parted.

I added, "I know about the character she based on you—Ginny the
waitress. And I know how upset you were about it. And what went on
between you and Tracy before that."

She compressed her lips and closed her eyes. It was a moment before
she said, "Okay, I hated Tracy. She used me and made me feel… like some
lab animal she'd experimented on. But that doesn't mean I killed her."

"I'm not trying to say you did. But I think you know more about that
night than you're admitting. And the knowledge is scaring you."

She shook her head vehemently, eyes still closed.

"Lisa, a skeleton has turned up in a remote place where Tracy used
to go in Napa County. They've had some difficulty identifying it, but I
think it will turn out to be Tracy's." Strange, I thought, that I felt
a wrenching as I spoke the words. I supposed that in the back of my
mind I'd harbored the unrealistic hope that I'd find George's daughter
and somehow things would work out—in spite of all evidence to the
contrary.

"Someone shot her," I went on. "But it wasn't Bobby. That means the
person who killed her is still at large—and a danger to anyone who has
the slightest knowledge of her murder. For your own sake, as well as
Bobby's, help me!"

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, and tears slid down either
cheek, forming symmetrical tracks. I remained silent. After a moment
she leaned forward and rooted around on the floor for a Kleenex box,
wiped her face with a tissue.

"Okay," she said heavily. "I guess I knew it would catch up with me
someday. So I'll tell you. But first you have to promise you won't let
him find out it was me that told."

"Who?"

She shook her head. "Just promise."

"I do."

"Okay. The way it was, Bobby and I were friends, sort of. We talked
a lot. That night I ran into him on my break, about
eight-thirty. There's a room in back where the employees put their
stuff and hang out. Bobby was there. I could tell he was high—he'd been
doing crack—and really upset. I asked him what was wrong, and he told
me about… him and Tracy. Do you know about that?"

"Yes."

"Well, he didn't seem to realize why she'd done it, but I could
guess she'd used him, just like me. It made me furious. She'd done this
horrible thing to both of us. And everybody knew she was fucking Jay
for what he could do for her career. And then there was Marc: she'd
broken off with him, but whenever she wanted anything, all she had to
do was whistle. Anyway, Bobby went back to work, and I sat there
getting madder and madder. And then there was Tracy, the star, breezing
in to do her routine."

"Did you confront her?"

"Damned right I did! I told her what a cunt she was, and that I was
really on to her now. And I said I was going to tell
everybody—including Jay." Lisa paused, head cocked to one side. "You
know, I thought she was a tough one, but that really threw her. She
started to cry. And that only made me more furious. Why should she cry,
when she had everything? I stormed out of there and waited for the
chance to talk to Jay."

"And did you?"

"Not right away. He was busy. The Sorianos came in, first Kathy and
then Rob. They met some people, investors in the real estate business,
I think. I didn't get to talk to Jay until nearly closing, in his
office."

"And that was why you seemed upset to Kathy later on, when you were
sitting at the bar."

"Upset? That's mild. Jay totally freaked out." Lisa's voice grew
hushed, the memory cowing her even now. "He demanded to know all sorts
of things—when, how many times, you know. And then he started hurling
stuff around the
office. I was terrified, all I could think was, What if this guy just
grabs me and rips me apart? I mean, my father used to beat me when I
was a kid, and a couple of the guys I was with before I turned off men
were pretty violent, but Jay—I never knew he had it in him."

I hadn't suspected that, either.

Lisa was watching me with worried eyes. "You see why you can't tell
him it was me that told. After I heard Tracy had disappeared, and about
the kidnapping, I was so scared I couldn't go back to the club. Because
he knew that I knew—"

I held up my hand to slow her down. "You think it was Jay who killed
Tracy?"

"Who else? He was so furious, so violent. And he knew where she was
going that night."

"He knew she was going up to the Napa River?"

"Uh-huh. The way it went, Kathy and I were sitting at the bar around
closing, waiting for Rob. I guess she told you that. She'd offered me a
ride home, since it was pouring. Jay came out of the office to get
something from behind the bar and asked Kathy what she was still doing
there. She told him she was waiting for Rob because she'd loaned her
car to Tracy so she could go to the cottage. And right away Jay said,
'The cottage on the river?' So I know he knew—"

"Wait a minute! Kathy loaned Tracy her car?"

Lisa looked blank, the shock in my voice stemming her gush of words.
"… Well, sure. Kathy said Tracy'd already called Marc and tried to
borrow his car, but he'd said he needed it the next day."

"Let me get this straight. Kathy told me Rob's assistant in the real
estate business was with them that night, and that it was his car that
was stolen off the lot that night. He testified to that at Bobby's
trial."

"I don't know anything about any stolen car or any assistant. I'm
just telling you what I heard."

"You didn't follow the news stories on the case, hear about the
stolen car that eventually turned up in the mountains with bloodstains
inside it?"

"I didn't follow it at all. I didn't want to know anything about it.
It was only by chance that the TV at the club was on the day they
sentenced Bobby, or I wouldn't have known about that."

"What kind of a car did Kathy drive, do you recall?"

"A Volvo, blue. I rode in it quite a few times, to the bus stop or
home."

I didn't know whether to believe her or not. It made no sense for
Kathy to loan Tracy her car, then turn around and have Jim Fox report
it stolen. I said, "Wasn't loaning her car out of character for Kathy?
She doesn't strike me as a particularly generous woman."

Lisa shrugged. "Kathy liked Tracy. And I think she knew Tracy was
going to make it big; when she did, Kathy wanted for them to be
friends." She paused, thoughtful. "Actually, Kathy's not so bad. She
came around to see me that week when I was afraid to go back to the
club. I told her I wanted to get out of town and why. She said it was a
good idea, on account of Jay not being too stable. And you know what?
She gave me money. A thousand dollars and a plane ticket, so I could
get started down here. She even drove me to the airport."

I considered that for a moment, balancing it against what Kathy had
told me. Of the two, I tended to believe Lisa. I said, "What kind of
car was she driving when she took you to the airport?"

Lisa frowned. "Not the Volvo. Another foreign model, more expensive.
It was the one Rob was driving when they took me home from the club
that last night."

Probably the Jaguar I'd seen parked in their driveway earlier today.
I asked, "Did you ever see a gun in Jay's possession?"

"He kept one behind the bar. Marc used to complain about it, because
he doesn't like guns. But Jay said it had to be there for protection."

"Do you know anything about guns?"

"Yeah. My old man was a cop."

"What kind was the one at the club?"

"A handgun, thirty-eight."

Same as the bullets found in the remains and in the Volvo.

I stared at the blank TV screen for a minute, thinking of the dental
records that had been used to identify those remains as Lisa's.
Thinking of how Marc Emmons, who presumably had known where Tracy had
been bound that night, had suddenly become one of the "stars" at Café
Comedie in the aftermath of her disappearance. And wondering about Jay
Larkey and Kathy Soriano, off-and-on lovers because, according to him,
"it makes the lady feel better."

Or did it make the gentleman feel more secure?

Lisa said, "What if he finds out I told you?"

"He won't. He has no idea where you are. As long as you stay right
here, you'll be safe."

I would call Stan Gurski as soon as I left her, tell him what I'd
found out. He would want to question her, probably would have her taken
into custody, but Lisa didn't need to know that yet. I suspected that
the policeman father who had beaten her had left her with a deeply
ingrained aversion to the authorities.

I wanted to say something reassuring to her, but I could think of
nothing to offer. Finally I repeated my statement that she would be all
right if she stayed at home, and took my leave of her.

After I called Stan Gurski and relayed the information about
Mclntyre (and ruined his evening by dashing his previous conceptions
about the case), I gave some thought to hunting up a copy of the
two-year-old L.A. Times that I needed. A call to the nearest branch of
the public library proved it to be closed—by budget cuts, I supposed,
similar to those that kept San Francisco's libraries on shortened
hours. The best place to try would be the Times itself, but first I
decided to make my reservation for a return flight north.