Resuscitation (34 page)

Two participants had already taken the spots on either side of the woman, but as luck would have it, the spot directly behind her, the best position for Julian to observe her, had not been taken. He scurried over and positioned his mat on the floor. She gave him a quick glance, smiled, then sat on her mat and went through a series of stretching exercises. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that she was no beginner. She twisted her body into positions that made it seem like her muscles were made of rubber. He, on the other hand, had never practiced yoga before, and had an eerie feeling his body wouldn’t survive the hour-long class. He no longer spent three days a week at the gym, working with weight machines and doing a sixty-minute cardio workout. In fact, he felt a bit insecure seeing his reflection in the mirrors all around the room. Thank God for oversize T-shirts. Even if he hadn’t abandoned his exercise routine, his workouts did nothing to make his body more flexible.

Trying to look like an expert at what he was doing, Julian sat on his mat, removed his sneakers and socks, and began a series of benign exercises, all the while watching the young woman. He guessed that she stood roughly five-foot-ten and tipped the scales at less than one-thirty. Tall and lean, her tiny waist complimented a perfectly shaped behind. As she stretched and bent and twisted her body into pretzel-like positions, he caught her checking him out several times. She didn’t offer an obvious smile, but her eyes gave her away.

The yoga instructor, an attractive white man with exquisite muscle definition and long unruly hair pulled tight into a pony-tail, walked into the roomful of students and stood before the class. The instructor pressed his palms together in a prayer-like manner, and respectfully bowed forward. The students returned the gesture. Never having been to a yoga class, totally unfamiliar with yoga etiquette, Julian’s actions were not in sync with the rest of the class. Already he felt uncomfortable and they hadn’t even started with the first pose.

“Good evening class,” the instructor said. “My name is Courage. Don’t laugh. That is my legal name.” He smiled. “Some of you look familiar, but I see a few new faces. Welcome, brothers and sisters. This is an intermediate class, so if you’re new to yoga, please let your body speak to you and don’t try any poses that seem too difficult. Please don’t feel embarrassed to just sit in a resting position on your mat and watch the more experienced students. This is not a contest or survival of the fittest. It is an experience to join body, mind, and spirit.” Courage pulled back his shoulders, widened his stance, and let his arms hang to the side. “Let’s begin by stretching those back muscles.”

Perspiring profusely fifteen minutes into the class, Julian realized that he was out of his element. Anyone who thought yoga was a woman’s sport or an activity for wimps had never tried it. He had used muscles he didn’t even realize he had. He sat on the mat, pulled his knees to his chest and watched the class, paying close attention to the woman in front of him. Julian might not be an expert or someone who could distinguish between good form and bad form, but he felt certain that this woman’s fluid movement and graceful transitions from one pose to another seemed textbook-perfect.

During the next forty-five minutes, he tried several times to get into the rhythm. His attempts proved futile. Totally resigned, he surrendered and went from participant to spectator. Looking at his watch every couple of minutes, willing it to move faster, Julian thought the class would go on forever. Finally, the timer Courage had set at the beginning of class started playing an Indian song with the distinct sound of a sitar, and Julian felt like he’d been let out of prison. In retrospect, coming to this class had been foolish. Had he thought about it more clearly, he would have devised a more strategic plan. What was his next move? He sat there with thirty people around him, people who would soon be converging on the parking lot. How could he possibly think that this would be a fruitful evening?

He rolled up his mat and wrapped his towel around his neck, discouraged and highly irritated. Before returning the mat, he gave the woman one more look and smiled his best smile. Mat under her arm and towel over her shoulder, she approached him.

“First time?” she said.

“It’s that obvious?”

“My first attempt only lasted five minutes, so you’re way ahead of me.”

“At least that gives me hope.”

“Don’t give up. Yoga is a great stress reliever. Besides, you never know when you’ll meet someone interesting.” Now she was grinning.

“Your form is exquisite,” Julian said.

“And by
form
you mean my poses?”

He gave her a mischievous smirk. “That too.”

She glanced at the wall clock. “I’d love to chat, but I really have to get going.”

“How about I walk you to your car?”

“You didn’t even tell me your name.” She offered her hand. “McKenzie.”

“John.”

“My pleasure, John.”

They walked side by side, heading for the door. With the entire class trying to exit the facility, it looked like a high school fire drill.

“Have you ever considered instructing, McKenzie?”

“I have. But in California you need a license and it’s not easy getting one.”

“Well, I for one would join your class in a heartbeat.” Time to bait the hook. “Would you need a license to instruct one-on-one?”

“Good question.”

“If you and your student kept things confidential, and you dealt in cash only, how would anyone find out?”

“I guess they wouldn’t.” She pointed to the beat-up Sentra. “That’s my buggy. I call her the road warrior. I beat the crap out of her and she just won’t die.” She searched her purse for keys.

Julian looked around and there were at least ten people heading toward their vehicles. “This is going to sound totally off the wall, but would you consider giving me private yoga lessons?”

She stood frozen with her hand still in her purse. “Seriously?”

“Look, McKenzie, I would really like to learn yoga, but in a classroom environment I’m just too self-conscious. Besides, with one-on-one instruction, I can go at my own pace and work gradually toward more difficult poses.”

“But every yoga center in San Diego offers private lessons. Why me?”

“Two reasons. First, I already looked into private lessons at three different studios and just didn’t feel warm and cozy with the instructors. Second, I met someone interesting.”

She fixed her eyes on his. “And where would I give these lessons?”

“Hey, we live in San Diego, where the sun always shines. We could meet at Mission Bay Park, Balboa Park—there are tons of outside options. And if you wanted an indoor facility, I have a huge loft apartment downtown that would be the perfect setting for yoga.”

“As a currently unemployed college graduate, I’m really tempted.”

“Let me sweeten the deal. We can meet at your convenience. Wherever you feel comfortable. And I’ll pay you one hundred dollars per lesson—cash.”

McKenzie pulled a piece of paper and pen out of her purse and scribbled her phone number. “I really have to fly, John. Give me a call tomorrow morning and maybe we can talk.”

After an exhausting evening that didn’t end until after midnight, Sami returned to the precinct at 6:00 a.m. to meet with Captain Davidson and Chief Larson. Last evening, Sami’s associates, working from the leads the technicians, admins, and other detectives compiled, compared seven thousand photographs of male health-care professionals to the composite drawing Tiny and the sketch artist had jointly created. Fortunately, the organizations providing the databases and photographs were able to sort out the female photos, which accounted for the majority of health-care professionals with IDs displaying a caduceus. When the comparisons were completed, only seventeen health-care people resembled the composite sketch close enough for them to be considered possible suspects.

Sami and her colleagues now had to contact each of the seventeen suspects, and either interview them in their homes or ask them to come to the precinct. From her past experiences, most would cooperate, but a few would need to be detained as a suspect.

Although she felt completely exhausted when she’d gotten home at 1:15 a.m., for most of the night she could not unwind or sleep soundly. She just couldn’t turn off the scenario in her head. Details of the investigation played over and over. For the last week she’d been running on reserve power and she figured that eventually she’d shut down and be totally ineffective. Thinking about her decision to quit school and return to homicide, she was not yet convinced she’d done the right thing. Was it ego? Was police work really in her blood, or was she merely living out her father’s dying request? At this particular juncture, she faced several unanswered questions. The only two things she knew for sure were, one, that she had to find the killer, and find him soon; and two, she couldn’t wait for Al to return. For now, she had to remove these troubling thoughts from her head and clear her mind for a meeting.

Walking down the long hallway to the captain’s office, Sami felt like her shoes were made of concrete. Over the years, she’d heard the expression “dragging your ass” many times. Today it took on a whole new meaning.

She knocked on the captain’s tightly closed door and waited for an invitation. When the door opened and she saw not only the captain and Chief Larson, but Mayor Sullivan as well, her already unsteady knees nearly buckled. That the three of them would meet her at 6:00 a.m. could qualify for an entry in the Guinness World Records. The fact that Davidson and Larson were dressed in suits and ties, and the mayor in a business suit at this early hour, surprised her even more.

Mayor Sullivan wasted no time with pleasantries or handshakes. Before Sami even had a chance to sit down, the mayor began the grilling.

“I have to be out of here in thirty minutes to catch a plane to Sacramento,” Mayor Sullivan said, “so I don’t have time for small talk.” The mayor leaned against the file cabinet and brushed her hands across the front of her skirt. “What’s the latest, Detective?”

Sami gave the three of them facts, figures, and a detailed account of what her colleagues and she discovered last evening.

“So, from nearly seven thousand photos,” Mayor Sullivan said, “you narrowed it down to seventeen?”

“We’ll contact the potential suspects beginning this morning,” Sami said. “And interview them as quickly as possible.”

“And by quickly, you mean
today
, right?” the mayor asked.

“Most of them. There may be a few—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses, Detective. I want all seventeen interviewed
today
.” Somehow. Someway.

“What I meant, Mayor, was that we may not be able to track down all of them. There may be a few out of town or some that we’re unable to immediately contact.”

“Pull out all the stops,” Mayor Sullivan ordered. “I want everyone in the department working on this. In fact, I want every detective from homicide to narcotics tracking down these suspects. I don’t care about job descriptions or roles. Chief Larson, contact the captains of each division and tell them this is a direct order from me. The only words I want to here at the end of the day are, ‘We’ve made an arrest.’ Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Mayor,” Sami said.

When McKenzie O’Neill heard the telephone ring at nine thirty in the morning, she expected to hear her mom’s voice. Every morning right around this time, her mother made her daily call to check up on her only daughter. McKenzie had left her hometown of Buffalo, New York, to attend college in San Diego with intentions of returning home. But four years of sunshine and sandy beaches had completely seduced McKenzie and she’d fallen in love with Southern California.

“May I speak to McKenzie?” the man’s voice said.

“This is she. Who’s calling?”

“This is the worst yoga dude in San Diego County. Remember me?”

“To be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from you, John.”

“You asked me to call this morning. Is it not a good time for you to talk?”

She didn’t mind letting her toast get cold for an opportunity to make some money. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“Have you thought about my proposition?”

“How many times a week do you want yoga lessons?”

“Two, possibly three.”

“And you’re willing to pay me one hundred dollars per one-hour session and meet wherever it’s convenient for me?”

“As long as you don’t want to meet in Montana.”

“I have an unpredictable schedule from day to day,” she said, “and I doubt I’ll be able to meet you during the day, so you’re going to have to be a bit flexible.”

“My schedule isn’t exactly nine-to-five either, so we’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“So, how do I contact you?” McKenzie asked.

“Well, um, why don’t I give you my cell phone number?”

“That would be great.”

With the phone cradled against her shoulder, she wrote down the number, then said, “Looking forward to it, John.”

“Likewise.”

After Julian disconnected, he couldn’t help but grin. He loved twenty-first-century technology. Especially the fact that he could buy an untraceable, throwaway cell phone without an ID or credit card.