The Corporal Works of Murder (25 page)
Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
Old Donata's eyes shot open. “Wise move, Mary Helen,” she said.
“Dumb luck,” Mary Helen said with a smile.
“A good combination,” Donata conceded, handing her back the paper with Moran's scribbling on it. She flicked a crooked finger toward it. “Now, let's see what you can do with this.”
This, Mary Helen thought, examining the paper, is going to take more than luck or wisdom. Even if she were lucky enough to figure out what Moran was trying to say, it would take the wisdom of Solomon in all his glory to figure out the why.
Inspector Kate Murphy scarcely noticed the traffic as she drove from the Hall of Justice to her home in outer Richmond. She was so preoccupied that had anyone asked her whether or not the fog had rolled in, she wouldn't have known.
In fact, it had not, which was unusual for a June day in San Francisco. But, all-around, today had been an unusual day!
Pulling up in front of her yellow peaked-roof house, she was glad to see her husband's car already parked in front. Jack was home and with any luck at all, he had started dinner. Or at least, he had figured out the menu. She was too exhausted to even think about what to fix.
Kate checked the front window looking for her son John's round eager face. He was usually there waiting and watching for her to come home. Tonight, oddly, the window was empty. Suddenly a strange, sinking feeling filled herâalmost like panic.
Was it her turn to pick him up? Had she been so involved with this homicide that she had forgotten her own child?
Was it her turn to pick him up? Had she been so involved with this homicide that she had forgotten her own child?
“Jack,” she called as soon as she pushed open the front door. “Did you pick up the baby from Sheila's?” She tried to keep her anxiety out of her voice.
“Relax, hon,” Jack walked toward her wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “He's at my mother's. Remember?”
Kate felt as though the breath has been knocked out of her. Of course! How could she have forgotten? Her mother-in-law had taken him home last night because of the funeral. “Are we supposed to pick him up?” She noticed that she smelled nothing cooking. Perhaps Loretta wanted them for dinner. Kate sighed, wondering if she'd be able to stay awake through the whole meal.
Jack shook his head. “I just talked to the two of them. It seems that they are having such a good time, that my mother asked if John could spend another night.”
“And how did he sound?” Kate asked, afraid he might be homesick.
“Like any kid his age would sound in a never-ending paradise of ice cream and candy and cookies with Disney videos at your fingertips and a grandmother who thinks you can do no wrong.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kate said, hanging her coat in the hall closet and putting her revolver on the top shelf. “Do you think we should go over, too? I could use a little TLC.”
“Somehow,” Jack said, “I don't think it would be the same. Besides”âhe led her into the living roomâ“I set up a cozy spot in here for us.”
“Yes, you have,” she said sitting on the overstuffed couch. The lights were dim. Music played softly in the background and a fire in the fireplace was doing its best to warm the room. He must have raced around like crazy when he got home from work, Kate thought, impressed with the array of chips and dips and nibbles that he had managed to assemble on the coffee table.
He had just handed Kate a drink when a sharp jab at the doorbell startled her. “Are we expecting anyone?” she asked.
“Just the pizza delivery man with a double cheese vegetarian,” he said, going to the door.
The very thought of strings of warm melted cheese wrapped around tangy onions and tomatoes and biting into the crisp crust made Kate realize how long it had been since she had eaten.
They were both on their second piece of pizza and Jack had just poured another cold beer before either of them spoke. Leaning her head back against the sofa, Kate sighed. “Sitting here like this with you,” she said, “it is hard to believe that so much awful stuff goes on out there.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “After today, I'd like to stay here in my little cocoon with you and John.”
Jack reached over and squeezed her hand but said nothing.
She needed to talk. She knew he sensed it, but that he also knew she needed to do it on her own terms. All day long she had kept her emotions in a straitjacket. She had to let go.
“This case is driving me crazy,” she said, knowing there was no need to explain which case. “I wish I'd checked on Moran this morning,” she said.
Her husband looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“When I noticed that he wasn't at the funeral, I should have gone to the tattoo parlor and looked for him. I might have surprised his killer and saved his life.”
Jack shook his head. “Geez, Kate, did you ever think you might have surprised the killer and he'd have killed you, too? That right now we might be looking for the killer of three cops instead of two?”
Kate looked doubtful. “Somehow they are all linked together in a way,” she was thinking aloud. “And I'm not sure I want to find out how.”
“You mean Sarah Spencer and Tim Moran?” Jack asked.
“Those two and Junior Johnson,” she said. “I know there is a connection.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“It's more a feeling, really,” she said. “Even Gallagher admits he has a bad feeling about this one. And today Sister Mary Helen named it. For some reason, the homeless women at her center claim that the police are looking the other way when it comes to a certain brothel in the area.”
“So why would Sarah Spencer be killed? Did she stumble on it?”
Slowly Kate nodded. “She must have. She was undercover, but she was young. Probably no one expected her to discover it.”
“You mean she put her findings in her report and the wrong somebody read them?” Jack asked.
“According to Wong, her paperwork is missing,” Kate said.
“So, where is it? Did Moran have it? How does he figure in?”
Kate shrugged. “I don't know. Was he involved? Did he kill her to cover up something? If so, who killed him?”
“I still don't see how Junior Johnson fits in,” Jack said.
“Neither do I,” Kate said, “except that he's a real brassy thug. I wouldn't put it past him to try putting the screws on whoever was using this brothel.”
“Blackmail, you think?”
“Could be. And that could be what got him shot.”
“But who shot Moran?”
Kate shrugged again. “I don't know,” she said. “Someone who has enough at stake to kill three people, and two of them police officers.”
“Let's see,” Jack frowned. “It has to be someone whose life or career would be ruined if it were known that he or she is in the brothel business.”
“If the brothel is what they're trying to cover up,” Kate said.
“The mayor, the chief of police”âJack was on a rollâ“the archbishop.”
“Now you're getting nuts.” Kate reached for another slice of pizza. “Before he died, Moran scribbled on the linoleum. It means something.”
Jack hesitated before he picked up the last piece. “Any ideas?” he asked.
“None whatsoever.” Even she heard the frustration in her voice as she went to the hall closet and dug into her coat pocket. Pulling out the scrap of paper on which she had copied Tim Moran's markings, she sat down again beside her husband. “I thought if I looked at this enough, something might come clear,” she said. “Like those puzzles where you stare and stare, and suddenly the young woman's face becomes a witch's head. Do you know what I mean?”
Jack nodded. “Sometimes with a puzzle, when you're not thinking about it, the solution comes to you,” he said.
“You're right.” Kate leaned her head against the sofa. She ached all over. Although she wasn't sure if a brain could ache, she thought hers did.
“You look exhausted,” Jack said.
She nodded, too tired even to answer.
“Let me get you some dessert,” he said, picking up the empty cardboard pizza box. “We have chocolate ice cream and cookies. How does that sound?”
“Delicious,” Kate muttered.
When Jack returned with the two bowls, Kate had dozed off. Gently sitting beside her, he ate his ice cream and studied the scrap of paper that had fallen from her hand. Poor guy, Jack thought, turning the paper this way and that. It was Tim Moran's final attempt to finger his killer. He had literally used the last bit of his strength to write it.
Kate is right. It has to mean something,
Jack thought,
something significant, but what?
Despite Tim's
dying effort, as hard as he tried, Jack could make no sense of it either.
Kate is right. It has to mean something,
Jack thought,
something significant, but what?
Despite Tim's
dying effort, as hard as he tried, Jack could make no sense of it either.
Twilight was darkening into night as Officers Mark Wong and Brian Dineen crisscrossed the nearly deserted streets of the Tenderloin. Ordinarily, the streets would be beginning to swell with pimps and pushers and prostitutes spilling out of the rundown buildings. But not tonight. Tonight the area looked like London after the Blitz.
“Hey, partner, what was it you were going to tell me?” Dineen asked as Wong slowly cruised the neighborhood.
Wong hesitated. Maybe it was best not to say anymore. Had he made a mistake by talking to Kate Murphy? He didn't know.
“What's the matter, Tiger?” Dineen asked, a slight edge in his voice. “You seemed pretty anxious to tell me back at the Hall.”
“Nothing's the matter,” Wong said, pulling over beside the curb and shifting into park. He turned to face Dineen. For the first time since they had started working together, Wong really looked at his partner. How much did he actually know about this enormous, redheaded man with bloodshot eyes? Only what Dineen told him about his family and his feelings. Nothing more.
Wong squirmed in his seat. Was he getting paranoid? if you couldn't trust your partner, then whom could you trust? “Nobody,” was the obvious answer. With some hesitation, he told Dineen about Susie Chang making the phone call for Donaldson.
Feeling as though a boulder had been lifted from his chest, Wong once again pulled into the street. “What do you make of that?” he asked,
The big man was silent. “I don't know what to think,” he said after a few tense seconds that seemed to Wong like
minutes. “I sure as hell hope that nobody from the force is involved in this.”
minutes. “I sure as hell hope that nobody from the force is involved in this.”
Me, too
, Wong thought silently.
, Wong thought silently.
“Are you thinking someone is?” Dineen asked, again with that edge in his voice.
“Like you said, I don't know what to think,” Wong answered.
They rode for several blocks in silence.
“Where have all the flowers gone?” Dineen joked, pointing to a corner usually crowded with prostitutes parading their wares.
“The word must be out about Moran's death,” Wong turned a corner. “The neighborhood is afraid of another sweep. Anyone who can be is off the streets. Or as far off as they can get.” He pointed to a couple of makeshift cardboard shelters where homeless people had already crawled in and covered the entrances with old blankets.
“Can't blame them,” Dineen said, craning his neck to see down an alley. Nobody. “Doesn't look like we'll have much business tonight,” he said.
Grunting in agreement, Wong slowly cruised the empty streets. He was just about to suggest a coffee break when a scream pierced the darkness. Speeding up, Wong followed the sound to an alley behind a small convenience store. As they drove in, the alley suddenly became deadly quiet. The only sound was the eerie squeak of an air conditioner.
Wong flashed the spotlight into the blackness. Two rats scurried behind a dumpster. A heap of discarded clothes were scattered along one wall.
“See anybody?” Dineen asked.
Wong was about to say no, when the spotlight framed a small, middle-aged, white woman cowering against the wall. She was trembling and her face was the color of cement. Small dark eyes stared at them, unblinking.
“Are you all right, ma'am?” Dineen asked.
The women, breathing shallowly, did not answer.
“Ma'am, are you okay?” Wong repeated.
Her eyes bounced from one officer to the other. Slowly she nodded, looking as if she might bolt at the first chance she had.
“Was it you we heard screaming?” Wong asked, trying to move a little closer without frightening her.
She nodded again.
“Can you tell us your name?”
Still nodding, she whispered, “Alice. They call me Crazy Alice, but I'm not crazy.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Wong said. “What is your last name, Alice?” he asked, but she pressed her lips together.
“Why were you screaming, Alice?” Dineen asked. “Was someone hurting you?”
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