The Gossiping Gourmet: (A Murder in Marin Mystery - Book 1) (Murder in Marin Mysteries) (25 page)

The news of Chris Harding’s
arrest for the murder of Warren Bradley was an even bigger shock to Sausalito
society than the murder of the gossiping gourmet.

The evening news gave it two
minutes, the San Francisco papers put it below the fold, and the
Marin
Independent Journal
headlined, “Sausalito Police Officer Arrested for the
Slaying of Local Chef and Columnist.”

By Tuesday, the story was
placed on the back burner. But Rob’s office phone rang incessantly.

For the citizens of
Sausalito, the arrest of Chris Harding created far more questions than answers.

Rob finished that week’s
edition of
The Sausalito Standard
with Karin’s help—as Holly spent
Monday and Tuesday in bed with what she insisted was the worst hangover of her
life.

Dozens of phone messages and
email questions went unanswered, including one from Alma, who left a voice mail
pleading with Rob for answers.

Wednesday morning, as postmen
across Sausalito dropped that week’s edition of the
Standard
, all those
lingering questions were duly answered.

As the Ladies of Liberty, the
members of the Women’s League, the Siricas, the Andersons, Grant Randolph’s
fellow arts commission members, and hundreds of others in the tight-knit circle
of Sausalito friends and frenemies opened their copies of the
Standard
,
they found that Rob had fulfilled the charge Alma had thrust upon him two weeks
earlier: “Lift every rock to see what evil lurks beneath.”

What Alma had feared from the
time of her conversation with Rob regarding the missing past of her beloved
chef, she instantly knew had come to pass as she looked in horror at the
Standard’s
headline:

“
Homicide and Arrest Reveal
the Secret Life of Warren Bradley.”

For Bea and Robin, Warren’s
staunchest supporters, the story was a tsunami of bad news, erasing what they
thought they knew about Warren, and leaving only scattered debris in its wake.
There was William Benedict’s arrest and murder trial for the killing of Elaine
Hayden, the heartbreaking story of Elaine Hayden’s son, James, followed by the
equally sad story of Chris Harding—all of which redefined Warren Bradley in the
long history of Sausalito’s heroes and villains.

By the time he came up for
trial, Chris Harding had been transformed into a poster child for neglected,
molested foster children. Those fortunate enough to win one of the few
available seats at the trial often wept openly as Chris retold his story,
starting with the day William Benedict entered his life, and ending with the
day he ended Warren Bradley’s life.

“But, why the hands, Mr.
Harding? Why did you sever the hands of Mr. Bradley?”

“I really loved my brother
James and my mother Elaine, even though I knew them for far too little time.
After they were gone from my life, after I was passed from one dismal foster
home situation to another, I thought about his hands. Those hands pushed Mrs.
Hayden down that flight of stairs, and those hands molested my brother James.”

“And what about you, Mr.
Harding? At age seven, you testified that Mr. Benedict had not molested you.”

“I was just a kid, scared to
death. I was separated from James and placed in a different children’s shelter.
One of the other boys told me that if I said I had been molested, other kids
would make fun of me for the rest of my life. But, just like James, Benedict
molested me as well. I hated the memory of his filthy hands touching me, even
more than I hated him,” Chris insisted, as he broke down in sobs that echoed
from every corner of the courtroom.

The judge declared a recess
in the proceedings for the balance of the day.

Just as the prosecution’s missteps
in a Flagstaff courtroom helped set William Benedict free, the outcome for
Chris Harding was also fortunate.

By the time the trial neared
its conclusion, with the jury in all but open rebellion against the
prosecution, the county district attorney struck a deal with the defense. Chris
Harding would be placed in a psychiatric institution for at least the period of
one year, at which time a court appointed psychiatrist would determine if he
should be reintegrated into society.  

Rob’s coverage of the murder,
arrest, trial, and sentencing earned him a feature story in the
New Yorker.
It
was to be
entitled,
The Secret Life of the Gossiping Gourmet.

Chris Harding agreed to be
interviewed for the piece.

Rob was as excited about
speaking with Harding as he was to meet with Eddie the day he returned from
Flagstaff. There was still so much that fascinated him about this strange and
terrible case.

Harding was housed in the
psychiatric unit of a state prison facility, just north of Santa Rosa in the
Sonoma wine country. Rob walked in and met him in the private room that the
prison had provided for their interview. He looked relaxed and at peace with
himself.

One guard sat quietly in a
far corner of the room. No one seemed particularly concerned that there would
be any sudden acts of violence. Nevertheless, Rob, who was only accustomed to
interviewing people who made hurtful comments about one another, was still ill
at ease at first.

Fortunately, Chris Harding’s
relaxed smile and comfortable manner made Rob quickly forget how dangerous he’d
once considered the prisoner. 

“How did you know that Warren
Bradley wouldn’t recognize you when you met him as a police officer?” Rob
began.

“I wondered about that, too.
But when I sat next to him for an hour at his monthly department luncheon, I
knew it wouldn’t be a problem. I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised. The
last time I was in his presence, I was only seven years old. Better still, when
I expressed interested in learning how to cook, he eagerly offered to give me
private cooking lessons.” Chris winced. “I knew I’d easily have my chance.”

“And what happened with the
Randolphs? Why did you decide to share that information with Warren?”

“That whole thing was a gift
from the gods. When I was called to the Randolphs’ home I knew I had a juicy
bit of gossip that he’d find impossible to resist. It played out better than I
could have ever hoped. When Grant Randolph almost coldcocked the creep in front
of half the town on that opera night they put on, I knew I’d never have a
better moment than that to kill the SOB.”

For Rob, however, there was
one question that was the biggest of all, “You almost got away with the perfect
crime. You left the house clean of prints. From what Eddie says, there was no
clear evidence of a homicide until you decided to whack off Bradley’s hands and
remove all doubt. Why would you do it?”

“I’d imagined killing
Benedict, perhaps a thousand times or more, over the last twenty-eight years. I
kept refilling his glass with wine in the hope that it would put him sound
asleep. It worked beautifully. By the time I put the pillow over his head, I
don’t think he was aware that he was unable to breathe until moments before he
died. Afterward, I went around cleaning up everything I had touched.”

“No one would have known,”
Rob murmured, “except for the fact that you cut off his hands. Why did you do
it, Chris?”

“As I was getting ready to
leave, I looked at him and thought of how peaceful the bastard looked. I killed
him, but what if I had done such a good job that the story of his life ended
with people all talking about this great guy who did all this good volunteer
work, and died in his sleep at the age of seventysomething? I saw myself having
all those little old ladies telling me over and over what a great guy their
dear Warren was! And that’s when I snapped. If I whacked off his hands—and I
certainly enjoyed doing that— the world would ask one simple question: Why in
the world did that happen?”

It was chilling to Rob how
much sense it all made.

On the hour plus ride back to
Sausalito, he kept thinking, what in the world would I have done? A foster home
kid, finally in a loving home, and then it all turns into a nightmare. Your new
mom is dead, the new big brother you thought you had is now out of your life,
and as you’re dragged from one place to another, you have only one thought that
consoles you: One day you’re going to kill the man that sent your life into a
death spiral.

There were three things that
Rob wanted to do when he arrived back home. One was to hold and hug his two
young children like he never had before, second was to start writing an article
based on this true terrible tale, and third was to be thankful for Karin and
all the wonderful aspects of his life that he rarely gave a second thought.

The article’s release in the
New
Yorker
was celebrated at the No Name Bar.

As Holly lifted her glass
high for the first toast, she declared, “I’ll bet when you were covering the
three-year debate over fixing Sausalito’s dog park, you never thought this
would happen, huh? Well, here’s to a great writer, a good friend, and a
reasonably decent boss.”

“So, Holly,” Eddie asked
slyly, “Will you be resurrecting your relationship with Chris after the doctors
say he’s free to go?”

Holly shrugged. “He’s a
terrific guy, and it’s very sad what happened to him…but I don’t think we have
a future together.”

“Why not, Nancy Drew?”

“I can give you ten reasons.”
Holly raised both her hands and wiggled her fingers in Eddie’s face.

He gave a long laugh and said,
“Can’t give a guy a hand or two?”

Holly shook her head
adamantly. “I’d rather appear small-minded with hands, than broadminded without
them.”

In time, the name and memory
of Warren Bradley was purged from many of the carefully crafted histories of Sausalito.
“He deceived us!” Alma declared.

She and her clan never spoke
again of the man she had once so admired.

Just days after Chris
Harding’s arrest, Grant and Barbara Randolph returned to their lovely cottage
above the stunning blue bay.

Within two weeks, they were
invited to a half dozen gatherings. It was amazing and gratifying for both of
them to witness their resurrected social standing within Sausalito’s smart set.
Nevertheless, a year after Warren Bradley’s death, the Randolphs quietly placed
their home on the market, and left Sausalito for the quieter life of Manhattan.

After a few weeks of
discussion on the Randolphs unfortunate experiences, news raced through town
that an up-and-coming dot-com CEO, Patricia Smith and her husband Mario, had purchased
the Randolph cottage.

On the week they arrived and
settled into their home, Oscar and Clarice Anderson came to welcome them both,
bringing along a plate of chocolate dipped cherry fudge brownies.

The successful young couple
invited them in. When Patricia Smith took her first bite of Warren’s heavenly
brownies, she exclaimed, “These are delicious! Do you mind giving me the
recipe?”

For just a brief moment,
Clarice hesitated and considered her response. The image of Warren standing at
her doorstep holding his brownies flashed through her mind.

Finally, Clarice smiled and
said, “I’m happy to my dear. It’s an old recipe that’s been in my family for
years.”