The Tower (1999) (38 page)

"I want a full listing of all incidents in this area in the last week. Break-ins, homicides, stolen cars, anything," he said.

"That's a big circle, Jade," Travers said skeptically.

"It's a start. Put a couple of your desk jockeys on it pronto. Call it in now."

As he headed out, he heard Travers pick up the phone.

Spring was giving way to summer, and the late-morning heat was fierce and steady. Jade pulled into his garage. He wiped the sweat from his cheek as he got out of his car, immediately stumbling over something in the garage.

He looked down and saw a growing pool of black paint spreading at his feet. As the familiar smell rose to his nostrils, he swore loudly. After touching up his bookshelves the other night, he'd forgotten to put the paint away.

He bent over to pick up the bucket and felt a burn in his throat. He backed up, coughing. The shit they put in this stuff, he thought. Not exactly meant for breathing.

He snapped his fingers twice, ran into the house, and grabbed the phone. "Forensics. Yeah, yeah. This is Marlow. I need someone on the McGuire house from this afternoon."

He waited, his knee jackhammering up and down. Finally one of the agents got on the line.

"Yeah. Marlow here. I have a question for you about the lead particles you picked up at McGuire's. Were they pigmented?"

The forensics agent sounded surprised. "Why yes. They were dark green. How'd you know?"

"They're paint scrapings, probably from a house being remodeled. Dark green--must be exterior paint. If someone sanded it off, the lead would probably settle separately since it's heavier."

"But they haven't used lead in paint for over twenty years."

"Twenty, huh?" Jade said, scribbling down the number on a piece of paper. "I figured it was somewhere around there. Thanks."

He hung up and called Tony.

"Whaddya want, kid? Always calling me for something."

"Tony. I need you."

"Well, I never would have thought--"

"Not now. I need you to use your force for some legwork." Jade paused. "It's kind of shit work."

"Well, I appreciate your thinking of me."

"I got Atlasia nailed down to an area of San Francisco. I think he's in a house that's undergoing a major remodel. The house is at least twenty years old, and it used to be painted dark green." He told Tony the rough bearings of the circle he'd drawn around the map he'd taken from McGuire's house.

"Well, kid, you know I got the men and the time, but there's no fucking way we can search an area of SF that big just based on a remodel and a house color. What the fuck?"

"Okay, okay. Hang on." Jade was quiet for a moment while he thought. "He's in a secluded house with a lot of privacy, no common walls with other houses. He needs privacy to plan and he doesn't want to be seen. That means it's gotta be in a rich neighborhood. It's probably elevated. That should cut out a lot of neighborhoods in that circle. Call around Pacific Heights and rich communities like that, find out which companies do major remodels. It'll be a pain in the ass, but it should be do-able."

"All right. I can put a couple men on it, but obviously only when things are slow. I don't know how long it'll take."

"Great. Just move it along as quick as you can."

He had barely placed the phone back on the cradle when it rang again. He picked it up. "Yup."

"Marlow. Travers. Ever heard of call waiting?"

"Call who?"

"Forget it. I got a list of incidents in that area, wanted to run them by you."

"Shoot."

"Only three stolen cars reported in the last week; amazingly, all have been recovered. There's a long list of muggings. I'll start with A."

"Skip 'em. He's not a mugger. What do you have on homicides?"

"We have three. One's a drive-by shooting off Haight. Then we have another restaurant hit, but we're pretty sure it's mob. And a random shooting at the edge of Sutro Heights."

"Sutro Heights, huh?"

"Yeah. Let's see. Steven Lloyd Francis. Nineteen. Left in a parking lot. No motive. Two bullets to the head. Early this morning."

"Gun?"

"Let's see." There was a pause and Jade heard Travers flip a sheet of paper. "Looks like a forty. Both bullets made a clean exit, so that's all we got from ballistics right now."

Jade swallowed hard. His Glock was a .40. His head felt numb, as if he were walking through a dream. He cleared his throat harshly and tried to focus. "Are you at headquarters?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Call the family. I want to interview them. I'll be by to pick you up in a half hour."

Jade hung up and went to wash his face. He let hot water fill the sink, then he leaned over it, inhaling the steam. He splashed the water over his face, drawing his hands firmly down his forehead, over his eyes, and around his cheeks. When he shook his head and raised his eyes to the mirror, he realized the phone was ringing again.

"What am I, the fucking operator?" he said angrily, heading back to the living room. He picked up the phone. "What."

"Well, Mr. Marlow, I was very disappointed in your performance at the bar last night. I must confess, I had expected a little more from you."

Even though Jade had heard it hundreds of times, Allander's voice still took his breath away. So close, so fucking close. And directed right at him. He struggled to keep his voice even. "No shit, huh?" he said. "Guess we'll have to do the dance again sometime soon."

"Oh, we most assuredly will. There will be time for that later. And more. You know--the real test. I can't wait to get my little hands on them." Allander said "little hands" with a German accent--like it was "little hanz."

The real test, Jade thought. A nonchalant way to refer to killing his parents. After the movie theater fiasco, it was in the open between him and Allander. He knew where Allander was going, and Allander knew he knew it. That just made it all the more enticing.

Allander sighed. "So many loose ends to tie up."

"Look, this whole prank-call thing is getting a little old. So unless you wanna chat for, say, sixty-one seconds, I don't really have the time."

"Oh. What a disappointment. And I thought you were going to undo me at last with your sharp questioning."

"I don't have to. With how you are, you'll reveal yourself."

"I see. And how's that, Marlow? Oh yes--I'll stumble into Dr. Yung's office with a severe onset of psychosomatic blindness."

Always moving, always mocking.

"Hey, Atlasia," Jade said softly.

"Yes?"

"I had lunch with Darby yesterday. She's a . . . charming woman."

Jade heard an immediate click and then the dial tone. Allander was too smart to get upset on the phone, but Jade had managed to get in a solid shot. And more important, he had known just where to punch.

Chapter
50

T R A V E R S turned in the passenger seat to face Jade. "Well, we got an interesting complaint from a bartender today. Filtered to us through the local police. Said some maniac yanked him through a shattered window and dribbled his head on the pavement."

"I find 'dribbled' excessive," Jade said.

"What gives?"

Jade looked at his hand, on top of the steering wheel. "I had an off night," he said.

"Well, it was pretty bad form, Marlow."

"I am well aware of my form, Travers. Much more than you think. Let it go, all right?"

She was surprised that he seemed upset about it, so she backed off. "Well, you don't have to worry. Someone up high is giving you all the room you need for this case. Charges were mysteriously dropped."

"You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?"

She looked out the window. "No. Why would you ask that?"

"I just think it's odd that no one's checking up on me. No one at all." He glanced over at her, but she was watching the side of the road. "The reports back to headquarters must say I'm competent."

" 'Competent' might be an overstatement," Travers finally said. "Let's let this go, too, huh?"

Jade nodded.

"McGuire's house was a nightmare. Atlasia's still more than a step ahead of us."

"I'm getting there," Jade said. "He's definitely gonna go after his parents. We got that in the open after the theater ruse. On the phone, he called it 'the real test.' "

Travers whistled. "I still can't believe he called you again. You really got him hooked."

"He loves talking about himself so much he can't resist. And his parents. He said he couldn't wait to get his 'little hanz' on them."

Travers laughed. "That's great."

"What?"

"It's a parapraxis, a classic Freudian slip. 'Little Hans!' Freud's most famous case study about the boy--"

"--with the unresolved Oedipal complex," Jade finished. "It's more like a pun than a slip. Allander's fully aware of the game here. But still, great call, Travers."

Her eyes darted around the dashboard as she tried not to smile. "Well, you're not the only one doing your homework."

"His 'little hands,' " Jade repeated. "He's been trying to prove how small all his victims are compared to him. Compared to his experience. He's just been building himself up psychologically to face his parents. And he's 'little' only when he faces them. David and Goliath. The final challenge is the one that scares the shit out of you."

"The one nobody else can take on," Travers said.

They were quiet for a while as the car sped across the city. It had taken some time, but Travers had finally learned to ride with Jade without gripping the door handle.

"You seem pretty excited about this lead," she said. "What makes you think it's related?"

Jade flushed. "Just a hunch."

"It's a completely different MO, though," she said.

"It was a functional killing."

"Functional?"

"Yeah. He must've wanted something specific or he would have left more than two bullet holes."

"Well, the body was moved. Abrasions on the elbows and the heels of the shoes. Left in a deserted lot on the edge of Sutro Heights, but from the twigs and dirt samples they picked up, looks like he was killed somewhere more rural. Nothing was found at the crime scene except the body."

"That's the whole point," Jade said. "We need to figure out what's missing."

"I don't get it," Travers said. "It looks nothing like Atlasia to me. Nineteen-year-old male, killed by a gunshot, outdoors, no mutilation."

"He can break character," Jade said softly.

"What?"

"He's not trapped in the pattern--his killings aren't a compulsive ritual, they're more like a performance. He can step out of it if he needs to." Jade rubbed his eyes with a thumb and index finger.

Travers looked over at him as the car bounced over a few dips. "You all right?" she asked.

"I think--" Jade cleared his throat, covering his mouth with a fist--"I think it might be my gun that was used in the killing."

"Oh God, Jade," she said. "I'm sorry. Was it . . . ? How did . . . ?"

"He took it from my backyard when he came over and dropped the note. I kept a Glock under a back counter." Jade's expression hardened again. "Look, there's nothing I can do about it now. Let's use it for what it's worth. See if it can lead us to him. That's all I can think about right now."

Travers didn't say anything, but she nodded in agreement. Jade silently thanked her for being quiet. He needed quiet right now.

Steve Francis's parents lived in Sunset, close to McGuire's house, though his body was found at Sutro Heights. Their nondescript single-story home was painted yellow and trimmed in white. For some reason, they had decided to paint their mailbox a bright fire hydrant red, post and all. Jade wondered how many dogs relieved themselves on it daily.

Travers took Jade by the arm as they headed up the walkway to the door. "Look," she said. "They've just lost a son. They sound okay on the phone, but they almost didn't consent to see us. They've been dealing with a parade of police and press all day. Why don't you let me handle the bullshit and just ask questions when they're important?"

"We'll see," Jade said.

The door opened to reveal a woman with white hair pulled back in a bun, a pair of circular spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She looked like a retired librarian. Her eyes were not red from crying.

Jade let Travers do most of the talking. She expressed her condolences to Mary and Len Francis for the loss of their son. Len was a carpenter. Jade could tell that much from the muscular arms that protruded from his starched, short-sleeved shirt, and the outline of the tape measure worn in the back pocket of his jeans.

The parents were very much in control. They were not accustomed to expressing emotion, particularly to strangers, and the strength of their suppression was visible in their tightly drawn mouths. They were not the type of people to fall apart, even over the loss of a son.