Tamara provided the address and phone number for Linkhauser Trucking in Hayward, but the rest of what she had was sketchy. Jennifer Piper had been arrested five times, twice for prostitution, twice for possession of cocaine, and once for possession of crystal meth; she had no known relatives or associates other than Troy Madison, and Tamara hadn’t been able to fill in her background yet beyond the past six years. Coy Madison had one DUI arrest, Arletta Madison no record of any kind. Background info on Bud Linkhauser would have to wait until tomorrow.
Runyon saved himself a long, wasted trip to Hayward by calling Linkhauser Trucking first. Bud Linkhauser was away on a run to the Central Valley, he was told, and not expected back until early tomorrow afternoon.
Bryn’s weekend with her son hadn’t gone well.
Runyon knew it as soon as she opened the door of her brown-shingled house on Moraga Street. It was in the way she looked at him, the unsmiling pensiveness of her expression. When he asked her about Bobby, her only response was to shake her head.
They went over to Taraval for dinner, as they did on most nights he saw her. She seldom left the house during daylight hours, but after being cooped up all day she preferred going out to eat to cooking at home. She didn’t say a word on the way, lost inside herself. As always when she was like this, he made no effort to intrude on her silence in the car or in the coffee shop where they habitually ate. The place was crowded, but the diners were all neighborhood regulars who knew Bryn; that was why she’d become one of them. The two things she hated most were pity, especially from strangers, and being stared at while eating because of the difficulty she had in feeding herself.
Tonight she hardly touched her food. Wine was what she wanted; the first glass went down quick, in little sips so none of it would dribble out, and the second more slowly. That one seemed to relax her, finally loosened some of her reticence about the weekend.
“Bobby was so distant,” she said. “He wouldn’t let me hug him or even touch him, wouldn’t make eye contact. Didn’t want to go out anywhere. He spent most of the time alone in his room watching TV and playing video games.”
“A kid phase. Or maybe he’s having some problems in school.”
“I hope that’s all it is.”
Runyon said, “You think his father might be trying to turn him against you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t believe Robert’s that vindictive, but… I don’t know him anymore. I guess I never did.”
“It’ll be better with Bobby next time.”
“Will it? Oh, God, I can’t stand the thought of losing him. If that happens…”
“The boy loves you. That’s not going to change.”
“It changed for you with your son.”
“Different situation. Joshua and I never had a chance together from the beginning. His mother saw to that.”
“Keep telling me I can’t lose Bobby the same way,” Bryn said. “If you say it often enough, maybe I’ll start believing it.”
Some nights when they were together, they went to a movie or took a drive somewhere. Not this one. Straight back to her house. But she didn’t want to be alone; she asked him in. “Just for a while,” she said. “I’d rather we didn’t go to bed tonight; I’m not in the mood for sex.”
“We don’t always have to end up an evening in bed. I don’t expect that.”
“I know you don’t. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you-I do. Just not tonight.”
“No need to explain. I understand.”
Inside, she poured herself another glass of wine. Drinking more than usual lately-not a good sign. But what could he say about it that wouldn’t sound preachy? If alcohol helped her cope, all right, as long as she stayed with wine and kept it under control. He’d seen firsthand what booze could do to a woman who didn’t have a self- governor. Andrea had let it control her, and it had destroyed their marriage, his relationship with Joshua, and finally herself.
They sat side by side in front of the gas-log fireplace, Bryn on his left as always so that the frozen side of her face was away from him. Close but not touching; she didn’t like to be touched except by mutual consent. She was fond of classical music, but tonight it was silence and noncontact closeness she craved, neither of them saying anything, aware of each other but tuned in to their own thoughts. In a way, their intimacy was greater at times like this than when they were in bed together.
They spoke only once, when he shifted his weight from one hip to the other. She turned then and looked at him, a kind of wondering, searching look. “You’re so good to me,” she said.
“Why do you say that?”
“We always do what I want to. Or don’t want to. Don’t you ever get tired of giving in to my moods?”
“I don’t see it as giving in.”
“How do you see it?”
He shrugged. “I like to make you happy.”
“Happy, Jake?”
“Comfortable, then. If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”
Five-beat. Then, “You’re not only good to me, you’re good for me. You really are.”
“I feel the same about you.”
“You make me feel… safe. I need you right now, I don’t know what I’d do without you, but…”
“But?”
“I’m not sure I deserve you.”
“Come on, now. I’m nobody special.”
“Oh yes, you are. What I should have said is that I’m not sure you deserve me… someone like me. A woman with a boatload of problems and insecurities. You should be with somebody normal-”
“That’s enough of that,” he said. “You are normal. And I don’t want to be with anybody else.”
“Right now you don’t.”
“Right now is enough. One day at a time, Bryn.”
“Yes,” she said. “One day at a time.”
8
TAMARA
Doctor Easy’s name was Hawkins, Eugene Z. Hawkins, D.C.M.
And he was a scumbag.
She ran him through six different databases and several linked sources, including the Chronicle and a couple of other Bay Area newspapers, and Felice ran him through the SFPD and NJIS files. Routine info at first. Age forty- two. Twice married, once divorced, no children. Doctor of Chiropractic Medicine for nearly twenty years, first in San Jose, then in Cupertino, then in S.F. for the last eleven. Shared offices with another chiropractor on Ocean Avenue. Lived with his second wife in a home in Monterey Heights, drove a Lexus, seemed to be well off financially.
The rest of his background record told a different story.
Arrested in San Jose in 1994 on a charge of soliciting a male vice cop for sex in a public restroom-an undercover sting like the one that’d caught the Idaho senator a while back. Protested his innocence, same as the senator, went to court, and walked on a technicality.
Accused by a woman patient in 1997 of inappropriate touching during soft-tissue therapy, whatever that was. Not arrested because she changed her mind, or had it changed for her, and dropped the charges. Nearly cost him his license to practice and was probably the reason for his move from Cupertino to S.F.
Arrested in Petaluma in 2000, in another sting operation-this one for Internet solicitation of sex with what he believed to be a sixteen-year-old male. Nabbed when he showed up for a prearranged date at a motel. Protested his innocence again, said it was all a misunderstanding, but this time he didn’t have any wiggle room. Convicted, fined,
