news that came my way was neither pleasant nor particularly enlightening.
The first piece came from Jake Runyon. He and Tamara were having a stand-up conference in her office when I walked into the agency. The grim set of their faces foretold the fact that I was not going to like the subject of their discussion. Right. I didn’t like it one damn bit.
“Police are holding Bryn on a homicide charge,” Runyon told me.
“Jesus. What happened?”
“Party to the death of the woman who’s been abusing her son.”
“Woman? You said the boy’s father was the abuser.”
“Turned out I was wrong. His fiancee, Francine Whalen.”
Runyon couldn’t seem to keep still; he took a restless turn to the door and back, stood then with his feet moving in place like a man on one of those treadmill machines as he explained the situation.
I said when he was done, “Mother reacting to an assault on her son by a woman with a documentable history of violent abuse. Justifiable. Dragovich is a good man-he’ll get her off.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. But there’s only her word Whalen was the one who picked up the knife. And Whalen’s history is only documentable if one of her other victims steps forward. Darby’s still in denial-he keeps insisting Whalen never laid a hand on Bobby.”
“So it all hinges on the boy.”
“And getting him to talk won’t be easy. His father’s liable to do or say something to drive him deeper into his shell.”
Bleak, all right. But still a long way from hopeless. “You need some time off to deal with this, Jake?”
“I don’t know yet. I might.”
“Take as much as you need. And if there’s anything else we can do…”
Runyon nodded, his feet still moving, and scraped a hand over his slablike face. He’d shaved this morning, but it had been a hasty and probably distracted job; there were little patches of stubble on his chin and one cheek. His eyes were blood flecked, the bags under them as gray as duffles. He hadn’t slept much last night, if he’d slept at all.
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he said, and he was gone.
Tamara said, “That man’s had a miserable damn life. Everybody he cares about… bam, something bad happens.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he’s in love with Bryn?”
“Hard to tell what Jake’s feelings are. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Then Dragovich better get her off.”
“He will if anybody can.”
“Life’s a bitch sometimes,” Tamara said. She let out a breathy sigh, then sat down at her desk and punched up a file on her Mac. “Might as well get back to work.”
“Might as well.”
“Rose O’Day,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“The old woman who rented a room from McManus, the one the neighbor told you about.”
“Oh, right. What about her?”
What about her was the second bit of the day’s news.
“I did some checking last night,” Tamara said. “Lots of history until three years ago, but nothing since. No current residence in the Bay Area or Michigan or anywhere else. No death record. No brother in Saginaw, or other living family members.”
“So it seems McManus lied to Mrs. Hightower.”
“Seems?”
“If the neighbor’s memory is accurate after three years. It’s hearsay in any case.”
“Well, that’s not all I came up with. When the woman’s husband died five years ago, his insurance policy paid her a death benefit of fifty thousand. She also inherited some rural property his brother willed to him in West Marin worth twice that much.”
“So?”
“There’s no record of her investing the fifty K, so chances are she stuck it in her bank account. And that account’s still active.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep. I couldn’t find out how much is in the account without some serious security breaching.”
“Always a don’t-cross line. Local bank?”
“B of A branch at Embarcadero Center.”
“Does the Marin property still belong to her?”
“No record of it being sold.”
“Taxes current or delinquent?”
“Paid up to date.”
“So we’ve got two possibilites,” I said. “One is that she still resides somewhere in or near the city. It’s not inconceivable that an elderly woman living alone in a rented room could fall under the radar.”
“You believe that? I don’t.”
“I didn’t say I believed it. I said it was one possibility. The other-”
“-is that McManus killed Rose O’Day to get control of her assets. That’s the one I believe.”
“You don’t necessarily have to commit murder to get your hands on a person’s assets.”
“No? Why else would she lie about what happened to O’Day?”
“If anything happened to her.”
“Well, something happened to Virden. One disappearance, one probable disappearance-”
“Make that possible.”
“Okay, possible. But I don’t buy the coincidence. We’re pretty sure McManus is an ID thief, right? Steal one woman’s ID, and that woman disappears. Stands to reason she’d steal another woman’s money and make her disappear if she had the chance.”
“Granted,” I said. “But it’s still only conjecture. I hate to keep harping on this, but we need clear-cut evidence of wrongdoing before we can act and we don’t have any. Not where McManus is concerned, not where Virden is concerned, not where Rose O’Day is concerned.”
Tamara had that stubborn bulldog look, the kind I’d seen before and not just on her; it had stared back at me from a mirror more than a few times. “I’ve got an idea how we might get some,” she said.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Get inside the McManus house and check it out, check out the property. Got to be something incriminating there.”
“Don’t tell me you’re advocating B and E?”
“Uh-uh. McManus rents rooms, doesn’t she?”
“To elderly people. She’s no dummy and she’s already suspicious. Probably wouldn’t even let you in the house.”
“Wasn’t thinking of me. Alex. He’s forty-six, but he can pass for a few years older. Old enough.”
“Same objection applies.”
“Worth a try, isn’t it?”
I thought about it. There were other arguments against the idea, but none strong enough to shoot it down. Pretty soon I said, “Might work. If the room’s still for rent-the sign was down when I was there yesterday. And if McManus has no prejudice against Latinos. He’ll have to be damn careful if he does get in.”
“You know Alex-he’s always careful.”
“Okay, then. Give him a call.”
“Already did. He’s on his way.”
One jump ahead of me, as usual. “There’s another tack we can take,” I said. “Find out the names of some of McManus’s other roomers, track down their present whereabouts. Maybe one of them has some information we can use. What’s the real estate outfit that handles her lease?”
