“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I must have called.”
“You must have called? Why would you have called? Did you call most mornings to see if he was at work before you came in?”
“No. Sometimes. I must have those days. Or I had heard he was missing. I think that was probably it. His wife by then had said he was missing.” Alicia’s eyes were bright with emotion, and suddenly she found a voice for it. “And while we’re on that, listen,” she said. “I’ve been sitting here letting you guys ask me all these questions, but don’t you think-forget all these innuendoes about me and Dominic-don’t you think it’s just a little suspicious that his wife didn’t even call to report him missing until he was already gone for a whole day? Isn’t that a little hard to explain? Doesn’t that bother you at all? Plus the fact that Mrs. Como is the one who was jealous, regardless of whether I gave her a reason to be or not. And I didn’t. She’s the one who thought Dominic was cheating on her, and if she thought that, she might have wanted to kill him for it. Doesn’t that make more sense than sniffing all around me?”
Juhle raised his eyebrows at his partner. He wasn’t here to tell Alicia everything or anything that they knew, or assumed: that Ellen Como had had no real access to the presumed murder weapon, that they had no indication or information that she’d ever ridden or even been in her husband’s limo, and hence couldn’t have left a possibly incriminating scarf there, that both Ellen and Al Carter, apparently independently, had stated unequivocally that Dominic had in fact fired Alicia on his last morning at work. Ellen’s behavior and unsubstantiated alibi notwithstanding, she was not really their prime suspect. Although of course they had not totally written her off.
But Juhle only said, “We appreciate your perspective, but as we’ve told you, the investigation is ongoing. We’re just trying to gather information.”
“And to that end,” Russo picked up, “I wonder if you could tell us what you did last Monday night.”
If the question was meant to shake her up, it succeeded almost to the point of panic. Alicia’s mouth turned down, her eyebrows came together over her eyes. She looked to Juhle as if verifying that this was what they wanted to know. “Monday night a week ago?” she asked. “The night before Dominic was killed?”
“No,” Russo answered patiently. “This past Monday night, two nights ago.”
“Two nights ago? Why?”
Juhle had his professional face back on. “If you could just answer the question, Alicia.”
The official tone hit its mark and Alicia sat back meekly, holding her hands together in her lap. “Monday night, Monday night. Tuesday I was at a friend’s for dinner, and then Monday… oh, I got it. Monday I slept in my car down by the beach. Ocean Beach. I wanted to go surfing Tuesday morning.”
“And you were alone in your car?” Russo asked.
“Yes.”
“And from what time?”
“I don’t know exactly. I had a pizza with my girlfriend Danielle at Giorgio’s. On Clement? I guess I left at around ten.”
“And drove out to the beach?” Russo asked.
“Right.”
“Did you talk to anybody out there?” Juhle asked. “Were they having bonfires that night?”
Alicia shook her head. “I went to sleep in my car. I’ve got a mattress I throw in and a sleeping bag. I wanted to be up early. What happened Monday night?”
Again ignoring Alicia’s question, Russo threw a sharp glance at Juhle, then reached under her jacket and pulled a color photograph out of her breast pocket. She placed it on the table in front of Alicia. “Do you recognize this?” she asked.
Alicia’s eyes lit up briefly, then closed down as she looked at Russo to answer her. “Yes. That’s my scarf. I lost it a couple of weeks ago. Where did you find it?”
“Her name is Linda Colores.” Tamara had Hunt sit down in the one chair across from her in the reception area as soon as he’d arrived back at the office. “The Hang-Up Lady.”
“I’d forgotten all about her,” Hunt replied. “What’d she have to say?”
“That she was out by the Palace on the night Mr. Como was killed. Like maybe ten or ten-thirty. She was just walking by herself after dinner on the path by the lagoon and two people were having an argument right in front of her.”
“Tell me she saw them.”
“I wish I could, but she didn’t. They were around where the path turns right down there at the end, near where Mickey found the body. But the point is that she heard them, really clearly.”
“Okay.”
“A man and a woman. The man telling the woman he didn’t love her anymore. Then, maybe, the sound of her hitting him. At least this grunt of exertion and then this kind of sickening sound.”
“So what’d she do then? Your witness.”
“She got scared and turned and got out of there as quickly and quietly as she could.”
“While our murderer,” Hunt said, “made sure Como was dead, then got him into the lagoon and tucked him away in the roots.”
“Linda didn’t know anything about that, but I’d say probably.”
“I would too.”
“Anyway,” Tamara said, “I don’t know if that tells us anything we don’t already know, or think we know, but it seemed important to me somehow.”
“It’s damned important,” Hunt said. “If only because that was really the end of it. If that’s when Como was killed.”
“That’s what it sounded like to Linda.”
“And if that’s the case, it’s not part of the money issues, is it? In spite of what Gina would have me believe.”
“And it’s also,” Tamara said, “not a guy.”
“Maybe not. Not unless our woman here hid Como away and then called somebody to finish up.”
“So two of them?”
“Not likely, I admit, but not impossible. Alicia and her brother-”
“No, Wyatt, no.”
“I’m just saying…” But then other possibilities sprang into his mind-Ellen Como and Al Carter or Ellen Como and Len Turner; or even Nancy Neshek and an accomplice who’d wound up then killing her. Then back again to Alicia and… almost any man who would do anything for her and her favors, which, after only a quick glimpse of her at the memorial service, Hunt figured would include most of the male population of the known world.
22
If Mickey had turned left, which was south, on Potrero, he would have gotten to Cesar Chavez Boulevard after only a couple of blocks, then immediately taken the on-ramp to 101 North and made it back to the Stockton garage at just about the time he figured Wyatt would be returning from the memorial service. They would have grabbed a bite somewhere, compared notes on their respective morning’s adventures, and developed a plan for the rest of the day, or even week.
But as it happened he turned right, got up to Eighteenth Street, which reminded him of the tasty and tender goat he’d bought the day before at Bi-Rite Market, which happened to find itself on Eighteenth as well. So he turned left on Eighteenth, intending to get provisions for the homestead-whatever looked good, and something would-for the next couple of days. His plan was to keep cooking at home for as long as Tamara kept showing her renewed appetite.
The light was solid green for him to go when he got to Mission and so there wasn’t any reason to slow down. He was thinking about special cuts of pork they might have at Bi-Rite and then after that maybe he’d go to his favorite burrito place only a few blocks over to his right on Mission.
