at their booth who might help them trace Mossman’s whereabout last night.
At the doorway, however, a young man barred their way. “No admittance without a badge.”
With a quick, wicked grin at each other, Garreth and Harry produced their badge cases and dangled them before the young man.
He looked down his nose at them. “Those are the wrong — ” He broke off, coloring, and stammered, “Excuse me. . I meant — I’m supposed — may I help you? Do you have business here?”
“Yes,” Harry said. “Where is the Kitco display?”
“There’s a floor diagram just inside.” He hastily stepped aside.
The diagram located Kitco at the far end of the hall. There they found a woman and two men, smartly dressed and flawlessly groomed, working before a photographic montage of kitchen cabinets. Leaflets and catalogs lay on tables at the front of the booth.
The woman turned a brilliant, professional smile on them. “Good morning. I’m Susan Pegans. Kitco manufactures cabinets in a wide variety of styles and woods to fit any decor. May I show you our brochure?”
Harry said, “I’m looking for Gerald Mossman. He’s with this exhibit, isn’t he?”
“Mr. Mossman is our sales manager, but he’s not here at the moment.”
“Can you tell me where he is?”
“I’m afraid not. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Garreth opened his notebook. “Does he fit this description?” He read off the dead man’s.
Her smile faltered. “Yes. Steve… “
The taller of the two men left the people he was talking to and came over. “I’m Steven Verneau. Is there a problem?”
Harry showed his identification. “When did you last see Gerald Mossman?”
The blusher on the woman’s face became garish paint over a bloodless face. “What’s happened to him?”
Harry eyed her. “Could we talk somewhere away from this crowd, Mr. Verneau?”
“Sure.”
“Steve,” the woman began.
Verneau patted her arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing. This way, Inspector.” He led them out to the lobby area and quiet corner area. “Now, what’s this about?”
There never seemed to be any easy way of saying it. Harry made it quick. “We’ve found a man in the bay with Mossman’s hotel key in his pocket.”
Verneau stared, shocked. “In the bay? He fell in and drowned?”
Garreth said carefully, “We think he was dead before he went in. He appears to have been robbed.”
“Someone killed him?” A passing pair of men turned to stare. Verneau lowered his voice. “Are you sure it’s Gary?”
Garreth gave him the description.
Verneau sucked in a breath. “That could be Gary. He has a coat like that.”
“We need to have someone come and identify him,” Harry said. “Will you?”
Verneau paled, but nodded. “Just let me give Alex and Susan some excuse for being gone.”
4
Garreth had never liked the morgue. From the first required visits during training at the Police Academy, he had seen it as a place of harsh light and hard surfaces, where sound echoed coldly and the stainless steel and tile surfaces turned people into distorted reflections. It reeked of decomp, an odor that pervaded everything, hitting him as he came in the door and lingering tenaciously in his nostrils for hours after he left. This year he had come to despise the place, particularly the freezer with its rows of sheet-covered gurneys. No matter that he intellectually recognized the necessity of the morgue, and that the dead here served the living. Every time he heard the click of the freezer latch and the oiled hiss of its hinges, he relived the nightmare when the face under the sheet inside was Marti’s and half his soul had been torn away.
He stood with face set, ready to catch Verneau if need be, though the attendant brought the body to the public viewing area and folded back the sheet just enough to reveal the face, not the neck.
Verneau swallowed hard. “Son of a bitch. Yes…that’s Gary.”
The attendant lowered the sheet and they left the morgue.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asked.
Verneau sucked in a breath. “Last night. The exhibition hall closes at seven and we walked out together.”
“Do you know what his plans were for the evening?”
“Eating out with conventioneers, I suppose. He did Monday night, and that was his usual practice…to make personal contacts, you know.”
“Did he happen to mention any names, or where he was going?”
“Not to me.”
“A watch and ring were taken from him. Can you describe them?”
Verneau shook his head. “Maybe his wife can. She’s in Denver.” He sucked in another breath. “God, this doesn’t seem real.”
Garreth said, “He had a large bruise on his neck. Do you remember seeing it last night?”
“Bruise?” Verneau blinked. “I — no, I don’t remember. How did this happen? Wouldn’t a mugger just rob him? He wouldn’t have resisted; he always said you give them what they want, that property can always be replaced. He never carried much in the evening anyway…one credit card and enough cash for the evening. Would someone kill him because he
Harry caught Garreth’s eye. “Why don’t I take Mr. Verneau back to the Moscone and talk to people there, then go to Mossman’s hotel. You get on the horn to Denver PD and have them contact the wife. See if she knows his enemies. Tell them we need a description of his jewelry to put out to the pawnshops. See you later.”
5
Garreth hung up the phone. Denver was sending someone to break the news to Mossman’s wife. They promised to get back about the jewelry. A message from the Coast Guard lay on Harry’s desk. According to their charts, the body had most likely gone in somewhere along the southern end of the Embarcadero and the China Basin, although probably not as far south as Potrero’s Point. Garreth noted the information in his notebook. They would need to talk to people in that area. Perhaps someone had seen something.
Serruto came out of his office to sit on a corner of Garreth’s desk. “What’s the story on the floater?”
Garreth gave him what they had so far.
Serruto frowned. “Robbery? Odd the thief didn’t take the hotel key, too, so he could rifle the room.”
“Unless it’s only supposed to look like a robbery.”
The lieutenant tugged at an ear. “You have other thoughts?”
“There’s a bruise on his neck.” Garreth held a circle of his thumb and first finger against his own neck to indicate the size and location. “I remember another case in the last several years with the same kind of mark, also with a broken neck.”
Serruto pursed his lips for a minute, then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Keep thinking. Maybe you’ll remember more.” He went back to his office.
Garreth looked around the room. Evelyn Kolb and Art Schneider worked at their desks. He asked them if they remembered the case.
Kolb pumped the top of the thermos she brought to work every day, filling her cup with steaming tea. “Not me. Art?”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
