When she was out of the room, Inspector Rainy Bigger said, “She’s making the coffee? The help goes home at night?”
“Evidently so,” Cheney said, and waited to see what else she’d say.
It didn’t take her long. She jumped up from her chair and began pacing. “It’s obvious one of her confederates decided to knock her off. Ain’t that a kick? I guess she must have tried to screw him, or maybe she wanted to stop screwing him.”
Captain Paulette said sharply, “That’s enough, Inspector Bigger. No charges were ever brought against Mrs. Ransom. You don’t have a clue why this guy tried to kill her tonight. None of us do. Yet.”
Inspector Bigger looked like she still wanted to spew, but she wasn’t stupid. She nodded, looked around the living room. “I’d forgotten what a palace this place is. And now it’s all hers. What is she, twenty-eight?”
“Something like that, I’d guess,” Captain Paulette said. “Hey, Cheney, why don’t you go help Mrs. Ransom?”
He paused, heard a woman’s voice, singing low and soft, and walked in that direction. The kitchen was halfway down the back hallway, on the left. Another room the size of his living room, he thought, staring at the array of stainless-steel appliances, with copper pots hanging over a huge center island, and gleaming Italian tiles. Julia was singing to herself, probably trying to keep her fear at bay, as she flipped off the European carafe and poured boiling water into a large glass French press carafe. He wondered if making coffee this way made it taste better.
“I’m here to help,” he said, and shoved his hands into August Ransom’s pants pockets.
Without looking up, she said, “In the cupboard beside the fridge you’ll find some big mugs. I’ll get a tray.” She paused a moment. “Do you think I should put some cookies on a tray? Something like that?”
He grinned. “I was busy hauling you out of the bay, and I never had dinner. What kind of cookies do you have?”
“Oreos,” she said. “You got a couple dozen?”
“Yep, a brand new bag. Mrs. Filbert says it’s the only way she can get me to drink milk.”
“Mrs. Filbert?”
Her chin went up. “My cook.”
She pulled out a big tray from a drawer beneath the island, a bright beach scene, he saw. As he set out the oversized mugs on the tray, he asked, “Why does Inspector Bigger hate your guts?”
She paused, then walked into the pantry. She reemerged with a big unopened bag of Oreos. He watched her domino the cookies into a circle on a plate and set it on the tray. “You could answer that question yourself, Agent. She believes I murdered my husband. Actually, I think she’d have been singing hallelujahs if I’d drowned tonight or gotten a knife shoved into my throat.”
“Yeah, I got that impression too. With her behavior tonight, I doubt you’ll have to see her again. Captain Paulette will probably tell her lieutenant she couldn’t keep herself professional. The last thing the SFPD needs is your lawyers taking them apart for her behavior toward you.”
She shrugged. “Why bother?”
“Yeah, if I were you, I’d rather clip her in the chops.”
She looked perfectly serious and clenched her hands. “That would be nice.”
He laughed, picked up the tray, and preceded her out of the vast kitchen, their footsteps echoing on the tile.
Ten minutes later Captain Paulette let in the police artist, Danny Otis. “Hey, Captain, do you know the Warriors came this close”—Danny’s fingers were nearly touching—”to beating the Lakers? Well, okay, they fell quite a ways behind after the second quarter, but it wasn’t a total wipeout like I expected.”
Captain Paulette grunted. “Yeah, right, that’s great news. You got your computer? Good, come on in, Danny, let’s see what you can get from Mrs. Ransom.”
By ten o’clock the Oreos were gone, two pots of coffee were history, and the two sketches Danny got from Julia Ransom and Agent Cheney Stone were done, and surprisingly similar to each other. The detail in Julia’s was impressive.
Cheney said, “There are a few differences—but since Mrs. Ransom saw him up close and personal, believe her over me. Do you want me to run with this, Frank? Send it off to Dillon Savich in Washington?”
“Let’s make copies first, then yeah, let’s see what he can come up with. Okay, guys,” he added to the two inspectors, “we’ll be able to add this sketch to the APB on this perp. Let’s make sure we get it out to the whole Bay Area.” He turned to Julia. “Mrs. Ransom, if you think of anything more, call me,” and he gave her his card.” I’m having a patrol car sit out in your driveway tonight, all right?”
“Thank you.” Julia showed all of them out, then turned to face Cheney, who’d remained standing next to her. “I’ll need your address, Agent, so I can return your clothes after they’ve been cleaned.”
He pulled out one of his FBI cards, wrote his address on the back as well as his cell number, and handed it to her. “You’re looking a bit on the pale side, Julia. Get yourself to bed. I’ll check with you in the morning. Oh yeah, turn on the alarm after I leave.” He turned back to her in the open doorway. “Rub Vitamin E, on the bruise, it might help.”
“Will I see you again, Agent?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure you will, Mrs. Ransom.” He nodded to the officers in the patrol car, climbed into his Audi, and drove home to what he once thought was his good-sized Belvedere Street condo, nestled in among town houses and small apartment buildings not a quarter mile above Haight-Ashbury.
