12th of Never

Chapter 30

“TAKE A LOOK at this.”

Claire handed me a manila folder with a name printed on the tab: Tracey Pendleton.

There was a photo stapled to the top sheet of Tracey Pendleton’s employment records. She had short gray hair and her face was plain, without a single distinguishing feature. Her DOB said that she was in her late thirties, but she looked fifty. She probably smoked and drank, might have had drugs in her past.

The word Hired was stamped on the first page, as was the date—August 23, 2009. Reading further, I learned that Ms. Pendleton had a license to carry a weapon, owned a registered 9mm Glock semiauto, and was employed as a security guard for the ME’s office.

I flipped through her time sheets.

Tracey Pendleton worked nights—including last night.

Claire was watching me, and when I looked up, she said, “Tracey clocked in at twelve oh two. She didn’t punch out.”

“You’ve called her?”

“Every ten minutes. No answer. I also texted her and sent her a bunch of e-mails. No answer to those, either.”

“Tell me what you know about her,” I said.

I teed up the question, but my mind was already racing ahead. Had Tracey Pendleton stolen Faye Farmer’s body? If so, what was her motive?

“I don’t know her at all,” Claire said. “Our schedules only overlap if I come in way early or I’m working way late. And even then, it’s ‘Hey, how ya doing?’”

“When was the last time you saw Pendleton?”

“A couple of weeks ago. She seemed okay to me, Lindsay. But when I look at her, I’m just looking to see if she’s sober. She failed to show up for work a couple of times and was on warning. But not showing up and not punching out are two different things entirely.”

I asked, “She just forgot to punch out?”

Claire shrugged.

“It would be the first time. The time clock is right there at the back door.”

“Okay. Could she have taken the surveillance disk, switched the John Doe for Faye Farmer, and gotten Farmer’s body into her car? Is she strong enough to do that?”

“I think it’s physically possible.”

“You think someone could’ve paid Pendleton for the body?” I asked.

“They say everyone has a price,” said Claire. “Tracey Pendleton makes fifteen dollars an hour. I guess her tipping point wouldn’t be too high.”

Chapter 31

FLOYD MESERVE WAS clean-shaven, neatly dressed, his hair in a ponytail short enough to reveal the tattoo of a naked woman just above his collar.

Yuki approached her witness and said, “Lieutenant Meserve, what is your job title?”

“Lieutenant, Crimes Against Persons Division, Northern District, SFPD.”

“Do you know the defendant?”

“Yes. I met with him on February twentieth of last year.”

“What were the circumstances of your meeting?”

The jurors were attentive, some of them leaning forward in their seats. The gallery was still. Yuki was absolutely sure there would be no surprises with Floyd Meserve.

“I was working undercover at the time,” said Meserve. “One of my CIs told me that a lawyer was looking for a hit man. I told him that I could pose as such.”

“Did this confidential informant give your contact number to the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“And did the defendant contact you?”

“Yes, the same day. We set up a meeting.”

“When did you meet the defendant?”

“I met the defendant in a parking lot outside the Westlake Shopping Center on Southgate Avenue at five in the evening. We each drove there in our own vehicle. The defendant wanted me to talk to him inside his car, but I told him I don’t do that. He had to get into my vehicle.”

“And why did you want him to get into your vehicle?”

“I had a video recorder set up.”

“I see. So did Mr. Herman get into your car?”

“Yes. He got straight to the point.”

“What did he say?” Yuki asked.

“He said he wanted me to dispose of his wife because she was abusing their daughter. And he said he wanted me to kill his daughter, too, because he said his wife had ruined her.”

“He wanted you to kill a seven-year-old?”

“That’s what he said.”

“And what did you say to this proposition?”

“I asked him if he was sure. He said he had thought about it for a long time. So I told him it would cost him a lot to take out a woman and a child.”

“Was a dollar amount discussed?” Yuki asked.

“We negotiated the price of one hundred thousand for both people. Half down, half after proof of the hits.”

“Did your recording equipment capture this conversation?”

“Yes, it did.”

Yuki said, “Your Honor, I’d like to show the video to the jury.”

“You have the transcript?” the judge asked.

“Right here, Your Honor.”

“I’ll take that, and if you would give a copy to the defense, you may roll the video.”

Chapter 32

NICKY GAINES TAPPED on his keyboard and, after a couple of fumbles, the video projected onto the monitor in the courtroom. Yuki watched along with the jury as the time-and date-stamped recording started with Keith Herman getting into the undercover cop’s car.

Oh, man, Yuki thought. No way Kinsela could discredit this.

The images were black-and-white, medium quality, shot from the window on the driver’s side. The angle was across Meserve’s lap, and it took in Keith Herman’s face and upper torso. Herman had been bearded when the film was shot, and he had worn a blue baseball cap.

On video, Floyd Meserve told Keith Herman that his name was Chester, then he listened as Keith Herman said, “My wife is mentally ill—schizophrenic, you know? She’s sweet as pie, then she turns on a dime. She beats our little girl for no reason, and abuses her in other ways you don’t need to know, but my little girl has also turned mental. I mean psycho. I don’t want her to go through the hell of being a mental case for her whole life. Or being drugged to the gills, either. It’s a crying shame.”

Meserve said, “You thought of getting a divorce? Filing for custody of the child?”