“Alcatraz,” Vail said. She sat down in front of Dixon’s laptop and started a search. “There’s been so much written about it that I have to think someone, sometime has listed the inmates that did time there.”
As she began pounding the keys, a male voice yelled, “Birdie!”
Burden turned toward the administrative anteroom, where an inspector was approaching with a notepad in hand. “Got something. Your vic, Martin Tumaco. Found in that flotation tank in ’95. Tumaco was a government doc-a Public Health Service physician-and a surgeon who worked on Alcatraz.”
“Alcatraz,” Dixon said. “We just found something, too, that led us there.”
“That’s not all. That other vic, Father Ralph Finelli-he was a seminarian back in ’60.” He consulted his notes. “Finelli unofficially worked at Alcatraz-Father James Raspa of that church you went to this afternoon-San Francisco de Asis-was the registered clergy on The Rock, but he brought along Finelli, his student, to get some experience working with some seriously bad dudes.”
“What happened to Finelli after that?” Vail asked.
“Became a priest down south. He’s done a series of interviews about his work at Alcatraz over the years. Talked about his relationship with”-another glance at his notes-“Jack Pallazo, and his work with two inmates in particular, Leigh Bosworth and Walton MacNally. MacNally is the one that stands out because Finelli considered his work with MacNally such a gross failure that he would’ve left the seminary if Raspa hadn’t talked him out of it.”
“Is Raspa still around?”
“That’s where we got this info. He’s retired, lives in Concord. He was very upset to hear about Finelli.”
“Great work,” Burden said.
“Now that we’ve got a place to look,” the inspector said as he backed out, “hopefully we’ll have more for you soon.”
“Check all the other vics,” Burden called after him. “Find out if there’s an Alcatraz tie-in. Inmates, correctional officers, support staff-anything.”
Dixon swiveled her seat toward Burden. “Before your phone rang, you said you thought you’d figured something out.”
“Yeah,” Burden said. He turned back to the PC and, while alternating his gaze between the screen and his pad, scribbled some notes. He walked over to the murder board and began reordering the male victim photos. “Those numbers, the ones written on the vic’s heads. I figured out what they are.”
Vail’s phone vibrated. She pulled it out and-Holy shit. She jumped up from her chair, which careened backward into the worktable. “New message.” She read it aloud: “I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, in the middle of fucking nowhere. You have twenty-nine minutes.”
“The Rock.” Burden turned back to the board. “So those numbers. Putting them in order of kill chronology, they read: 37, 49, 35, 122, 25.” He held up his pad to check his information.
“And?” Dixon said. “I’m still not getting it.”
“Me either,” Vail said as she scanned the photos. “Spit it out, Burden.”
“They’re latitude and longitude readings. Of Alcatraz. I looked it up: 37° 49’ 35” latitude, -122° 25’ 23” longitude.”
Wish we’d seen that before.
“We’re missing a number,” Burden said.
Vail stepped up to the board and jabbed a finger at one of the messages the offender had sent. “He wrote, I’ve given you some latitude, but you’ve come up short.” She faced them. “One number short.”
Dixon looked at the wall clock. “Here’s another number we’re gonna come up short on. We’ve only got twenty-seven minutes to get there.”
AS THEY RAN DOWN THE stairs, Burden called the SFPD Marine Unit and told them they needed the Zodiac ready to rock and roll in ten minutes. They hit the lobby in single file and ran past security, then out the front door into the cold night air.
They dashed left, around the corner, and into the lot where the Taurus was parked. From there, Burden accelerated hard and screeched his tires, headed for Pier 39.
BURDEN SWERVED WIDE ON A turn and his rear fender caught the corner of a San Francisco Register street dispenser. Vail and Dixon grabbed for something to hold onto.
“Was the DB Friedberg?” Dixon asked.
“Don’t know,” Burden said. “Should’ve asked. Roxxann-get the goddamn light up there.”
Dixon, riding shotgun, reached down and put the flashing dome atop the roof.
“Guard said it was a male, no ID.”
“That fits the pattern,” Vail said. “Doesn’t get much more high profile than leaving a body on Alcatraz.”
“No kidding,” Burden said. “They get like five thousand visitors a day there. People come from all over the world. It’s like mythic or something. People are fascinated by the place.”
“How long till we get there?”
“We’ll be at the dock in five, if I run some lights.”
“And to the island?”
“No idea. I’ve only gone there by ferry. Fifteen minutes, maybe. I think we can do a lot better in the Zodiac.”
“Either way,” Vail said, “it’s gonna be close.” She thought a moment, then said, “Think back to all the victims. The way they were positioned. They were facing the Bay. But were they all facing Alcatraz?”
Burden thought a long moment, no doubt running the crime scenes and male victims through his memory. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Except for Ilg, who was in the tunnel-the hole-I think they were.”
Vail nodded. Then we’re right. Alcatraz is the key. “This guy. Our UNSUB is likely a former prisoner there.”
“And,” Dixon said, “the vics are probably tied to Alcatraz in some way, too.”
“Reasonable assumption,” Vail said. “Other prisoners who wronged him. Or guards.”
“The phone that text came from,” Burden said as he swung a hard right onto Embarcadero. “Send a reply. We’re on our way.”
“He’s not interested in hearing from us. He wants us there, to find
