Trophies And Dead Things

'Does that mean you won't look for the investigator's name?'

'Jesus!' She turned toward me, her irritation plain now. 'I said I would look for it when I have the time. I do not have the time today. Besides, there probably wasn't anything valuable in his report; he was just some big Italian guy with a crummy two-man office on the edge of the Tenderloin. For all I know, he was incompetent.'

Unwittingly she'd given me something to go on. Except for the 'incompetent,' the man she described sounded suspiciously like an investigator friend I call Wolf. But it was strange that a newscaster wouldn't have remembered his name right off; Wolf-a nickname I'd long ago derived from the press claims that he was 'the last of the lone-wolf detectives'-has had more than his share of publicity, and fairly recently.

It was for that reason-plus the fact that I'd been lied to by one of the other heirs earlier that afternoon-that I concealed my satisfaction with Goodhue's revelation and merely said, 'I'll call you later.'

Willie Whelan's flagship jewelry store was situated on the south side of Market Street between Seventh and Eighth- an iffy location at best, and one that had reaped little benefit from what city planners are fond of calling 'the Renaissance of Market Street.' All the rebirth is going on further downtown, where high-rises have mushroomed and cautious shoppers now venture into what used to be a minefield in the war between the haves and the have- nots. Willie's block remained largely unchanged: street people pushed grocery carts loaded with all their belongings; winos sprawled on the benches that were part of the beautification project; merchants hawked cut-rate wares from sidewalk bins; private security guards were stationed at most of the doorways.

When I entered the store at a few minutes after five, Willie was already there, extolling the merits of aring with the world's tiniest diamond to a young Asian couple. He'd point to it and then gesture expansively; the couple would look at one another and nod dubiously. Then he'd enthuse some more and they'd nod again, a little more firmly. When both nodded decisively, Willie flashed his most sincere smile of congratulation and whipped out a credit application from under the counter. As the couple began filling it out, he gave me a victory sign.

'Is Hank here yet?' I asked, casting a sympathetic glance at the latest victims of Willie's salesmanship.

'He called, said he'd be a few minutes late.'

'Just as well. I need to make a couple of calls of my own.'

'Use my office-you know where it is.'

'Thanks.' I skirted the central counter where he stood and went through an opening in a smaller counter that bordered the showroom on three sides. Numerous customers-none of them terribly solvent-looking-leaned over its displays of watches and charm bracelets and pendants and birthstone rings. On the other side of the counter was a door; beyond it lay the stockroom and Willie's office.

My first call was to Wolf, but I reached only his machine. That was no surprise; he and his partner spent more time in the field than at the office. I left a brief message. Next I called All Souls and caught Rae just as she was on her way out.

'Oh, good,' she said. 'I've got the information you wanted on American Consolidated Services. They're a government contractor that operates restaurants and cafeterias for the military on bases all over the world.'

'I thought it might be something like that. Were you able to find out anything about Bob Smith?'

'Unfortunately, no. Personnel knew he was dead, and the person I talked to became suspicious when I asked.'

'Doesn't matter. I know enough now, and if the police want to make an official inquiry, it'll only confirm what I suspect.'

'Shar, what's this about?'

'I'll tell you later.'

'You keep saying that, but I never get fully caught up.'

'Have patience. Got to go now.' As I replaced the receiver, the door to the office opened and Willie and Hank entered.

Hank looked around the cramped cubicle, then sat on a folding chair under the window. Willie perched on the edge of the desk, swinging one cowboy-booted foot. He said, 'This'd better be important, McCone. I had to cut short my visit to my Oakland store to get back here on time.'

'It is.' I opened my briefcase and took out the legal pad I'd made notes on while at the SFPD that morning.

'Well, aren't you going to enlighten us?' Hank asked. 'I was planning to go home early, but your message kept me at All Souls just long enough for a client to call with an emergency, and now I've got to work through the evening again.'

I was trying to save their lives, and they were complaining about me wasting their time! I said, 'Did I ever tell either of you what a pain in the ass you can be?' The words and their tone were unusually harsh for me; both Hank and Willie looked taken aback. They exchanged quick looks, but neither spoke.

I said, 'First I need to ask you some questions about Vietnam in nineteen seventy. Both of you were in Cam Ranh Bay at the same time as Perry Hilderly?'

Hank nodded.

'And Hilderly hung out with a bunch of you from the base?'

'Yes, at an off-base bar… What was it called, Willie?'

'Something French.'

'Moulin Rouge? Rouge et Noir?'

'Rouge et Noir,' Willie said.

'Good memory.'

I asked, 'Who usually hung out with you?'

Hank looked blank, then glanced at Willie. Willie shrugged. Hank said, 'Well, people came and went a lot. In a place like Cam Ranh, the personnel fluctuated daily.'

'A big base, was it?'

'Cam Ranh itself was a port-built from the ground up by the U.S. in case Saigon fell. There was the army supply depot, where Willie and I were stationed, plus navy and air force bases, an airfield serving the area, a hospital. About twenty thousand military stationed there, and God knows how many civilians.' He paused, smiling ironically. 'Government sunk billions of the taxpayers' dollars into Cam Ranh; then after the pullout it became a virtual ghost town. Now it's a port of call for Soviet ships.'

'So what you're saying is that it would be difficult to remember specific individuals whom you hung out with?'

'Some I probably could, people who stayed around for a long time. But like I said, they came and went.'

I leaned back in the desk chair, considering what I knew about the military. It was a fair amount; my father had been a chief petty officer in the navy, a thirty-year man. I said, 'For a minute, let's talk about the people who we know were there. You'-I motioned at Hank-'were politicized by the war, went over there a liberal and came back a radical. Hilderly was a war protester, a reporter, and a civilian. And you'-I looked at Willie-'would by no means have been your ideal enlisted man. In addition, Hank was an officer. It's fairly unusual for officers and enlisted men to socialize.'

'Well,' Hank said, 'in a combat zone it's a little looser. But what you're getting at is correct: we were a bunch of liberal misfits.'

'Then I assume your group caused comment, might have been resented by the more hawkish element?'

'Christ, yes,' Willie said. 'Was like everybody in our corner of the bar had leprosy, except for when some asshole decided to pick a fight.' To Hank he added, 'You remember that night I almost got into it with that fascist lieutenant? For sure I'd of ended up court-martialed if you hadn't stepped in.'

I sat up straighten 'Do you remember the lieutenant's name?'

'… I can't remember. Hank?'

Hank shook his head.

'Do you recall anything about him?'

'Nothing except the attitude.'

'Besides him,' I said, 'do you remember anyone else who tried to pick fights or otherwise antagonize you?'

'There were plenty of them, but after all this time the names and faces aren't clear.'