Trophies And Dead Things

Greg nodded. 'So our perp is at Letterman and he runs into Davis. Maybe she's even the counselor assigned to his case. Whatever the circumstances, that's the nudge.'

'And he also spots Owens. Now he knows they're both living in San Francisco. From then on it's easy to stalk them, learn their habits, wait for the right moment.'

'That's fine. And I can see why he would have been able to locate Hank and Willie-but what about Hilderly?'

'Hilderly was Hank's friend. They met for drinks fairly frequently.'

'And Bob Smith?'

I sat down again. 'Smith's the one who didn't seem to fit the pattern originally, and at first glance he doesn't fit this one too well, either. But that pizza restaurant where he worked when he died is only a couple of blocks from Willie's store, and I looked in there on the way over here. It's the kind where the kitchen is only separated from the dining area by a counter; you can watch the people preparing the food. Our man's coming across Smith could have been circumstantial. If it happened after he saw Davis and Owens at Letterman, he might have been on the alert for familiar faces.'

'But why go after Smith before the others, in that case?'

I shrugged. 'Opportunity. Smith was a loner, easier to stalk.'

'Okay.' Greg leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, eyes trained on a point above my head. Once again I waited.

Finally he said, 'The time lapse bothers me. I know we've said Davis or Owens, or the combination thereof, pushed him over the edge, but surely in twenty years there would have been other nudges. Why didn't he go after his victims long ago?'

'I've thought about that. There's an additional factor-and fortunately, it's one that may speed an identification. I think he might have been in a mental institution most of that time. Perhaps he'd only recently been released.'

'Good point.' Greg's gaze remained focused on the distance as he considered. 'What we've got here,' he said, 'is a lot of conjecture, if you want to know the truth. But it's better than any lead I've developed. And obviously the place to start investigating is at Letterman. As it happens, I've an acquaintance in the CID at the Presidio who will expedite requests for information.' He reached for his Rolodex and thumbed through it.

I asked, 'Do you still have a man on Willie's house?'

'No. We're so damned understaffed. But I'll try to get one back on, plus another on Hank.'

'I don't think you need to worry too much about Willie; he told me he was going home and not coming out until it was all over. And I'll take care of Hank, at least for tonight.'

'You sure you want the responsibility?'

'I don't mind. It's a calculated risk. The sniper's pattern has been to fire when the victim's alone. Even when he shot at Willie, Rae was way down by the corner.'

'Well, be careful. I don't want to lose either of you.'

'You won't.'

Greg picked up the phone receiver and punched out a number. 'Busy, dammit.'

I stood and shrugged into my jacket. 'I'd better get over to All Souls.'

'I'll phone you there when I have something.' Greg came around the desk and walked me to the door of the cubicle. Then he paused, his hand on the knob. 'And Sharon- thanks for your cooperation. The chief's been on my case since Willie was shot at, as the mayor's office has been on his. This comes at a time when nailing the sniper could make my career-and failing could break it.'

I looked up at his face, somber in the neon light that glared down from the ceiling fixtures. 'How so?'

'A captaincy is opening up-Narcotics. I'm the major contender for it.'

'Greg! Congratulations!'

His answering smile was wistful, and I knew why. The captaincy was a desk job, one in which he would juggle paper, policy, and politics. There would be no actual field investigations, no more satisfaction of personally piecing together a solid case against a perpetrator. And yet, it was time…

'You want the promotion, don't you?'

He sighed. 'Yes and no. But I know it's the only logical step. And I'm tired, Sharon. I'm tired of being called out in the middle of the night to crime scenes. I'm sick and tired of violent death. And I'm sick of dealing with scum, of being reminded at every turn of how vile people can be.'

'You think you won't be in Narcotics?'

'Maybe I just need another brand of vileness.' He paused, his lips quirking up mischievously. 'Besides, my appointment will really piss off McFate. He was recently passed over for lieutenant.'

'In that case, I hope it comes through fast. And speaking of McFate…?'

'Probably over at the Intelligence Division again. He seems to prefer his cronies on the old detail to those on Homicide.' Greg glanced through the door. 'Well, what a surprise. Maybe now I'll actually get a report on the Grant case out of him.' He motioned to a desk on the far side of the squad room. A pearl-gray suit jacket was draped precisely over a silly-looking brass garment rack that was more appropriate to a bedroom, and I could see the back of McFate's head.

'You know,' I said, 'even though I need to talk with him, I was kind of hoping he wouldn't be here.'

'I know how you feel. Good luck.'

I crossed the noisy, cluttered room, avoiding boxes of files, misplaced chairs, and even someone's bowling bag. When I stopped next to McFate's desk, he kept his eyes on the report in front of him. Moments later, he looked up, expression going glacial when he saw me. 'Ms. McCone,' he said, 'what may I do for you?' McFate didn't ask me to sit down, so I remained where I was. His gaze moved up and down my body, taking in my jeans, sweater, and suede jacket in a manner that stopped just short of being contemptuous. A slender needle of irritation pricked at me, but I adopted a businesslike tone. 'I have some information pertaining to the Grant case.' He smoothed his luxuriant brown mustache-surely it wasn't real; could one purchase a fake, like a toupee?-with his index finger. 'Yes?'

'I've found evidence that Grant's real name may have been Andy Wrightman.'

'Evidence.'

'One of Perry Hilderly's heirs mentioned the name when I described Grant to him.'

'Oh, I see-hard evidence.'

With an effort I kept my voice level. 'It's something you may want to look into. Wrightman was associated with Hilderly in the late sixties; he was a campus hanger-on at Cal, something of a hippie and a drifter-'

Now McFate smiled superiorly. 'I can assure you that Thomas Grant was never a hippie or a drifter-quite the opposite. Frankly, I think you're becoming obsessed with this Hilderly business.'

'And frankly, I think it's logical that there might be a tie-in.'

'Ms. McCone, my background check on the victim was very thorough.'

'Would you care to share what you turned up?'

'No, I would not. I am not, as you put it, in the habit of sharing the details of my investigations with civilians. Nor do I care for any further input from you.'

I glared at him. McFate remained impassive. I said, 'Do you plan to share the details of your investigation with Lieutenant Marcus? He mentioned to me a few minutes ago that he was hoping you'd brief him.'

McFate's cleft chin jutted out. 'I intend to speak with him momentarily.' His impatient glance toward his superior's office indicated that only my annoying presence was preventing him from doing so. He picked up a file, stood, and motioned at the way out of the squad room.

I remained in front of him, blocking his path. 'You know, Leo,' I said, 'it strikes me that the past of a man who practiced law the way Grant did can't have been any too savory.'

McFate smiled thinly. 'And that, Ms. McCone, shows exactly how much you know.' He brushed past me and moved toward Greg's cubicle. Greg still stood in its doorway; apparently he'd been watching the entire exchange. As McFate entered and took a seat, Greg smiled at me and shrugged sympathetically.

Irresistible impulse overcame me: I made a single-fingered gesture at the back of McFate's well-barbered head. Snickers erupted from the desks around me. Greg rolled his eyes and went back into his office.

I left the squad room, oddly elated by my display of temper. I'd always been the good kid on the private investigators' block: cooperative, professional, rarely antagonistic. But even good kids have their limits. I figured I