on his every word. Rae accepted a glass of wine from a passing server, a shrimp canape from another. Fringe benefits.
A woman who had long gray hair and was wearing a poorly fitting black cocktail dress came out of the crowd and went up to Summers, touching his arm; Rae recognized her-Cheryl Fitzgerald. Summers looked down, clearly not pleased to see her there. She went up on tiptoe and spoke into his ear. When she was finished Summers excused himself and ushered her to a door at the rear of the room.
Rae set down her drink and followed.
The door opened into a long corridor with several other doors opening off it. One stood ajar, and voices came from inside. She slipped along the wall until she was within hearing range.
“… Nothing to connect the party with what happened to Sharon McCone.”
“This Rae Kelleher told me it was just one of a number of lines of investigation, but if there wasn’t something compelling, why did she bother to come see me?”
“Fishing.”
“I’m not so sure. I know about Kelleher and McCone and that agency. They’re good. If they find out about Alicia and-”
“Don’t mention my daughter’s name to me!”
“I saw it on the six o’clock news-the body of a hooker killed in a SoMa alley identified as Alicia. Celebrating, Lee?”
“What kind of comment is that?”
“I’ve heard the rumors about what you did to her. What if Rae Kelleher finds out about them?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not. But for a while now I’ve been wanting to move on to someplace where the smog isn’t as thick as it is in Silicon Valley.”
“Don’t even think of blackmailing me, Cheryl. Others have tried; they’ve all regretted it.”
“What others? The mayor? Jim Yatz? Or are you talking about Amanda Teller and Paul Janssen?”
“Clearly you’re out of your mind-”
Rae’s cellular vibrated. She ignored it.
“… Perfectly sane, and my lawyer has a letter in his safe that tells all about Pro Terra. All I have to do is give the word and it goes straight to the authorities. Or if something happens to me-”
“God, you’re melodramatic, Cheryl. What do you want? A trip to an expensive fat farm? You could use it, I admit-”
Sound of a slap.
“Jesus! Okay, what
“Let’s begin with a first-class ticket to Rome.”
Rae’s cell vibrated again. Shit! It might be important. And Cheryl Fitzgerald wasn’t going to pack up her life and move to Italy overnight; plenty of time to find out what knowledge she’d used to exert such pressure on Summers. Rae looked around, saw an exit door, and slipped outside. A ways down the alley, she checked the number-an unfamiliar local one-and answered the call.
“Ms. Kelleher, this is Callie O’Leary. My attorney said you want to speak to me about an inheritance.”
Delaney had passed along the message to Alicia Summers’s-aka Angie Atkins’s-friend, probably in exchange for a cut of the fictional money.
“Yes. When can we meet?”
“Tomorrow, at Mr. Delaney’s office?”
“I’d rather we do this one-on-one. Your attorney…”
Long pause. “Yes, I understand. I’m staying at Hope House in the outer Richmond. It’s a shelter for women at risk. I’ll give you the address.”
“I can be there in less than an hour.”
CRAIG MORLAND
Close to eleven. He pushed away from his desk and the voluminous paper files on the city hall investigation. He’d replayed the surveillance tapes he’d made on Teller and Janssen from his room at the Big Sur lodge. They’d run out some time between when he fell asleep and when he was awakened by the shots, but the Monterey County authorities could use what was there.
Now he was having a crisis of conscience. The tapes were illegal. If he turned them over to the sheriff’s department, it could compromise his license and the agency. Even sending them anonymously would be a risk. Besides, as a former fed, he harbored a great distrust of local law-enforcement agencies.
Screw them, he thought. He’d probably solve the case before they even broke significant ground.
To that end, he slipped one of the DVDs he’d taken from Harvey Davis’s condo into the computer and watched it once again.
A tall, slender woman-naked, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Facing away from the camera. A man, facing her, but in shadow so his features weren’t clear.
“Oh, baby, you are something else. As advertised and then some.”
“Tell me I’m beautiful. I’ve always wanted somebody to tell me I’m beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful. You are beautiful.”
Cut to another, similar shot. Different man, different shape, but also in shadow.
“You’re worth the money I gave, all of it.”
“Because I’m pretty.”
“And incredibly hot.”
“How much money did you give?”
“A lot.”
“I could use some money for myself. They never give me anything. Would you pay that much to me? If I’m good to you?”
“If you’re very, very good…”
Next scene: a couple in bed, indistinguishable except for the long sweep of blonde hair. Graphic noises.
Next: similar recording.
Craig ejected the DVD, slipped the other one in.
Another unclear view: a man with a hairy back, humping.
Another man, a tattoo visible on his shoulder. The same well-publicized tattoo of the insignia of USC, his alma mater, that the mayor bore in the same place. He’d often joked with the press that he intended to have it removed, since his wife had graduated from rival UCLA.
And now the last one: two unidentifiable naked women, one blonde and one dark-haired, twined in an embrace.
The dark-haired one: Amanda Teller, or someone made up to look like her.
Craig slowed the recording speed, played the disc again.
The mayor’s tattoo could have been faked. The woman who resembled Teller could be younger than the dead supervisor.
Where had Harvey Davis gotten these discs? Who had made them? And who were the unidentifiable participants?
Craig checked his watch. After one now, but his friend Daniel Blackstone down in Scottsdale, a video and audio forensics specialist, would probably still be at his computer. Daniel worked best in the cool night, slept best during the hot daylight hours.
Craig punched in his number and got an immediate response.
“You need work?” he asked.
Daniel laughed-a habitually harsh sound exacerbated by the two packs of Marlboros he smoked daily. “I’ve got plenty of work, but I can fit you in. What’s the job?”
Craig outlined what he thought about the videos.
