A week later, when Ray and Debbie read them excerpts from Warren’s final column, the beleaguered couple knew this was not the time to fly back to the Bay Area. Based on their itineraries, they had already decided to extend their stay in New York. Now, they thought it wise to continue their stay indefinitely. Being two more anonymous faces in a sea of humanity was an unexpected comfort.
It was apparent from the number of readers’ letters arguing for Randolph’s arrest that Alma and her Ladies of Liberty had instigated a letter-writing campaign.
On Thursday afternoon, Eddie called to say that the Randolphs had extended their stay in New York City another week.
Eddie had not been able to make their usual Friday afternoon date at Smitty’s, but on Saturday, he pulled up outside of Rob’s home in his unmarked county sheriff’s car. Kissing Karin on the cheek, he asked, “Do you mind if I borrow your husband for a couple of hours?”
“Fine with me. I was about to take the kids up to Cloudview Park. One of the Sparrow Creek kids, little Anna, is having her third birthday party up there.” Karin pointed toward Rob’s home office and said, “Get him out of the house. He needs some fresh air. He’s been spending way too much time in there.”
Eddie found Rob at his desk lost in thought. With less than seventy-two hours before the next deadline for his Sausalito edition, he was feeling discouraged. His attempts to spin another Bradley story out of what little new information he had was harder than he had imagined.
He was happy to accept Eddie’s invitation to go for a drive. Yes, a change of scenery would do him good. And, perhaps, he might get lucky and hear something that he could use to satisfy his readers' hunger for more revelations in a mystery that was still the talk of the town.
The two friends drove to Mill Valley and went up a back road that climbed one of the flanks of Mount Tamalpais, which rises twenty-eight hundred feet and dominates the surrounding landscape.
Eddie pulled off onto a dirt road and parked at a trailhead known mostly to locals. As Eddie had hoped, there were no other cars around. “Come on, let’s go for a little walk.”
Rob smiled and nodded approvingly. “We haven’t been to this spot since we were in high school.”
They walked along a trail that hugged the hillside. It offered great views but had a steep drop that was far too narrow for casual hikers. After going a half-mile down the path, they came to a dugout where a boulder had come to rest, perhaps centuries earlier. The rock was a perfect example of a bench placed by God for a select few to stop and enjoy the view.
They pulled themselves up and sat down on the massive stone, which was warmed by the midday sun. As they looked out at a vista that included tree-covered hillsides and distant views of the Pacific, Rob said in a low voice, “Remember when we used to come up here with Trevor and Alex to smoke pot?”
Eddie inhaled the fresh mountain air. “We were certainly young and dumb. Pot, beer, and steep drop-offs are probably not the safest combination.”
“And let’s not forget the occasional mountain lion out for a stroll with her young cubs,” Rob laughed.
“It’s amazing to think how many things we did as kids that we would never want our kids to do.”
“Amen to that, pal.”
They watched in silence as two hawks circled the steep canyon looking for prey far below. Finally, Eddie said, “I need your help. What I’m about to tell you can’t go any further than the two of us.”
“Is it about the Bradley killing?”
“Bingo.”
“Whatever it is, Eddie, we’ve been like brothers most of our lives. Just tell me, and I’ll put into print only what you think will help to solve your case and certainly nothing that would hinder your investigation.”
Eddie’s smiled as he patted Rob on the shoulder. “I know that. Let me start by telling you that Grant Randolph had nothing to do with the murder of Warren Bradley.”
“You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I’ve been close to the guys in the ME’s office for a long time. They can be your best friends in a murder investigation. When they know something, small or big, they get a hold of me right away.”
“Yeah…and…”
“It’s about 99 percent certain that Bradley’s killer was left-handed.”
Rob gave a low whistle. “How did they figure that out?”
“The angle at which that meat cleaver smashed through Bradley’s wrists gave it away. Even on a dead man, it takes a reasonable amount of force to cut through all those bones and tendons. It’s highly unlikely that our killer is right-handed but used his left hand to cut off Warren’s hands.”
Rob shook his head. “How does the county’s medical examiner get to keep a gem like that quiet?”
“Simple. This is an ongoing murder investigation. In pursuit of the victim’s killer, you’re not serving the cause of justice to turn over every card you’re holding to the public. If you all but eliminate right-handed individuals, approximately 90 percent of the entire population, and you consider the upper body strength of our killer and our relative certainty that Warren knew his killer, as over nine out of ten victims do, the pool of suspects drops to a much smaller number.”
“Do the nitwits at the Sausalito Police Department know about this?”
“Nope. There’s no real need to let them know. They don’t have an investigator working the case, so sharing that kind of information with them increases the chance of it getting out into the general public.”
“I agree. Now for my sixty-four thousand dollar question: where do I come in? In other words, how can I help? And how is it that you know Randolph is right-handed?”
“Let me answer your second question first. We went through the files of some previous art commission meetings. The powers at city
