“Can’t we drive up there this evening? I can wait in the car while you snoop around.”
“More convenient, for sure. But there’s a good chance that a neighbor will see the lights on, or see a flashlight and call our friends at the SPD—which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”
“And why do we want to keep the SPD out of this?”
“Because, if you remember, its officers and staff are the original town gossips! How do you think Bradley got on the trail of everyone’s favorite suspect, Grant Randolph, in the first place? I don’t know which one of those chuckleheads babbled about Randolph’s arrest for assaulting his wife, but I’ll bet you a week’s salary that was Warren’s original source for his story. If we got caught up there, we’d be the talk of the town forty-eight hours later! We need to fly under the radar while we’re there.”
Rob watched the sky brighten over the East Bay as he strolled down his driveway Monday morning. He had just paused for a moment when Eddie came running up. The way they were dressed, they looked like any other early morning power joggers.
They took a circuitous route, winding through the Sausalito hills. Part of their jog took them along Glen Drive. They followed it as it curved uphill onto Santa Rosa Avenue, then onto San Carlos, Spencer, and finally onto Prospect.
By the time they had reached the end of Prospect, it was nearly six o’clock and they had come to the mutual conclusion that they should consider jogging the hills of Sausalito more often.
“Helluva workout,” Eddie panted. Rob nodded breathlessly in agreement.
The sun was peeking up over the East Bay, and the air was sparkling fresh.
Eddie reached into his pocket. “Oh, damn! I forgot the key.”
As the color drained out of Rob’s face, Eddie punched him lightly on the chest. “I’m just screwing with you, man.” He pulled the key out of his pocket and smiled. He then shifted his gaze toward the neighboring homes. After seeing that not a single soul was stirring, he murmured, “Let’s do this.”
Parts of the house were wrapped with the bright yellow CRIME SCENE tape that was put up the night Warren was wheeled away. It covered the door about six inches above the simple doorknob lock that provided the home’s only security.
Eddie kneeled down below the tape, slipped the key in the lock, and smiled at Rob as it turned and popped open. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out two pairs of surgical footwear covers, and two pairs of blue nitrile gloves.
“Put these on, Robin,” Eddie said.
“Whatever you say, Batman.”
They slipped carefully under the yellow tape and into the house; quietly closing the single hinged French door behind them.
Warren’s cottage held the chill of Sausalito’s night air. Enough daylight came in through the windows to provide the needed amount of light.
Eddie’s first suggestion was that they walk through each room of the small home and consider where they might want to begin their search. “I’d like to be out of here by seven at the latest. But, let me say, if anyone comes tapping on the door, from nosy neighbor to Sausalito PD, I do the talking. Agreed?”
“Absolutely! You got any idea what you’d say?”
“That’s easy. If you see anyone pull up, or a neighbor comes walking toward the house, strip off your gloves and booties. We were jogging together and noticed that the front door was ajar. I stepped inside to see if anything seemed to have been disturbed before calling it in.”
“Wow! You are smooth, Eddie.”
“In my line of work, you better be ready to spread a little bullshit at a moment’s notice.”
"In my line of work as well! I guess we have more in common with politicians than we ever thought," Rob said with a smile. “Okay, tell me again what you think we might find.”
“Bradley might have wanted, or needed, to obscure his past. But most people hold on to certain things out of sentimental attachment or any of a dozen other reasons. I doubt everything in his life that was more than twenty-five years old was thrown out. It could be one of a dozen different things. Maybe it’s an original birth certificate or a picture of him with his parents or siblings. In other words, look for anything that gives us a key to who he was before he became the Warren Bradley the Ladies of Liberty adored.”
They wandered separately through the cottage. The wood paneling throughout the house had absorbed the aromas of many meals created in the small, neatly arranged kitchen, which still showed the signs of Warren’s last night of entertaining. Two dinner plates, two dessert plates, and two wine glasses had been washed, placed in the dish rack, and left there after his last supper.
“Interesting, isn’t it, Rob? The killer wanted us to know that Bradley had a dinner guest. No prints anywhere in the place, and no DNA evidence on discarded food scraps, or cloth or paper napkins, but obvious signs that a guest had been here. I’m telling you this place was as clean as any murder scene I’ve ever seen. Of course, with the Sausalito police being the first here, there might have been a slice of chocolate cake on the sideboard that one of their geniuses ate.”
“If they did, it was after I left and went home because, from the time they arrived, no one ever thought to go inside the cottage until the deceased’s
