“Sí, señor, one and the same. Patrol Officer Chris”—Eddie said the last name slowly—“Harding.”
For a few moments, Rob remained speechless. He mumbled in a low voice, “Oh, my God,” as he flagged down their waitress and ordered a vodka tonic. “This is just incredible! I don’t suppose there’s any chance this is an enormous coincidence?”
“Anything is possible, Rob. You might get a call from the Pope tomorrow saying he can’t keep the Vatican newspaper running without you, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! So, what’s next?”
“Chris will most likely be arrested Monday morning before going to work. A request for an arrest warrant has to be presented to one of the county’s judges, and then I’ll have to contact SPD so that two officers can accompany me while I make the arrest. At least one of those officers will ride along with Harding while he is processed through and into the county jail to await an arraignment hearing.
“Instead of going to the suspect’s home, I could go to Sausalito police headquarters, but that might get messy. That many of their crew standing around with firearms? I’d hate to see their squad room turn into a circular firing squad.”
Rob frowned. “Won’t going through channels, as you put it, take time? What if he gets wind of the arrest? He’s got a lot of buddies on the force, and none of them can keep their damn mouths shut. He may vanish.”
“In the weeks since Bradley’s killing, he has gone about his normal life. I guess he assumes he got away with murder, particularly with better than half of the town demanding Randolph’s arrest and the Sausalito PD maintaining a twenty-four-hour watch on the Randolphs’ empty house. If Harding were going to run, he would have skedaddled by now.”
“I guess you’re right.” Rob felt his head spinning with how much he had suddenly learned about Warren Bradley.
“Oh, I don’t want to forget to mention!” Eddie said, “You and I have to make another run early tomorrow.”
“Where now?”
“Where else? Back to Bradley’s cottage. I think there is one little gem we might have missed.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, come on, Rob. You don’t want me to take all the surprise out of this, do you?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before dropping Eddie off at his house, both agreed to meet Sunday morning at that same ungodly hour: five-thirty in the morning. Rob ached at the thought of missing a chance to sleep in, especially with the family out of the house and Karin not pushing him to get the kids ready for church. The silver lining of not spending the weekend with the family was getting an extra two hours or more of sleep Sunday morning. Now that was gone.
The excitement of closing the Bradley case, however—not to mention the anticipated embarrassment this news would soon cause Alma Samuels and her Ladies of Liberty—was more than enough to compensate Rob for any amount of lost sleep.
The moment Rob was alone, visions of headlines danced in his head. “The Secret Life of Warren Bradley Revealed,” was his favorite for now, but there was plenty of time to create others before his Tuesday afternoon on-press deadline. If the arrest occurred on Monday, the dailies, broadcast, and their Internet pages would all beat him by a day with the fact that an arrest had been made. But where their stories ended, Rob’s would begin.
The story of William Benedict was all his.
Rob got into bed by ten and set his alarm for five. He drifted off to sleep, as excited as a kid the night before summer vacation.
Holly was amazed. She had floated through all of Saturday on a cloud. Chris was not only a gentleman; he was tender, considerate, and attentive to her needs.
Saturday night, the newly minted twosome decided to leave their love nest to go to the movies. Afterward, they went to Marin Joe’s, famous for great burgers and creamed spinach. The two kissed and held hands while sharing the same side of a booth.
Holly felt sure she had at last found her Mr. Right.
Over dinner, for the first time, they spoke about their jobs. Chris shared his view that Sausalito was beautiful, but a significant change from the fast-paced world of San Jose. “Let’s just say that your shift went by a lot faster in San Jose than it does in Sausalito.”
“Do you miss it?” Holly asked.
“In some ways, I honestly do. You felt more like a cop there.”
“And in Sausalito?”
“I feel like a cross between a school safety guard and a tour guide for visitors.”
Holly laughed.
He gave her a quick kiss. “So, what’s it like, working at The Standard?”
“It’s pretty cool. It can get crazy, but I’m used to the pace. And, let me tell you, the days go pretty fast when something is going on all the time.”
“That’s the way things used to be for me in San Jose. Has coverage of the Bradley killing been keeping you busy?”
“Yes and no. You have to remember—we put out four separate publications that land in homes on different days of the week in different areas of Marin. Bradley’s a huge story in Sausalito, but not very important in the other towns. He was the walking definition of a local celebrity.” She shrugged. “What do you think? Who knocked off the old busybody?”
Chris laughed. “Busybody! That’s a good one. I heard some guy wrote a letter to your paper, calling Bradley the ‘gossiping gourmet.’ Down at headquarters, he was just a nice old guy who made the staff great lunches once a month.”
“Some people thought he was a real pain in the butt.”
“Do you think this art commission guy Randolph killed Bradley? Seems like half the town, or more, believe that.”
“I thought there was a good chance of that at first, but I don’t know now.”
“What’s changed your mind?”
“My boss, Rob, has been trying to put together a piece about Bradley’s life, but he's had
