To Play The Fool Part 6

aJon? Kate. Iam going to be stuck at the office for a while. I hope not too long, but donat hold dinner. Oh, you didnat, good. Are you going out? Well, if you decide to, give me a ring and let me know whoas there instead, okay? Thanks. Oh, I hope not more than a couple of hours, maybe less. Fine. Right. Bye.a Then the computer terminal and the other telephone calls, and when Al called with Kenningas brother-in-lawas (not brother,- Al, unusually, had gotten it wrong) name and home number, she called through to the Chicago police, found that the man was on duty the next morning, and decided that little would be gained by bothering him at home on a Sat.u.r.day night. There was no trace of David Sawyer on the recordsa" hardly surprising, since David Sawyer had virtually ceased to exist a decade before.

There was not much more she could do tonight, so she gathered her coat and made her way to the elevators, deaf to the ringing telephones and shouts and the scurry of activity. She stepped aside when the doors of the elevator opened and two detectives came out, each holding one elbow of a small Oriental man in handcuffs, with dried blood on his shirt and a monotonous string of tired curses coming from his bruised mouth.

aAnother Sat.u.r.day night,a she said as she slipped through the closing doors.

aAnd I ainat got n.o.body,a sang the detective on the manas left arm. The doors closed on the rest of the song.

Outside, in the parking lot, Kate was seized by a feeling of restlessness. She should go directly home, five minutes away, let Jon have his evening out, but shead told him two hours, and it had been barely forty minutes. Time for a brief drive, out to the park.

Erasmusa"Sawyera"no, Erasmusa"habitually spent Sat.u.r.day with tourists and then Sunday in the park, roughly four miles away. Did he walk? Was he already in the park now, bedded down beneath some tree? Where did he keep his stash, his bedroll and clothing, the small gym bag Dean Gardner had fetched from the CDSP rooms and which had been returned (with its contents of blue jeans, flannel shirt, bar of soap, threadbare towel, and three books) when Erasmus had been turned loose after making what could only loosely be called his statement?

Kate got into her car and turned, not north to home but west into the city. She drove past the high-rise hotels and department stores and the pulsing neon bars and busy theaters into the more residential areas with their Chinese and Italian restaurants and movie theaters, the pet stores and furniture showrooms closed or closing, until she came to the dark oasis that was Golden Gate Park.

The park held over a thousand acres of trees, flowers, lawn, and lakes, coaxed out of bare sand in painful stages over patient decades, wrenched from the gold-rush squatters in the 1850s and now returning to their spiritual descendants a century and a half later, for despite the combined efforts of police and social services and parks department bulldozers, a large number of men and women regarded the park as home.

Kate drove slowly down Stanyan Street and along Lincoln Way, cruising for street people who were not yet in their beds. At Ninth Avenue, a trio of lumpy men carrying bedrolls leaned into one another and drifted toward the park. She turned in, got out of her car, and waited for them under a streetlight.

aGood evening, gentlemen,a she said. Astonished, and suspicious, they stumbled to a halt, eyeing her. aIam looking for Brother Erasmus. Have you see him?a aSheas a cop,a one of them said. aI seen her before.a Kate reached into her pocket and drew out a five-dollar bill that shead put there a minute before. She folded it in half lengthwise and ran it crisply through her fingers. aI just hoped to talk with him tonight. I know heas usually here in the morning, but it would save me some time, you understand.a a aS tomorrow Sunday?a asked the second man, with the slurred precision of the very drunk. The others ignored him.

aHe donat come on Saaday,a stated the third man. aYou have to wait.a aDo you know where he is tonight?a aHeas not here.a aHow do you know?a aNever is.a Kate had to be content with that. They hadnat told her anything, but she gave them the five dollars anyway and left them arguing over what to do with it, spend it now or save it until tomorrow. All three had looked to be in their sixties but were probably barely fifty. She turned to look at them over the top of her car, three drunk men haggling in slow motion over a sc.r.a.p of paper that represented an eveningas supply of cheap wine.

aWhere did you serve?a she called on impulse. They looked up at her, blinking. The third man drew himself up and made an attempt at squaring his shoulders.

aQuang Tri Province mostly. Tony was in Saigon for a while.a aWell, good luck to you, boys. Keep warm.a aThank you, maaam.a The other two men automatically echoed his thanks, and she got into her car and turned around and reentered the traffic on Lincoln Way.

In the next twenty minutes, she gave away another fifteen dollars and got more or less the same answer from a woman with darting eyes who pulled continuously at her raw lips with the fingers of her left hand,- from a sardonic, sober elderly gentleman who would not approach close enough to take the contribution from her hand but who picked it up from the park bench with a small bow once she had retreated,- and from the monosyllabic Doc, whom she recognized from the initial interviews.

Satisfied, she left the park, intending to go home but then finding herself detouring, taking a route slightly north of the direct one, and finally finding herself in front of the brick bulk of Ghirardelli Square, still lighted up and busy with Sat.u.r.day night shoppers. Oh well, she was nearly home,- she would only be a little late.

There were four shops that Erasmus might have slipped into that afternoon, plus two blank and locked doors and a stairway up to the main level of shops. Two of the shopkeepers had at the time seemed merely hara.s.sed and innocent on a busy afternoon, one of them had been with a woman who was contemplating an expensive purchase and had not seemed the sort to shelter an escaped fool, but the fourtha" Kate thought that she would have another word with the fourth shopkeeper, smiling behind his display of magic tricks and stuffed animals.

She parked beneath the NO PARKING sign in front of the shop and strolled in, her hands in her pockets. The man recognized her instantly,- this time his amus.e.m.e.nt seemed a bit forced, and he was fl.u.s.tered as he made change for the woman who was buying a stuffed pig complete with six snap-on piglets. Kate stood perusing the display of magic tricks until the customer left and he was finally forced to come over to her.

aCan I help you with something?a he asked.

aIam interested in disappearing tricks,a she said. She picked up a trick plastic ice cube that had a fly embedded in it, studying it carefully. aI had something large disappear, right in front of me. Iad like to know how it was done. I know that magicians donat like to tell their secrets, butaa"she put down the joke ice cube, and leaned forwarda"aI would really like to know.a As shead thought, he folded immediately. aIa"Iam really sorry about that,- I didnat knowa"I mean, I could tell you were a cop, but I thought you were just ha.s.sling him. They do it, to the street artists and stuff, and heas such a harmless old guy, I just thought it was a joke when he came shooting in here and held his finger in front of his mouth and then ducked behind the curtain.a So head been standing there less than ten feet away. h.e.l.l. She went and looked at the small, crowded storage s.p.a.ce. He sure wasnat there now.

aHow did he know this was here?a aHe comes here every week. Oh yeah, I sell him things sometimes, magic stuffa"you know, scarves and folding bouquets, that sort of thing. He changes clothes here and leaves his stuff in the back while heas working. I donat mind. I mean, heas not that great a customer, never spends much money, but heas such a sweet old guy, I never minded. What did you want him for?a aDid he go out through the back?a aYes, that door connects with a service entrance. I let him out after youad gone.a aDid he leave anything here?a aHe usually does,- he changes out of his costume and leaves it here, but this time he was in a hurry. He just wiped the makeup off his face, took his coat out of the bag and changed his shoes, and took the bag with him.a aWell, all I can say is, donat complain about crime in the streets if a cop asks for your help and you just laugh in her face.a aWhat did he do?a the man wailed, but Kate walked out of the shop and drove off.

When she got home to Russian Hill, Lee had gone to bed, Jon was sulking over a movie, and her dinner was crisp where it should have been soft, and limp where it had started crisp. However, she consoled herself with the idea that at least she knew how Brother Erasmus avoided carrying his gear all over the city with him.

SEVENTEEN.

There was never a man who looked into those brown burning eyes without being certain that Francis Bernardone was really interested in him.

For the first time since he had come to San Francisco, Brother Erasmus did not appear on Sunday morning to preach to his flock of societyas offscourings, to lead them in prayer and song and listen to their problems and bring them a degree of cheer and faith in themselves. The men and women waited for some time for him in the meeting place near the Nineteenth Avenue park entrance, but he did not show up, and they drifted off, singly and in pairs, giving wide berth to two newcomers, healthy-looking young men wearing suitably bedraggled clothes but smelling of soap and shaving cream.

At two in the afternoon, Kate called Al Hawkin. aI think heas gone, Al,a she told him. aRaul just called,- he and Rodriguez hung around until noon and there was no sign of him. All the park people expected him to show,- n.o.body knows where he might be. Do you want to put out an APB on him?a aAnd if they bring him in, what do we do with him? We couldnat even charge him with littering at this point. Unless you want to put him on a fifty-one-fifty.a aNo,a she said without hesitation. Putting Sawyer on a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold would keep him in hand, but it would also open the door wide for an insanity plea, if they did decide to charge him. Beyond that, though, was a personal revulsion: Kate did not wish to see Brother Erasmus slapped into a psychiatric ward without a very good reason. d.a.m.n it, why did he have to disappear?

aIt may come to that, but letas give it another twenty-four hours.a aOkay. And, Al? I talked to the guy in Chicago, heas going to fax us some records when he can dig them out. And before that, on my way in, I stopped by and talked with that antique-store owner Beatrice told me about.a She reviewed that conversation for him, the trim woman in her fifties who had seemed mildly disturbed by her occasional loveras death, but mostly embarra.s.sed, both by the affairas becoming public knowledge and by how little she actually knew about the man: He was not one for pillow talk, it seemed. She did say that he had a fondness for boastful stories about an unlikely and affluent past, which she dismissed, and a habit of denigrating the persons and personalities of others, often to their faces.

aWhich is pretty much what weave heard already.a aI know. Well, Iall let you know if the Chicago information comes in. Talk to you later.a aLook, Martinelli? Donat get too hooked on this. You donat have anything to prove.a There was silence on the line for a long time. aItas Sunday,a he said. aGo home. Work in the garden. Take Lee for a drive. Donat let it get to you, or youall never make it. Understand?a aYes, sir.a aDonat give me that asira bulls.h.i.t,a he snapped. aI donat want to work with someone who obsesses about their cases.a aAlla Kate started laughing,- she couldnat help it. aYouare a fine one to talk about being obsessive. What are you doing right now? What did I interrupt?a His silence was not as long as hers had been, but it was eloquent.

aLook, Martinelli,a he said firmly, athat Brancusi case doesnat look good, and thereas a lot hanging on my testimony tomorrow. I donat think you can call that obsessive. Iam just doing my job. I only meanta"a aGo work in your garden, Al. Go for a walk on the beach, why donat you? Go to a movie, Al, thereas aa"a He hung up on her. She put the receiver down, still grinning, and went home to pry some weeds out of the patio bricks.

Monday morning, Al was in court and Kate was in Golden Gate Park. While Al was being dragged back and forth over the rougher parts of his testimony, Kate walked up and down and talked with people. She ignored the women with shiny strollers and designer toddlers, the couples soaking up winter sun on spread blankets, the skaters and bikers, and anyone with a picnic. The homeless are identified by the mistrust in their eyes, and Kate rarely chose wrong.

She talked with Molly, a seventy-one-year-old ex-secretary who lived off a minute pension and spent her nights behind an apartment house in the shelter that covered the residentsa garbage cans. Some of them left her packets of food, shead received a blue wool coat and a nice blanket for Christmas, and yes, she knew Brother Erasmus quite well, such a nice man, and what a disappointment he wasnat at the service yesterday. A couple of the others had tried to lead hymns, but it just wasnat the same, so in the end shead just marched down the road and gone to a Catholic church, although she hadnat been to a church in twenty years, and it was quite a pleasant experience. Everyone had been so nice to her, welcomed her to have coffee and cookies afterward, and what do you know, as she got to talking to one of the girls who was serving the coffee, it turned out that they needed some help in the office, just three or four hours a week, but wasnat that a happy coincidence. Itad mean she could buy a real dinner sometimes, such a blessing, dear.

Then Kate talked with Star, a frail young woman with the freckles of childhood across her nose and a curly-haired four-year-old son who leaned on his motheras knee as she sat on the bench, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes darting between Kate and the hillside behind them, where three small children in Osh-Kosh overalls and European shoes giggled madly as they lowered themselves to the ground and rolled, over and over, down the lawn. Staras hair was lank and greasy and she had a cold sore on her mouth, but her sonas hair shone in the wintery sun and he wore a bright jacket. Star had lived on the streets since her parents in Wichita had thrown her out when she was four months pregnant. Her son Jesse had been born in California. Her AFDC was screwed up,- the checks didnat come. So theyad been in shelters the last few weeks. Yeah, she knew Erasmus. Funny old guy. At first she stayed away from him, thought he was weird. After all, an old guy who wants to give a kid a toy, a person has to be careful. But after a while he seemed okay. And he was really good with Jesse. He gave him a party for his birthday back in November, a cake for G.o.das sake, with his name on it, big enough for everyone in the shelter. And last month when Jesse had a really bad cough, it was just after the AFDC screwup, Brother Erasmus had just handed her some money and told her to take Jesse to the doctoras. Well no, he hadnat said it like that,- he talks funny, kind of old-fashioned like. But he had said something about doctors, and it was a good thing they went, because it was pneumonia. Jesse could have died. And she was sorry Erasmus wasnat here yesterday, because she had wanted to talk to him. It was sort of an anniversarya"a whole year shead been clean now. Yeah, she didnat want Jesse growing up with a junkie for a mom. And what if she went to jaila"whatad happen to him? And there was a training program she thought she might start, wanted to talk to Erasmus about it. Well no, he didnat really give advice, just sometimes in a roundabout way, but talking to him made things clearer. Yeah, maybe shead sign up anyway, tell him about it next week.

Star was seventeen years old.

Kate saw her three army buddies from the other night, two of them lying back on their elbows in the gra.s.s with their shirts off, the third one curled up nearby, asleep. Yes, they had missed Erasmus yesterday, especially Tony. He got really wild when the Brother didnat show, started shouting that the old guyad been taken prisoner, that they had to send a patrol out to get him back. aStupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d,a commented the veteran with the collar-to-wrist tattoos, not without affection. The other one shrugged. Nightmares last night, too, and now there he was, sleeping like a baby. Maybe it was time to head south. Not so cold in the south, get some work in the orange groves. If she saw the old Brother, tell him the infantry said hi.

She looked down at the sleeping Tony as she turned to go. His coat collar had slipped down. Behind his right ear, a patch of scalp the size of Kateas palm gleamed, scar tissue beneath the spa.r.s.e black hair.

Mark was next, a beautiful surfer boy, lean tan body with long blond curls. Kate wondered what the h.e.l.l he was doing still loose, but there he was, looking lost beneath the bare pollarded trees in front of the music concourse. Sure, he knew Brother Erasmus. Brother Erasmus was one of the twelve holy men whose presence on earth kept the waves of destruction from sweeping over the land. Every so often one of them would die, and then a war would break out until he was reborn. Or a plague. Maybe an earthquake.

Then there were Tomas and Esmerelda, standing and watching the lawn bowling. They were holding hands surrept.i.tiously. Esmereldaas belly rose up firm and round beneath her coat, and she did not look well. St, they knew who Padre Erasmus was. No, they hadnat seen him. St, they had an enormous respect for the padre. He wasnat like other padres. He had married them. Si, verdad, an actual ceremony. Yes with papers. Did she want to see them? Here they were. No, of course they had not filed them. They could not do that. Tomas had been married before, and there was no divorce in the Catholic Church. St, the padre knew this. But this was the real marriage. This one was true. And to prove it, Tomas had a joba"working nights. And they had a house to move into on Wednesday. Small, an apartment, but with a roof to keep out the rain and a door to lock out the crazy people and the addicts and thieves, and there was a stove to cook on and a bed for Esmerelda. Tomas would work hard. If it was a boy, they would name it Erasmo.

Three of the men she talked with would not give her their names, but they all knew Erasmus. The first one, shirtless on a bench, his huge muscles identifying him as recently released from prison even if his demeanor hadnat, knew her instantly as a cop and wouldnat look at her. However, his hard face softened for an instant when she mentioned the name Erasmus. The second man, hearing the name, immediately launched into a description of how head seen Erasmus one night standing on Strawberry Hill, glowing with a light that grew stronger and stronger until it hurt the eyes, and then head disappeared, a little at a time. Kate excused herself and walked briskly away, muttering, aBeam me up, Scottya under her breath. The third man knew Erasmus, didnat like her asking questions about him, and was working himself up into belligerence. Kate, unhampered by bedrolls and bulging bags, slipped away, deciding to stick to women for a while.

aThey love him.a Kate threw her notebook down on the desk and dropped into the nearest chair. Her feet hurt,- her throat ached: Maybe she was coming down with the flu.

Al Hawkin pulled off his gla.s.ses and looked at her. aWho loves whom?a aThe people in the park. I feel like Iam about to book Mother Teresa. He listens to them. He changes their lives. Theyare going to name their kids after him. Saint Erasmus. G.o.d!a She ran her fingers through her hair, kicked off her shoes, walked over to the coffee machine, came back with a cup, and sat down again. aHi, Al. Howad it go in court?a aThe jury wasnat happy with it. I think theyall acquit. The b.a.s.t.a.r.das going to walk.a Domenico Brancusi ran a string of very young prost.i.tutes, a specialty service that circled the Bay Area and had made him very rich. He was also very careful, and when one of his girls dieda"an eleven-year-old whose ribs were more prominent than her b.r.e.a.s.t.sa"he had proven to be about as vulnerable as an armadillo.

aIam sorry, Al.a aAmerican justice, donat you just love it. I was looking at the stuff your friend in Chicago sent.a aDid it come? Was there anything?a aTwo blots on Saint Erasmusas past. A DUI when he was twenty-fivea"forty seven years agoa"and then ten years later he plead guilty to a.s.sault, got a year of parole and a hundred hours of community service.a aAny details?a aNot many. It looks like what he did was pick up a chair in a cla.s.sroom and try to brain somebody with it. They were having an argumenta"a debate in front of a cla.s.sa"and it got out of hand. The gentle life of the mind,a he commented sardonically.

ad.a.m.n the man, anyway,a she growled. aWhy the h.e.l.l did he have to run off like that?a aExactly.a aWhat?a aWhy did he run?a aOh Christ, Al, youare not going to go all Sherlock Holmes on me, are you? The dog did nothing in the night,a she protests. aPrecisely,a says he mysteriously.a aYou are in a good mood, arenat you?a observed Hawkin. aHave you eaten anything today?a aNow you sound like my mother. Yes, I had a couple of hot dogs from the stand in the park.a aThereas the problem. Youave got nitrates eating your brain cells.a aSince when do you care about nitrates? You live off the things.a aNo more.a He placed one hand on his chest. aI am pure.a aFirst cigarettes and now junk food? That Janias a powerful woman.a Al Hawkin stood up and lifted his jacket from the back of his chair. aCome on, Martinelli,a he said. aIall buy you a sandwich and you can tell me about the Brother Erasmus fan club.a

EIGHTEEN.

Some might call him a madman, hut he was the very reverse of a dreamer.

It was now two weeks since John had been killed, thirteen days since his funeral pyre had been lighted, and Kate woke that Tuesday morning knowing that her case consisted of a number of details concerning a fine lot of characters, but the only link any of it had was a person she would much prefer to see out of it entirely.

Kate had been a cop long enough to know that likable people can be villains, that personality and charisma are, if anything, more likely to be found attached to the perpetrator than the victim. She liked people,- she sent them to jail: no problem.

But d.a.m.n it, Erasmus was different. She could not shake the image of him as a priest, but it wasnat even as simple as that. She had, in fact, once arrested a Roman Catholic priest, with only the mildest hesitation and no regrets afterward. No, there was something about Erasmusa"what it was, she could not grasp, could not even begin to articulate, but it was there, a deep distaste of the idea of putting him behind bars. She would do her job, and if necessary she would pursue his arrest to the full extent of her abilities, but lying in bed that Tuesday morning she was aware of the conviction that she would never fully believe the manas guilt.

Well, Kate, she said to herself, youall just have to dig deeper until you find somebody else to hang it on. And with that decision, she threw back the covers and went to face the day.

Her hopeful determination, however, did not last the morning. When she arrived at the Hall of Justice she found two notes under the message clip on her desk. The first was in Al Hawkinas scrawl, and read: Martinelli, youare on your own again today, Iam taking Tomas appointment with the DA. Back at noon, with any luck.

a"Al The other had been left by the night Field Ops officer: Insp. Martinellia"3:09 AM., Tuesday. See the woman 982 29th Ave., after 11:00 A.M. today. Info, re the cremation.

At five minutes after eleven, Kate was on Twenty-ninth Avenue, looking at a row of pale two-story stucco houses with never-used balconies and perfunctory lawns. Number 982, unlike most of its neighbors, did not have a metal security gate in front of the entrance. It did have a healthy-looking tree in a Chinese glazed pot sitting on the edge of the tiled portico. When she pressed the doorbell, a small dog barked inside, twice. She heard movementa"a door opening and a vague scuffle of footsteps above the noise of traffic. The sound stopped, and Kate felt a gaze from the peephole in the door. Bolts worked and the door opened, to reveal a slim woman slightly taller than Kate, her graying blond hair standing on end, her athletic-looking body wrapped in a maroon terrycloth bathrobe many sizes too large for her. Kate held out her identification in front of the womanas bleary eyes, which were set in rounds of startlingly pale skin surrounded by a ruddy wind-roughened forehead and cheeks. Ski goggles, Kate diagnosed.

aInspector Kate Martinelli, SFPD. I received a message that you have information pertaining to the cremation that occurred in Golden Gate Park two weeks ago. I hope this isnat a bad time.a aOh no, no. I was up. The friend who was watching my dog just brought her back. Come on in. Would you like some coffee? Itas fresh.a She turned and scuffled away down the hallway, leaving Kate to shut the door.

aNo thank you, Msa ?a aDidnat I leave my name? No, maybe I didnat. Iam Sam Rutlidge. This is Dobie,a she added as they entered the kitchen. aShort for Doberman.a Doberman was a dachshund. She sniffed Kateas shoes and ankles enthusiastically and wagged her whip of a tail into a blur, but she neither jumped up and down nor yapped. When Kate reached a hand down, Dobie pushed against it like a cat with her firm, supple body, gave Kate a brief lick with her tongue, and then went to lie in a basket on the lowest shelf of a built-in bookshelf, surrounded by cookbooks. Her dark eyes glittered as she watched them.

aThatas the calmest dachshund Iave ever seen,a said Kate.

aJust well trained. Sure you wonat have some?a She held out the pot from the coffeemaker. It smelled very good.

aI will change my mind, thanks.a aBlack okay? There isnat any milk in the house, none that youad want to drink, anyway.a aBlack is fine. Do I understand that youave been away, Ms. Rutlidge?a askiing. Iave been in Tahoe for the last couple of weeks, I got back after midnight last night. It was stupid to call at that hour, I guess, but somehow you donat think of the police department as working nine to five.a aThe department works twenty-four hours. Some of us are allowed to sleep occasionally. How did you hear about the cremation?a aI was reading the papers. Iam always so wired when I get in after a long drive, especially at night, thereas no point in going to bed, since I just stare at the ceiling. I make myself some hot milk, soak in the bath, read for a while, just give myself a chance to stop vibrating, you know? So anyway, I went through my mail and then started leafing through the newspapersa"the neighbor brings them in for mea"and I saw that article about the body being burned, the day I left.a aYou left for Lake Tahoe on the Wednesday?a aEarly Wednesday. I like to get out of the Bay Area before the traffic gets too thick.a aYou didnat see any news while you were at Tahoe?a aI was too busy.a aSo you read about it ata"what, one or two this morning?a aAbout then. Maybe closer to three.a aWhat made you think to call us?a aWell, the first papers were really general, and aside from the fact that it was so close to here, I didnat really think about it. I mean, I donat know any homeless people.a Kate made some encouraging noise.

aThen for a couple of days, there wasnat anything, or if there was, I didnat see ita"I wasnat reading very carefully. Then on Monday, there was another article, with a picture, and as soon as I saw the man, it all came back to me.a aWhich man was this?a In answer, the woman stood up and went out of the room. The dog raised her sleek head from her paws and stared at the door, attentive but not concerned, until Sam Rutlidge came back with a section of the paper, folded back to a photograph. She laid it on the table in front of Kate and tapped her finger on the bearded man who was standing on a lawn in front of about twenty other men and women, reading from a book.

aHim. I saw him coming out of the park, not far from the place where theya burned the body the following morning. I saw him Tuesday morning. And he seemed really upset.a aWhat time was this?a aAbout quarter to ten. I had an ten oaclock appointment and I was running late because of a phone call, so I was in a hurry. I usually go up a block to the signal or down to Twenty-fifth to get onto Fulton, but I was in such a rush and it wouldave meant turning the car around and there was a truck down the block, so I just went straight down to Fulton and turned left as soon as I could.a She glanced uncomfortably at Kate the defender of law and order. aIam a careful driver,- Iave never had a ticket. Looking back, I know how stupid it was, to shove my way in when the traffic was thick and the pavement was wet from the fog, but as I said, I was in a hurry and not thinking straight. I cut it kind of close, and one of the cars slammed on its brakes and honked at me as I moved through his lane to the outside lane.a aDonat worry about it,a Kate said. aIam not with the traffic division.a aYes, well. It was stupid. I wouldnat have hit the car, but I did scare him, and he went past, shaking his fist out the window at me. And then I saw that man.a She pointed toward the newspaper. aI noticed him because he seemed to be shaking his fist at me, too, but as I went by, I could tell he wasnat even looking at me. Head have had to turn his head to see my car, and he hadnat; he was looking straight ahead.a aWhat was he looking at?a aNothing, as far as I could tell. He was coming out of the park on one of the paths, not quite to the pavement, and he was holding that big stick of his, shaking it, sort of punching it into the air as he walked along.a aYouad seen him before?a aOh yes, heas a regular in the park. We call him athe Preacher.aa a aWea beingaa aThereas a group of us who run three times a week and then go for coffee. We tend to see the same people.a aDid you ever talk with him?a aThe Preacher? Not really. Head nod and wave and one of us would call hi, but nothing more. He struck me as kind of shy. Always neat and clean, and polite. Which is why it was so odd to see him behaving that way. I mean, some of the street people are really out of it,- they really should be on medication, if not hospitalized. Of course, thanks to Reagan, we donat have any hospitals for the marginally insane, only for the totally berserk. But I donat need to tell you that.a aWould you mind showing me just where you saw him?a aSure, I need to take Dobie for a walk, anyway. Just let me get some clothes on. Help yourself to more coffee. Iall just be a few minutes.a It was with some irritation that Kate heard a shower start, but Sam Rutlidge was as good as her word, and in barely seven minutes she came back into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a UCSF sweatshirt, her wet hair slicked back and a pair of worn running shoes in her hand.

aSorry to be so long,a she said, dropping onto a chair to put on her shoes. aI hate getting dressed without having a shower first. Makes me feel too grungy for words.a aNo problem. Dobieas a good conversationalist.a Dobie had, in fact, only eyed her closely. Now, however, she emerged from her basket and went to stand at her owneras feet, tail whipping with enthusiasm. When the woman rose, the dog turned and galloped like a clumsy weasel down the hallway to the front door. Rutlidge put on a jacket and took down a thin lead to clip to Dobieas collar, and down the steps they went.

They walked down to Fulton, where Rutlidge paused and pointed.

aI turned onto the road here,a she said. aMoved over into the right lane, the other driver accelerated to pa.s.s me, and then I saw the Preacher. Just about where that crooked aNo Parkinga sign is. See it? He was walking toward the road at an angle, as if he was headed to Park Presidio.a aWas he carrying anything other than his staff?a aNot that I saw, but then I couldnat see his right hand, just his left, and that was holding his stick.a aWhat was he wearing?a Sam Rutlidge wrinkled up her forehead in thought while Dobie whined restlessly. aA coat, brownish, I think. It came almost to his knees. Some dark pants, not jeans, I donat think. Dark brown or black, maybe. And he had a knit hat, one of those ones that fit close against the skull. That was dark, too. I only saw him for about two or three seconds. I donat think Iad have given him a second glance if it hadnat been that his anger was so obviousa"and uncharacteristic.a aOkay. Thank you, Ms. Rutlidge, youave been very helpful,a said Kate, polite but careful not to appear overly enthusiastic or grateful. aIall need you to sign your statement when I get it drawn up. Could you come by and sign it?a aTomorrowas not very good. Iall have a long day at work.a aWhat do you do?a aIam a technical writer. Boring, but the pay is good. Do you want my number there? You can call me and arrange a time to meet?a They exchanged telephone numbers and then Rutlidge and her small sleek dog turned right toward the signal where Thirtieth crossed into the park, while Kate walked to the left until she was across the street from the point where the dirt path met the paved sidewalk, marked by a post with a crooked NO PARKING sign. There was no need to cross the road and follow the path through the trees, no need to look for sc.r.a.ps of yellow on the trees. She knew where she was. She stood looking at the park, at the path along which an angry Brother Erasmus had stormed on a Tuesday morning two weeks ago, leaving behind him the area that, twenty hours later, would be surrounded by great lengths of police tapes. Behind those bushes, sometime that morning, John the nameless had lain, bleeding into the soil until the life was gone from him.

She walked back to her car and set into motion the process of obtaining a warrant for the arrest of one David Matthew Sawyer, aka Brother Erasmus, for the murder of John Doe.

NINETEEN.

a The valley of humiliation, which seemed to him very rocky and desolate, hut in which he was afterwards to find many flowers.

They picked him up near Barstow.

Two sheriffas deputies spotted him less than a hundred miles from the Arizona border, walking due east along the snow-sprinkled side of Highway 58, barely twenty-four hours after the APB went out on him. They recognized him by the walking stick he used, as tall as himself and with a head carved on the top. He did not seem surprised when they got out of their car and demanded that he spread-eagle on the ground. He did not resist arrest. Besides his staff, he was carrying only a threadbare knapsack that held some warm clothes, a blanket, bread and cheese and a plastic bottle of water, and two books.

He seemed to the sheriff deputies, and to everyone who came in contact with him, a polite, untroubled, intelligent, and silent old man. In fact, so smiling and silent was he that the sheriff himself, on the phone to arrange transportation for the prisoner, asked Kate if the description had neglected to say that Erasmus was a mute.

The Sheriffas Department already had a scheduled pickup to make in San Francisco, and in light of the state budget and in the spirit of fiscal responsibility, they agreed to take Erasmus north with them. Kate was there to receive him when he was brought in Thursday night, even through it was nearly midnight. He spotted her across the room, nodded and smiled as at an old friend one hasnat seen in a day or two, and then turned back to the actions of his attendants, watching curiously as they processed his paperwork and transferred the custody of his person and his possessions to the hands of the San Francisco Police Department. Brother Erasmus was now in the maw of Justice, and there was not much any of them could do about it.

When the preliminaries were over and he was parked on a bench awaiting the next stage, Kate went over and pulled a chair up in front of him. He was wearing the clothes he had been picked up in, minus the walking stick, and she studied him for a minute.

She had seen this man in various guises. When she first met him, he had appeared as a priest, wearing an impressive black ca.s.sock and a light English accent. Among the tourists, he had dressed almost like one of them, a troubling jester who did not quite fit into his middle-cla.s.s clothing or his mid-western voice. When ministering (there was no other word for it) to the homeless, he had looked dest.i.tute, his knee-length duffel coat lumpy with the possessions stashed in its pockets, watch cap pulled down over his grizzled head, sentences short, voice gruff.

Tonight she was seeing a fourth David Sawyer. This one was an ordinary-looking older man in jeans and worn hiking boots, fraying blue shirt collar visible at the neck of his new-looking thick hand-knit sweater of heathery red wool, lines of exhaustion pulling at his face and turning his thin cheeks gaunt. (He did not, she noted absently, have a scar below his left eye from the removal of a tattoo.) He sat on the hard bench, his head back against the wall, and looked back at her out of the bottom half of his eyes, waiting. After a moment, he shifted his arms to ease the drag of the metal cuffs biting into his bony wrists, and she was suddenly taken by a memory of their first confrontation. He had held out his wrists to be cuffed, and now she had cuffed him, just sixteen days after the murder had been committed.

There was no pleasure in the sight.

aYour name is David Sawyer,a she said to him. There was no reaction in his face or in his body, just a resigned endurancea"and, perhaps, just the faintest spark of humor behind it. aEve Whitlaw told us who you are, and weave been in touch with the police in Chicago. They told us what happened back there, Professor Sawyer. We know all about what Kyle Roberts did.a This last brought a response, but not an expected one. The flicker of humor in the back of his eyes blossomed into a play of amus.e.m.e.nt over his worn features and one eyebrow raised slightly. Had he said it in words, he could not have expressed any more clearly the dry admiration that she could fully comprehend all the complexities of that long-ago incident. Within two seconds, the eloquent expression had gone, and all traces of humor with it. He looked tired and rather ill.

aLook not mournfully into the past,a he said softly. h.e.l.l, she thought, disappointed. Shead been hoping, since seeing him, that this current, rather ordinary manifestation of Sawyer/Erasmus might have regained the power of ordinary speech, but it didnat seem to work that way.

aI have to look into the past, David,a she said, using his first name in a deliberate bid for familiarity. aI canat do that without asking questions about the past.a aNot every question deserves an answer.a aI think tomorrow, when Inspector Hawkin and I talk with you, we will ask some questions that not only deserve an answer but demand it. We are talking about a human life, David. Even if he wasnat a very pleasant person, which I have heard he wasnat, the questions deserve an answer.a aMurder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ.a aYou knew it was murder from the first time I laid eyes on you, didnat you, David? How was that? No, no, donat answer that, not tonight,a she said quickly, although there was no sign that he was about to respond, not even a flash of fear at being trapped into an admission. She wasnat about to lay the groundwork for his defense lawyer to claim she had badgered him into giving inadmissible evidence.

That reminded her: aAre you going to want a lawyer present while you are being questioned, David? We will provide you with one if you want.a He had to search his memory for a moment, but eventually he came up with an answer, spoken with a small conspiratorial smile that was nearly a wink of the eye. aThere are no lawyers among them, for they consider them a sort of people whose profession it is to disguise matters.a aI guess thatas a no. Okay. Let us know if you change your mind.a She stood up, and his eyes followed her, though his head had not moved from the wall during their conversation. aI will see you tomorrow, then. I hope you get some sleep tonight.a This last was intended merely as a wry comment and unspoken apology for the racket of the place, but it served only to draw the manas attention to his surroundings, and for the first time he looked about him. His gaze traveled over the tired walls, the loud, bored policeman, the drunk and belligerent and b.l.o.o.d.y prisoners, and he shuddered,- the whole length of him gave way to a deep shiver of revulsion, and then he shut his eyes and seemed to withdraw. Kate stood up and caught the eye of the guard to nod her thanks and signal that she had finished with this prisoner, but before she could move away, she heard Sawyeras voice, speaking quietly, as if to himself, but very firmly.

aGo and sit in thy cell,a he said, aand thy cell shall teach thee all things.a Kate gaped at him, but his eyes remained shut, so in the end she threw up her hands and took herself home to her own unquiet bed.

TWENTY.

Men like Francis are not common in any age, nor are they to be fully understood merely by the exercise of common sense.

The interrogation, if it could be called that, began the next morning, the last Friday in February. Of the three of them gathered in the stuffy room, Al Hawkin was the only one who looked as if he had slept, and even he came shambling down the corridor like an irritable bear. He did not like having his hand forced, he did not like arresting someone with less than an airtight case, and most of all he did not like jousting on the way in with reporters who treated the whole thing as something of a joke.

aChrist, Martinelli, were you in such a hurry to see him that you couldnat have arranged for the sheriffs to have car trouble or something? Weave only found two of his hidey-holes, donat even have the warrants for them yet, and Iam supposed to conduct an interrogation on the strength of his being in the neighborhood at the time the victim was bashed? And to put the frosting on the whole absurd thing, the victimas still a John Doe! Give me strength,a he prayed to the room in general, and walked over to fight with the coffee machine.

aWhat was I to do?a she demanded. aHe would have been in Florida by next week, or Mexico City.a aOf course we had to have him brought in. Just maybe not quite so fast.a Stung by the unreasonableness of Hawkinas demands, Kate stalked off to call for the transport of Erasmus from cell to interrogation room.

So the three of them came together for the second time, Kate sulky and sleepless, Sawyer looking every one of his seventy-two years, and Hawkin so perversely cheerful, he seemed to be baring his teeth.

This was to be an interrogation, unlike the earlier noncommittal interview. An interview might be considered the polite turning of memoryas pages. Today the purpose was to rifle the pages down to the spine, to shake the book sharply and see what might drift to the floor. Politely, of course, and well within the legal limitsa"the tape recorder on the table ensured thata"but their sleeves were metaphorically rolled back for the job. The only problem was, the process a.s.sumes that the suspect being interrogated is to some degree willing to cooperate.

Kate, as had been agreed, opened the session with the standard words into the tape recorder, giving the time and the people present. Then, because Hawkin wanted it on record, she readvised Sawyer of his rights. The first snag came, as Hawkin had antic.i.p.ated, when Sawyer sat in silence when asked if he understood his rights. Hawkin was prepared for this, and he sat forward to speak clearly into the microphone.

aIt should be noted that Mr. Sawyer has thus far refused to communicate in a direct form of speech. He has the apparently unbreakable habit of speaking in quotations, which often have an unfortunately limited application to the topic being discussed. During the course of this interview, it may occasionally be necessary for the police officers conducting the interview to suggest interpretations for Mr. Sawyeras words and to note aloud any nonverbal communications he might express.a Hawkin sat back in his chair and looked at the older man, who nodded his head in appreciation and sat back in his own chair, his long fingers finding one another and intertwining across the front of his ill-fitting jail clothes. Somehow, for some reason, life was slowly leaking back into his mobile face, and as animation returned, the years faded.

aTell me about Berkeley,a Hawkin began. There was no apparent surprise on the foolas part at this unexpected question, just the customary moment for thought.

aWe shall establish a school of the Lordas service,a he said, ain which we hope to bring no harsh or burdensome thing.a aI donat understand what you mean,a said Hawkin flatly. Sawyer merely twitched a skeptical eyebrow and said nothing. Hawkinas practiced glare was no match for the older manas implacable serenity, either, and it was Hawkin who broke the long silence.

aAre you saying you find it restful there?a aOh Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then in Thy mercy grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last.a This heartfelt prayer, simply recited by a man who so obviously knew what it was to be tired, gathered up the ugly little room and gave pause to the proceedings. Kate thought, This is why he is so curiously impressive, this man: When he says a thing, he means it down to his bones. Hawkin thought, This man is going to be h.e.l.l before a jury: Theyall be eating out of his hand. He cleared his throat and pushed down the craving for a cigarette.