To Play The Fool Part 8

aThat wasnat about David Sawyer, was it?a Lee asked.

aDavida Oh. No, itas another casea"fifty suspects and now one of the family decided he knows which of his cousins did it and so he took a shot at her early this morning. Several shots, through the wall of her bedroom, and one of them hit her. Theyare all nuts, the whole family. No, I wonat bother with breakfast.a The shower went on and, after two minutes, off again. Kate emerged, her hair wet but her clothes on, kissed Lee absently, and left. Lee listened to her loveras feet on the stairs, the familiar pause in front of the closet while the wicked gun was strapped on, then the front door opened and closed. A car started up on the street outside, where Kate had left it instead of rattling the garage door late last night, and she was gone. Lee sighed and set about the laborious business of the day.

Not that night, nor the next morning, but the following day over dinner the conversation was resumed.

aYou know what you were saying the other day about trying to put together a bunch of quotations to throw back at David Sawyer?a Lee began.

aFat chance of that now. Thereare two more members of that womanas family in jail now,- they were going at each other with chains in the dead womanas front yard. There used to be a rose bed. Do they give prizes for the most dysfunctional families? This crew would take the gold.a aI was wondering if there would be any reason you couldnat have Philip Gardner and Eve do it for you? Come up with zinging quotes, that is.a aHeas still in jail.a aI know heas still in jail,- is there any reason why you canat have a conference of half a dozen people? Using the two of them as translators, like you thought of before, only in two-way translation, into and out of Erasmusese?a aThere are problems in allowing civiliansa"friendsa"in on an interview,a Kate said slowly.

aInsurmountable problems?a aIad have to talk to Al,a Kate finally said.

aDo. Because if you have to argue with him using his own language, youad better have someone who speaks it as well as Philip and Eve do.a aYouare right. In facta"no, maybe not.a aWhat?a aI was just thinking that he and Beatrice seem very close. If shead be willing to help us, it might make it less adversarial. I donat know if that would help or not.a aI think it would be a good idea.a aIall have to talk to Al about it. I could probably find Beatrice before Friday night, although I suppose wead have to do the interview on Sat.u.r.day anyway to work around Dean Gardneras schedule. Iall talk to Al,a she said again finally.

Al agreed, with strong reservations but a willingness to try anything that might loosen David Sawyeras guard. Philip Gardner agreed,- Eve Whitlaw agreed. The conference was set for ten oaclock on Sat.u.r.day morning, regardless of whether Beatrice had prior commitments.

But when Kate went to Sentient Beans on Friday evening to talk to the homeless woman, Beatrice was not there. Beatrice had not been there the week before, either.

Kate stood listening to the angry young owner, feeling the cold begin to gather along her spine.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Praised be G.o.d for our Sister, the death of the body.

aYou scared her off.a The young man behind the wooden bar was gripping the latte gla.s.s as if he were about to throw it at her. His name was Krishna, but he had obviously been named after one of the G.o.das more violent manifestations.

aCould you explain that please, sir?a Kate asked politely, keeping an eye on the gla.s.s.

aYou probably did it on purpose. Thatas hara.s.sment. You could tell her nerves were bad.a aAre you telling me you havenat seen Beatrice Jankowski since the night I was here? That was nearly a month ago. Iave seen her since then.a aShe was in once,a the man said grudgingly.

aTwice,a said a womanas voice from behind him. The woman herself appeared, carrying a tray of clean cups, which she slid into place beneath the bar. She was very small, with hard, slicked-back unnaturally black hair, at least a dozen loops and studs in her ears and one through her nose, and kind, intelligent brown eyes. Kate recognized the guitarist from the night she had come here. aWe didnat see her last week, and we havenat seen her since then, but she was in a couple of times after you were here.a aHow do you remember when I was in? One face on a busy night.a aI noticed you. Beatrice talked about you. But we were a little concerned last week when she didnat show, and weave been keeping an eye out for her in the neighborhood. Sheas not around.a aYou havenat filed a missing-persons report?a aFor a homeless woman? Whoad listen to us?a snorted the man.

The woman answered Kate as if hea"her husband?a" hadnat spoken. aI decided that if she didnat come in tonight, I would report her missing. I called the hospitals, but sheas not there. My name is Leila, by the way.a The man turned to her, his grip on the gla.s.s so tight now that white spots showed on his knuckles. aYou called thea"I thought we agreeda"a aOh, Krish, of course I called. What if she was sick or something?a aBut she was here two weeks ago?a Kate asked loudly, to interrupt the burgeoning argument.

aJust like always,a Leila said.

aAnd she said nothing to indicate that she would not be here?a aNo. In fact, she said, aSee you next week, dear,a just like she always does. Did.a Leila was worried now, taking police interest as evidence that something was very wrong.

aI wouldnat be too concerned, not yet. I just wanted to pa.s.s on a message from a friend of hers whoas in custody.a aBrother Erasmus?a aYes. You know him?a aNot personally. Though I feel like I do, since she talked about him all the time. She went to see him in the jail.a aI know. But not for a while, apparently, because he was asking about her,a she embroidered.

aHow long? Since heas seen her?a It was in the small beat before Kate answered that she acknowledged her own apprehension.

aI donat know,a she said slowly. aIall have to check.a The stark possibilities lay there, and nothing Krishna or Leila could add changed them any. Finally, she asked for the use of their telephone and began to cast out her lines of inquiry.

The logs at the jail revealed that Beatrice Jankowski had last visited David Sawyer on Wednesday the ninth of March, two days before she had not appeared at Sentient Beans to wash her clothes and sketch the customers.

A call to the morgue confirmed that there were no unclaimed bodies in San Francisco that remotely matched Beatriceas description.

Al Hawkin was not at home and had not yet arrived at Janias apartment in Palo Alto. Rather than beep him, she left brief messages at both numbers, on his machine and with Janias daughter Jules, and then went back out into the coffeehouse, where she found Leila cleaning the tables.

aDid Beatrice leave anything here?a she asked.

aProbably. Thereas a little cabinet in the back we let her use.

aDoes it lock?a aThereas a padlock. We kept one key, gave her the other.a aJust the two keys?a Thatas all.a aMay I have the key, please?a Leila let a cup and saucer crash down onto the tray. aOh G.o.d. What did you find out?a aNot a thing. Iam not going to open the cabinet, and Iall give the key back to you if Beatrice turns up. Iad just be more comfortable keeping it in the meantime.a Leila dug into the deep pocket of her baggy black silk pants and drew out a fist-sized bundle of keys. She flipped through it, unhooked a cheap-looking key, and handed it to Kate. aThereas nothing much in there. Her sketch pad and box, a few clothes, odds and ends.a aItas good of you to let her use it.a Leila actually blushed. aYes, well, Iave been there myself, and sheas getting too old to live out of plastic bags.a Kate opened her mouth to ask if Beatrice slept here occasionally, then closed it again. Time enough for questions that might compromise the insurance and zoning. She merely wrote out a receipt, pocketed the key, thanked Leila, and went back out to her car.

In the Homicide room, at her desk, on that Friday night, Kate sat for a long time and stared at the telephone. She did not want to pick it up. She wanted to go home and rub Leeas back or watch some inane musical video or listen to Leeas voice reading from a novel. She did not want to make these telephone calls because she was afraid of what she was going to learn, and when she learned it, she knew whom she would blame.

Kitagawa and OaHara came in then, speaking in loud voices, and in order to avoid having to talk to them she picked up the receiver and tucked it under her ear. She began to look up the telephone numbers and then made her calls.

After the fifth call, a faint hope began to stir: Maybe she had been wrong. Alarmist. But the optimism was premature: At the seventh morgue, this one in Santa Cruz, they had a Jane Doe, Beatriceas size, Beatriceas age, with Beatriceas hair and eye color. Shead been found four days ago up in the hills, by hikers. Dead at least three days before that. Not pretty. Sure, theread be someone there all night.

Kate sat and rubbed her eyes, hot and gritty and wanting nothing but to close for a long time. Too late to phone Lee, let her know she wouldnat be in? Yes, it really was. Lee used to sleep very littlea"four, five hours a night. Now she needed eight hours, or she ached. Sometimes took a nap. Why are you thinking about that? Kate asked herself. Christ, this is a s.h.i.tty job.

Phones had been ringing on and off. Now Kate heard her name called, and she automatically picked up the receiver.

aMartinelli. Oh, Al, thanks for calling. Sorry to wreck your weekend. Yeah, she disappeared, but I think I found her. The Santa Cruz morgue. Yeah, I know. Iam going down to see her. Want me to call you from there? You donat have to come. Youare sure? You promise Jani wonat hate me? Well, leave her a note, maybe youall be back before she wakes up. Iall leave now. Right. Bye.a It was like old times, driving a sleeping Al through the rain into the Santa Cruz Mountains. This time, however, their goal was not the forest site of three murdered children, their first case together a year earlier, but the sterile, temporary repository of one elderly woman.

When Kate rolled to a stop and pulled on the parking brake, Al woke up, ran his hands over his face, and bent forward to look at the windshield. aItas deja vu all over again,a he commented.

aHow about next year, come March, we arrange a case that takes us to Palm Springs or something?a aIall put in a voucher for it tomorrow. Do you know wherea"a aThrough there.a Into the cold, inhuman s.p.a.ce that smelled of death, up to the body, leaning over the gray face: Yes. Oh yes: Beatrice Jankowski.

aI hadnat realized how old she was,a Kate said bleakly.

aShe had false teeth,a commented the morgue attendant. aTaking them out makes anyone look shriveled up. Is her family going to want her shipped, do you know?a aI donat know if she had a family.a aWeall hang on to her for a while, then.a aDo you have a copy of the autopsy report?a Al asked.

aI donat think so. Youad have to check with the investigating officer. I think that was Kent Makepeace. I can tell you it was homicide.a He reached down and turned Beatriceas head to one side, revealing the damage beneath the clotted gray hair on the right side of her skull, between the ear and the spine. aSomebody hit her, hard.a

TWENTY-FIVE.

Many of his acts will seem grotesque and puzzling to a rationalistic taste.

The mere fact that an ident.i.ty had been given to a body in the morgue hardly justified rousting the investigating detective out of his bed at four oaclock on a Sat.u.r.day morning. Even Al Hawkin had to admit that. So he and Kate found an all-night restaurant and ate bacon and eggs in an attempt to fool their bodies into thinking it was a new morning rather than a too-long night, and at six they made their way to the county offices. At 6:30, Hawkin succeeded in bullying an underling into phoning Makepeace. At seven oaclock, they were in his office being shown the case file.

aThatas right,a he was saying, fighting yawns. aCompletely nude, no false teeth, not even a hairpin.a aShe wore several rings,a Kate commented.

aThatas in the path report. Couple of nicks on her fingers, scratches that showed where the ringsad been cut off her postmortem. Her hands were so arthritic, Iad guess he tried to pull them off and couldnat get them over her knuckles, so he had to cut them. She was also moved around after death, a couple of rug fibers and marks on her legs, probably transported in a caras trunk. Nothing under her fingernails but normal dirta"she didnat scratch her attacker, no defense marks on her hands, nothing. About the rings, though.a He sounded as if he was beginning to wake up, and he took a large swallow of coffee from his paper cup to increase the rate of coherency. aWe did a ground search, especially up and down the road. Among the c.r.a.p they picked up was a ring. There should be a photograph here somewhere.a He dug back into the file, flipped through the glossy photographs of the nude woman sprawled in the leaves, gray hair snarled across her face, and pulled out the picture of a large fancy ring with a cracked stone. He laid it on the desk between them.

Kate peered at it. aIt looks like one of hers. Iad have to ask her friends to be sure. Where was it?a aWhoever dumped her pulled off the main road down this dirt road.a His finger tapped a long-range photo that showed Beatrice as a mere shape in the corner. aHe couldnat go any farther because of the gate, but you canat see the place from the road. The ring was on the left side of the road going in, where it might have fallen when he opened the driver-side door. If it was in his pocket, say, and fell out. Of course, it couldave been there for a week or two.a He sipped at his coffee, then added, as if in afterthought, aThere was a partial on the ring, halfway decent. So let us know when you have prints on a suspect. Other than that, we didnat find a thing. Wasnat raped or a.s.saulted, no signs that she was tied up, just a sixty-odd-year-old woman in fairly good condition until she ran into a blunt instrument.a aThe pathologist doesnat seem to have much to say about the weapon,a Hawkin commented. He had put his gla.s.ses on to look through the file.

aThere wasnat much to say. No splinters, no rust or grease stains, no gla.s.s splinters. A smooth, hard object about two inches in diameter. Three blows, though the first one probably killed her. Couldave been almost anything. Whatas your interest in her, anyway, to drag you down here in the middle of the night?a aItas related somehow to the body that was cremated in Golden Gate Park,a Hawkin replied.

aNo kidding? I read about that. And I used to think we had all the loose ones rolling around here.a aWe have our share. Can I have a copy of all this?a aSure. Here, you take any duplicates of the pictures. If you want copies of the others, let me know and Iall have them printed. Let me go turn the Xerox machine on.a Kate turned the car toward the mountainous Highway 17 and began climbing away from the sea. The morning traffic was light, the rain had stopped at some time during the night, and Kate drove with both eyes but only half a mind on the road.

aIt was the newspaper story,a she said abruptly.

aWhat was?a aHer picture was in the Wednesday paper. The article quoted her as saying shead seen John talking with a stranger from Texas, she seemed to think we should let Sawyer go because of that. Two days later, she was missing.a For a long time, Al did not answer. Kate took her eyes off the road for a moment to see if he had fallen asleep, but he was staring ahead through the windshield.

aYou donat agree?a aWe donat know anything about the woman. Itas a little early for jumping to conclusions.a Silence descended on the car. Kate had been tired earlier but now, boosted by two cups of stale coffee from the doughnut shop Hawkin had spotted just before the freeway entrance, she felt merely stupid. She followed the road up and out of the hills and into San Jose, where the freeways were always busy.

Nearing Palo Alto, she spoke again. aIall drop you at Janias, then?a aNo, go on to the City. I changed my mind; I want to be in on your group meeting this morning with Sawyer.a aI was thinking wead probably cancel it,a said Kate, surprised.

aThis is all the more reason not to.a

TWENTY-SIX.

a Something happened to him that must remain greatly dark to most of us, who are ordinary and selfish men whom G.o.d has not broken to make anew.

The interrogation had been scheduled to begin at ten oaclock. Kate and Hawkin were back in the city by then, but they did not join David Sawyer in the interview room at ten. At eleven oaclock, he was still by himself in the room, his hands in his lap, his lips moving continuously in a low recitation. Twice he had glanced at the door, and on the third time he caught himself and made a visible effort to relax. Since then he had appeared to be in meditation, his long body at ease and his eyes open but not focused on any object.

At 11:20, the door opened. Hawkin came in first, followed by Kate. Both of them looked clean and damp, though their bodies and eyes betrayed a sleepless night.

There were three vacant chairs in the room, but neither detective sat. The man in the jail garb blinked gently at them and waited, and then the third figure came through the door and he instantly got to his feet, his face shut-down and hard, and made as if to sidle past his old friend to the door, looking accusingly not at her but at Kate.

Hawkin put out a hand to stop him. aPlease, Dr. Sawyer,a he said quietly. aSit down.a Sawyeras head came around and the two men gazed at each other while the old man, alerted by some nuance of tone, tried to gauge what lay behind the words. He studied Hawkinsa stance and eyes and looked down warily at the manila envelope Hawkin held in his hand before he accepted the detectiveas unspoken message: Before, we were acting out a game. Before, we had time to play with animosity. The game is over now.

The message that said: Bad news coming, David.

aPlease,a Hawkin repeated quietly.

After a long minute, without breaking their locked gaze, Sawyer moved back to the table and lowered himself into his chair. Only then did he look at Kate, sitting poised to take notes, and then at Eve Whitlaw, and when he took his eyes from her and turned back to Al Hawkin, on the other side of the table from him now, he drew breath and opened his mouth.

aNo,a interrupted Hawkin, one hand raised to stop Sawyer from speaking. aDonat say anything yet. Listen to me before you commit yourself to speech. Iave been told youare very good at listening.a Hawkin waited until the older man had slowly subsided into the plastic chair. He then leaned forward and, choosing his words carefully, began to speak.

aFive and a half weeks ago, a man was killed in Golden Gate Park. A number of your friends decided to cremate the body, in imitation of a similar cremation you had supervised three weeks earlier, that of a small dog. The attempted cremation confused matters a great deal, but eventually it proved to have no direct connection with the manas death.

aYou, however, attracted our suspicions from the very beginning. You would not answer our questions, you had no alibi for the time of death, and you seemed to have something you were hiding. On the nineteenth of February, you fled from Inspector Martinelli and a woman who could identify you. And then when a person who lives near the park told us that you were in the vicinity at the general time the man was killed, and in a state of agitation, the case against you seemed fairly tight. It appeared that you had been blackmailed by the man John and finally hit him in the head in anger. No, much as I would like to hear what you could come up with by way of a response, Iad really prefer if you would just listen.a Hawkin slouched down in the chair, playing with the clasp on the envelope that lay on the table between them.

aHowever, I donat think you killed him. I know you could have. I know you have a short temper, for all your years of saintly behavior, and you could easily have lost it and swung at him with that stick of yours. But I donat think you would have been capable of standing by and waiting for him to die. And I donat believe you could have broken the skull of his dog three weeks before that. And I know d.a.m.n well that you were in custody eight days ago and that therefore you could not have committed the murder of your friend Beatrice Jankowski.a It took a moment for the information to lodge in his mind, but when it did, the effect was all Hawkin had aimed for: Shock, profound and complete, froze David Sawyeras hands on the edge of the table, kept him from moving, stopped the breath in his body.

aYes. Iam very sorry,a said Hawkin, sounding it. aBeatrice died last week. Inspector Martinelli and I just identified her body a few hours ago.a He pushed back the flap on the envelope and slid the photograph out onto the table, pushed it across in front of Sawyer, and withdrew his hand. The old man stared uncomprehending at the black-and-white photograph of Beatrice Jankowskias face that had been taken on the autopsy table just before she was cut open. She lay there calmly, her eyes closed, but was very obviously dead.

Sawyer closed his own eyes and his hands came up to his face, pressing hard against his mouth and cheeks as if to hold in his reactiona"vomit, perhaps, or wordsa"but he could not hold back the tears that squeezed from beneath his closed eyelids, tears utterly unlike the simple, generous, childlike stream he had cried so freely on the first occasion Kate had seen him. These were a manas tears, begrudged and painful, and he clawed at them with his long fingers as if they scalded his skin.

They all waited a long time for him to take possession of himself again. Even Professor Whitlaw waited, as she had been instructed, though she palpably yearned to go and comfort him. They waited, and eventually he raised a bleary red-eyed face from his hands and accepted the tissue that Al Hawkin held out to him.

Hawkin then sat forward until his arms were on the table and his face was only inches from the stricken features of the prisoner.

aDr. Sawyer, you had nothing to do with the deaths of your son and the wife and children of that madman Kyle Roberts. You believe you did, because grief has to go somewhere, but the truth of the matter is, you were in no way responsible.

aBeatrice Jankowskias death is a different matter. You know who the dead man was, and you know who killed him. You may even know why. You wouldnat tell us because of this vow of yours. You figured the man was such a miserable s.h.i.t-filled excuse for a human being, his death was hardly a reason to break your vow. You played G.o.d, David, and because you wouldnat answer our questions a month ago, because you distracted us and slowed down the investigation, he came back. He heard a rumor that Beatrice had seen him, he probably read the interview in the newspaper where she hinted that she could identify him, so he came back for her. He killed her, David. He broke her skull and he cut those distinctive rings from her fingers and then he stripped her naked and dumped her body down in the mountains, because you had made up your mind to be n.o.ble in prison rather than answer our questions.a Although she had been briefed on what to expect, Professor Whitlaw started to protest. Kate stopped her with a hand on her arm, but it was doubtful that either Sawyer or Hawkin noticed.

aTell me, David,a Hawkin pleaded, nearly whispering. aYou know who did it, you know why,- you even know where he isa"you were headed for Texas when they picked you up in Barstow, werenat you? You know everything and I donat even know what the dead manas name is. David, you have to suspend this vow of yours. Just long enough to give me the information I need. Please, David, for G.o.das sake. For Beatriceas sake, if nothing else.a Kate saw David Sawyeras surrender. With a jolt made of triumph and sorrow and revulsion at Al Hawkins superb skills, she could see the old man succ.u.mb, saw the moment when he buckled off the only thing that had held him together through ten hard years. His mouth opened as he searched for words, his own words, a foreign language spoken long ago.

aIaa he said, then stopped. aMy namea is David Sawyer.

Eve Whitlaw stood up and went to him, taking up a position behind his chair, her hands resting on his shoulders. He raised his right hand across his chest to take her left hand and, fingers intertwined, he appeared to gather a degree of strength, then continued.

aYou knowa whoa I am. You knowa about Kyle Roberts. Ia do not need to say anything abouta that. You need to know about the man who died. The mana you know as Johna was sick. Mentally. His mind and hisa spirit had become twisted. Hea enjoyeda power over others. He was rich.a Sawyer stopped and with a visible effort pulled himself together. His tongue, so easy and fluent with the complex thoughts of others, seemed unable to produce a sentence more complicated than a four-year-oldas. When he resumed, his words were more sophisticated, but each phrase, occasionally each word, was set apart by a brief pause.

aJohn was actually a very wealthy man, and hea left his home and his business toa wander. There are others like him on the streets. Not many, but always a few who choose the nomadic way of life fora various reasons, rather than falling into it. He did not change, though. He wasa"he had been a cutthroat businessman, in land speculation and development. He was proud of hisa shady dealings. When he came onto the streets, he remaineda sly and manipulative. In many ways, I believe he derived more pleasure from controlling thea dest.i.tute and the downtrodden than he had from breaking his business rivals.

aWhen I came to San Francisco in August, a year and aa half ago, Iaa He seemed suddenly to run dry of words. It took a moment with his eyes closed, while he searched for the source, before they began to flow again. aI met John. He had only been here a few months himself. I knew immediately that there was somethinga wrong with him, and as I watched him move among his friendsa"and they were friends, real friendsa"Ia felt he was like a jackal, watching for weakness in the herd. Ia avoided him as best I could, and we went our separate ways. Until November, All Saintas Day, when one of his victims tried to commit suicide.

aThe man recovered, but something had to be done. So, I offered myself to John. I allowed him to think I possessed a great and awful secret that woulda devastate me were it to become known. There was such a secret, of course, but I greatly exaggerated the effects of public knowledge to make it morea appealing to John. Ia dropped hints to encourage him to concentrate on me. I did not stop hisa activities entirely, but Ia became his main focus.a aHow much did he find out?a Hawkin asked quietly.

aI do not think he knew the entire story. He would make guesses, and I would react, you see? He knew there had been deaths, in an academic setting. He knew I felt responsible for those deaths. I believe he hired an investigator, a man was asking questions about me, about eight months ago. But no, I think he would have let me know ina clear ways had he known the full truth.

aIt succeeded, in distracting him from others. The mosta unpleasant part of the affair was his increasing sense of intimacy with me. Not physically, of course, but emotionally. He took to confiding in me, as I said, recounting the details of his past business coups. He thought it amusing to take something from another, even if he did not actually desire it. He told me a long story once, how he had stolen away the wife of a rival, saw them divorced, and then refused to marry her. He preferred to destroy a thing rather than see it in the hands of another. A very twisted man.a He stopped again, allowing his head to fall back against Eve Whitlawas shoulder.

aCan I get you anything?a Kate asked. aCoffee? A gla.s.s of water?a He smiled at her with his eyes and shook his head minutely before looking back at Hawkin.

aI hope you are recording this,a he said. aIam not going to tell it twice.a aWeare recording it.a aGood. So. That was John. You needed to know.a aWhat was his real name?a aJohn was his middle name. Alexander John Darcy, of Fort Worth, Texas. I thought of him as John Chrysostom, who was called aGolden-Mouthed.a Now I will tell you what I know about his death.

aJohn had a brother who lived near Fort Worth. The two men had been business partners until John left. His leaving created many difficulties for the brother, whose name is Thomas Darcy. John was greatly amused at the problems. Deals were suspended and money was lost because his signature was unavailable.a As the fluency returned to David Sawyeras tongue, Kate was aware of other changes, as well. His posture in the chair had become an awkward slump. His right hand remained intertwined with the professoras, but his left hand wandered up and down, feeling his shirt front, plucking at his trouser legs. And his facea"she was briefly reminded of the Dorian Grey story, for as Sawyeras features relaxed from the attentive and thoughtful pose she had always known there, they aged, becoming almost grim with the sense of burden borne. With a shock, Kate realized that the man in the chair across from her was no longer Brother Erasmus.

aA few months ago, John found out two things. First, a piece of land that had been left him and his brother jointlya" worthless scrub,a he called ita"was now surrounded by town and a freeway and had become very valuable. Then he discovered that sometime before, Thomas had begun the legal process of declaring his missing brother dead. John was almost dancing with pleasure at the thought of confounding his brotheras plan.a aHe told you these things?a aEverything. I was safe, you see. I had to listen, and he knew I would not tell the others that, for example, he had money and an apartment he used sometimes. He knew I disapproved of everything he did. Perhaps you could even say I detested it. He felt my reaction, and it gave him wicked pleasure. Yes, wicked is, I think, the word for the man. Not evil, simply wicked.a aWhat did he do about his brother?a aHe played games with the telephone at first. He called Thomas, hinting at who he was. Finally he came out in the open. They hadnat been in touch for five years or more. Thomas was at first shocked, and then he became angry and said he thought it was a hoax. John told him where he was. Thomas flew out here ina"I donat know. September? October? He also drove out once, a month or so later. John kept him dangling for weeks, offering to sign the deed papers, then withdrawing.a aDid you meet him?a aOnce. I saw him several times.a aCould you describe him, please?a aYour sort of build, Inspector Hawkin, only shorter. He wore heeled boots, gla.s.ses. Brown hair going gray, tan skin, stubby little hands.a aDid he wear a hat?a aThe first time I saw him, no. He was dressed as a normal businessman. The time he drove out, he looked like a cowboy, with snakeskin boots and a hat with a turned-up brima"a cowboy hat.a aDo you remember the make of car?a aI didnat see it.a aHow did you know he had one, then?a aJohn described it. He said it was big and ostentatious because his brother had a smalla s.e.xual organ.a aDid he smoke?a aThomas or John?a aEither.a Sawyer thought for a moment. He looked now like an tired old ex-professor on the skids, and it would have taken a considerable leap of the imagination to place him in a black ca.s.sock.

aJohn smoked cigars, expensive ones, from time to time. I never saw him with a cigarette, although he carried one of those disposable lighters. I donat remember about Thomas, but I was only with him about ten or fifteen minutes.a aThink about it and let me know if you come up with anything.a aHe may have been a smoker, come to think of it,a Sawyer said, sounding surprised. aHis handsa"they were tidy. Small, fussy hands. But the nails were discolored, yellow. Like a smokeras.a The pauses between his words were becoming brief, more sporadic. His speech was almost normal, but he looked so tired.

aIs there anything else you know about Thomas Darcy?a aHe was here in San Francisco on the day his brother died.a aWas he, now?a Hawkin almost purred with satisfaction.

aYes. I normally saw John before I would go to Berkeley. I would meet him somewhere in the park, often in Marx Meadow before I walked up to Park Presidio, where Joel picked me up. That is where we met that day.a aWhat time did you meet him?a aIn the morning. Perhaps nine. We walked through the meadow and up into the trees, and he told me that his brother was coming to see him again. And he told me that he had decided what to do about the piece of land his brother was so desperate to sell. He told mea he said he had made up his mind to disappear again, but before he went, he was going to sign over his half interest in it. Sign it over not to his brother, but to me.a aWhat?a aYes. Can you imagine? It wasnat enough to confound and rob his brother, he had to do it in a way that would take over my life, as well. The property was worth four or five million dollars, he told me. It is not possible to own that much money,-he wanted it to own me.a aWhat was your response?a aI was angrya very angry. I thoughta I had hoped that after more than a year of working with him, he would begin to grow, to let go of his wickedness. Instead, it had grown within him. I was so incensed, I shouted some words at him and then walked away from him. In fact, it took me so long to calm myself that I forgot about Joel. He had waited and then left. I had to walk and thumb rides across the Bay.a aBut you didnat actually see Thomas Darcy?a aOh yes, I did. He was sitting in a car parked along Kennedy Drive, reading a map. He didnat see me, I donat think, but I saw him. I might not have recognized him, because head grown a beard, but I saw his distinctive hands on the map, and after all, he was on my mind, since John had just told me that he was going to meet him.a aWhat kind of car was he in?a aIt was not the one John had described. This one was small, white, ordinary. New-looking.a A typical rental car, Kate thought, writing the description on her pad.

aI suggest, Dr. Sawyer,a said Hawkin evenly, athat it is fortunate for you that Thomas Darcy did not notice you.a Sawyer held up his left hand, rubbed his thumb on the indentation carved there by his ring, which now lay in an envelope in the property clerkas bas.e.m.e.nt room, and shook his head slowly. aPoor, poor Beatrice. A queen among women. She saw him. She must have.a aNot that day. Earlier, when he drove his own car out from Texas, then she saw him. The rest was Thomas Darcyas guilty imagination, reading too much into her words.a aDid she suffer?a aI donat think so. The same as John, a hard, fast blow to the skull, immediate unconsciousness, and then death.a aPoor child. So pointless. Will she have a funeral?a Hawkin was taken aback at this unexpected question. aI really donat know. It depends on whether or not someone claims the body. The city doesnat pay for elaborate funerals.a aShe had no family left. I will perform the ceremony.a aWeall have to see about that.a aI can raise whatever money is required, Inspector Hawkin. And although I suppose my license has expired, back in another lifetime I was once an ordained priest.a Late that night, Kate went up to the sixth-floor jail and stood outside David Sawyeras cell. He was on his knees on the hard floor, his hands loosely clasped, and he looked up when she appeared. A smile came into his eyes and his face, and he got to his feet.

aIam sorry to interrupt you,a she said.

aDear Kate. What a pleasure to say your name, Inspector Martinelli. Names are one of the few pleasures I have longed for. I was not praying. I donat seem to be able to pray, but going through the motions is calming. What can I do for you?a aI just wanted to say thank you, for today. I know what it cost you. Or at least I can begin to guess.a aHad the payment been made a month ago, a life would have been saved. No cost would be too great, were it to change that.a aIave often thought how nice it would be if we could know the future,a Kate said, and realized with surprise that she was now comforting him. The thought reached him at the same time, and he gave her a crooked smile. Then he did a strange thing: He put his right hand out through the bars and, with his fingers resting in the hair above her temple, he traced a cross with his thumb onto the skin of her forehead.

aAbsolvo te, Kate Martinelli,a he said. aWhat you and your partner did was both necessary and right. No apology is due.a For a moment, he rested his entire hand, warm and heavy, on the top of her head, then retrieved it and stepped back from the bars. aGood night, Kate Martinelli. I hope you sleep well.a