Be Mine (12 page)

The other day while in line at a coffee shop, Lepp overheard two
office workers discussing it. And then he saw a taxi driver reading his story
in the
Star
. It was wild. So dramatic. So much at stake. He was getting
serious play and working with the paper’s top guns. Like Tom Reed.

He was a genius.

Tom’s idea to go to OCC at the outset of this case was brilliant. It
worked beautifully. Lepp glanced at a copy of Tom’s article confirming that
Internal Affairs people were studying Hooper’s murder, which raised questions
about internal corruption.

Now Lepp was doing his part, examining every case Hooper had handled
to find the link. Earlier he’d chased a hunch from his research that it had
originated out of Ingleside. Nothing. But it had to be here. The case that
would fit with what OCC should be looking for. He wanted to break something on
this story like Tom. He wanted to put investigators on the track of a killer.
It had to be here. He could just feel it. One of these cases would point
everyone to a killer.

Lepp nudged his glasses, then cast a sad look at Molly’s empty desk.
His heart went out to her. He remembered the few times she’d gone out with him.
A movie. A Billy Crystal comedy. They’d gone out for a few dinners. One
glorious night they walked along the Golden Gate Bridge. Neither of them had
done that in a while. He told her little-known facts about its construction.
She seemed to be fascinated. It was good. She was so different from any other
woman he’d known.

Then she told him she wasn’t ready for a relationship, that she was
still dating other guys. “Let’s just be friends, okay?” She kissed his cheek.
And that was that.

It hurt a bit but he got over it. Better to have loved and lost. A
few months later, Molly started dating Hooper. Lepp was wondering if Cliff ever
realized how lucky he was to have someone like her when his screen saver
activated, distracting him from his thoughts.

He clicked back to his archived stories and resumed searching for a
while longer without much success. He hadn’t found the link yet. He looked at
his watch. He’d been here long enough and he slipped on his jacket. As he
passed Molly’s empty desk, he thought of her.

He wished there was something he could do to ease her pain.

Something to assure her that she had friends and there would be
better days ahead.

Molly placed a frozen
chicken pasta dish
in her microwave and set the timer. The oven droned as she sat alone at her
kitchen table struggling with Cliff’s murder.

As her entree revolved on the carousel, Molly’s head began to ache.
Pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried kneading the pain from her
brain. It was futile. The timer bell chimed.

She picked at her food. Tension had turned her neck and shoulders to
stone. She needed to clear her mind. She tossed her chicken pasta in the trash
and changed into her running gear.

The sun had dipped below the horizon. Faint light painted the sky.

She would run until dark.

She wanted to run forever. A distant cable car clanged. A siren
wailed. She’d traveled several blocks. In the dying light she thought she saw a
man in a car. Following her. Maybe not. Molly kicked up her speed, turned a
corner, and charged uphill.

The guy vanished and she ran hard for another twenty minutes.

It was dark by the time she got back to her building. She stopped
out front to cool down. It had been a fierce run. Breathing hard, she fished
into her pocket for her key, keeping her head down as she approached her front
steps, never seeing the man on the porch until he stepped from the shadows.

“Hello, Molly.”

She froze. The familiar voice pulled her back, rocketing across the
fields of her memory, to a time when she lived in her parents’ home, a time of
textbooks, chaotic hallways, the clang of steel lockers, of sweat-soaked
passionate Texas nights in the cab of her boyfriend’s pickup. To the day her
life had changed forever.

“Frank? Frank Yarrow?”

“It’s so good to see you. It’s been so, so long.” She swallowed,
glanced around.

“I already told you over the phone that this is a bad time for me.”

“Please, hear what I’ve got to say, then I’ll go.” When Molly
hesitated he added: “It won’t take long, I have to catch a plane.”

Inside her apartment he sat on her living room sofa while she
disappeared to her bedroom and pulled on a sweatshirt. She emerged, patting her
face with a towel. She got a bottle of water, then sat in her sofa chair a good
distance from him. He was dressed in a sport coat, denim shirt, faded jeans.
His body looked as lean and firm as it did when they’d first met. A few tiny
wrinkles near his blue eyes, tanned face, strong voice.

“I know this is probably the worst time to talk about us.”

“It’s not good,” she said. “I don’t know why you do this. Over the
years, you’ve written to me, called me, always tried to stake this nonexistent
claim to me.”

“I know but please just hear me out.”

“I wish you would stop this and go back to Texas, or Kansas.”

“Kansas City. I’m working as a corporate security consultant.”

“Fine. Great. But you’ve got to stop this, okay? Stop writing, stop
calling. Just stop it.”

“We had something.”

“We were kids, Frank. It was a long time ago.”

“But that’s just it, don’t you see? We were kids, but since then our
lives have taken so many turns in so many ways. I need you to know that I
realize how wrong I was back then. Wrong about the way I reacted toward you.
And the more I recognized that, the more I got thinking about second chances in
life, thinking about you.”

“Stop thinking about me.”

“The way things have gone for me, how could I not think about you?”

“You’re not listening.”

“I had to see you. When I learned that you weren’t married I took
that to mean there was hope. I had to see you. I was in San Francisco on
business when I heard about the murder on the news. I’m so sorry for you.
That’s why I showed up at the service. I wanted to be there for you. I’m trying
to let you know that I think our time has come. There are so many signs--”

“Please stop this. I’ve heard this before, and you should leave
now.”

“In my whole life you were the only girl who ever cared about me.
The only woman I ever truly loved.”

Her eyes stung.

“Then you left me. Left for college, your career. It nearly killed me.”

“You went on with your life. You got married.”

“It didn’t work. She wasn’t you. We just got divorced. I thought my
life was coming to an end. Again. And when something like that happens, it
forces you to think back on your mistakes, you know?”

She looked away.

“Listen. You’re hurting from your divorce. I’m not the answer. You
may think I am because you’re hurting. But I’m not. You just have to go through
this alone. Ride it out. We can’t go back in time. We can’t live in the past.
Listen to me. I’m not going to change my mind and I’m not interested. Please
understand that.”

His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he rubbed his lips.

“All I’m asking for is a little understanding here. I’m asking you
to open your mind to the possibility of us giving things a second chance.”

“No.”

“Hold on,” he said. “Don’t answer now. Take some time. Think it
over. I’m leaving town tonight. I’ll be back in a few weeks. I’ll see you
then.”

“No. Don’t. I’ve listened. Now leave and don’t come back. I won’t
change my mind.”

He didn’t move. He stared at her for a long moment.

“All I’m asking for is for you to think things over.”

She went to the door and opened it.

He stood, ran a hand through his hair, then came to her and stopped
within inches.

“Just think things over. That’s all I’m asking.”

He looked at her for several more seconds before he left.

She closed the door, locked it, leaned against it, then slid to her
floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, thrust her face into her towel, and
sobbed.

Sydowski took in the headline
of Tom
Reed’s front-page story in the morning edition of the
Star
. He
unbuttoned his collar as he read at his desk in the homicide detail.

“Who would betray us?”

Turgeon was still reading over his shoulder, holding two mugs of
fresh coffee.

“Anybody could’ve leaked it.”

“Why do a thing like this and why now?”

Turgeon set the mugs down and sat on a corner of Sydowski’s desk.

“Maybe it was someone who wanted to make OCC and the internal people
look like they’re obstructing us by getting in our faces.”

“Then they’ve failed. This creates the impression that these guys
swooped in on us because Hooper was dirty and the department was moving to
cover it up.” Sydowski took a hit of coffee. “We don’t need this dumped on us.
Not now.” Sydowski spotted Gonzales. “You read this?” he asked.

“First call came to my home at five-thirty. The chief’s an early
riser.”

“Somebody’s messing with us,” Sydowski said.

“Well, shove this crap aside. We’ve got a case status meeting,”
Gonzales said. “Everybody, let’s go.”

The detectives made their way to room 400, the larger meeting room,
where they were joined by other investigators and brass who dropped in from
their offices on higher floors. They revisited the autopsy and latest ballistic
reports during a meeting that was short and tense because of the leak to the
Star
. Immediately afterward, Turgeon and Sydowski headed for Diamond
Heights.

“I hate where this case is going,” Turgeon said. “But I think we
need to test guns, and you know what I’m talking about.”

Sydowski and Turgeon knew that whatever was said in their car stayed
in their car.

“No, we don’t have to test guns.”

“We don’t?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

“Ray’s our suspect.”

Turgeon let out a long hard breath. “Do you think he did it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of questions. But you have to
understand, we need hard evidence. Something to challenge him with.”

“I know.”

“If I go at him now and he gets a lawyer, it’s over. I’ve got to
build my case against him. So far, I’ve got nothing but a gut feeling telling
me Ray’s hiding something and it looks real bad for him.”

“So test Ray’s Beretta against the recovered rounds. If the rounds
came from his weapon, end of story.”

“They didn’t come from his service gun.”

“How do you know?”

Sydowski held up a thin file folder. “What’s that?”

“Ballistics report from six months ago. Ray fired two shots at an
armed drug-dealing 187 suspect who drew down on him and Hooper when they went
to question him, remember?”