Everyone Pays (11 page)

PART THREE

THURSDAY

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

DONNER

The next morning, Hendricks picked me up at seven—far too early.

I’d slept twelve hours, almost, but it felt like half what I needed. He greeted me with a large dark roast, its smell helping out as I opened the door and got in.

“Thanks, partner.”

When we got to the Hall, I found a Bible wrapped in handcuffs on my keyboard.

“What is this?”

Lund and Peters laughed. “Taking on the clergy comes with costs, Donner.”

“Isn’t it pretty for you two knobs to be here early this morning, making jokes? Don’t you have a bunch of Catholic schoolgirls to be ogling?”

Lund said, “We’re more into the Episcopalians. Plus,
you’re
the one on the hot seat this morning.” He pointed to Bowen’s office. “Big man been here since way early. He got the chew-out from above, and now he wants to put you in the mix.”

“Gonna be fun.” Peters slid his eyebrows up and down his long forehead.

“Me? I’m busting my butt trying to solve this triple homicide. Where’s my credit for
that
?”

The others were quiet, even Hendricks.

I sat down at my desk, made my plea. “It’s okay to just wait him out, right? I don’t have to go straight in.”

Hendricks straightened his tie. “Least you look good today, you know? And that stuff I was telling you last night about doing a good job? It still stands. In my book.”

“Thanks, partner.”

I fired up my computer, trying to keep my head low. I wanted to finish my coffee before I got called in.

“Donner!”

That wasn’t in the cards. I was toast. He called my name again from the other side of the room. When I looked up, I saw him outside his door, glaring.

“My office,
now
.”

I brought my coffee, hoping I could deflect some of the pain by trying to scald my tongue while he spoke, but he started in before I could even sit. “What did you say to me when you left yesterday?”

I shut the door. “I can’t remember, sir. You were on the phone, so I put it to the—”

“You said you had a collar in the Tenderloin. You did
not
mention word one about a church or our friends the Catholics.”

“I didn’t—”

“Did you consider the shit storm this would get us into? Don’t you think I would want to know? Were you seriously planning to apprehend a
priest
? A Franciscan father?”

“We didn’t get him, but the evidence we found on scene—”

“What? Why are you even talking? What is wrong with you?”

“Sir?”

“Do you know what I’ve been doing this morning? Do you know how I woke up?”

“No, sir.”

“The captain called my house, Donner. Brought me in for a six thirty sit-down. Oh-six-thirty. Do you know what gets the captain in that early? This city being on fire.”

“On the upside, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t
what
?”

“Well, we didn’t get him, sir.”

“But the upside. You said there was a—What were you going to say?”

Now I felt like I was about to throw gasoline on the fire, but I was already committed. “The gun locker, sir. You said to take the Benellis. At least I didn’t—”

“No, no. You most certainly did not.
That
, that stands for something you actually got right.” He waved a finger. Gesturing at the futility and almost, maybe even just a little, breaking a smile. “You’re right. There is something you did not colossally mess up in this investigation. Congratulations, Donner.”

I hoped he might roll over to his good side and stay there. “Like I said, I—”

“Because I got reamed like you actually went out and shot up a cathedral.”

“We have the right guy.”

“Brought me in this morning for a six thirty sit-down upstairs.” I could tell he was running out of steam now. “Do you know what time that means I got called at home?”

I looked at the edge of his desk. Since we’d started, it had been shaking enough to knock over the pile of papers closest to me. “No, sir.” I leaned forward, hoping to just nudge it farther onto the desk.

“It means he called me at oh-five-hundred hours.” He closed his eyes, reliving the memory. In the second it took him to do this, I pushed the stack of papers onto the desk.

“That means it wakes my wife up, which means I get it for this on the home front. It means he’s pissed off, and now
she
is too, and—” Under his breath, he said, “She didn’t take the Benellis.” To me, he said, “You didn’t take the Benellis. That’s just great, Donner. No one took the Benellis. Wonderful decision making on your part. Great police work.”

“I—”

“Don’t talk.” He sat still for a moment, and then his voice rose up to its highest volume. “This is
politics
! The priest you spoke to yesterday—” He looked at the papers in front of him. “After one Father Kenny got through with your little interrogation and search party, he made a phone call. Do you know who he called?”

“Kevin, sir. I think his name is Father—”

“He called the bishop! Do you know who the bishop is, Donner?”

“No, sir.” I dared to take a sip of my coffee. He didn’t seem to notice.

“The only bishop I want to know is on a chessboard. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“It’s the man with the red pointy hat! Do you know what these pointy-hat guys do in their spare time? Do you?”

“No.”

“You don’t?” He sighed. “Me either. But whatever it is, they do it with
politicians
.” His shoulders finally fell away from his ears, which meant he would run out soon. All I had to do was hang on.

“So this bishop makes a call and city hall gets its panties in a bunch because it’s an election year, and we’re over here pissing off religious people. Do you know anything about religious people?”

I didn’t even try to answer now; better to let him get it all out.

“They vote,” he said. “That’s all you need to know.”

I nodded. “They vote.”

Somehow he had run out of air. I dared another sip of my coffee. When Bowen didn’t take my head off for that, I took a full gulp, hoping the caffeine would speed me up. There’d be a pot in the break room I could use to warm it up—that was something to look forward to.

He sighed. “It’s idiotic, Donner. You should know that by now. Nice job not taking the Benellis.”

“Thank you.”

“From what I understand, the word I’m getting, you did a good job. We have a legit suspect. But keep it low profile, as much as you can, okay?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yes, sir. Copy that.”

“You need any additional details or backup—
within reason
—you’ve got my okay. Just be quiet about it.” He turned to his computer. “Keep on it, Donner.”

I slowly went for the door. As I opened it, I braced myself for more, then again on my way out. I closed the door. Heard the click.

Lund said, “Wait for it.”

I tiptoed across the room to my desk, lightly set myself down in my chair.

A loud shout came from the inside of the lieutenant’s office, a short burst of expletives and curses that was as much a part of Bowen’s anger as the cement was of the walls.

“There it is,” Lund said. We all exhaled.

Hendricks gave me a wink. “Now we can go back to normal.”

I said, “Wasn’t too bad. His anger management classes are coming along pretty well.”

“Maybe he’s finally getting some at home,” Hendricks said.

Peters frowned. “He just lets you off easy because you’re a hot chick.”

Lund brought one fist to his cheek and pushed out the other with his tongue.

Peters raised his eyebrows. “A little late-night hoo-ha between you two?”

“You know what? Gross.” I got up and stormed across the room, heading for more coffee.

Hendricks was reading the files as I passed him, doing his best not to laugh.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

After writing the preliminary report on our church search, I checked in with Ibaka, wanting to get the full rundown of everything she’d found. It was after ten thirty, when she’d normally be in her lab or at her desk.

She answered on the third ring.

“Here,” she said.

“What you got for me from the church?”

“And hello to you too, Sergeant Donner. How are you this fine morning?”

Hendricks sat at his desk across the way from me, smiling. He shook his head, knowing exactly what she’d said. This was a routine we’d been through before.

I said my niceties, did what I could to appease her and enrich her morning with the proper friendliness. Then I asked again what she had back from the church.

“This Bible’s got a lot of markings in it. Passages of fire and brimstone, laying with your brother’s wife, and the oldest profession in the world. Nice stuff. A lot to go on. This could really be our guy.”

“You
think
?”

She laughed.

“When we collar this guy, we’re going to need
a lot
of evidence to make it all right politically.”

“Someone upset? Can’t imagine why that would be. From raiding a church?”

“So you can see the predicament. What else you find?”

“The Polaroid you sent down is a match for the ones we found at Jay Piper’s.”

“I like that. I like that very much. What else?”

“Trying to pull prints off it, but all I’m seeing are partials, smudges, and Piper’s own. Nothing we can use. One of the others matched up with a couple of the ones from Farrow’s. So that’s good too.”

“How about the knife?”

“No prints. No blood. Hasn’t been used for any rough stuff, though that doesn’t surprise me. You start using sink fixtures to take people apart, you’re not too particular about your choice of tool.”

“Who among us,” I said, “has not at one time been there.”

Hendricks stood up at his desk. “Everybody watch out. Donner is feeling good.”

I threw a pen at him.

“Always nice talking to you,” Ibaka said. “How about the girl? You go at her yet?”

“Next stop. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Catch up later over a beer?”

“You got it.”

We made a plan to meet that afternoon, and I stood to follow Hendricks toward the elevators. Thinking about Ibaka, I knew I could tell her about Alan. That thought led me to check my phone. No, he hadn’t called. Still too early.

What would I do if he had called, anyway? Wasn’t like I had a lot of time to talk.

“How about it, partner?” I asked Hendricks. “Ready for a trip to SFGH?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Twenty minutes later, we were parked at San Francisco General Hospital and navigating our way into the building through never-ending construction.

One truth about police work is we spend more time in hospitals than you’d expect. More than anyone but the doctors and nurses, I often think. No matter what your beat, you see the inside of the hospital almost daily, whether delivering suspects, dropping in for interviews, or—worst-case scenario—visiting friends.

We get to know the staff and the nurses by name, get passage without having to badge anybody.

All that said, I will never get used to SF General’s lobby. Just inside the doors was an ever-present line of the city’s lowest common denominator waiting for pills or to pay bills or just waiting. They filled the cheap leather benches along the inside of the windows—windows that looked out on nothing more than wooden construction barriers six feet away—and congested the air with sad tales and bad-news smells.

We stepped lively to make it through the lobby as fast as possible, but that only got us to the roulette-wheel elevators that much faster.

I pushed the “Up” button and waited. These ancient cars operated with minds of their own, stopping on certain floors unnecessarily or changing direction, skipping floors sometimes for no reason at all. You never knew what you were getting on board for and felt lucky if you made it to your level without at least one detour.

I waited, ready to take a down car if it came. A short trip to the basement was often faster than waiting for another car to arrive.

The doors opened, advertising a ride up, and we got on with a few others, all of us crossing our fingers we’d get where we wanted to go.

Hendricks pushed our floor: we were headed to the seventh, the psych ward. This girl would get there if she couldn’t explain herself, they found her noncommunicative, or they just looked her over and guessed psych. I wasn’t sure she didn’t belong there myself.

“Psych ward,” Hendricks said, “your usual, Donner.”

“Maybe we’ll see Dr. Eddings. Always good to touch base with him.”

“Not saying nothing.” Hendricks held his hands up, quiet as a mouse. He thought I was sweet on the good doctor, and in point of fact, Dr. Eddings was far from a bad catch, but divorced with two kids was way more baggage than I wanted. Also, knowing I could take him easily in a fight was not only a major turnoff, it was a full-on deal breaker.

“What’s your take on the girl?” I asked. “You want a go at her?”

I had no game plan, didn’t know how to go at a mute, a potential victim of a serial killer who was likely strung out on meth. She might know things about our suspect we couldn’t get from anyone else, but she might not give them up. I wanted any leads I could get.

“I’m thinking you try first. Give it the woman-to-woman dynamic.”

“You think she’s all there?”

Hendricks frowned. “Are any of us?”

The elevator doors opened on three, and a couple of doctors got out. On the other side of the car was an elderly black man in a wheelchair. A boy less than ten stood beside him.

“She’s a tweaker. Long-term. So I have no idea what we’ll get. Plus the tongue thing.”

“Yeah. That.”

I watched the floor indicator. This was the car that sometimes went express from three to seven, ignoring the other stops. But today it stopped on five, a cosmic act of mercy for the wheelchair-bound man and his boy. I pressed the “Door Open” button while they rolled out, and he thanked me.

“I just want to know what our priest did to her, which of the scars we put on his account.”

Hendricks pursed his lips. “I don’t think any, Donner. Not his MO. Not this guy. Remember, he’s a man’s man. A john killer.”

“I want to hear it from her myself.”

The doors opened on seven, and we stepped out.

We found the doctor in charge, not Eddings, but a Dr. Matal, and she took us toward the girl’s room. She was a pert little woman with light-brown skin and straight black hair wearing a white lab coat, dry-cleaned slacks, and a pretty white blouse. “We were calling her Jane Doe,” she said, leading us down the hall, “but she identified herself as Emily once we gave her a pad and pencil. No last name. So I don’t know what you can do with that.”

“She give you anything else to go on?”

“No. But that tongue injury isn’t new. She’s had that for maybe two weeks now, and definitely should have had it treated here by a doctor. I can only imagine how long that must’ve bled. She’s lucky it stopped at all.”

“Is she healthy otherwise?”

We were outside a series of patient rooms, situated across from a wall of windows that looked out onto a small courtyard. A few sculptures, a potted tree, and a row of chairs took up less than half the space. The rest was empty, spare, but it was a way out into the air. For the long-term wards of the floor, this offered more than a little promise.

Now, hands on her hips, Dr. Matal made ready to lecture us on her patient. “She’s had long-term chronic drug use, methamphetamines and who knows what else. Heroin, I’m guessing. So she’s not likely to be fully ‘healthy’ anytime soon. If you asked me whether she’d make a credible witness in court, I’d have to say no. But you’re not asking that.”

Hendricks and I both waited. With doctors that was often the best approach: just let them get it out, show their importance, preen around, and then we could go on about our business.

“Who knows what state this girl’s brain is in. From what I can tell so far, it’s like someone stuck a hot poker in there, smashed everything around, and then pulled it out. What’s left now is anybody’s guess. I’m speaking off the record, of course.”

Hendricks said, “Of course.”

Everyone was worried about malpractice these days, just like we worried about mistrials, contaminating evidence, and trumped-up assault charges.

“I can give a professional assessment, with prognosis, but it would take a few days, at least. That’s what it would say though, in more technical terms. But if she’s not willing to stay in, you know the longest we can hold her is seventy-two hours. And pushing that far is a stretch.”

I said, “As we know.”

She shrugged. “We’ll do what we can about that. But beds are hard to keep open around here, as you also know.

“She can communicate using paper and pencil, but to really get a picture of what she’s capable of here, we have to get a better sense of what she’s been through. We won’t get that out of her for a while. So far as I can tell now, it’s
a lot
. A considerable amount. But that’s a quantitative answer. I need better than that to make a full assessment.”

Dr. Matal pointed us to the first door. “There’s her room. All this to say, please go easy. We’re dealing with a young woman who’s mentally on some very unsteady ground. And whatever pieces might be dangling, we’re not eager to start picking them up.”