Girl With a Past (30 page)

58

I was still eating my granola and yogurt
when Detective Schmidt came into the breakfast room to say
good-bye. Elliott was right behind him.

“Mr. Burns says that Tom hired the
kidnappers, but only to get the Zodiac file. He called Mr. Burns
when the break-in at your house failed to get their objective.”

“I told him to back off, to call them off,”
Elliott said. “I wanted no part of thugs and break-ins. I warned
Tom that men criminal and stupid enough to break and enter were too
unpredictable. I had no idea he or they had anything to do with
later events. Tom started a nightmare when he got those two
involved.”

“Tom isn’t a great judge of character, huh?”
I said.

Elliott grimaced and wagged his head. “I
guess you all know it wasn’t the first time Tom got involved with
crazies. And now he’s been arrested!” Elliott collapsed into a
chair. “You know what that means: it’s just a matter of time before
the press gets a hold of the story, and probably dredges up the
whole sorry mess. I can hear that whiney voice of horrid Nancy
Grace carrying on about it now, ‘Pillars of the San Francisco
society and business community named in police investigation tied
to the Zodiac killer of the late sixties' . . . Oh God.” He banged
his fist on the breakfast table and buried his face in his
hands.

Nancy put her arms around her husband
resting her head on the top of his.

I watched this couple, my parents’ close
friends, with some suspicion I admit. I couldn’t help but think
that Elliott knew more about this matter than he was letting on,
that Tom told him that the thugs had Mom at our cabin. I remembered
that he’d taken Nancy aside before he went up to bed. Had he
whispered for Nancy to take us to their cabin so that we wouldn’t
stumble into our own and find Mom there?

I thought about Ron’s reaction when Steven
and I mentioned going to our cabin. Ron definitely didn’t want us
going there. Bottom-line, I was willing to bet all four of
them––Elliott, Tom, Ron and Jamie––knew what the thugs had done.
They were squabbling about it, but they all had knowledge. Tom was
probably the “he” the dickhead, Samuels, had phoned. At least they
had been told to release us, but why wait for twenty-four
hours?

“Detective Schmidt, I realize I’m the one
person in the room with the least legal knowledge, but . . . isn’t
Elliott guilty of some kinda crime? Shouldn’t he have told you, or
somebody, what he knew?”

Schmidt gave me a subtle “no” shake of his
head. “He did. He told me.”

“Yeah, way too late to be any help in saving
Mom.” I started to say more, but the Detective glared at me and I
finally got the message to shut up.

Detective Schmidt started to speak, but
Elliott held up his hand silencing him. “Alexandra, I’m terribly
sorry that I wasn’t more help in locating Lauren. But I really had
no reason to believe that I knew anything that would be helpful.
Truly, I never imagined that Lauren’s disappearance had something
to do with Tom’s insistence on getting that file.”

I glared at Elliott, disgusted that these
four men were going to get a way with the cover up they had kept up
for decades.

Yes, they’d tortured themselves. Living with
their secrets must have been hard for men of goodwill. Perhaps in
some strange way it explained the amount of charitable and
altruistic work that Tom and Jamie had devoted themselves to.

Elliott looked like shit. He had failed to
balance his guilt with anything philanthropic that I knew of.
Perhaps he’d punished himself enough, but I was going to tell the
asshole what I thought of him anyway.

The doorbell pre-empted my intended tirade.
Detective Schmidt and the sheriff escorted a stenographer into the
dining room.

I told the stenographer all I knew to be the
facts about recent events, leaving out my opinions, conjectures,
and memories that I’d have a hard time testifying to in court.

Now this situation was no longer my problem;
it was over to Detective Schmidt and the police to sort out.

“Dad, I need to get back to school, I’ve
missed too much, I’m gonna have a hell of a time catching up.”

“Me too,” Steven said.

“Not yet,” Dad said, “Rest here for the
weekend, have classmates email your assignments, I don’t want
either of you on campus until these guys are apprehended.”

“I agree,” Detective Schmidt said. “We have
yet to arrest Samuels and Bubbal.”

“I don’t get it,” Steven said, “You know who
they are, and the car they’re in. What’s taking so long?”

“We found your mother’s car abandoned in a
shopping mall parking lot near Auburn.”

Steven and I groaned, I bit my tongue to
keep from spewing swear words all over the breakfast room. Nancy’s
not at all understanding about the use of the F-word.

“But we have the license plate of a car
stolen nearby. We’ll get ‘em,” Detective Schmidt said. “And rest
assured Alexandra; none of the men involved in this crime will get
off without legal repercussions.”

We spent the weekend at Tahoe, got some
assignments that could be done online and had to admit the Burn’s
“cabin” was well equipped with all the latest wireless tech with
computers enough for all.

Steven enjoyed the exercise room with all
the bells and whistles including steam room and sauna, and it was
good to spend time with Mom after being so scared of losing her. I
snuggled with her most of the weekend.

But it was still hard to get my mind off of
the Zodiac, which led to thoughts of Derek. Whenever I thought of
Derek, I realized he was still damn hot, even if he was the same
age as my father.

59

Sunday morning we awoke to the clamor of TV
trucks and reporters outside the gates. The media had gotten onto
the story with Tom O’Connor’s arrest and somehow made the
connection to the Zodiac. The Sunday papers reported Tom’s arrest
and his arraignment scheduled for Monday morning.

Television news ran stories about the
Zodiac, and at first, Mom and I, curled up together in the media
room, found the TV coverage interesting. But the talking heads came
up with the same guesses and suppositions over and over. I was
surprised at how close to the truth some came. Not only Tom, but
also Jamie, Ron and Elliott were mentioned––even Mom and Dad, and
Steven and me. They showed shots outside Nancy and Elliott’s
Piedmont house, outside Mom and Dad’s San Francisco house, outside
the gates of our Tahoe place––dubbing it an estate because we had
three buildings on the site––never mind the largest was 800 square
feet.

No one escaped the media. Ron was attacked
by a swarm of microphones as he attempted a Sunday morning bike
ride. Jamie holed up in his office using the county security as a
barrier.

Sunday night came without the kidnappers
having been located. I was getting worried about blowing the school
term.

Mom and Nancy planned to stay put inside the
security and gates of the Burns’s Tahoe place, but, as comfortable
as the estate was, I needed to go back to the city with Dad on
Monday morning.

“Dad, Steven and I cannot afford to miss
anymore classes. I’ve probably already screwed my GPA for this
semester. We have to go back in the morning.” I demanded, then
whined while giving him my best imploring look.

“Jeff,” Elliott said, “I feel some
responsibility for how out of hand this situation has become. I’ll
cover the cost of bodyguards for the kids.”

“I appreciate the offer, but your
hospitality is plenty,” Dad answered, “And I’m not sure bodyguards
are the solution.”

Dad called Detective Schmidt. Then told us
what he’d learned.

“He says the police are certain of their
identities and the vehicle they are using. Found a motel in Vallejo
where they were and he expects a break soon. Schmidt strongly
recommends that you kids not return to Berkeley. With the media all
over this thing, the fact of you being back on campus won’t be a
secret.”

“That’s it, guys. No bodyguards.” Dad
flashed a fake smile at us. “What good would guards have done in
front of Kroeber hall? No defense against a rifle. You’re staying
right here.”

“But with Tom arrested why would they bother
us?” Steven asked.

“Tom will be bailed out in the morning. With
him arrested, they’re liable to be more desperate than ever. They
won’t want your sister or your mother to ID them. No, you’re all
staying right here until they’ve been arrested. That’s my final
word on the matter.”

I woke up on Monday morning after a restless
night. I used the remote to turn on the TV from the warm, cozy bed.
At first glance it looked like the same old footage of the front of
Ron’s condo, so I guessed the arraignment hadn’t started yet as the
media didn’t have new material to report.

The next thing I saw was a banner along the
bottom of the screen. An as yet unidentified bicycle rider had been
shot and killed. The incident took place just outside the planned
community where Ron Bailey, associate of Tom O’Connor, Elliott
Burns, and Jamie Gregg, lived.

“Dad,” I yelled. I ran from my room, “Dad,
are you still here?”

Nancy wrapped a robe around herself as she
came out of her bedroom. “What’s the matter? Are you okay
Alexandra?”

I headed to the breakfast room. Dad and
Elliott were watching a monitor above the banquette. Dad held a
phone up to his ear, “Detective Schmidt, who got shot at Ron’s
place this morning? Call me back at this number.” Dad relayed the
landline number from Elliott.

“Did you call Ron?” I asked.

“I got Ron’s voicemail a bit ago, and now I
got Schmidt’s. The detective is probably in court. He would’ve
appeared at Tom’s arraignment.”

“Should we go over there?” Elliott asked.
Elliott and Dad had that strange kind of pale that tan people get.
They were shocked and scared. They obviously thought the same thing
that I thought; Ron had been shot.

“I don’t think getting involved with that
media circus would be a good idea.” Dad’s voice sounded flat and
tired.

For the first time, I realized what an
emotional rollercoaster the last few days had been for Dad. I’d
been so pissed at him for letting this happen when it truly wasn’t
his fault. I’d been totally unsympathetic, and now not only had one
of his closest friends of long-standing been arrested in connection
with events that had endangered Dad’s own family, it looked damn
likely another old friend had been killed.

The landline rang. We all froze.

Elliott answered and put the phone on
speaker so that we could all hear what Detective Schmidt had to
say. “Yes, I’m sorry. Ron Bailey was shot. He died en route to the
ER.”

“By the kidnappers?”

“We don’t think so. But we’ll keep Mr.
O’Connor in protective custody until they’ve been apprehended.”

“Why?” Dad asked.

“They might be wanting to get rid of anyone
who can link them to the kidnapping.”

“Then why don’t you think they shot Ron?” I
asked.

“We have them located. A swat team is
preparing to enter a motel room in Albany to take custody of the
perps.”

“Are you sure that’s them?”

“Pretty sure,” Detective Schmidt answered.
“This shooting seems to be unrelated.”

“How unrelated?” Dad asked. The worried tone
of his voice made me wonder if he was having second thoughts about
having chosen one of the gang of four’s house as a safe place for
his family.

“Tom’s in jail. Well, more accurately, he
was bailed out an hour ago, but before he even left the courthouse,
we had him back in protective custody.”

“Could he possibly have had time to hire a
hit man?”

“Pretty far fetched. He would’ve had to use
his attorney’s phone. I don’t see it,” Detective Schmidt said. “And
why would he?”

Dad shook his head. “No logical reason that
I can see. Unless Ron could’ve tied him to the kidnapping,” Dad
hesitated. “Come to think of it, he could. Ron knew what had
happened, Tom had been in touch with Ron. I’m sure of it.”

“We have statements from both your wife and
daughter that the perps clearly said that the person who hired them
was upset about the shooting and the kidnapping, told them to
release their victims.”

“It may not have been premeditated, but
doesn’t change the fact that Tom failed to notify the police of two
crimes, including one in progress.” Dad’s voice was now tight with
restrained anger; I knew that voice from personal experience.

“So who else would get involved? Isn’t it
quite a coincidence if this is unrelated?” I asked. The cyclist in
the trees below Ron’s house popped into my mind. Was he carrying
anything besides a bike? A gun maybe? And why did he look
familiar?

“We’ve had other times when someone who has
been an object of media scrutiny has then been attacked by a
stranger who happened to see them on television. And I understand
that footage of Mr. Bailey riding his bicycle away from his
residence appeared on several channels nationwide. He was shot near
there.”

I wondered if Elliott had left the house
that morning. But the deputies outside would’ve seen him.

Where was Jamie this morning?

It was pretty hard for any of the men to
have made any movements without being seen by the media camped
outside each residence and office.

Detective Schmidt continued, “I’m going to
double the number of deputies there. Come to think of it, I want
all of you to stay inside and close all the curtains. Stay away
from windows. I’ll call when these two, Bubbal and Samuels, are in
custody.”

“Elliott,” Dad said once Detective Schmidt
was off the line, “you could be in danger, too.”