The Hunt Club (12 page)

“We're not arguing about it,” Hunt said. “Grab your clothes. It's time I got out in the world today, anyway. I can drop you.”

Juhle didn't get into
the homicide detail until a little after ten. He assumed that since he'd been out working the Palmer—now the Palmer/Rosalier—case until the wee hours of the morning, Lieutenant Lanier would be inclined to cut him some slack on his regular hours. This turned out not to be the case for a couple of reasons.

First, his partner was at his desk before eight o'clock, shaved and polished and writing up a report on Mary Mahoney's identification of Staci Rosalier, including the fact that the young female victim had been Palmer's kept woman. CSI was searching the condominium again more thoroughly this morning and hoped to have a lot more to give homicide, plus next of kin information, before the end of the day.

The other reason that Lanier wasn't in a forgiving mood was that the two special agents of the FBI who were also on the case had arranged with him to convene an informal task force meeting at nine thirty in his office with Juhle and Shiu and the other two investigators with the Department of Homeland Security.

So everyone wouldn't step on each other's toes.

By the time Juhle arrived, it was clear that Shiu had sold their case pretty well. He had shared his information about the relationship between Rosalier and the judge, as well as the testimony of the neighbor, Ms. Levin, about Mrs. Palmer's car being out in front of the house at the time of the shooting while she was supposedly in Novato. In spite of all the potential jurisdictional issues confronting them, Shiu convinced every one of the other five professional investigators in Lanier's office that the most likely scenario for the double homicide was that the wife had discovered her husband's infidelity and somehow had known that he and the girl would be in her home while she was supposed to be away. Either that or she'd lured them there under some pretext.

All that remained, Shiu had told them, was to break Mrs. Palmer's alibi with her sister and, if they were lucky, find the murder weapon, although she had probably disposed of it somewhere along the road or in the Bay on her drive back to her sister's house in Novato. The bottom line was that it appeared to be a crime of passion, personal and local, and hence under the jurisdiction of the San Francisco Police Department.

One of whose two inspectors had failed to appear for the meeting.

“It was a pure miracle you were there,” Juhle was saying. “What were you doing in at work already, anyway?”

Shiu was driving through the tunnel behind Sausalito on the way to Mill Valley. “I didn't want to have them spin it the wrong way, Dev. Besides, you know, I try to be in when the shift starts. And the meeting didn't begin until nine thirty, which should have allowed anybody plenty of time to get in.”

“
I didn't even know about the goddamned meeting.
And don't tell me not to take the Lord's goddamn name in vain, which you were just going to do. Because the actual fact is that I
do
have to swear because I am goddamned pissed off. You know how that is?”

“I feel anger myself, sure. Everybody feels anger.” Shiu glanced sideways again. “For the record, I thought Lanier was a little harsh myself.”

“A
little
harsh!” Juhle did a good Lanier imitation: “
Did it ever occur to me that the murder of a federal judge was more important than my beauty rest? Would it be reasonable to expect that I'd be giving priority to this case because if not, he's sure these federal employees would be happy to help us out.
Who does he think got the ID on Rosalier and the connection to the judge in less than twenty-four, huh? It sure as hell wasn't the goddamned FBI.”

Shiu took an exit ramp off the freeway. “He was embarrassed, that was all.”

“There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. We got a judge with a million cases pending, any one of which could have brought assassins out of the woodwork, kept us following false leads halfway to Tombouctou and back, and still we got this thing all but tied up in under a day. It's unprecedented. Hell, it's close to divine intervention. We ought to be given citations, and instead he's busting my chops. It isn't right.”

“Maybe he wants it completely tied up. He's under a lot of pressure himself. If he calls the FBI off, and he's wrong…”

“He's not wrong. We're not wrong.”

“I didn't say we were. I said ‘if.'”

“Don't entertain negative thoughts,” Juhle said. “We're the good guys and we're right.”

JV's Salon in Mill Valley
was much bigger than Juhle had envisioned. Taking up several suites in an upscale mall, it provided full-service personal care for its female clients. In the glass-enclosed, antiseptic reception area, Juhle and Shiu waited for Vanessa Waverly to come out and give them some of her time. They'd made an appointment, so in theory Waverly should have been expecting them, but she hadn't responded to the receptionist's call, and now the pretty young redhead looked for her boss somewhere inside the labyrinth behind her.

Shiu walked around the room, checking out the services. “What's exfoliation?” he asked.

“Hair, I think. Removal of. Although it might be skin. I'm not sure.”

“Removal of skin?”

“Just the outside.”

“It must be skin, because they have waxing listed separately. Waxing's got to be removal of hair, don't you think?”

Juhle cast him a look of pure exhaustion. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Listen to everything they do here—manicure, hair color and styling, spa, massage, facials, tanning, makeovers, exfoliation, waxing. Have you ever done any one of those things?”

“Sure. I get a haircut every month or two, bite my nails off when they bother me.”

“So that would be no.”

“Shiu.” Juhle held up a hand. “Beauty in women, it's like sausage, okay. You don't want to know too much about how it's made. You ask me, a place like this, it's God's way of telling some women they've got too much free time, too much money, and maybe, just maybe, they're a little too self-absorbed.”

“Well,” said a female voice behind him, “there's an enlightened observation.” She wore a welcoming smile—her teeth had been done, too, Juhle thought—and extended her hand to him. His sling kept his right arm close to his body, but he put out his left hand quickly and got his already-broken bones crushed again for his trouble.

Vanessa Waverly was an athletically built, chestnut-haired Venus of a certain age in a black bathing suit with a multicolored wrap tied around her hips. Juhle thought she made a terrific walking advertisement for cosmetic surgery. At a glance, it appeared that everything doable on her had been done. “I'm sorry I wasn't out here to meet you,” she said. “We had a problem with one of the dryers, and then Jeannette just called again.”

Shiu proffered his ID and badge, which Waverly studied with some care before saying that maybe they'd be more comfortable in her office. Without waiting for a response, she turned and led the way down a carpeted hallway on whose walls were framed beauty magazine covers interspersed with tasteful enlarged color glossies of beautiful unclothed females of every age, from babies to, apparently, grandmothers. Waverly's office, with tinted windows and a view of an oak-studded hillside, reiterated the same themes but in a slightly more austere fashion. Four bronzed sculptures of idealized naked women rose from pedestals in the corners. A sheet of glass atop a large reclining nude in black marble served as the coffee table, which was surrounded by white leather couches and chairs. A glass tube desk held a telephone and computer terminal, but no paper, blotter, or clutter of any kind, and no in-box. It was a power desk, plain and simple, although Waverly did not cross over behind it.

Instead, she turned back to the inspectors. “Can I offer you some coffee, tea, bottled water? No. Do you mind if I just get some for myself? Meanwhile, please, sit down wherever you'd like.” Again, without waiting for any response, she turned and went to a refrigerator which was all but hidden in the shelving behind her desk.

When she came back with her Evian, she took the couch. The inspectors had each taken one of the chairs. “This is a terrible day,” she said without preamble. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Juhle cleared his throat. “First, about what I was saying in there…”

“Please, inspector, I've heard it all before, believe me. I've developed a very thick skin. You've come here to talk about George and Jeannette.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes, ma'am,” Juhle replied. He took out his pocket tape recorder. “I don't know if you're aware, but in any homicide investigation, we usually tape-record our interviews. It's standard procedure. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, of course. Why would I object?”

Juhle shrugged. “Some people do. I like to ask.” He smiled, turned on the machine, gave his introduction—case and badge number, date, place, name of witness. Then, “You said you'd just talked to your sister when we got here?”

She nodded. “Yes. She's staying at my house for a time. Until she…well, until it feels all right to go back to her home. Which may be never.”

Juhle took the lead in the questioning. “What did she want? The call just now?”

Vanessa Waverly, perhaps struck by the abruptness of the question, canted her head to the side. “She wanted to know if you'd arrived yet. She didn't understand why you wanted to talk to me. Frankly, I'm not too clear on it, either, to tell you the truth.”

“So she knew we were coming?” Juhle asked.

“Yes. I told her after you called me. It seemed a natural thing to do. Why? Was that a problem?”

“No, ma'am, just a question.”

“How's she holding up?” Shiu asked.

Waverly let out a quick breath. “She's devastated, of course. What else could she be under the circumstances? And I don't mean just George's death, which was bad enough, but the other victim, the young woman. Have you discovered who she was yet?”

Shiu nodded. This would be public information by the evening news, and there was nothing to be gained from trying to withhold it. “Her name was Staci Rosalier. Have you ever heard of her?”

“No.”

“She was a waitress at MoMo's, where Judge Palmer often had lunch. There were pictures of him in her condo.”

The woman hung her head. “Damn it, George!” she said. “Damn you.”

“You had no idea?” Juhle asked.

“I had no idea. I honestly thought George and Jeannette were the one couple I'd ever known…” Shaking her head from side to side, she swore again. “You try to keep a little faith in the human race, you know? But it tends to let you down.”

Shiu said, “So you had no indication that your sister knew anything about this, either?”

“None. She didn't know. She may not know yet. Not for sure, anyway. Although, of course, she suspects it. But why would they have been there in their house? Especially if she had a condo nearby. Was he just trying to insult Jeannette by bringing his little chippie home?” She shook her head again. “I mean, that would just be so out of character. I
know
George didn't hate Jeannette, and that's what it would take for him to do something that cruel. Even if he was having this…relationship. Okay, he's a man and men do that. But he respected her. He just wouldn't have brought another woman home. He wouldn't have insulted Jeannette like that.”

“We don't know why he did bring her there yet, ma'am,” Shiu said, “or even if he brought her at all. It's entirely possible she came over on her own. Somebody could have dropped her off. Maybe she had another boyfriend, and that's their killer. Maybe she took a cab. Maybe she wanted a showdown with your sister or with the judge. We just don't know.”

Somewhat to Juhle's surprise, Shiu was doing a decent job, talking to this woman, keeping her interested, informed, motivated to respond back to them. It was almost more of a surprise that he had such an apparently keen understanding of the various scenarios that could have resulted in the double murder. Maybe he'd actually thought about it in some detail. Would wonders never cease?

And beyond that, Shiu wasn't giving away the store at random, either, as often seemed to be his habit. For example, there was no reason to tell Vanessa Waverly, as they'd discovered from the medical examiner's office that morning, that Staci Rosalier's diaphragm had been inside her and that she'd recently had sex, probably with the judge, maybe even in the bed upstairs, although there'd be no corroboration of that until the DNA results from the diaphragm and the sheets came in later.

After a little silence, Juhle spoke. “Your sister told us she was with you that whole night.” Juhle and Shiu had carefully avoided any intimation in their earlier interview with Jeannette that she was a suspect—and in fact the prime suspect—in the slayings. Perhaps there would be a crack in the respective stories. “I wonder if you'd mind going over those hours again with us.”

“What on earth for?” Her reaction of shock and even disbelief as it dawned on her that her sister might be under suspicion was in some way gratifying. Whatever other subjects the two sisters had talked about in the time since the murders, Juhle was suddenly certain that Jeannette's alibi hadn't been one of them.