I got out of the cruiser at the Hall of Justice at 850 Bryant, took the main entrance, and, after putting my gun aside, went through the magnetometer. I bypassed the mob at the elevator bank and took the fire stairs to Homicide on four. I stopped at the front desk to check in with our gatekeeper, Bobby Nussbaum.

  He said, “While you were out, some goon confessed to killing Jamie Fricke.”

  “You’ve got butter on your chin. Also, you are the world’s worst liar.”

  He laughed, swiped at his chin, and told me that three dozen tips had been phoned in. “Here ya go.”

  He handed me a half inch of messages.

  “Thanks. Where’s Conklin?”

  “He and Alvarez are in Interview One with”—he checked his log—“Patricia Delaney.”

  I texted Conklin and Alvarez that I would be in the observation room the size of a walk-in closet that shares a two-way mirror with Interview One. The mic and cameras were on. My attention was drawn through the glass to Conklin and Alvarez, who sat in plain gray chairs at a plain gray table. Across from them, facing the mirror, was Patty Delaney. She appeared to be melting over the tabletop. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved as she sobbed over folded arms. This woman of thirty-five was the picture of depression, petulance, and grief.

  Team Fricke had gathered a lot of background on Patty from interviews with her and others in the Fricke household after Holly’s murder. She’d tested negative for gunshot residue then and no doubt was negative today. When we ran her prints and photo through FBI criminal databases, they’d netted nothing, not even a beep. No one we’d questioned about her thought she had motive for or had taken part in executing Holly Bergen Fricke. I felt sure that went double for Jamie.

  I pictured Patty in her floral quilt a few hours ago, distraught, angry, and shedding real tears. Jamie was dead. Her entire dream was dead.

  My phone buzzed. Alvarez was texting me notes from the interview room, details from her interrogation of Patty to date. The subject was Patty’s finances. She was well paid, and most of her paycheck went into her savings account. Her credit cards showed purchases of the Victoria’s Secret variety. Cappy had previously checked her bank statements, and her income, expenditures, and savings all added up.

  I looked up from my phone. Alvarez had gotten out of her chair. The mood had changed significantly inside the interview room.

  CHAPTER 56

  ALVAREZ WAS STANDING over Patty. Having dropped the good cop role, she was grilling the subject.

  She said, “Are you listening, Patty? Holly and Jamie. Did they have a common enemy?”

  Patty lifted her head to say, “You’ve already asked me that. I don’t know. Jamie wouldn’t have told me.”

  “Patty, I’ve asked you this before, too. It’s important. Think. Have you heard any gossip since Holly’s death? Someone sounding a little too pleased that Holly—”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Patty spat. “Am I under arrest?”

  Conklin said, “No, of course not.”

  “May I go?”

  “Yes, but hang in for another minute or two and I’ll get you a ride home.”

  Alvarez said, “Excuse me,” and left the room. She entered the observation room and said, “See anything interesting, Linds? Because, in my humble opinion, if she’s behind either murder, she’s wasting her life in the kitchen. She can act.”

  “She could do both, but I don’t see her as cold and cunning. In fact the opposite. But that doesn’t make you wrong.”

  I looked again at the wreck of Patty Delaney, who was pulling on her cardigan. Conklin was asking her to sign her statement, wrapping up the interview.

  I said to Alvarez, “How do you see Delaney as a killer?”

  Alvarez said, “Jealousy as motive? Get Holly out of the way, and then here comes shock and fury when Jamie doesn’t make good on his promise.”

  “How’d she do it?”

  “Hired a bad man with a gun.”

  I said, “Without money?”

  “Guile. Promises.”

  I could almost see it. Patty was fetching. And for some people she’d be a soft place to land. I said, “She is due to inherit a boatload.”

  Alvarez said, “Huh. From Jamie? How much?”

  “Three million.”

  “Whoa. If she knew, that’s enough to pay a boatload of bad guys.”

  I turned my attention to Conklin: smart, kind, a great cop with women. He was saying, “I feel bad, Patty, about how much pain you’re in. We’re doing this now to clear you and because you know everyone who lived in or visited the Fricke house for—what is it, ten years you’ve worked there?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Right. Eleven. So, we need your help.”

  I watched Patty relax her shoulders, unclench her hands, sit up in the chair.

  She said, “What happens to me if I tell you something, and it gets out?”

  Conklin said, “Your name will never be mentioned.”

  A long silence followed. Then Patty said, “I can’t prove anything. Not a thing. But if I were you I’d look at photos from Holly’s funeral. I wasn’t there, but Arthur was, and he took a lot of pictures.”

  “You’re saying the killer was there?”

  Patty said, “I would think so. Maybe a woman.”

  “Tall? Thin? Young? Old?”

  She stared at Conklin. Clearly she had finished speaking.

  “Okay. Thank you, Patty.”

  My partner stood up, walked behind the subject, and helped her out of her chair, saying, “I’ll get you that ride home.”

  CHAPTER 57

  ALVAREZ AND I moved to the observation room attached to Interview Two and watched the formidable Jackson Brady interrogate Arthur Bevaqua. He tried to pin the Frickes’ majordomo with an icy-blue stare from across the table, but the well-dressed house manager couldn’t meet Brady’s eyes.

  Brady said, “Tell me again, Ah-thuh. From the beginning.”

  Arthur had loosened his tie, and I could see the sweat on his brow from where I stood in the observation room.

  “Well, he looks shaken,” I said to Alvarez. “Sorry I missed most of this.”

  “We can watch the tape,” she said to me.

  Now Bevaqua was saying to Brady, “I’ve told you the same thing over and over. I only have one story.”

  “I’m not bored,” said Brady. “Run it again.”

  Arthur sighed. “I was up and dressed at seven, as usual. Mr. Jamie came downstairs at eight. Patty made coffee and brought it into the office for us. While she was making his omelet, Mr. Jamie’s phone rang. Same time, Patty leans in through the doorway and says, ‘Breakfast is served.’ Mr. Jamie turns his back and says into the phone, ‘Seriously? Yes. I’ll meet you there in five.’ And he says to me, ‘Have Rafe bring the Jag around.’

  “I passed Mr. Jamie’s message to Rafe, assuming he’d drive Mr. Jamie where he wanted to go. But then I saw Rafe through the front window walking back to his apartment as the Jag was pulling out of the drive.”

  Brady said, “Fricke didn’t say who was on the phone?”

  “No, he did not. He left his breakfast uneaten and a draft of his will on his desk. I gave it to Sergeant Boxer.”

  “You’ve told me you liked Mr. Fricke.”

  “I’ve been with him for twenty years. He’s been very good to me and I’m grateful to him and I miss him…”

  Brady leaned across the table, grabbed Arthur by the forearms, and shook him. “Steady, Arthur. Say your life depends on it. Who shot him?”

  Arthur tried to break free of Brady’s grip and said, “Let go. I’m all right.”

  Brady released his hold on Arthur, who rubbed his forearms and asked, “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Do you?”

  Arthur shook his head. “Don’t do that again, Lieutenant. I’m cooperating.”

  Brady sat back in his seat. Arthur leaned forward and lowered his voice. He said, “One thing I’ve never mentioned. Jamie had been seeing Mrs. Holly’s younger sister, Rae.”

  “‘Seeing’ meaning having an affair with her?”

  “Yes. When Mrs. Holly was alive, she never said anything about it to me. I never saw any sign of betrayal on her face.”

  “Tell me about Rae.”

  “She’s wealthy. Has a place in Malibu. She writes screenplays, one of which, according to Variety, she sold. Also, I’ve heard that she parties with big names in Hollywood. That’s all I know.”

  “But Rae came to see Holly, right?” Brady said.

  Arthur sighed. “Yes. Sorry. She came a few times a year on holidays. Mrs. Holly always said, ‘I love my sister.’”

  Brady said, “Arthur, I asked you who shot Jamie. This is your answer? You suspect Rae Bergen? Why?”

  Arthur said, “Lieutenant, I don’t suspect anyone. I’m desperate to know who killed Mrs. Holly and Mr. Jamie. But the way I do my job is to not see or hear things I shouldn’t. What you’re getting from me is blindfolded doodling under intense police pressure. Mr. Jamie was seeing Rae Bergen. That’s a fact. And Mr. Jamie was seeing her right up till the time he was murdered. He’d call her when I was in the office. On occasion, he had Rafe drive him to the airport to meet Ms. Rae and travel elsewhere. If Mr. Jamie made “forever after” promises to her, I don’t know. I was privy to Mr. Jamie’s personal life, but I was not his confidant. I answered the phone. I took messages. I opened the mail. I supervised the staff. Et cetera.”

  “Do you think Rae Bergen had a motive to kill her sister?”

  “I did not say that. I’m hypothesizing because you’re leaning on me. I think it’s possible that someone, Ms. Rae or someone else, called Mr. Jamie and said, ‘Hey, I’ve got something for you. Meet me on Steiner Street.’ Again, I’m making up scenarios.”

  “Okay,” said Brady. “I think we’re finished. Thanks, Arthur. I appreciate your cooperation.”

  Brady pushed back his chair, showed the Frickes’ house manager out of the interview room, and hooked him up with a ride home.

  I said to Alvarez, “See what you can find out about Rae Bergen.”

  Alvarez said, “Are we looking to bring her in?”

  “Dig around. Talk to me. If there’s a case to be made, we’ll talk to Brady.”

  Crossing her fingers, Alvarez left the observation room.

  CHAPTER 58

  IT HAD BEEN a long day and I was flagging. I needed coffee, heavy on the sugar. Cappy and Chi were in the break room, conversing over coffee when I walked in and poured myself a mug of dregs. I pulled a chair up to the table.

  I was asked for an update and I was eager to share with the team. I briefed Chi and Cappy on what I’d learned that day about Jamie’s financial manager, his house manager, his driver, and his cook—all of whom they knew—and that Jamie had been in the process of revising his will.

  “How’d you know that?” Cappy asked.

  “Bevaqua showed us the new draft Jamie left out in the office.”

  I told them about Arthur making a reluctant admission to Brady that Rae Bergen had been seeing Jamie Fricke romantically, both while Holly was alive and after she’d been buried.

  Chi raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s new.”

  Cappy pushed a tin of sugar cookies toward me and I helped myself to one and then another.

  After I’d downed some coffee, I said, “Patty Delaney told me to look at the pictures Bevaqua took at Holly’s funeral. You guys were there. Did anyone make it into your notebook?”

  “There was a lot going on,” Chi said. “Retired Olympians breaking down, gut-wrenching eulogies, but when it came time to lower the casket, no one was allowed to stand by the grave except family.”

  Cappy said, “Rae was there with her twenty-year-old son, Brock Picard. College kid. She’s been divorced from her husband for ten years. It’s all in the file.”

  Chi said, “Brock gave a pretty moving eulogy about his aunt Holly. Jamie choked out something heartbreaking about losing his soulmate. He was so sincere. If you didn’t know better…”

  “And Rae?” I asked.

  “Rae was a mess. All she could get out was, ‘I’ll always love you, Holly.’”

  Chi looked pensive, and to me that always meant “big idea coming up.” “Paul,” I said. “What are you thinking?”

  “That a few of us should go to Jamie’s funeral.”

  “Which is when?”

  “Friday. Private service at the family chapel in Pacific Heights.”

  “Volunteers?” I asked.

  Chi and Cappy raised their hands.

  “Good. You’ve got it.”

  “What was in the will?” Cappy asked.

  “I’ll show you if you give me half your sandwich.”

  “You like pastrami? I didn’t know,” he said.

  “Deal or no deal?”

  Cappy laughed and pushed half a pastrami on rye with mustard across the table.

  “Looks, uh, yum,” I said. “Can you spare the pickle?”

  He gave it to me. When I’d finished my half of Cappy’s sandwich and my past-dead coffee, Chi handed me the whole Fricke family file: two thumb drives and a three-hole binder of tabloid clippings. I gave him the draft of Jamie’s will and took the files down the hall to begin reading up on Holly Bergen Fricke’s family.

  CHAPTER 59

  I WAS DETERMINED to find a hook, a clue, something that looked wrong that would lead me to a double murderer. But the material in the files was meant for popular consumption. Party photos, award ceremonies, the material all fell under the heading of “Enquiring Minds Want to Know.”

  Cappy’s notes were on one of the thumb drives, Chi’s on the other. I’d seen most of this information before, when we’d been working daily on Holly Fricke’s murder, but some of Chi’s notes were new to me: Holly and Rae’s parents, Bill and Susanne “Sassy” Bergen, had both come from old money going back three generations in New York. They served on a number of not-for-profit boards, had a few hospital wings named for them, but also were rumored to party in shades of gray.

  Chi’s notes included a crisp professional photo of the Bergen sisters at a Hollywood award after-party. It had been taken no more than two years before. Rae wore a thigh-high gauzy white dress and Holly was standing beside her in a sleek gold catsuit with a low neckline. Chi had attached Rae’s thin arrest record as a photo file. She had been caught and released with a few ounces of marijuana when she was in high school. She’d later been pulled over for speeding several times and cited once for having an open glass of vodka in her car.

  I found other photos of Rae Bergen: party and award show photos where Rae was with A-list movie stars, looking happy and beautiful in every shot. The only exception was one that had been taken at Holly’s funeral. Rae’s mascara had run below her lashes, her black dress clung to her thighs, and her hair was unruly. She was still beautiful but resembled a rose that had been caught in a late snow.

  If there’d been a clue in Holly’s “murder book,” Chi and Cappy would have found it. Still, the last photo in the book seemed promising: a party photo of a number of well-turned-out guests posed on the Frickes’ back lawn. Chi had listed the guests, typed their names on a separate sheet.

  I spent some time learning the names of people I hadn’t met or who hadn’t yet come up in the investigation of Holly’s death. For the same reason Patty had said that we should check out the mourners at Holly’s funeral, I felt I might see someone in this shot who might take us off square one.

  I was still scrutinizing the photo when Alvarez appeared in the doorway. She looked distressed.

  I asked, “You spoke to Brady?”

  “Lindsay, Rae told Brady she’s not coming to San Francisco unless he has a warrant. She has nothing to say about Jamie’s death. She just wants to be left alone. The end.”

  “You have her number?”

  “I sure do.” Alvarez wrote it down on my notepad.

  When Alvarez had left the room, I made some calls. Cindy, Claire, Yuki. I needed to schedule a Women’s Murder Club dinner at Susie’s with bottomless pitchers of beer.

  But first, I wanted to talk to another of Jamie’s recent lovers. I needed to speak with Rae Bergen. She hadn’t been interviewed. She was Holly’s sister and had had an intimate relationship with Jamie. A nexus. A possible doer. And for sure a real source of information.

  I rang her number three times. No answer. Left my number each time. No callback.

  CHAPTER 60

  IT WAS JUST about quitting time. Claire Washburn was in the autopsy suite with her assistant, Bunny Ellis. Also present was the shot, cut, and stitched-up body of James Fricke III lying on a stainless-steel table, covered in a blue drape. Mostly covered. His right arm lay over the drape, the hand loosely wrapped in gauze.

  What about Fricke’s knuckles? Was the answer right there? Claire whispered, “Please, God.”

  A tag lettered with the deceased’s name and the number of his drawer hung by a string from his right big toe. Bunny tucked the hem of the drape around the body and wheeled the table through the swinging doors to the storage area.

  Claire called out, “After you stow him, Bunny, please stick around until Loomis picks up Mr. Fricke’s effects. The carton is under the reception desk.”

  “The swabs need to be processed immediately,” Bunny said.

  “Right,” Claire said. “Warp speed.”

  Bunny laughed. “You’ve only told me six times.”

  “And now, seven,” said Claire. “You understand, right, Bunny? If I have to stop his funeral, I’d like to be correct.”

  “I totally get it,” said Bunny. “I’ll make sure Loomis gets it, too.”

  “They’re usually a little early, so stay where you can hear the buzzer. I have a couple of things to do in my office but if I’m needed, come get me.”

 

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