Locked In

SHARON McCONE

Today is the day I really start living again.

I can move-minimally. I can talk, even if it does come out garbled most of the time. I’m responding to therapy.

But best of all, they’re all coming this afternoon. We’re holding a staff meeting right here in my new room at the Brandt Institute.

It was a bigger room with two upholstered chairs and an even better view of the eucalyptus grove. Same restful blue walls, but I now found myself drawn to the bright spots of color of the flowers people had sent and a poster of Rae’s new book jacket that she’d tacked up.

Bright color, a symbol of action, liveliness, my future.

Hy, of course, had briefed me all along on the investigations. Indictments were being prepared against Pro Terra Party Chairman Lee Summers, his aides, and a dozen city and state officials. Summers was under investigation for the murders of his daughter, Harvey Davis, Amanda Teller, and Paul Janssen; whether he’d done them or hired them out made no difference. He was going down.

But it was doubtful he or one of his associates had put the bullet in my head.

That left the case Julia was working on, which she was going to present to me this afternoon. And if my shooting wasn’t connected with that-then what?

A run-of-the-mill burglary that I interrupted? The random situation of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

No, that didn’t feel right.

One in the afternoon. I could actually turn my head a little to see the small crystal clock that Hy had bought me. The agency staff were coming at one-thirty. I felt like a kid who was having a birthday party.

A bald-as-an-egg kid.

The nurses kept reassuring me that my hair would grow back in. But when they’d removed the bandages, I’d wondered. Jesus, what vanity! But I’d always had such thick, manageable hair-probably my best feature.

No, from now on your best feature will be walking and talking. Making love with Hy. Eventually driving and flying. Living-pure sweet living.

Promptly at one-thirty they filed in-Julia, Mick, Craig, Rae, and Adah. In the interest of keeping the meeting small, we’d decided against including Patrick, Derek, and Thelia. Hy had come a few minutes earlier and leaned against the wall, making room for the others.

Adah chaired the meeting, asking first Craig, then Mick, and finally Rae to sum up the city hall investigation. The indictments had come down, the accused had lawyered up. Lee Summers was being held without bail for the murders of Teller and Janssen. The chief evidence against him was the document Teller had made Janssen sign, admitting to collaborating with Summers in choosing his victims for the sex videos: instead of destroying it, Summers had carelessly left it in a locked drawer in his office. The Pro Terra Party-which had only been a vehicle for getting into office lawmakers whose votes would financially benefit Summers and a handful of associates-had been disbanded, although some environmentalists Hy knew were thinking of reviving it in its original incarnation. There was no tangible evidence to link Summers or any of his cohorts to my shooting, but the authorities were investigating Summers’s involvement in his daughter Alicia’s murder.

One case closed.

“The mayor,” Hy said, “is weathering the storm with his usual diplomacy. City operations go on uninterrupted.”

Adah said, “Julia? Your case?”

She stood, visibly nervous. I knew why: everybody else had closed their investigations; she-a relatively new kid on the block-had hit a wall. I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but smiles were not my forte these days.

She gave a detailed synopsis of the case, holding up pictures from her file as she had the last time.

“What bothers me,” she ended, “is why Larry Peeples would leave a hundred thousand dollars at his parents’ place and not try to retrieve it till recently.”

Think, Julia. Maybe he didn’t leave it.

Maybe he couldn’t retrieve it.

“And if he attacked Dietz for it, why did he nurse her back to health?” Julia went on, “The attack was savage-no simple mugging. And the perp brought along his own bag to stash the money in. I asked the parents what Larry’s blood type is-O positive. It was AB negative in the duffel.”

Because Peeples didn’t attack her. It was the perp’s blood.

“But it stands to reason he put the money under the floor in that tack room. Whoever did it had knowledge of the place, and an excuse to be there in case somebody saw them. I called Ben Gold before I came over here, asked him for yet another follow-up interview later this afternoon. And tomorrow, I’ll talk with the parents again.”

I moved a finger toward the file-a tiny gesture, but Hy caught it and told Julia to hold it up where I could see it. She turned the pages slowly until I found what I was looking for.

Somebody else was familiar with the property. And could’ve explained away his being there.

I said, “Pebbers.”

“I don’t-”

“Pebters!” God, this was aggravating, knowing what I wanted to say but not being able to articulate it.

Hy said, “She means pictures. She wants to see the pictures again.”

Thank God somebody could understand me.

Julia turned to the pictures: formal headshot of Dietz before the attack; group shot with the staff at the financial management firm where she’d been employed; informal and badly lighted snap of her in front of her apartment. Formal shot of Peeples; Larry with his parents at the vineyard; Larry and Ben Gold with Seal Rock in the background. I studied them.

Yes!

I wanted to point to the picture, but my strength was flagging. Everybody was watching me, but I could only twitch a finger. I glanced at Hy; he nodded, encouraging me.

I said, “Bole.”

Dammit!

They waited. I looked around, then focused on Mick. He was wearing a silver bracelet that he’d bought on vacation in Santa Fe a couple of years ago. Intricate handcrafted links, like the ones my hand had grazed when the flash from my assailant’s gun briefly illuminated them. Like the metal links in my hallucinations when I’d crashed. Like the bracelet the man in the photograph wore.

I stared fixedly at Mick’s bracelet. No one spoke; I supposed they all thought I’d lost it. Mick shifted his stance, I shifted my stare. He glanced around and frowned. I kept staring.

He said, “Shar? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t take my gaze off the bracelet. He looked down, frowned again.

It was Julia who got it. She glanced from Mick’s wrist to the photos she’d shown me. Looked into my eyes.

I blinked once.

“Ben Gold,” she said. “Dietz told Peeples about the embezzlement, and he told Gold.”

I blinked once again.

There was a stir in the room, a collective hiss of anger and sigh of relief. Then everybody started talking.

“Gold ripped off Haven Dietz, then hid the money at the Peepleses’ place.”

“He waited till he was sure nobody suspected him before he asked Larry to go away with him.”

“Larry refused-he was moving back to Sonoma to learn the wine business.”

“Did Gold kill him?”

“What did he do with his body?”

“Gold’s kept in touch with the family, plans to go back and get the money someday. He thinks it’s still in the tack room.”

“So who was it that was skulking around the night Julia spent there?”

“Haven Dietz, of course. She overheard my conversation with Judy Peeples. I should’ve figured that out sooner.”

“When Gold found out the parents hired us to investigate, he broke into the pier, looking for our case files.”

“Why’d he take a gun along?”

“Maybe he knew about the guard. Or maybe he just felt safer armed.”

They’d summed up what I was thinking: it wasn’t personal. I’d just gotten in the way.

I looked for Hy, but he was gone.

Now the craziness starts…

HY RIPINSKY

He stopped at the RI offices to pick up a weapon, some handcuffs, and a voice-activated tape recorder. He had carry permits and kept.45s in locked bedside tables in all three of Shar’s and his homes, but he didn’t like to keep one on his person or even in his car. Too much chance of theft, too much chance of having it turned against him.

The previous year, after the offices of the company then called RKI had been bombed, he’d relocated the business to a very different type of building from the converted warehouse on Green Street: a newish high-rise on Second Street near the Transbay Terminal. Building security was top-notch, RI’s additional security on its three floors even better. It would take a lot more than a homemade explosive device to bring the firm down again.

In his office-spartan, functional, the only luxury item being a leather sofa that was comfortable on long nights when a situation was brewing-he paused by the phone, considering a call to Len Weathers for assistance. No, he’d already decided Weathers was out of his life for good. Instead he called home and spoke to Brother John.

John was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the house when Hy pulled up in his Mustang. “Okay, let’s get this thing done,” he said as he got in.

It was nearly five o’clock; the evening fog had blown in early and brought with it a winter-like dusk. Hy switched on his lights.

“So where is this bastard?” John asked.

“I called the store where he works; he’s probably home by now. Loft in SoMa. We can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“And then?”

“I’ve got my plans for him.”

John visibly shrank from the hardness in his voice. Hy realized his brother-in-law had never seen him in this mode; few people in his present life had, except for Shar.

He said, “Don’t worry-there won’t be any killing.”

“Good.”

This from the guy who’d been itching for blood from day one. Well, he was glad to know John wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t any more either.

The building where Ben Gold had his loft was a former factory on Clarence Street-a short block near the Giants’ ballpark. New windows in a century-old facade; faded lettering on the brick-Shea’s Iron Works. Outer foyer with surveillance cameras and intercoms. No answer at Gold’s.

Hy began pushing buzzers. Most residents didn’t answer. One who-from the numbering system-appeared to be on Gold’s floor, did. Hy said that he was Gold’s attorney and needed to see him on urgent business. The disembodied voice-male, female?-said Ben was on vacation, had gone to the Sonoma Valley to stay with friends for a few days.

Hy turned away, said to John, “Julia mentioned she’d called Gold for another follow-up interview today. It must’ve spooked him. I’ll bet he’s gone to the Peepleses’ winery for the money. He told Julia he was moving to LA soon to pursue his film career; he’s moved the departure date up.”

They went back to the car without speaking, and Hy drove to the nearby Bay Bridge on-ramp.

Bright lights outside a large house at the top of a rise; dark driveway that meandered among vineyards. Hy pulled the Mustang onto the shoulder close to a low stone fence and cut the lights and engine.

Beside him, John was taking deep measured breaths-calming himself.

“Easy approach on foot,” Hy told his brother-in-law.

“Lots of light up there, though. I can see the individual branches of those oak trees.”

“Lights’re trained up on the trees and house. I don’t see any in the windows.”

Hy reached around John and took from the glove box the.45, the set of handcuffs, and the tape recorder he’d brought from the office.

John said, “You bring some of those for me, too?”

“No. One pair of cuffs and one recorder is enough, and I don’t hand over firearms to people who aren’t licensed to use them.”

“Funny, for somebody who used to be such a loose cannon.” Hy could hear a measure of relief in John’s voice; he’d probably never held a gun, much less fired one.

“Used to be?”

“Well, yeah. I guess we wouldn’t be here if the old fires were completely banked.”

“Damn right.”

Hy got out of the car, and John followed. John was wearing a light-colored shirt; Hy tossed him the black microfiber jacket he wore over his dark T-shirt. John’s blond hair was bright, even on a moonless night. “Pull up that hood,” Hy told him.

They started up the driveway, keeping to the side next to the stone wall. The vineyards were quiet except for the occasional light breeze that rustled the leaves of the grape plants. The air was warm, its smell earthy. The house loomed before them, silhouetted against the dark sky. At first Hy thought he’d been right about there being no lights in its windows, but then he glimpsed slanting yellow shafts coming from the rear to the left.

When they reached the top of the drive, he motioned for John to follow him under the oak trees. Led him around the spots that shone upward on their gnarled branches. Stopped and held up his hand. Pointed at himself and then at the back of the house.

Stay here. I’ll check it out.

John nodded.

In a crouch Hy moved through the oaks to the house. Sidled along the wall. Outside the first shaft of light, he stopped. The window was open, and he heard voices.

“… Great dinner, Mrs. Peeples. I really appreciate you letting me stay the night. I so enjoyed the times I spent here with Larry.” A youngish male.

Murmured reply in an older woman’s voice.

“And I’m so sorry Mr. Peeples is away at that conference.”

“He’ll be sorry he missed you.”

“If it’s okay, I’d like to take a walk before turning in. It’s so warm here-unlike in the city-and everything’s so fragrant.”

Another murmured reply.

Hy slipped back along the side of the house, clicked his fingers at John, motioning him to follow.

They were halfway to the rear windows when the lights went out. Another flashed at the back of the house. A door opened and closed. Footsteps swished-moving over grass-then crunched on gravel.

Hy kept going, John close behind.

They reached the back of the house, and Hy touched John’s shoulder, signaling for him to stop. Ahead of them a figure was disappearing into yet another oak grove. Hy measured the open space they’d have to cross, waited till the figure disappeared, then gestured for John to follow him in a crouch.

At the other side of the grove he saw a stable-big place, not like the one that he and Shar housed their horses in at their ranch. The tack room would be there.

He signaled to John and they moved forward. Through the open front doors, where the familiar smells of hay and manure greeted him. Past the stalls, where the horses-five or six, he couldn’t tell in the dim light-pawed and snorted at the intrusion. There was a faint glow in the doorway to the tack room. He motioned for John to stop, then eased close to the doorjamb.

A man knelt inside, flashlight trained on the floor, feeling around at the boards.

Hy restrained himself. Waited to see if the bastard pried up the right one.

The man lifted the board, shone the light down. Gasped and dropped the wood.

Hy raised the.45 in both hands. “Stand up, Gold, and stay still.”

Ben Gold panicked instead. Dropped the flashlight into the space where the duffel bag had been and rushed forward. Hy almost shot him. His momentary hesitation gave Gold time to dodge past him.

But the kid didn’t get far. Behind him Hy heard a grunt and a thud. Then another thud, louder than the first.

John exclaimed, “Ha!”

Hy retrieved the still-glowing flashlight and shone it around. John was standing with one foot on the small of Gold’s back. Gold wriggled feebly against the weight, then lay still.

Hy said, “Don’t crush him, for God’s sake.”

“Why not?”

“As I said, I’ve got plans for him.”

With the flash off, the tack room was a black hole. Gold lay handcuffed on the floor at Hy’s feet. Hy let the silence build for nearly five minutes; it must’ve been an eternity for Gold. Then he turned on the light and shone it straight into the shackled man’s eyes.

“For Christ’s sake!” High-pitched, tremulous whine.

“If you believe in a god, better start praying.”

The face twitched, pale in the blinding light.

“I’m going to ask you questions. You will respond truthfully. I already know the answers.” He had learned these interrogation tactics in his early years with RKI, in order to extract information from people involved in hostage-holding situations.

He turned the flash out and waited.

John stirred restlessly behind him. Hy waited some more, until Gold began to moan, then switched on both the recorder and the flashlight. Gold flinched away from the glare, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your name is Ben Gold?”

“… Yes.”

“You are the former lover of Larry Peeples?”

“What does this have to do-”

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Did Larry Peeples tell you about Haven Dietz’s plan to embezzle a hundred thousand dollars from her employer?”

No response.

“Did he?” Hy brought the light closer to Gold’s face.

“… Yes. He thought she’d never get away with it.”

“How did you know she succeeded?”

“The night before she’d told Larry it was all set. Said she would bring her briefcase to his place, show him what real money looked like.”

“The next night, did you attack her in the park and take the money from her briefcase?”

“No.”

Hy brought the light to within an inch of Gold’s closed eyelids. Gold rolled his head from side to side, moaning.

“Did you?”

“Okay, okay, yes.”

“You hurt her badly. Was that necessary to subdue her?”

“She fought pretty hard.”

“Did she?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me the truth, Gold.”

“All right, I hated the bitch. She didn’t like me, and I was afraid she’d convince Larry to dump me. I know people like her-they can’t leave anybody alone. Her way or no way.”

Hy shifted the light to one side. “So you brought the money here and concealed it under the floorboards.”

“… Yes. I was afraid it might be marked, or something.”

“And when you decided it was safe to spend it, and that you and Larry could go away together…?”

Silence.

“Gold?”

“All right. We fought. He was so smug, saying a hundred thousand wasn’t much at all, saying that he was coming back here to run the vineyard.”

“And you killed him?”

“No. He ran off-”

“The truth, Gold.”

“… I hit him. I hit him too hard and… he died.”

“Where’s his body?”

“I don’t know. I left it in the alley behind the club we’d been drinking in.”

Bullshit. The body of the son of a prominent vintner, who’d been reported missing, didn’t go unidentified for months. Alicia Summers’s body had, but the circumstances were entirely different.

Hy let it go for now.

“After you killed Larry, why did you leave the money here?”

“… I couldn’t start coming around right away; it might’ve made his folks suspicious.”

“And why did you come for it tonight?”

“That detective, Julia Rafael, called me, wanting to talk again. I think she’s on to something. I decided to grab the money and take off.”

“Did Haven Dietz realize you were her attacker and demand something from you?”

“Something that she heard Julia Rafael say on the phone to Mrs. Peeples put it all together for her. She wanted the money. I was supposed to bring it to her apartment at six Sunday evening.”

“But instead you killed her.”

No response.

Hy moved the light again, and Gold squirmed.

“Did you?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Turn that light off! Please, turn it off!”

Hy didn’t heed Gold’s request. Instead, he asked, “Did you go to the offices of McCone Investigations on the night of Monday, July seventh, to look for the Dietz and Peeples files?”

No response.

He brought the light close in again. “Answer me.”

Nothing.

Hy waited in silence until he heard a whimper.

“Are you ready to answer me now?”

“Yes! Yes, I went to the pier in the afternoon and hid there until everybody left and the guard was drinking. I was afraid of what might be in those files.”

“But you couldn’t access them, could you?”

“No.”

“Did you shoot a woman who came into the office that you were searching?”

“I didn’t know who she was, but I’d been to that pier before, and I was afraid she might recognize me. I panicked. I was trying to save myself.”

“At my wife’s expense.”

Hy held the light on Gold’s face a few seconds more, then switched it out. Said to John, “Turn on the overheads, would you? Let’s get him out of here.”

SHARON McCONE

They came through the door of my room-Hy and John, supporting a man between them. I knew from his photographs he was Ben Gold. A pair of concerned orderlies followed.

Hy turned to the orderlies, said, “Sorry, this is private business.” Motioned for them to leave and shut the door.

Gold wore a buttoned-up coat. I could tell that under it he was handcuffed. The look on Gold’s face was one of terror. Hy shoved him forward.

“There,” Hy said, pushing him close to my bed. “See? That’s what you’ve done to my wife!”

Gold closed his eyes. Hy shook him, forced his gaze onto mine. “I want you to see, dammit! This is what you did to her. I can also show you crime scene photos of Haven Dietz. You disfigured her for a hundred thousand dollars, then you killed her so you could keep the money.”

Gold’s mouth worked.

“Where’s Larry’s body?”

Rasping breaths, but no answer.

Hy said to Gold, “I’m asking you one more time. Where?”

“I… don’t… know.”

Hy hit him. Hit him hard enough to send him flying across the room and crashing into the wall. Gold slumped on the floor, gasping.

The orderlies were through the door now. John went to speak with them while Hy took out his phone and speed-dialed. I listened as he talked to Adah.

“She’ll contact the SFPD,” he said after ending the call. “They like her a hell of a lot better than me.”

The orderlies remained by the door, watchful.

I looked down at Gold. On his outflung arm I saw the gleam of the finely woven silver bracelet that had ultimately revealed him.

Metal grazing my fingers…

Flash!

Silver links in the brief, harsh light…

Falling…

Falling…

No. Not falling any more.