Yuki started to laugh, her bell-like chortle so full of glee, it was impossible to hear without joining in. Even Darcy, who was clearly all worn out, blew wine out of her nose, and Claire slapped the table repeatedly as she guffawed.

  When we were all breathing normally again, Claire asked the table, “Where’s the rub? Cindy looks good in anything. And for the something borrowed, wear my pearls.”

  Yuki said, “Please put me on the gown jury. Do you have pictures of the contenders?”

  “Why, yes we do,” Darcy said.

  While we dug into our dinners, Darcy passed around her phone with its picture gallery open to the three top choices. Cindy peered at the time on her phone, then asked her mother if she should call her an Uber.

  “That would be great, honey,” Darcy said.

  Cindy requested the ride and got a confirmation. She wasn’t in the mood for fiery food or more interference in her gown selection, but she bore up, and made comments about the last three standing: “That one,” she said, “makes me look pregnant and I am definitely not. Number two,” she said, “looks like it was made on the cheap in a sweatshop.”

  Darcy said, “Designer gown, by the way.”

  Cindy ignored her mother. She said, “This, the third loser, looks good on Mother, but it’s a closeout and it’s two sizes too big for me.”

  Darcy scoffed.

  Just then, Cindy’s phone pinged.

  Cindy said, “Your ride is here, Mom.”

  “I should go, too,” I said.

  I gave Claire some folding money to cover my share, said good night to her and Yuki, then Cindy and I walked Darcy Thomas out to her ride. I gave Darcy a good hug, told her I’d see her at the wedding.

  “Cindy will be wearing white,” I said. “I guarantee it.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Cindy gave me a soft punch in the arm.

  I was laughing again as I opened the car door for Darcy and waved goodbye. I hugged Cindy, too, saying, “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  We kissed cheeks, then I jogged down the block to my blue Explorer, the third nearly identical model I’ve had in the last several years due to on-the-job gunfire. Yes, this is truly what I do for a living.

  Skipping past that, I focused on how in twenty minutes I’d be bringing Julie and Martha home from day care with their nanny, our neighbor Mrs. Gloria Rose, and that I’d be home for Joe when he came through the door. Whatever time that was.

  CHAPTER 78

  JOE WATCHED BOB SWEAT.

  Bob Nicholson was speaking from his heart, but he hadn’t seen around this corner and the consequences had just gotten real. He asked for a glass of water and Steinmetz shook his head no.

  “Keep talking, Bob.”

  “I see it like this,” Bob said. “I can show St. Vartan’s protection team how to put the hospital behind a virtual wall. I can destroy the Apocalypto program from the root, and I can tell you how to shut down the decision-makers. All tonight.”

  Steinmetz sat forward in his chair, said, “Did you negotiate with Oakland Pediatrics?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry to say. I saw the headlines. And the photos. Before you ask me ‘Then, why St. Vartan’s?’ there was no way to turn down the assignment. One guy I know did that, and I heard that he’d gotten a bullet and a wood-chipper funeral.”

  Steinmetz grunted his ambivalence, but Joe knew that he had decided.

  Steinmetz said, “And what you want from us is a new identity and location in exchange for putting the hospital’s computer network back together, protecting it, and destroying Apocalypto.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Steinmetz said, “Okay, Bob. I’ve had you checked out. Quantico. Interpol. Seems you are who you say you are.”

  He turned his chair a few degrees and said, “Bao, call Wooten and Thordarson and have them get LaBreche down to the hospital.”

  Joe said, “And the IT guy, Walters.”

  Steinmetz said, “Fine. Joe, US marshals are waiting downstairs to take you three to St. Vartan’s. Call me when you’re on-site. Marshals will be responsible for Bob. You and Bao stick with him until CS Inc. confirms that the hospital is in the clear. I’ll be here and available. Joe, I need a few minutes with you alone when the job is done. Bob, if you fail, you’ll be detained and charged. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Steinmetz took a sheet of paper from a folder on his desk and offered it to Bob, saying “This agreement protects both parties. You do your part to our satisfaction and you get a new ID and relocation to a small town in Bulgaria.”

  Bob laughed. “Let me see.”

  Steinmetz handed him the agreement. Joe saw by Bob’s nods and uh-huhs that he accepted the terms that he would be relocated to a city in the USA with a new identity. Bob picked up a pen from the line of them on the chief’s desk. He signed the document, Steinmetz signed, and Joe witnessed the signatures. Steinmetz put the document back in his drawer.

  Steinmetz said, “Take care of this tonight, Bob. Save some lives. Redeem yourself.”

  FRIDAY

  CHAPTER 79

  AT 2:00 A.M., five hours after the meeting with Steinmetz, Joe was back in the chief’s office with vending machine coffee and cinnamon rolls in front of him.

  Steinmetz said, “Bao called. She says it all went like quicksilver. St. Vartan’s network has been repaired, tested, and approved. You agree?”

  Joe said, “Craig, I watched. I looked the part and asked questions, but really, my technical knowledge has its limits. Bao and CS Inc. were satisfied. I’d say more than satisfied.”

  “Tech speech is irritating, isn’t it?”

  “Yep, language from outer space. The marshals have Bob in lockup while we work out his part of the deal.”

  “Very good. And I’ve got something for you,” Steinmetz said.

  He opened his drawer and took out a folder and handed it across the desk to Joe. There was a number two envelope inside the folder, Joe’s name typed on the front.

  Joe wondered if it was another job offer. Steinmetz had tried to lure him back full-time, but so far Joe had resisted.

  Steinmetz said, “I fast-tracked this.”

  He sat back in his chair and had a bit of a grin on his face. Joe put his thumb under the flap, pulled it across the back of the envelope, then fished out the enclosed sheet of paper. There was one double-spaced paragraph.

  “Craig, thank you. I want to discuss this with Lindsay.”

  “Fine. I need an answer by this time next week. Okay?”

  “Thanks again, Craig. I’ll let you know.”

  The two men stood up, shook hands, and took the elevator down to the street together.

  CHAPTER 80

  I WAS STARTLED awake at some time before dawn. My bedside clock tells the day and the weather as well as the time. Six forty. Friday. Overcast, no chance of rain. My clock never lies.

  I closed my eyes, hoping I’d fall back asleep, but no. I was thinking about Jamie and Holly Fricke, their bodies spread out on the street, killed only six months apart.

  I had a nine o’clock meeting with Rae Bergen. Holly’s younger sister had resisted cooperating with the investigation but had finally agreed to meet with me and Rich at the Frickes’ house before the funeral service at ten. Not much time for us to question Rae, who’d known Holly her entire life and was also one of Jamie’s longtime lovers.

  I was determined, though, to get what I could from her in the time allowed, with Conklin’s help. We had under an hour to put a dent in the case, but Rich was an ace at interviewing women.

  I rolled over and reached for Joe.

  “You awake?” I whispered.

  “No,” he said. “What day is it?”

  “Friday. How’d it go?”

  “Hmmmmm?”

  “Laptop guy?”

  “He saved the day, hon. He wants to make good.”

  “For St. Vartan’s?”

  “Sure. He was Apocalypto’s. Man with Oakland. Pediatrics. Too.”

  “Seriously? And you caught him?”

  “He grew a connn…”

  “Conscience?”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Joe?”

  He had slipped right back to sleep. I kissed my fingers and touched his cheek and whispered, “I’ve got to hustle. Got a funeral to go to.”

  Joe smiled and held up crossed fingers without opening his eyes, then, “Gloria’s coming at eight.”

  “Excellent.”

  I gave him a full body hug and got out of bed.

  Getting a too-short explanation of how or if Joe had closed the Apocalypto business down was like having the power go out while watching a thriller. Joe had said that the ransomware guy had saved the day. Good to know, but I could have used a few more details. Where did things stand now?

  I was still thinking about the possibilities, trying to solve the crime with nothing to go on, as I got ready for the day. I spent five minutes in the rain box, then blow-dried my hair. I stepped into pointy shoes for the first time in so long, my feet protested. I slid my smart black dress over my head and hung a gold cross on a chain around my neck. I was brushing my hair when the doorbell rang. I greeted Gloria Rose, our saving grace. She was early.

  We had one of our shorthand conversations where I ticked off the few items on the Molinari to-do list. I wrote a note to Joe, and when Julie stumbled out of her room with Martha I was grinning. Julie’s curls, black like Joe’s, fell over her blue eyes. She put her arms around my waist. I kissed the top of her head, ruffled Martha’s ears, and last, asked Mrs. Rose how I looked.

  “Like you’re going to a funeral.”

  We laughed, and sandwiching Julie between us, I hugged Mrs. Rose. I kissed Julie again and told her how much I love, love, love my little girl.

  “When Daddy wakes up I’m going to teach him a new game,” Julie said.

  “Make sure he’s had his breakfast first, Bugs, okay?”

  “Put on some lipstick,” said Mrs. Rose.

  Copy that.

  CHAPTER 81

  ONCE I WAS buckled up in my Explorer and headed to Pacific Heights, I replayed my waking thoughts around and around on a closed loop. The Fricke conundrum. The Holly and Jamie executions. The clueless house staff. Claire’s sharp observation of Jamie’s skinned knuckles. She’d pulled a rabbit out of her scrubs pocket.

  And I thought about Rae Bergen, divorced mother of one, seen in Los Angeles’s hottest playgrounds, known as a party girl with writing talent that might eventually pay off.

  I was dying to meet this woman who’d been having a long-term affair with her sister’s husband. It wasn’t unheard of but it was uncommon. Is that why Rae had put me off until now?

  I reached the Frickes’ house about fifteen minutes after leaving home. A moment later, Richie’s old Bronco rolled up the house’s curving driveway and braked behind me. He got out of the car, handed me a container of coffee, and I smiled. The kindness of this man.

  I said, “You didn’t sleep, either?”

  “It wasn’t the case,” he said. “It was Cindy.”

  “What about her?”

  “She was flipping. Flopping. Getting out of bed. Coming back. Kicking the mattress. Talking in her sleep.”

  “It’s not about you, Richie. It’s about marriage in general. She never imagined it for herself. You know this.”

  “You didn’t sleep, either,” he said to me.

  “Joe had a big assignment from Steinmetz. He didn’t get home until about three.”

  “Apocalypto?”

  “Bingo,” I said. “All good. St. Vartan’s is back in business.”

  “Thank God.”

  Richie crossed himself, sighed. “Details?”

  “I wish. Joe fell asleep while talking.”

  We both laughed.

  “I’m going to sleep all day tomorrow if I have to go to a hotel,” he said.

  I said, “Great idea. Meanwhile…”

  “Yeah. Will Rae talk to us? Or will she not? Do you get why she wouldn’t talk?”

  “I think so. My guess is, she loved Holly and Jamie, both at the same time. Or, the obvious: something she doesn’t want to tell us. We’ll find out, but it would be easier if she didn’t live in Malibu.”

  I took a deep breath, then said to Richie, “After the funeral she’s going home.”

  Rich put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze. “She’ll talk to us,” he said.

  Most of the time, Rich was right. He had sharp instincts and could tease out the truth from a sphinx. But no one scored 100 percent on breaking down a suspect without having leverage and in a short time. Not even my partner.

  We walked up the pathway to the front door, then I reached out and rang the doorbell.

  CHAPTER 82

  ARTHUR BEVAQUA OPENED the front door.

  “Sergeant, good to see you.”

  “Same here, Arthur. You remember my partner.”

  “Of course. Inspector Conklin. Come in.”

  I asked Arthur, “How are you doing?”

  “I feel lost. Do I have a job?”

  “This is a big one, Arthur. See what Rae has in mind. And I suggest don’t make any sudden moves.”

  He showed me that his hands were empty, prompting us to grin. We three walked together down the long carpeted hallway lined with old masters that today held no magic for me. I knew the way from the hallway to the domed glass room with its exotic plant life and wide view of the Pacific.

  There were a dozen small round tables in the solarium, one of which was set for three. A dark-haired woman in black was sitting at one of them with her back to the entrance. We followed Arthur to the table. He said, “Ms. Rae, this is Sergeant Boxer and Inspector Conklin from the SFPD.”

  I thanked him, and Rich and I took our seats. I heard Arthur calling Rafe on the phone, asking him to move the cars. I told Rae that we were sorry for her tragic loss, after which Arthur took our order and disappeared.

  I said, “Ms. Bergen.”

  “Call me Rae.”

  “Rae. I’m the lead investigator on James Fricke’s murder. I know we have very little time today, so with your help, we’d like to get some basic information, and any ideas you may have on whoever killed James and Holly.”

  “I want to help, Sergeant. You don’t have to persuade me.”

  “Good.”

  I took out my phone and showed her what I had for her address in Malibu, her phone numbers and email addresses, and she confirmed them.

  “I’m going to record this interview, Rae. It will save a lot of time. You can ask me as many questions as we have time for. And we can follow up on the phone, or here, or in Malibu.”

  “Fine with me. May I have your card?”

  I passed a card to Rae, and Conklin asked, “I’d like to hear this from you. What was your relationship with James Fricke?”

  “I loved him. He loved me. Yes, he was married to my sister, a complicated story. But my sister knew about his free-ranging social life. And that went both ways. Holly had lovers, too. She didn’t love Jamie anymore. Or even like him. Or so she told me.”

  I asked, “How often did you and Jamie see each other?”

  “When we could. I live some six hours away by car. I don’t like to fly. So, I only saw Jamie about once a month.”

  Rae told us what she knew about Jamie’s schedule since Holly died, that his sons from his first marriage were living in Switzerland as was his first wife, Talia, and that Arthur would have the soccer schedule.

  Conklin asked Rae if she knew of anyone who’d threatened Holly or Jamie, if either of them had made big changes in their lives, if Jamie had gambling debts, if Holly could have been the target of a rejected lover.

  Rae answered the questions credibly and without hesitation. Four nos one after another. And when she looked at her watch, I knew that our breakfasts of tea and freshly baked rolls would go untouched. That in five minutes or less, our interview with Rae would be over, we would be inside the Frickes’ private chapel, and we might not have a chance to speak with Rae in person again.

  I put my hand on her forearm and asked, “Rae. Where were you on this past Tuesday morning?”

  “When Jamie was murdered? I was at home,” she said. “My ex-husband, Christophe Picard, had stayed overnight.”

  I said, “I’ve read about Christophe. He has a restaurant here in Presidio Heights.”

  “Yes,” Rae said. “He lives here in San Francisco. On Monday, the day before Jamie was shot, Christophe drove down to LA. We spent the day at Venice Beach with our son, Brock, and then Christophe stayed over with me, which was fine with Jamie. There were no issues there. I can introduce you to Christophe at the funeral.”

  We thanked Rae for her time, and on my way out the door, I stopped to have a few words with Arthur. He liked Rae. But although he’d known her for twenty years, he didn’t know her well.

  “Arthur, yes or no? Would you trust her?”

  “I couldn’t say,” said Arthur.

  That meant no.

  CHAPTER 83

  YUKI BUTTONED THE jacket on her red “closing statement” suit. The case against Tyler Cates had been going as well as Yuki had hoped; she’d been steady, believable, hadn’t dropped a single stitch—until Cates had set off an H-bomb saying that he had known Mary Elena when they’d both been patients at a mental institution called Brookside Psychiatric. That was his explanation for why she’d asked him for sex in the changing room at Xe Sogni. He said that they were old friends, both of them crazy.

  An advanced computer search showed no fewer than thirty mental institutions with “Brookside” in its name, and as she’d lamented to Lindsay and Claire, they crisscrossed the United States from Bangor to Pensacola, from Baton Rouge to Seattle. Mary Elena had no living relatives who could support or deny Cates’s whopper, and if either the DA or the defense found a Brookside Mental anything, the institution would be highly unlikely to turn over records to any lawyer without a subpoena. And there were too many reasons to count why no subpoena would be forthcoming in her lifetime.