“True,” said Barnes. “I like that.”

“I’ve got something else to add to the mix,” Williman said.

“Don’t tell me,” said Barnes. “She was pregnant.”

“Close- ”

“She had had an abortion?”

“No- ”

“Willie, you’re fixating on her female parts,” said Amanda.

“Because everyone’s fixated on their respective parts.”

“In this case,” said Williman, “Detective Barnes is on target. Davida had gonorrhea.”

The table went silent. The doctor continued. “Now, I’m not saying it isn’t possible to transfer the disease from female to female, but it’s considerably more likely to transfer the disease from male to female.”

Amanda said, “Did she know?”

“There were no external symptoms,” said Williman. “With women especially it can be like that. Makes it worse, by the time you find out, there’s damage.”

Barnes said, “Did you happen to find semen? Something we can send to the lab for DNA?”

“No semen, just bacteria,” said the pathologist. “And it took an eagle eye to spot ’em floating around.” He polished his knuckles. “So to show your gratitude, I’ll let you pick up the tab.”

11

The Berkeley City Council met in the old unified school district building- an imposing two-story white, Neoclassical structure adorned by Corinthian columns and topped by a cupola with a spire that reminded Barnes of an old-fashioned Prussian army hat. It was next to the police station and the juxtaposition of newer Deco and older Beaux Arts was yet more stylistic chockablock.

By seven forty-five, the auditorium was filled to capacity, with spillover distributed to two additional rooms set up with video monitors.

After going over the list of mock questions, Amanda felt well prepared. Barnes, on the other hand, was nervous. Intellectuals scared him and everyone in Berkeley imagined themselves an intellectual. Using big words when simple ones did the job just fine, going on talking jags and rambling from topic to topic and never making a point.

Maybe that was the idea, to be so vague that the debates would go on forever.

Barnes didn’t deal much with the locals. Homicides in Berkeley were usually drug-related, the bad guys imported from Oakland – Alameda County ’s real city. Lucky for him Amanda was a great mouthpiece and would be doing most of the talking.

The two of them sat backstage in a room not much bigger than a closet, waiting for their cue to go onstage. The city council was talking about safety issues, trying to calm down a jumpy, muttering audience. Pronouncing profoundly about vigilance, caution and the need for a “supplementary police presence”- which brought on a whole different flavor of muttering.

This part of the meeting had been allotted thirty minutes but had already eaten up an hour. Not necessarily the council’s fault- though every one of them could speechify like Castro. Tonight, it was the public who kept interrupting with pointed questions. Gray-haired guys with ponytails and women in blousy dresses wearing the kind of makeup that resembled no makeup at all. Words like “accountability” and “personalized security” and “Guantanamo-type vigilance” kept cropping up. So did “necessary evil,” countered by quotes from Che Guevara and Frantz Fanon.

Amanda finished her crossword and put the paper down. She leaned over and whispered, “Eventually, we need to compare notes. Every time I have something to ask you, there’s always a third party in the room.”

“Anything specific?” Barnes whispered back.

“For starters, who told you Davida kept long, lonely hours?”

“Her mom complained she worked too hard and too long.”

“That could be just a mother talking.”

“Minette Padgett also mentioned that Davida worked too hard.”

“That could be a lonely lover talking.”

Barnes grinned. “How about this, Mandy: Alice Kurtag, the scientist helping with the stem-cell bill, said she’d worked long hours with Davida. Some nights they’d go to dinner, come back and confer in the lab.”

“Hmmm…”

“Exactly,” said Barnes. “She swears there was nothing between them.”

“Was Minette ever with them during these work orgies?”

“If she was, Kurtag didn’t mention it. Let’s ask Minette.”

“Did Kurtag say anything about Davida drinking in excess?”

“No.” An idea was scratching Barnes’s brain. “It’s funny. Minette’s been described as the drunk but Davida’s liver was in trouble.”

“The two of them drank together.”

“Maybe together and in excess,” Barnes said. “Davida wasn’t characterized as a drunk but maybe she was good at maintaining.”

“And Minette’s younger,” said Amanda. “Give her time to develop her own cirrhosis.”

Barnes nodded.

Amanda thought a moment. “If someone knew Davida drank herself asleep, be easy to take advantage and shoot her while she was out.”

“And who would know more about her drinking habits than Minette?” said Barnes. “Minette’s hetero fling, Kyle Bosworth, told me he left the apartment by two in the morning. Kyle’s partner verified Kyle was home around two fifteen. Minette had plenty of time to go down to Davida’s office, share a bottle with her lover, wait until Davida had nodded off and blow her head off.”

“Clear opportunity,” said Amanda. “Clear means if we can connect her to a shotgun. Now what’s the motive?”

“Davida had the clap and Dr. Williman said it was passed easier from man to woman. Maybe she was having her own hetero fling.”

“Still, it’s not impossible from female to female,” she said, louder. Barnes put his finger to his lips and Amanda dropped her voice. “Any indication that Davida had a man on the side?”

“Not yet. No special guy shows up in any of her e-mails.”

Amanda played with her hair. “To my mind, Willie, it makes more sense that Minette got it from Kyle and gave it to Davida. Minette was the one with the free time to carry on an affair and we know she slept with a man.”

“Dr. Kurtag thought Davida might have suspected Minette’s affair. Maybe she learned Minette had given her gonorrhea and blew up big-time. When Davida tried to break it off, Minette became enraged, an argument ensued and boom.”

Amanda said, “Minette passed the gunpowder test.”

“All that means is that she washed her hands really well. Man, I’d just love to examine her clothing for blowback blood spray…or powder.”

“Do we even know if Minette ever came near a shotgun, let alone knows how to use one?”

Barnes shrugged, took out his pad and pen, and scribbled some notes.

An assistant to one of the councilwomen poked her head in. “Berkeley PD, you’re on in two.”

The detectives stood. Amanda lifted Barnes’s bolo tie, let it fall back to his chest and smiled. “This and that big-ass belt buckle, pard. Taking out a billboard that says, ‘I’m a shit kicker’?”

“Hey,” said Barnes. “This is the land of tolerance. And you’re doing most of the talking, Ms. Couture. Ready for your close-up?”

Amanda smoothed her black wool skirt and tucked in her white blouse. “Ready as I’m going to be.”

As they neared the stage, she saw Will straighten his tie. Tight jaw; she hadn’t meant to rattle the big guy.

She said, “I like your theory about Minette drinking with Davida and blowing her head off. And I’d love to see Minette’s clothing, too. Unfortunately, a theory’s not enough to get us a warrant to search her apartment.”

Barnes’ss brain ran through a series of possibilities. Now his jawline was a track for ball bearings. “How about this: Minette’s apartment is also Davida’s apartment. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting a victim warrant. If we happen to find bloody clothing and brain tissue in the sink’s drain traps…well, then, that’s the way it goes sometimes.”

“Viva accidents,” said Amanda.

“That and Zapata,” said Barnes. “He’s one of the good guys around here, right?”