“Who would you give it to?”
“Since we were working together so often, people would sometimes call me looking for Davida.”
“Which people?”
“At the capital. Sometimes friends.”
“Anyone specific?”
Silence.
“Doctor?”
“Minette called frequently,” said Kurtag. “Eight, ten times a day.”
“That is pretty frequent.”
“In regards to this other woman, it could be totally innocent. Perhaps Davida was taking the trip just to grab a little well-deserved privacy.”
The one-hour flight from Oakland to Burbank was on time and blissfully free from squalling children. As soon as the plane began its descent, Barnes turned to Amanda. “I’ve been thinking.”
She grinned. “That’s always dangerous.”
“That’s why I don’t do it often. In terms of staging, what about that crank letter Donnie Newell showed us? Someone cutting block letters from a magazine and pasting them on a piece of paper. How Hollywood is that? We should really talk to Newell again.”
“Minette’s been harassing Davida for a while?”
“The woman does seem to like her fair share of attention. Maybe she was upset when Davida didn’t take the letter seriously.”
Amanda nodded. “Good point. Now how does it connect with Minette as the murderer?”
Barnes conceded that he had no answer. “There are other reasons to talk to Donnie. He was Davida’s ex-boyfriend in high school before she came out. Remember he said something about Davida being a pistol? How’d you take that?”
“That she was hot in bed.” Amanda shrugged. “So they probably fucked. What’s the big deal? It was a long time ago.”
“It struck me that Donnie remembered the relationship so clearly and chose to mention that aspect of it with Davida lying dead with her head nearly blown off.”
“Men are always thinking about sex.”
“True, but that thing he told you- his wife hating Davida. Obviously, the two of them were still in contact.”
“Minimal contact according to Newell.”
“What’s minimal to him may have seemed like maximal to Minette. Also, from dating her in high school, do you think Donnie knew about Davida’s drinking?”
Amanda laughed. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,”
“Yes, you are and it seems a big jump.”
“What?”
“You’re seeing Newell as a suspect. First of all, we know he was in Sacramento the day of the murder because she called him.”
“Exactly. And we don’t know the nature of the call…only what Newell told us. Maybe she says c’mon down to the office for a late-night fling and they spent a little time together. Minette told us Davida had planned to pull an all-nighter. Who said it was to work? She and Donnie are alone…drinking and…”
“And what?”
“Dunno, something went awry. You know people can get crazy when they’re under the influence.”
“Do you not like this guy or something? Some kind of high school thing?”
“I barely knew Donnie. I remember him as a skinny blond kid, that’s all.”
Amanda wagged a finger at him. “Your imagination is doing overtime, Detective Barnes. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation.”
“Or lack of useful evidence in the apartment,” Barnes said. “At the very least, I want to talk to Newell about Davida Grayson and Jane Meyerhoff. He inferred they’d both been party girls. Pair that with Kurtag telling me Davida and Jane were going away together, and not to tell Minette, and I’m wondering: is their relationship new or were Davida and Jane picking up where they left off in high school and college? I’m also wondering if Jane was the reason that Davida came out.”
“How does that tie in with Newell?”
“Maybe Donnie did a threesome with the girls and Davida discovered she liked Jane better than him.”
“And…?”
“And, maybe Newell felt threatened.”
“So he decided to pop her after what…twenty-five years?”
Barnes smiled. “Yeah, it’s thin- but think of this. Williman told us male-to-female’s an easy way to transmit the clap. And Donnie’s male.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“You want to interview Newell in hopes he’ll give you lurid details about a threesome.”
“Maybe.” Barnes laughed. Then he turned serious. “No way to bring up gonorrhea with him in a cop-to-cop chat…okay, let’s shift gears: if there was a sexual relationship between Davida and Jane, it could be a motive for Minette being jealous. Jane just moved back to Berkeley about a year ago. After three failed marriages, maybe she wanted something from her youth.”
Amanda regarded her partner. “Didn’t you date Jane?”
“Uh, yeah, but not for long.”
“Why not?”
“She was a piece of work. No such thing as a casual conversation, everything was a debate.”
“Did it end badly?”
“No, it just ended. I stopped calling and she didn’t care.”
“Seeing as there’s no hard feelings, why don’t you ask her about her relationship with Davida instead of asking Newell?”
“Because Davida was murdered and I don’t know how truthful Jane will be with me. I can approach Donnie differently.”
“Cop to cop,” she said. “But you can’t bring up venereal disease.”
Barnes grew silent. “Okay, the whole thing sucks.”
“Hey,” she said, “I like the way your mind works, I’m just trying to keep things organized. Are you really suspicious of Newell?”
“Maybe intrigued is more the right word.”
The plane’s wheels hit the tarmac and a flight attendant launched into the usual spiel, pretending they had a choice who to fly with. When the announcements were over, Amanda said, “I like the Davida/Jane thing. I don’t know if it’s relevant but it’s always good to look at close friends first.”
Barnes said, “I reckon we should also think a little bit about what we’re gonna do in LA, especially since the department paid for luxurious transportation. Who’s our contact at LAPD?”
Amanda checked her notes. “Detective Sergeant Marge Dunn. She told me her lieutenant- his name is Decker- is very curious about Marshall Bledsoe.”
“What mischief did that dirtbag pull off there?”
“A local synagogue was ransacked about five years ago and Decker always felt that there was someone behind the scenes.”
13
Amanda couldn’t help it; she was a Bay Area snob.
San Francisco was a city; LA was a monster. The freeways stretched for miles without a break in the urban ugliness and the traffic never seemed to let up.
At least this time of year, the sky was clear and blue, a welcome change from the fog. Dirty air, but warm enough for the Berkeley detectives to roll down the windows of their compact rental. The tin can wheezed at the slightest hint of an incline. Barnes drove while Amanda navigated. Allowing for ten minutes of getting-lost time, it took them an hour and a quarter to reach the West Valley stationhouse- a square, windowless brick thing. Larger than Berkeley PD, but minus the style.
There she was, Ms. I’m-So-Sophisticated. No matter how hard she fought clichés, Northern Cal – and her own social status- wouldn’t be denied.
She tried to focus on their case, but no new ideas had surfaced since she and Will had deplaned. They walked to the station entrance in silence, and were met in the lobby by Detective Sergeant Marge Dunn.
She looked around forty- tall, big and blond with soft brown eyes and a bright smile. Escorting them up to the detectives’ room, she knocked on the wall to the lieutenant’s cubicle even though the door was open.
The man who waved them in was in his fifties- a fit fifties. A moustachioed redhead with flecks of white in his hair. He wore a blue buttondown shirt, coral silk tie, gray slacks, shiny black wingtips. Amanda thought he could’ve easily been a lawyer. When he stood up, the top of his head wasn’t that far away from the ceiling.