The Eighty Eighth Key Ch 39

Part IV

Chapter 39

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After Callahan returned to work - a week after the shootings at his apartment - he found and read through the material on Jennifer Spencer that the San Paulo PD had provided. He learned nothing new - nothing he didn't already know; in fact, their response was tentative, almost evasive, and that presented a problem he couldn't solve here in the city. He talked it over with Frank and decided the best course of action would be to head north and get what he needed.

And he decided now would be a good time to go, in part, because Evelyn had to return to Vermont to take care of matters regarding her separation and divorce, and she'd be gone a while. San Paulo also made sense because the Colonel wanted both he and Frank to be well away from Santa Barbara this coming weekend - because if they were being tailed and they went to Santa Barbara that would, in effect, let Escobar's people know that they had been 'found out.' The Colonel wanted to catch these people red-handed and in the act, and he wanted to interrogate as many of them as possible, so getting Frank and Callahan out of the picture made sense.

San Paulo was about an hour's drive north of Sea Ranch, so Callahan drove up Highway 1 and stopped at the construction site and walked through what would soon be his new home. Cathy was there, talking to the GC, the General Contractor, about the best way to insulate the copper roof, and he listened for a while then went to look at the stonemasons as they laid out the path from the house to the top of the cliffs, about twenty feet below. Everything was invisible now, just plans on a piece of paper, but already Callahan could see that these men were in charge of creating the most interesting visual element of the entire project, and he listened intently as they discussed their ideas with him.

Early in the afternoon he drove up to San Paulo, found a place to stay. Wanting to scope out the town, get familiar with his surroundings, he went to the central downtown area, got caught up in a local robbery attempt, chased down and arrested the suspect, saving a local patrolman during the confusion. Good thing, as now he had a few allies in the department.

The local chief was evasive, suspiciously so, but in the end, he found Spencer, listened to her story and, after a couple of clashes with the locals he left the detectives there to sort it all out. At least, he thought as he drove back to the city, he knew the story behind the anguished howl in the painting.

Goodman and the FBI caught Escobar's mercenaries as they prepared to take out Air Force One; five of the mercenaries died in the resulting shootout, one from the Bureau was wounded. Stacy Bennett and the purported ex-KGB agent were not located and so not taken into custody; Goodman was allowed to take two apparent leaders back to Israel for an extended 'conversation.' These prisoners were never heard from again.

Evelyn did not return from Vermont. Frank was reluctant to talk about it, but it appeared Evelyn's so-called 'ex' wanted to work on the marriage and she had, to Frank's surprise, agreed to one last try. Callahan shrugged it off, but Frank could tell he was devastated, but then Callahan got wrapped up in the apparent murder of a drugged-out rocker named Johnny Squares, then got caught up in some scheme to bet on the murder of celebrities. Callahan started seeing a reporter in the aftermath, taking her out to dinner a few times and almost falling into a relationship, but it didn't take.

And it was during this period that Frank called him into his office one morning...

"I've finally been to see my GP. I may have to take an extended leave of absence; I'm not sure yet but I wanted to let you know."

"What's going on, Frank?"

"Like I said, Harry. Not sure yet. And I don't want to play forty guesses, either. They're going to run some tests, that's all I do know. When I know more I'll let you know, but in the meantime, I need you to clear your deck, get ready to take over running homicide while I'm out..."

"What? Why not Delgetti? He's senior to me and..."

"And he's got two years on me, Harry. He's put in his papers, going to retire at the end of December."

"And Carl? He's younger than I am...?"

"And he's not leadership material, Callahan. And you know it."

"And you think I am? Man alive, Frank..."

"That kid you found, Collins, he's taking the test next week. If his scores are decent I'd expect him to start with CID the first of November. He should finish up at Academy mid-December, and we should have him right after that. There's another applicant, a patrolwoman, I hope will come over to homicide, too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Her name is Betty Davis, too..."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope, and take my word for it...she don't look anything like Betty Davis."

"I could care less. Who found her?"

"I did. She was working patrol, picked up a few key witnesses that no-one else found, ran down pivotal information. I think she'll fit in, too. Ballsy, doesn't take shit off anyone."

"Who do you want to run with her?"

"If I'm not available give her to Carl, or maybe Albertsson. I'm assuming you want to take Collins with you for a while?"

"Maybe for the first month, yeah."

"I hate to get off-topic here, but have you decided how long you're going to stay in?"

"No."

"Another thing. I know it's been a while, but I heard from Evie last night. Things aren't going well, and, well, she asked about you."

"Okay."

"I think what she was asking was, well, did she burn that bridge?"

"What do you mean, Frank?"

"If she came back out here, would you be interested in seeing her?"

Callahan shook his head. "I don't know. The whole thing hurt pretty bad for a while. I'm not sure how I feel."

"Fair enough. Cathy asked about you. You haven't been up to see the house, so she wanted me to let you know that the masons are finishing up this week. If you could come up this weekend you'll see some real progress."

"Really? Good, I'll be up Saturday morning unless something hits."

"It usually does."

"You need anyone to go with you to any of these appointments, you let me know."

"I will."

"What about Cathy? Does she know?"

"Nothing, for now. And I want to keep it that way until I know what I'm up against. Evelyn, too."

"Okay. Understood."

"Had breakfast? I feel the need for pancakes right now."

"You're not gaining weight, are you?"

"Nope, down five in two weeks."

"Shit."

"Yup. So, you hungry?"

"Always. Let's hit it. The breakfast rush should be winding down right about now."

They drove over in silence, and in the same car - which was a break in their routine - but they got a table and ordered. Callahan got some crab with his eggs - really unusual for him - while Frank stuck with his double order of chocolate chip and banana pancakes, and whole milk, of course.

"So, what's with Evelyn?"

"She wouldn't tell me exactly, but I got the impression he went after her again. She's moving all her stuff to storage, anyway. That's probably a good indicator that she's done."

"What does he do?"

"He's a pathologist. What - you mean, she didn't tell you?"

"I never asked. I don't really want to know. At least, I didn't."

"What's changed?"

"I don't know. Everything seemed so good between us, and then - bam! - like out of the blue. It hit me hard, Frank."

"I know. I think it hit her bad, too. Lots of regret in her voice. Like she feels she blew it, like she..."

"Doesn't matter now, Frank."

"Oh? Okay. Too bad, I guess. Like I said, what you two had looked like the real thing."

"I thought so too."

"Well, what will be, will be."

"You should write songs, Frank."

"Yeah. Right."

They both laughed nervously at that, if only because talk of Callahan's piano had become an off-limits topic. They were both afraid of the hit it took on Callahan after there last 'sighting' - as they called it - so any talk of music carried a little extra weight now.

"When's the last time you saw Didi?"

"Right after the funeral, I guess."

"So, it's been a while?"

"Yeah."

"She just stays in the house, the one in Davos?"

"Yup. She still does stuff for the colonel though."

"Spook stuff?"

"I guess."

"How often do you talk to her?"

"Once a week, usually."

"Do you think about her much? I mean, she's a real cute gal..."

"Too many memories tied up in her, ya know? I think of her and all I see is Avi and my mom, and the colonel..."

Bullitt nodded, but he looked a little amused, too. "Ya know, when I saw you two at that house I thought you'd end up together."

"I leaned on her a lot, I guess."

"She seems dependable. And honest."

Callahan nodded. "What are you driving at, Frank?"

"Loose ends, I guess. Tying up a few."

"What, before you go?"

"I'm worried, Harry."

"Yeah, I know. I can see it in your eyes."

"What about your dad...and that shrink?"

Callahan had to control his urge to laugh out loud. "He never knew what hit him, Frank. She's a tornado."

"Oh?"

"Whips and chains, black leather stuff, the whole nine yards."

Bullitt leaned back, grinning like a madman. "No shit? I'd have given anything to see your dad react to that..."

"He turns away when people kiss in the movies. I think it embarrasses him."

"Oh, man, she must've torn him a new one."

"Still, he seemed to like her. Kind of surprising he'd give up on that. Oh, by the way, Cathy's pregnant..."

Callahan almost didn't catch that, then he did a double-take: "What did you say?"

"Yup...she's preggers. Two months along."

Harry held out his hand and Frank took it: "Congrats, Dad. I mean it, this is really good news."

Bullitt looked away for a moment. "Yeah, of course. Still, I have a favor to ask."

"Anything."

"If, you know, if I'm not around - for some reason - I'd like you to keep an eye on things, make sure..."

"I will, Frank. Count on it."

"You, like, know what I'm talking about, right?"

Harry nodded. "Don't give it another thought."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Anyway, let's talk about something else. The weather, maybe?"

"I've written out a few things. Ya know, just in case."

"Good idea. I have too. Better to be prepared for the unexpected."

"Yeah," Frank said, his voice trembling, his hands moving nervously now.

Their breakfasts came and Harry tried not to look concerned, but Frank picked at his food now. He said he was starving one minute, and the next he had no appetite.

So, they picked at their food, at a loss for what to talk about next.

Then Frank's 'beeper' went off; he checked the caller's number and shook his head. "Dispatch."

"Want me to call in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, would you?"

Callahan nodded and walked back to the payphone by the restrooms and called dispatch.

"Callahan, calling in for Homicide."

"Callahan? Are you 71?"

"Affirmative."

"Oh, okay. Anyway, we got units out on a body at Marshall Beach, close to Helmet Rock. Patrol unit at that twenty calling for a homicide investigator."

"Alright, show Inspectors 71 and 50 en route to that location."

"We'll show you Code five at 0955 hours."

He hung up and went back to the table; Bullitt was doubled over and sweating profusely.

"Do we need to go to General?" Callahan asked.

Frank sat up and shook his head. "No. What do we have?"

"Body out at Marshall Beach."

"Okay. Let's go," Frank said, dropping a ten on the table. "You get the next one."

"Yeah. Mind if I drive?"

"I think you'd better," Frank said, handing over his keys. "And take Lombard. It's faster."

"Yes, dear."

Traffic was light and just before the Golden Gate Bridge, they turned for the beach, taking Veterans to Kobbe. Callahan parked by a covey of patrol cars, their reds and blues still flashing, and he scowled when he saw the size of the crowd that had already gathered along the Battery/Bluffs trail.

"Well, that's not good," Bullitt said, looking at the size of the crowd as he got out of the car.

They walked down to the beach and no-one challenged them because no-one was working crowd control, and both of them got madder and madder the closer they got to the body. Two patrolmen were standing there, staring at the body - along with several hundred passersby - and neither said a word when Callahan walked right up to the body and knelt beside it.

Bullitt was fuming as he walked up to the two officers.

"Do either of you clowns know what you're doing?"

One of them turned to Bullitt. "And just who the fuck are you?"

Bullitt took his badge case from his jacket and handed the officer his card - which identified him as the Head of Homicide, Central Division.

"What the hell took you guys so long?" the officer said.

"Who's your sergeant this morning?"

"Tucker," the guy said.

"Okay, you two take off. Call your sergeant and have him meet us down here."

"Hey, it's my call!" the second cop said.

"Don't worry," Bullitt said, grinning now. "I'll see to it that you both get mentioned in my report."

They left and Callahan began barking at the pedestrians, telling them to move off the beach and to get back to the trail as he walked back to their car. He called dispatch, had them get CSU and a photographer headed their way, as well as a coroner's unit, then he switched over to the tactical frequency and called the district lieutenant, asked him to come to the scene.

When the lieutenant arrived on scene he seemed perturbed by all the pedestrian traffic in and around the site, and Bullitt told him what he and Callahan had found.

"Who were the officers out here," the incensed lieutenant wanted to know.

"Reynolds and Taylor," Callahan said, consulting his notepad.

"Oh, them," the lieutenant said. "Not much I can do about those two."

"What do you mean?" Bullitt asked, clearly surprised.

"The Chief hired them. Circumvented the whole process. They already have Peace Officer certifications from some shit agency in the valley, so they didn't even go through the Academy."

Bullitt just stared at the lieutenant, not understanding a word he heard. What the man said wasn't possible...it had never happened before.

"So, you're telling me there are two San Francisco PD cops on the beat who don't know what the hell they're doing?"

"It's more like twenty, maybe twenty-five. That I know of, anyway."

"What kind of work do they turn in?"

"As little as possible. The quality is bad, too, whenever they bother."

"Could you get a perimeter set up, maybe a little crowd control," Bullitt said, shaking his head, and the lieutenant got on his hand unit and called a few units he knew were regulars, and who, presumably, could get the job done.

Callahan had returned to the scene and was simply stunned by what he'd found. A white male, probably in his fifties, appeared to have been tossed out of an aircraft and had landed face down on the sand. Blood-splatters from the impact were arrayed in a complete circle around the victim; some larger droplets, or splatters, were more than fifteen feet from the body, and it would take some hard math to work out the results, but Callahan guessed the body had been dropped from a height of five thousand feet.

The victim had unusual clothing on, but nothing to indicate he was a paratrooper, for instance, only a nondescript sport coat, slacks, and two-tone wing-tips. No wallet, no ID. Callahan lifted a finger and all the carpal bones had literally shattered on impact, so he already knew the autopsy was going to a godawful mess. Impacts like this usually turned all the internal organs to jelly, the brain too, so getting even basic toxicology results would be next to impossible. Even fingerprints could be distorted by these types of forces...

Callahan was so engrossed he didn't hear the Crime Scene techs arrive on scene, but the photographer managed to get his attention...

"Inspector? What do need me to photograph?"

"Got a macro-lens, maybe a ring-light handy?"

"Sure."

"All the bones seem to have shattered on impact, and I mean they're pulverized. Fingers, arms, legs...everything. I don't know how, but get that. I also will need blood splatter patterns, like if you could somehow get up above the body and take some shots looking down, with distance markers."

"What are you hoping to get?"

"Enough data to get a height, an altitude."

The assistant coroner arrived and surveyed the scene. "Man, it's gonna look like spaghetti and meatballs when we cut this guy open..."

Callahan looked at the girl and shook his head, turned away from her crude humor, now simply tired of it.

"Maybe he cheated, ya know?" she added. "Moved from coach up to first-class without paying?"

"You can grow up anytime now," Callahan snarled. "I won't tell."

"Ooh, don't get your panties in a wad..."

"And," Callahan added, "don't move the body until the guy with the camera around his neck says it's okay. Got that?"

She stuck out her lower lip, pouting: "Want me to work up a time of death?"

"If possible, yes; that would be a big help." Callahan turned away from the girl, turned and looked down the beach, and for a moment he thought he saw someone standing there - it looked like the Old Man in the Cape - then he blinked once and the image of the man was gone. A moment later the Old Man was standing next to him, staring at the corpse on the beach.

"Not a good death," the Old Man said. "They shot him in both kneecaps before they threw him out of their aircraft."

"How do you know?" Callahan asked, and the Coroner's assistant turned and looked at him.

"Know what?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

"Great. A schizo detective."

The Old Man coughed once - gently - as his gaze shifted to the girl. "She's a sad one. She'll contract Aids in two years, lose her job and commit suicide. The man here was one of Escobar's lieutenants, he took the blame for the failed attempt in Santa Barbara. Check the lining of the man's jacket, you'll find a store label on the left inner pocket. The store is in Bogota if I'm not mistaken."

Now not knowing what to think, Callahan turned and looked for Bullitt; he was still talking to that lieutenant up by the trail so he turned back to the crime scene photographer. "Jim, see if you can get images of his kneecaps; I think I see something, maybe exit wounds?"

"Okay, Inspector, will do."

"And check his coat for labels, maybe we can find out something from that."

"Got it."

Bullitt was walking down to him now, so he headed off to meet him halfway. "I just had a little visit," he said, his voice a covert whisper. "Our vic was involved with the planning in Santa Barbara."

Bullitt turned to face him, the question plain to see on his face.

"I know. I think it has to do with the 'sightings' we've made. There's someone who shows up from time to time..."

"Oh, joy," Frank moaned, "this just gets better and better."

"I know how it sounds, but the truth of the matter is the same guy showed up all during my mother's life..."

"Um, okay. Yeah. That sounds about right."

"He just told me the guy was kneecapped, and that his jacket has a label inside from a store in Bogota."

"Nice. Did he happen to tell you who did it, too? Maybe we could put him on the payroll."

"He simply said he was one of Escobar's lieutenants, taking the blame for Santa Barbara."

"Well, let's go find out. You take the knees; I'll check the jacket."

"Right." They turned and walked back down to the corpse, and the photographer was shooting away, taking pictures of the knees and legs.

"I got exit wounds, Inspector. Both knees. How on earth did you see those?"

Callahan shrugged. "Lucky guess."

"Let's see if we can check this guy's jacket for ID," Bullitt said, and the Coroner's Assistant helped Frank gently slide the jacket through the sand. The first thing Bullitt found was a store label. Bogota. Plain as day. "Pictures of this, Jim. Harry? Let's take a walk."