“I know, you don’t want to think ill of—”
“Proof? Give me proof.”
“It’s connected to his sports charity. The soccer. Some of the girls have flimsy family ties, or parents on drugs, or else parents who got deported. Street kids. They say they’re sending these girls away to school, but no one’s going to follow up. And then they turn up at the Victorian on Guerrero.”
Human smuggling.
“I’ve been waiting for a girl we ID’d in Vegas to show up there. I was expecting her the night Karen crashed my car and blew the whole sting. Now everything’s wait-and-see till the next time.”
“But you had to have a source . . . Oh, I get it! Karen! It was Karen, right? It had to be Karen! Right? Right!” I was almost jumping with relief. “That’s why she felt comfortable stealing your car. I mean, not good to snatch the car of a cop friend, but a whole lot easier than taking one cold from a cop on the street who’d show no mercy when he caught up with you. You were waiting for her, you just weren’t expecting me, and that’s—oh yeah—that’s why you were such an asshole to me about Mike. You were trying to make me mad enough to leave. Doing a helluva job, too. If I hadn’t promised Gary about Karen, I’d have stalked off. But I couldn’t. And then Karen nipped the car. Why’d she do that?”
“Got me.”
“Oh come on! After all this, you don’t know why she stole your car?”
“No.”
Was he playing me? “What do you
think?
”
“That I’m no smarter than you. She fooled me. She was key to the set-up and then, bingo, she takes the car, crashes it and alerts everyone in the house. I have no idea why.”
“Wait. She checked her messages while we were talking. Matt had tried to reach her. She’d seen him in town. She knew he was with Munson. She’d gone to the huge hassle of getting a divorce to protect him. She hadn’t gone to all the trouble, just to have him stumble into the sting because he’s with Munson.”
“Good guess.”
“Not a guess. She left a message on his regular cell phone, begging him to get out of town. Obviously he hadn’t answered the call and she hadn’t known if he’d gotten the message. So what other option did she have but drive over there?”
“In my car and destroy the sting? There are things called taxis. Would it have killed her to spend fifteen minutes hunting a cab?”
“Apparently.”
John grunted and leaned back, leaving me to peer into the growing darkness and follow the headlights on this road I might have thought better of taking in the dark.
Why steal the police car? Why not wait and
—“The stunt, John! My stunt! The roads were about to be blocked off. She couldn’t have gotten through later. Not without weaving through other parts of the city, getting caught in traffic, and who knows what.” My hands clenched tight on the wheel. “I told her, John. I told her the streets would be blocked. If I hadn’t—” I swallowed.
Now his hand was on my shoulder. “Don’t! You can’t see the future. Things happen.”
“You sound like Leo.”
There was nothing more to say. I drove down and off the Seward Highway back onto Turnagain Arm, watching the road, thinking about John and Gary; about Karen racing to the Victorian to ward off danger to Matt. The lights of Anchorage were shining in the distance when I remembered that she’d had another person in the car when she turned the corner after causing the crash. Matt? I couldn’t believe—Munson? Lure Munson up onto that fifth floor slab and shove him off? No one could have been better prepared than she. None of those pesky questions about how to get near enough, when to do the shove, how to avoid getting tangled up with the falling victim. Piece of cake.
Unless she was overconfident. Let her guard down. Or Munson somehow knew about her past.
30
SUNDAY
JOHN AND I barely made the flight for phone calls. He to Charlie Abrams, his guy in Vegas, me checking messages.
“My gag’s been moved up an hour. I’m going to have to go right from the airport.”
John’s mouth twitched. “You going to tell Mom?”
“I’m working up to it. Doing the easy call first.” I punched in Claire Cesko’s number and lucked out. It was the answering machine. I left instructions on how to get her set pass. “I’ll have to stick around till the director’s sure it’s a take. It’s a fire gag, so after I’m clear, I’m going to be a while cleaning up. Could be a couple hours. No need for you to hang around.”
“Now Mom?” John prompted.
I hit speed dial. “Hi, Mom. Listen, my stunt’s been moved up. Things are really rushed there. They’re not going to send the car for Duffy.”
When I clicked off, he asked, “So?”
“She said she’d go to the beach with him to take his mind off missing the stunt.”
He shook his head.
“You know, I wonder about Mom. I can never quite tell when she’s serious and when she’s having a laugh at me.”
“Join the pack.”
The first clump of passengers were boarding. “That’s us. Come on!” John hoisted the carry-on I didn’t need help carrying. I’d honed my skill at sleeping in odd moments and places while waiting on sets, but this brother was a real pro. He was out before the seat belt lecture was over. What had he been doing all night while I was sacked out in the motel? Four hours into the four-and-a-half-hour flight and he’d never opened his eyes, merely shifted position.
“You’re not asleep, are you?”
He didn’t move.
“You’ve done everything but pull the covers over your head. What’re you avoiding?”
He was hardly about to answer that.
“It’s not as if you’ve ever hesitated to tell any of us to mind our own business, so you can’t be playing possum for that. Maybe you’re planning something you don’t want me to get wind of, even a hint.” I was watching his eyelids, but they didn’t move at all.
“Are you—”
“Dammit, leave me alone! This whole thing has blown up. My sting, my career—who knows how it’ll hit Gary. Karen’s dead, and yeah, for all the questions I had, I did care about her and she’s in fucking pieces on the roadway. San Francisco’s still a hub for trafficking and those girls we were trying to save are going to end up in Dubai. Yeah, I’m depressed about it.” He turned away, clamping his eyes shut, and there was not a thing I could do for him. I couldn’t even tell him that, yet again, I’d misjudged him. Maybe I always had. John, The Enforcer. Mr. Just So. He had been so easy to blame. Maybe he’d never wanted to be The Enforcer at all. But I couldn’t even tell him I’d guessed that.
He didn’t budge till the plane touched down.
“The sting, John, what now?” I said before he could leap up. “Those girls, where are they?”
“Don’t know.”
“Munson flew back to Vegas. He couldn’t have taken them back.”
“We’d know.”
“So they’re still in the city, then.”
“Most likely.”
“What’re you—”
He heaved himself up and yanked down his carry-on. “Gotta go.”
“Hey!”
He shoved by three passengers. The door opened and he was gone.
He was headed to Portland and from there to Oakland, Sacramento, Santa Rosa, or San Jose, someplace he could deplane without Broder’s men waiting.
I couldn’t let him go like this. I raced into the terminal, to the counter. “Where’s the Portland gate? The one the guy with the short black hair wanted?”
“I don’t—”
“He’s even pushier than I am.”
“To the left, halfway.”
I ran down the aisle, skirting rolling luggage. “John!” I caught up with him.
“Darcy, I’ve got a flight in fifteen—”
“Those girls, we know some of them are illegal. Once they disappear, no one’s going to be looking for them. Karen died to protect them; she died because of this sting. We can’t just let it go bust. There’s got to be some way to save it.”
He stopped. A woman barely missed him with a stroller.
“And you? How much did you put into the set-up? You can’t let it go—”
“I’m not.”
“What’s the plan?”
“You’re not involved—”
“Please! If I was deeper in this I’d be entombed. The plan?”
“Munson was supposed to bring the girls to the Guerrero house Tuesday, but something stopped him. Maybe Widley’s carrying on. Something. So no girls. But I have a message from Abrams. Munson’s flying back to SFO today. He’s got both girls with him. They’re on their way to the airport, to SFO.”
“When’s the transfer?”
“We’ll have to follow; but before it was set for nine.”
“Where?”
“They won’t use the Victorian this time. They’ll go for somewhere public and crowded, like Coit Tower. Munson’ll be standing with the girls; then a woman will join them. They’ll stand there like a couple and two daughters, then he’ll walk off.”
“Coit Tower?”
“Just an example. Single exit, too easy to block.”
“Fisherman’s Wharf?”
“Single exit. I’m not saying—dammit, I don’t know where. Like I said, Darcy, we just have to follow.”
“How’re you going to—”
“I’m not, not if you make me miss my flight! Abrams’ll meet me, bring the reports and we’ll be in SFO by sunset.”
“But how—”
“Gotta go! Trust me, it’ll work.”
He was barely down the gangway when I realized where it would be. “John! The set, John!” But, of course, it was too late. I had my phone out before I remembered his hadn’t answered days ago. I didn’t know what number he was using now.
He was gone and there was no way I could reach him.
The set was perfect for Munson—dark, crowded, lights and camera focused on the take. He’d even perked up when I mentioned the movie.
I also couldn’t handle this alone. I had to have help from the SFPD.
I ran to the end of the terminal for the hell of it. It felt good, just nowhere near good enough.
I reconsidered. Did I absolutely need help?
I drank a latte—also nowhere near good enough.
Absolutely. But I was no closer to trusting Korematsu than before I called him from Las Vegas.
Still, a pig in a poke is better than no meat at all.
I dialed Korematsu.
31
I’D MADE IT back on the plane to SFO with three minutes to spare, then sat staring blankly out the window, searching for flaws in the plan. There were plenty. But too late now.
Two and a half hours later, descending into SFO was like flying into a glove. A dark gray glove.
Almost twilight! The plane was late! I’d never make it to the set on time. I pulled my pack from the overhead.
“Please stay in your seats till the plane has come to a stop at the gate.”
Maybe the filming was behind schedule. Thin hope. My stunt had already been moved forward an hour.
The plane jolted to a stop. I sprang into the aisle. “Excuse me! Sorry! Sorry!” When the door slid open I burst out and ran up the passageway.
“That’s her!”
“Come here, Darcy.”
For a sweet moment, I thought it was a limo driver. But it was the opposite, and the worst of all possibilities—Chief of Detectives Broder. I flashed on him walking into the North Beach apartment and me leaping over the porch railing; flashed on his girlfriend, the trafficking ring, the sting that was thwarted by Karen’s death; him looking at prison time if I—
“Where’s John?”
“Don’t know.” I could barely breathe. How many cops did he have with him? Half the station? I had to project confidence, not look like a cornered deer.
“He’s on this flight.”
I shrugged toward the gangway. “Feel free.”
“Are you saying he’s not here?”
“Right. Check with the airline.”
“We will. Stay here.”
“Can’t. I have to be on the set in twenty minutes.”
“The movie’ll wait.”
Five uniformed officers were behind him. A road block. Travelers were skirting them, creating a crush at the sides. My heart was going double-time. It was all I could do not to run. I planted myself in front of Broder and said, “Detective, the city film commission got me this job. If I don’t show, the city looks bad. And the next film goes on location in Montreal.”
“I don’t care if the next ten films are shot on Mars. Wait . . . here.” Broder shot a glance at the uniformed officer to his right and strode to the counter.
I eyed the uniform in vain hope he might be one of John’s cronies, few as those were in the department. But he was a stranger. I smiled. He didn’t. Definitely not on John’s side. Still . . . “Where’s Korematsu?”
The cop took a wider stance, folded his arms across his burly torso, and eyed Broder as if he was the suspect. As Broder walked back, the officer unfolded his arms.
“Double-check the plane. Lott could be using an alias.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s not,” I said.
“I’m not asking you.”
“The airline’ll tell you. He got on under his own name in Anchorage, got off in Seattle. It’s in their records.”
“Stay here.”
Broder strode to the counter again. His flunky hesitated, then strode onto the gangway. I didn’t look at the other cops, just turned and walked through the line of watching civilians. Then I ran full-out, threading through passengers as if I was dodging bullets, just hoping none of the cops had reacted before I got a lead, hoping they’d give chase, not call ahead. Just hoping.
Small chance Broder wouldn’t nab me at the curb—or before—but it was my only chance! The gate was—of course!—at the end of the concourse. Clutching my pack in one arm, I skirted a family pulling luggage, raced between passengers emerging from the gate and friends hurrying toward them, around a motorized cart, onto the moving sidewalk and past anyone dawdling on it.
The moving sidewalk ended a hundred feet ahead. In front was a large security guard. I waited till I was ten feet away, leapt the railing and spurted around and onto the next belt, skirted three women and leapt the railing. In minutes there’d be a dozen guards here. Speed was everything. I raced through the lobby, almost smacked into the glass doors before they opened, and skidded to a stop at the curb.