Civil Twilight (7 page)

“They say anything, the drivers?”

“What do you think? Body falls out of the sky in front of you? Truck driver just kept crossing himself. They’re lucky to be alive, all of them. We were lucky they didn’t think of that before we got in a few questions. She could’ve killed them. Sheesh, if you’re going to jump, give a little thought to the people below, you know?”

How about a little thought for a woman lying dead on the freeway!
“If you were in that good shape, you wouldn’t need to jump, would you?” I controlled myself before that came out, but still Larry was glaring, and John moved himself in between us.

I stepped away, closer to the edge. The wind was stronger, flapping my sweatshirt and jeans the way Karen’s blue linen pants had when she set out across Washington Square Park. I looked down at the freeway, the six empty lanes of this elevated road. I’d driven it a thousand times, easy; every San Franciscan had. I’d sped across the Bay Bridge from Berkeley in the left lane, waiting till the last moment before the Fifth Street off-ramp tunneled down from that lane to cut right. I’d slipped into the middle lane in this area, whipping past slowing drivers eyeing the Civic Center exit, and headed for the Fell Street arm that would shoot me through Golden Gate Park to Mom’s. Everybody’s got their strategy on I-80. They . . .

Stop avoiding! Focus!
The flashers swirled red like traffic lights in the fog-blurred night. They glowed against the black of squad cars. Nothing moved down there. For a moment I imagined I saw Karen’s body between them, her bare arms and blue-clad legs stretched out like she was making snow angels, her blonde hair awry. I didn’t—couldn’t—let myself think about what had happened when she hit, of what was left of her. Couldn’t think about her, not yet, not here.

I was looking away. Again I forced myself to stare down at the freeway. It was almost directly below—almost, but not quite. A single lane in the parking area cut between the building and the freeway. I stepped forward. If she—

“Hey, get away from the edge! What’re you, crazy?”

I was the least likely person here to fall, but I wasn’t going to fight about that. I moved back. “Looks like there’s about eight or nine feet between the building and the freeway.”

“Yeah, so?” Larry said.

“Do suicides usually take a running leap?”

“There’s wind.”

“Not enough for that short a drop. If she stepped off the edge, she’d’ve landed next to the building.”

“You forensics?” He eyed me, then John.

“I’m talking the mechanics of falling. To leap that far, you need a running start.”

“Look—”

“No, you look. Look at where the road is. If you wanted to jump would you believe you could jump that far?”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re—”

“A jump like that, it’s
Crouching Dragon.
If you had to leap that far between buildings you’d be dead. You’d need to run, to get up speed.”
You’d need a ramp, a catcher, a dummy, and a damned good editor back in the studio.

“Or you’d need to be pushed,” John said. “Anyone working on that?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask the detective.”

“Who is . . . ?”

“Broder.”

Bad, very bad. Bad enough John’s car caused the mess outside of his woman’s house. Broder’d been after John already, but now he’d have live ammunition, too, for his hunt. When he found out John’s brother was the victim’s attorney, that his sister had spent the afternoon with her, and that she’d been able to steal John’s car because he’d left the keys in it, John would be not merely toast, he’d be charred crumbs. As for me, I’d be sitting in an interview booth till sunrise. And Gary, who’d set this whole thing in motion, I didn’t want to think about him. Whatever his reason, I was sure it was no prank. When he learned how Karen died he’d be devastated. He’d need time, before the police caught up with him, to stop feeling guilty and start thinking like a lawyer again.

When Broder asked, John would have to have answers; he’d have to be straight with him. Which meant, we needed to get out of here. Now.

JOHN AND I double-timed it toward the elevator. We were twenty feet away when the doors spread open, revealing a detective talking to a woman next to him. It wasn’t Broder, but Korematsu. Korematsu liked me, sort of, but he loathed John—big surprise. Still, he was galaxies better than Broder. Best was we avoid them both. Instinctively and without as much as a glance, John and I veered right, picking up speed and heading for the stairs. We weren’t fast enough.

“Darcy,” the detective said, “what’re you doing here?”

“Making myself unpopular.”

“Really?”

“‘Sarcasm has no place in a police investigation,’” I quoted from a police training handout I’d seen once.

Korematsu snorted. We’d tangled with each other on a previous investigation. “How’re you managing it this time?”

“I was explaining the rules of high falls.”

“Like Isaac Newton did before you?”

“Exactly. The freeway’s about eight feet away. No amount of wind will blow a falling body that far.”

“We might have figured that out without you.”

John had moved behind the only object that could provide him cover—a black sedan parked behind and to the left of the elevator. He was peering in the far window as if doing a preliminary check. The last thing we needed was Korematsu spotting him.

“I can show you what I mean. Come over here.” I strode to the edge. “Look straight down and—”

“Hey, you! Get back!” male voices yelled. Someone yanked my arm. Korematsu just shook his head.

“Okay! Okay! Find out in your own good time. Or else subpoena Newton. I’m out of here!” I heard muttering in my wake but didn’t stop. The elevator was rising up into sight. I made for the side opposite John and waited as the doors opened. Six men hurried out. When the last one cleared, we’d be hightailing it out of there. I didn’t look back.

“So it’s Bring Your Little Sister to Work Day?” Korematsu called behind me. He was like the Tibetan monks who could chant two notes at once; his higher tone suggested amusement, the lower one suspicion.

“Yeah,” John said, “and I kinda doubt you have a problem with that, the way you’ve been eyeing her.”

I leapt into the elevator. “What the
hell
was that about?”

But John wasn’t listening to me. His shoulders were hunched, and he was looking back toward Korematsu. It was like a freeze-frame, all action stopped, cops and techs watching or pretending not to, eyeing John warily, checking out the detective. The scene broke. Korematsu muttered something and started to turn away.

“What’re you doing here? I thought this was Broder’s case?” John taunted.

“Broder got held up. He’ll be here in a few. He’ll be surprised to see you . . . both.”

“Nah, he’s only got eyes for you.” With that John finally stepped into the elevator and I slammed my fist against the down button.

“You . . . !” He was such an idiot words failed me. “Is there some reason you go out of your way to offend people?”

“Skill.”

“I’m impressed.”

He was grinning. “Listen, it’s illusion—something you of all people should know the value of. Now when the question comes up about us being there, no one’s going to ask why, they’re just going to talk about me baiting him. They’ll be thinking about Broder.”

“Very clever. But it may not be clever enough. Korematsu’s a decent guy, but now . . . You better hope illusion’s more important than fingerprint results. You know damned well Broder’d sell you for stew.”

The elevator car bounced. The gate opened.

John shoved me out, then grabbed my arm, and pulled me behind a Dumpster.

“Wha—”

“Quiet!”

“Hey I . . .”

“Hold it!” It was Broder.

An aide ran for the elevator, planted himself in the doorway. Broder strode toward it. He was so close I could hear his breathing. I didn’t dare look at John.

The group stepped into the elevator and the car rose.

The instant it cleared the ceiling, John and I made a dash for the car. Neither of us spoke.

The car was blocked in. “You drive.” He flipped me the keys. “I’ll go find out who’s behind us and get him down here.”

“Don’t bother. It’s Korematsu’s.” I recognized the red Mini Cooper.

“Asshole! No wonder he was so fucking smug up there.” He started back to the elevator.

I grabbed his arm. “What? You think he did this on purpose? This is a big fucking case and he was racing here! You flatter yourself.”

“Screw you. Cops
notice.
That’s what we do! Of course, he—”

“Listen!” I hissed. “We’re in a tight enough spot. Not just your car—
us.
Show a little sense, for a change.”

He shook off my hand.

I grabbed back and turned him so we were glare to glare. “I can get the car out. But you need to stop making things worse.”

He hesitated.

“Think how pissed Korematsu’ll be when he comes down and it’s gone.”

He turned toward his car. It was parked at the edge of the lot. That was good. Cars were jammed in on both sides—bad. Ahead was a steep grade and a three foot drop—very bad. If I could anchor a wedge in front, pull the wheel full out to the left and hit the gas hard, I just might be able to . . . to land in the Dumpster jutting out from behind the building.

I bent and checked the other direction. The drop was worse. “If I had a wedge—”

“If you had a helicopter!” John was shaking his head.

“I’ve driven—”

“—cars they tow and crush once you’ve had your way with them. Forget it! Not in my car!”

“Okay, then let’s just get out of here—”

“I can’t leave it. No cop walks away from his car and takes the bus. I might as well get a spray can and write: QUESTION ME! on the trunk.” He glared back at the Mini. “Bastard knows this is mine. Bet he was grinning ear to ear when he hemmed me in.”

For half a second he was distracted by six burly firemen walking out of the elevator.

I shoved him in the opposite direction. “Meet me on the street!”

“What do you—”

But I was running toward the men. “Hey, can you guys help me? I don’t know if it’s even possible, but see that little car over there, the Mini? It’s got me blocked in. If you could just get it a few feet back.”

“You want us to pick it up?” A crew-cut blond raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I guess it may be too much to expect—”

“No, wait, you’ve got a winch, don’tcha, Dave?”

“Yeah, sure. If we pulled up the bumper—”

“You got the fire department to move it?” John asked as he slid into the passenger seat. “How the hell—”

“I flashed my red curls. We got lucky. So now, where’re we going?” I stopped for a light and glanced at him. I’d spent plenty of time figuring out where to hide in this city when I was avoiding him, but before, this brother had always been the one pursuing. “How long do you guess we have?” He understood that I meant before Broder, Korematsu, and the gang wanted his head on a platter.

“Ten minutes? Two minutes? As soon as they realize that black car up there on floor five is mine.”

“Your car? She drove your car up there?”

“Circumstantial, but yeah.”

“Why would she go there? A construction site? Don’t they have guards?”

“Unmarked cars aren’t that unmarked. Some guards give them a pass. They worry more about thugs carrying stuff out than about broads.
Whatever. By tomorrow they’ll be lawyering up and we’re not going to know shit.”

“But how’d she even think of it? She was a tourist. Wait, maybe that’s it! The entrance to that parking lot’s really confusing. Plus it’s off the most confusing bit of road in town. One minute you’re going along Harrison, you make a left onto a city street and suddenly it’s turned into the entrance to the Bay Bridge. That parking lot entrance—in the dark, it looks like just another lane, a last chance to keep from getting stuck on the bridge.”

“Hmm. Want to know what I was doing while you were diverting Korematsu? Taking note of the scratches on the hood, the blue fiber caught on the bumper.”

“Omigod! She was hit? No wonder her trajectory—Omigod, poor Karen!” I coasted through a yellow light. “Hit! She didn’t jump. Didn’t do a running leap. Hit! Jeez, John, someone killed her! Someone stepped on the gas and—”

“Someone in
my
car. That’s what Broder’s going to find out plenty soon.”

“This is seriously bad,” I said, my knuckles white on the wheel.

“You don’t want to think
how
bad. If I only get canned I’ll be thanking St. Jude. I’m a
sworn
officer. I’m withholding evidence in a capital case.”

He didn’t say the word prison but it hung between us. ROGUE COP SENT TO SLAMMER. My whole body went cold, imagining the headlines. I reached over and rested my hand on his arm, and he didn’t shrug me off.