Erased (13 page)

Sara kept an eye on the TV behind the counter, and she nearly choked when her face appeared on the screen. The picture was a grainy low-resolution image taken from her driver’s license. It was about five years old. Sara glanced around the restaurant nervously. There were only a handful of patrons, and they were all distracted by conversations and eating. No one was paying any attention to the television.

She had a moment of panic after seeing her photo on the television, but then she thought about it and Sara actually felt relieved. The picture proved that the police didn’t have much information on her yet. The best photo they could provide was an old driver’s license image. That meant they didn’t have much. They were probably investigating her past, trying to find out more about her at that very moment. What would they find, she wondered? Sara Murphy, hardworking attorney and mother of one, or Sara Murphy the assassin?

She strained to hear the reporter over the clatter of dishes and silverware and the hiss of grease bubbling in the deep fryer. She heard her name, and then the image changed to a picture of Fortress. Sara didn’t hear much more, but she didn’t need to. For the first time since everything began, Sara could see her situation clearly. She was a fugitive. The cops knew it was her on that building and they believed she’d killed Fortress. And the people who had really killed Fortress wanted to make sure she was dead before she could expose them. Sara didn’t know what they were worried about. She had no idea who they even were.

She was trapped. Sara couldn’t go to the police with her story. She had no way of proving her innocence. And she couldn’t expose the real killers, not only because she had no idea who they were, but also because she might endanger her family by doing so.

That was the most important thing. She still believed Scott and Bree were out there somewhere, and that they were safe. She had to believe that, otherwise she wouldn’t have the strength to continue. Assuming she was correct, that meant she had to plan her moves very carefully.

At any rate, it wasn’t likely anyone was going to ID her from that image. The thing was old, grainy, and hardly looked like her at all. Even so, she didn’t feel like hanging out in the diner much longer. Sara knew better than to press her luck. She devoured the meal and then ordered a cup of coffee to go.

She forced herself not to think about her family because she didn’t want to break down in tears, and she wasn’t far from doing so. She missed them badly and she was terrified for their safety. She reminded herself that she had to stay strong, stay focused… and she had to keep moving.

Chapter 22

Brandy stood at the edge of Mountain Lake watching bubbles rise to the surface. The water was choppy, murky, and green in color. A light breeze had blown in from the west. The cold air found its way under Brandy’s collar and sent a chill crawling down her spine.

Brandy knew that Sara Murphy’s car was down there somewhere, deep in that moss-green water. The question was, was she in it? Another thought popped into Brandy’s mind, and brought a wave of guilt with it:
Was it really a ’68 Roadrunner?
Brandy had experience with cars. She knew which ones were worthy of appreciation. There was a reason she’d ended up driving Hummers in the army.

She also knew how odd it was that an upper-middle-class woman like Sara Murphy was using a classic muscle car as a daily driver. That was one more thing on the ever-growing list of things that didn’t make sense about Murphy. Still, Brandy couldn’t help feeling bad about that car, regardless of how Murphy got it.

“Looks like this case is closed,” Lee said behind her. “Murphy’s car somersaulted at least twice before it hit the lake. I bet she wasn’t even wearing a seat belt.”

“You sound relieved,” Brandy said.

“Hell yeah. I’ve got two hundred bucks riding on my golf game tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“I know, expensive huh? But if I win, I get twice that much.”

Brandy sighed. She wanted to point out that neither Lee’s golf game nor his two hundred bucks was as important as someone’s life, but she knew it would be wasted breath and she wasn’t entirely sure that Lee would agree with her. He seemed extremely jaded. Brandy had known other people like that.

When she was in college studying law enforcement, Brandy had a friend named Dave who was an EMT. He drove an ambulance. Dave and his friends used to trade gory accident photos like trading cards. His most coveted photo was a picture of a motorcycle fatality. The victim had crashed on a backwoods highway doing one hundred and fifty miles per hour. His remains had been scattered across the highway like hamburger. It churned her stomach just to think about it.

What people like Inspector Lee seemed to forget was that victims were more than just meat and bones. That kid had been stupid, sure, but he’d had a family. He had people who cared about him; who had depended on him when he was alive and who would miss him when he was gone. He’d had a promising life ahead of him.

Brandy couldn’t blame Lee for his feelings. Most often that type of thinking was a defense mechanism. His callousness was a way of coping with the stress of the terrible things he’d witnessed. At his age, he’d probably seen a sizeable number of horrific crimes. In order to accept those things without going crazy, he’d reduced the victims to punch lines at the end of bad jokes. At least, she hoped that was the reason. She didn’t want to think he was just an asshole.

Brandy turned her attention back to the water. “Are the divers ready?” she said.

“Just a few minutes. They’re dressing down now.”

“I’m going for a walk.”

Brandy wandered around the lake, deep in thought. She was torn. She’d been optimistic when Ashcroft gave her the case. It was a chance to prove herself, and to help the Bureau politically at the same time. It was just the opportunity that she’d been hoping for. Now that she was in the middle of it, things were complicated. The case wasn’t cut and dried, and it wasn’t going to be easy to close. Sara Murphy was an elusive suspect, and not just in the physical sense. Nothing about her profile was adding up. Her police record was so scattered it read more like a work of fiction.

Even if Sara was at the bottom of that lake, Brandy still had a number of questions she wanted answered. Sara’s residence still bothered her, for one thing. Her mysterious past didn’t make much sense either. If Sara Murphy was a successful assassin, why leave so many clues? If she was a psychotic, how did she manage such a distinguished criminal career? Could the two identities really exist inside one person? Could Sara Murphy be a fanatical nutjob and a successful terrorist at the same time? That seemed improbable.

There was a third option, but Brandy wasn’t ready to go there yet. She couldn’t bring herself to present the theory that Sara Murphy was a patsy. Lee would think Brandy was crazy, and she could understand why. Conspiracies and fall guys were the stuff of Hollywood films, not real law enforcement. Crimes were committed for obvious reasons: greed, jealousy, and sometimes fear. In fact, there wasn’t much else beyond those three. How did those motives fit in with Murphy’s case? As far as Brandy could see, they didn’t. That meant she was missing something. Hopefully, after talking to Scott Murphy, things would be clearer.

At the far end of the lake, Brandy found Sara’s boot prints in the mud. She didn’t know they were Sara’s for certain, but they were suspicious. There were no tracks leading in, just the ones coming out. Brandy followed them up the embankment until they disappeared on the hard dry ground next to the path. One set of prints coming
out
of the water and disappearing. If it had been Murphy, how long ago would that have been? Twenty minutes? Forty?

Brandy settled down on a bench a few yards away and watched the divers from across the water. Sara would have been able to see the police from there. She may have watched them for a minute or two before she left. Because of the angle of the sun, no one would have noticed her leaving the area.

There might have been witnesses, joggers maybe, but if they hadn’t come forward already then they probably never would. In the amount of time that had passed, Sara Murphy could have gone anywhere.

It took fifteen minutes for Lee to come around the lake and find her. “There’s no body in the car,” he called out when he saw her sitting on the bench up the hillside. “We’re going to have to drag the lake.”

“Don’t bother,” said Brandy. She walked down to the shore and showed him the prints. “They don’t go in, but they come out. That’s odd enough by itself, but then add in the fact that it’s October and that water’s freezing. I bet nobody’s been swimming in here for weeks.”

Lee scratched the back of his head. He looked disappointed. “Shit. All right, I’ll have my team photograph these and take some castings. Any other clues?”

“No. She disappeared up the hillside. Someone might have seen her. We should check if anyone reported anything to 911. An eyewitness wouldn’t hurt.”

Lee’s radio started squawking, and he adjusted the volume. “
All units in the vicinity of the Presidio, CODE THREE, we have a possible 245.”

Lee responded. “This is Chief Inspector Lee. What happened?”

“
We have a report of a black SUV chasing a pedestrian on the Presidio golf course. Our witness also reports shots fired.
”

Lee and Brandy exchanged a look. “The Golf course is just over the hill,” Brandy said.

Is that too much of a coincidence?” said Lee.

“Definitely.”

Ten minutes later, Brandy and Lee were on the golf course. The Suburban was gone, and Sara Murphy was too, but it wasn’t hard to see where they had been. The tracks led off the edge of the road and up the hillside. Then, at the bottom of the far slope, they headed to the east.

“Looks like someone had a monster truck rally,” Lee said. “They tore this place to shit.”

They walked up the slope to where the Suburban had jumped. There were deep gouges in the earth where the SUV had landed, and muddy trenches at the bottom of the hill where the driver had spun out. The path made a beeline towards the woods on their right.

“Looks like Sara Murphy found somewhere to hide,” Brandy said.

They wandered over to the woods, looking for clues along the way. Brandy found two bullet casings, and Lee bagged them for evidence. It wasn’t hard to locate Sara’s trail inside the grove. She’d torn through the brush at full speed, knocking down ferns and breaking branches in her path.

“There were two of them,” Brandy observed as she examined the prints in the damp earth. “Someone got out to chase her.” She pointed out a chunk of bark missing from the side of a tree, and the bullet hole in the center.

“We’d better get a team over here,” Lee said. “Murphy’s body might be in here somewhere.”

Two hours later, they were back at the Tenderloin police station. They had a bullet and several casings in evidence, along with a bloody tree-branch that might provide some DNA. They did not have Sara Murphy. She had evaded them once again. What they did have, were even more questions.

They went into Lee’s office. On top of the stacks of papers on his desk, Lee had two new reports. He grabbed the first one and glanced through it. It was Jacques’s report on the sniper rifle.

“Looks like Murphy’s rifle was hardly used,” he said. “And it was clean.”

“Clean?” echoed Brandy.

“Yeah. This gun may not have been our shooter.”

Brandy stared at him. “I don’t understand. You’re talking about the gun on the roof, the one with Murphy’s prints? It wasn’t the murder weapon?”

Lee tossed the report across the desk. “No, as much as I hate to say it. The gun was clean, practically brand new. And the serial numbers were filed off, so we’ve got nothing to trace. ”

Brandy looked over the report. Jacques had also taken ballistics measurements and submitted a spent bullet and casing into evidence in case they were needed for comparison. “This gun has Murphy’s prints all over it,” Brandy mused. “This gun is the only thing that tied her to the murder…”

“Not anymore,” Lee said. “That gun wasn’t fired.”

“That leaves us with nothing. If this gun didn’t shoot Fortress-”

“Which one did?”

Brandy flipped through the report for a second time, still hardly believing what she was reading. “We’re looking for another gun,” she said. “We’re looking for another killer.

Lee stared hard at her, and Brandy knew exactly what he was thinking. “Go ahead, go to your tournament,” she said. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“No, I’ll back out. If I call my partner now, he might be able to find a replacement.”

“What about your two hundred bucks?”

“I guess I forfeit.”

Sara’s opinion of Lee went up a notch. At least he knew when to do the right thing. He didn’t look very happy about it, though.

“All bets are off now,” said Lee. “It looks like you were right about Murphy.”

Brandy thought about it for a moment. There was something that had bothered her about the murder from the very beginning. The .308 used to shoot Fortress should have gone right through him. Brandy had known a sniper in Iraq, and she’d seen firsthand the kind of damage that such a weapon could do. The damage to Fortress’s skull was more like a shot from a handgun… or maybe from a .308, but from a much further distance. Of course, now that they no longer had a murder weapon, Fortress might have been shot by just about anything.

“Is the autopsy done yet?” she said.

Lee shook his head. “The examiner didn’t have time this afternoon and they aren’t in over the weekend. It’s scheduled for Monday morning.”

“Is there any way to get it done sooner?”

“I’d have to pull strings,” Lee said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The second report on Lee’s desk was a personal file for Sara Murphy. It contained none of the information in her criminal file, but did offer several more surprises. According to Sara Murphy’s tax returns, she was a lawyer. Not only that, but her credit report had been pristine until August. Then, for some reason, it took a nosedive. Over a period of three months, her credit cards had been shut off, her bank accounts emptied and closed, and even her PG&E had been cut off.