“I’ve got officers spotting on Camacho’s house,” Navarro said, “but they can’t tell whether he’s there.”
“We better not go in until we see movement,” Donnally said. “If he’s not there, neighbors might tip him off that we’re on the hunt for him.”
Judge McMullin looked up. “I’m glad you aren’t asking for an arrest warrant. There’s barely enough here for a search. And I need a sworn officer to sign it.”
The judge handed it to Navarro to read over. “When you’re done, add your part.”
Navarro added a paragraph at the start stating the facts below had been told to him by Donnally and he believed them to be true, then moved to the last page and signed.
Then the judge said, “Raise your right hand.”
Chapter 54
I didn’t kill him,” Camacho said, looking up from the floor of his living room and rubbing his ribs where Donnally had nailed him.
It hadn’t been until 8 A.M. that they spotted a light come on in the house, and seconds after Navarro did the knock and notice, Camacho had run through his house and toward the back door. The wood and glass exploding inward and the SWAT officers marching into the kitchen had sent Camacho running back into the dining room and to the threshold of the living room, where he met Donnally’s lowered shoulder.
“I just helped her afterwards. Fuck, man, what was I supposed to do? I had a dozen calls with that lunatic. I had all kinda motive because he set me up and I had no fucking alibi. And she’s screaming she did it for me and for some guy named Little Bud I never heard of before. And how she’d just killed her father-”
“Killed her father?” Donnally tensed. “I thought we were talking about Hamlin.”
“We are. When we get over there, Hamlin’s tied to a chair, dead, a rope around his neck tied to a piece of a broom handle in the back. Like she used it for leverage, to tighten the noose, like squeezing water out of a rag.”
“Why do you think he was her father?”
“That’s what she said, man. She was bearing down on him and he’s saying, ‘Don’t kill me. I’m your father. I’m your father,’ and then the guy has some kind of spasm and slumps over dead.”
Donnally backed up a step and pointed from Camacho to the couch. He rolled over onto his knees, then pushed himself up and onto it. Donnally sat down on an ottoman. Navarro stayed by the door.
“I told you the bitch was nuts,” Camacho said.
“How do we know that it wasn’t her interrupting you killing him?” Navarro said.
Donnally knew the answer.
“Because I wouldn’t have strangled the guy. You know guys like me don’t do that kind of shit. I would’ve just kept breaking fingers until I got what I wanted. And how was I gonna get the guy stoned on opium? That’s how she got him dazed enough to get him into the chair and tied up.”
“And the rope,” Donnally said.
“Yeah. That, too. It was a mountain-climbing rope. Where the fuck would I get a mountain-climbing rope? It’s not like they sell them at Home Depot.”
“Why Fort Point?” Donnally asked. “And why leave him hanging there half naked?”
“Why do you think? We were protecting the chick. No daughter would do that to her own father. No fucking way.”
Donnally realized that if Camacho was telling the truth, his theory had been wrong. Hamlin hadn’t been stripped down and hung up in order to send a message or to humiliate him, but as misdirection, to keep the police from even starting down a trail that would lead to him.
“I knew she didn’t have the stomach for what we needed to do. We left her in the van in the parking lot when we went up with his body. I figure she didn’t even find out how we handled it until she saw it on the news.”
“Hamlin smelled like lavender,” Navarro said. “Why wash him off?”
“Wasn’t us. The flake said he’d gone running with some gal after work and they came back to his place and took showers. I don’t know if that was true, but he reeked like a fag.”
Donnally looked up at Navarro. The detective’s eyes hardened against the slur, then he nodded, telling Donnally that he’d figured out the rest just as Donnally had.
Ryvver then went after Lange, blaming him because she’d killed her own father and for Little Bud’s suicide. After their argument on the second floor during the party, she dropped Rohypnol into his drink and torched his house.
Ryvver’s Mother Number One was wrong. Killing Frank Lange wasn’t patricide.
But why would the mothers tell Ryvver Lange was her father?
Or why would Mother Two tell Mother One that it was Lange she’d slept with in order to conceive Ryvver?
Donnally shifted his gaze back to Camacho.
“I had no idea she was gonna kill Lange,” Camacho said. “She promised she’d be going away, up north. We’re driving away from Fort Point after we hung him up and she starts rambling on about a bookstore someplace. Why somebody would be going to a bookstore after murdering her father beats the hell out of me.”
Donnally was almost sure she hadn’t done that. Mother One was convincing in her worry, and Ryvver’s cell records showed she had stayed in San Francisco, or at least her phone had.
“Where’s the rest of the rope and the bolt cutters?” Donnally asked.
“Where do you think? At the bottom of the bay.”
Donnally rose to his feet, looked down at Camacho, and said, “Don’t move,” and then walked with Navarro just outside the front door.
“If he’s telling the truth,” Donnally said to Navarro, “she’s got to be figuring we’re getting close. Find out whether she’s still using that pay-as-you-go phone. There’s one person left on her hit list.”
Donnally walked down the front steps to the sidewalk. He called directory assistance and punched in the number.
A voice answered on the first ring, “Law Office of Reggie Hancock.”
He identified himself and asked for Hancock.
“I’m sorry. He’s not in today. Can I take a message?”
“Do you know when he’ll get it?”
“I’m sure he’ll call in during the day.”
Donnally looked toward the house. Navarro was on his cell phone and staring into the living room, watching Camacho.
Donnally gave her his number and told her it was urgent, that someone might be aiming to harm Hancock.
She didn’t seem to react to the news. Donnally had the feeling that she’d heard threats before. He suspected if he’d called Jackson a month earlier to report that there were threats made against Hamlin, she would have reacted the same.
Donnally thought of a way to get her to take this one more seriously.
“If you have any doubts about me or what I’m saying, do a search of my name on the Internet. Check the San Francisco Chronicle.”
He listened to light tapping in the background, then, “Oh, I see.”
“To verify it’s me on the phone, call the San Francisco Police Department and ask to be patched through to homicide detective Ramon Navarro.”
Donnally glanced toward Navarro. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. Donnally heard her disconnect.
Navarro reached for his phone a minute later, answered, and glanced toward Donnally.
Donnally nodded. Navarro passed on Donnally’s number. His phone rang fifteen seconds later.
“I’ll call his cell and his house so he’ll know who you are,” she said, then gave him the numbers.
“And if a woman named Ryvver calls,” Donnally said, “I want to hear from you right away.”
“But she’s already called. Twice in the last few days. She said she wanted him to represent her in a case in San Francisco.”
“Is he on his way up here now?”
“No. The appearance is for tomorrow afternoon, so he won’t fly up until the morning. That’s what he always does. I made the reservation myself.”
“Were they going to meet ahead of time?”
She paused for a moment. Donnally heard a rustle of paper.