Tamara said, “That man’s had a miserable damn life. Everybody he cares about… bam, something bad happens.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he’s in love with Bryn?”
“Hard to tell what Jake’s feelings are. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Then Dragovich better get her off.”
“He will if anybody can.”
“Life’s a bitch sometimes,” Tamara said. She let out a breathy sigh, then sat down at her desk and punched up a file on her Mac. “Might as well get back to work.”
“Might as well.”
“Rose O’Day,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“The old woman who rented a room from McManus, the one the neighbor told you about.”
“Oh, right. What about her?”
What about her was the second bit of the day’s news.
“I did some checking last night,” Tamara said. “Lots of history until three years ago, but nothing since. No current residence in the Bay Area or Michigan or anywhere else. No death record. No brother in Saginaw, or other living family members.”
“So it seems McManus lied to Mrs. Hightower.”
“Seems?”
“If the neighbor’s memory is accurate after three years. It’s hearsay in any case.”
“Well, that’s not all I came up with. When the woman’s husband died five years ago, his insurance policy paid her a death benefit of fifty thousand. She also inherited some rural property his brother willed to him in West Marin worth twice that much.”
“So?”
“There’s no record of her investing the fifty K, so chances are she stuck it in her bank account. And that account’s still active.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep. I couldn’t find out how much is in the account without some serious security breaching.”
“Always a don’t-cross line. Local bank?”
“B of A branch at Embarcadero Center.”
“Does the Marin property still belong to her?”
“No record of it being sold.”
“Taxes current or delinquent?”
“Paid up to date.”
“So we’ve got two possibilites,” I said. “One is that she still resides somewhere in or near the city. It’s not inconceivable that an elderly woman living alone in a rented room could fall under the radar.”
“You believe that? I don’t.”
“I didn’t say I believed it. I said it was one possibility. The other-”
“-is that McManus killed Rose O’Day to get control of her assets. That’s the one I believe.”
“You don’t necessarily have to commit murder to get your hands on a person’s assets.”
“No? Why else would she lie about what happened to O’Day?”
“If anything happened to her.”
“Well, something happened to Virden. One disappearance, one probable disappearance-”
“Make that possible.”
“Okay, possible. But I don’t buy the coincidence. We’re pretty sure McManus is an ID thief, right? Steal one woman’s ID, and that woman disappears. Stands to reason she’d steal another woman’s money and make her disappear if she had the chance.”
“Granted,” I said. “But it’s still only conjecture. I hate to keep harping on this, but we need clear-cut evidence of wrongdoing before we can act and we don’t have any. Not where McManus is concerned, not where Virden is concerned, not where Rose O’Day is concerned.”
Tamara had that stubborn bulldog look, the kind I’d seen before and not just on her; it had stared back at me from a mirror more than a few times. “I’ve got an idea how we might get some,” she said.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Get inside the McManus house and check it out, check out the property. Got to be something incriminating there.”
“Don’t tell me you’re advocating B and E?”
“Uh-uh. McManus rents rooms, doesn’t she?”
“To elderly people. She’s no dummy and she’s already suspicious. Probably wouldn’t even let you in the house.”
“Wasn’t thinking of me. Alex. He’s forty-six, but he can pass for a few years older. Old enough.”
“Same objection applies.”
“Worth a try, isn’t it?”
I thought about it. There were other arguments against the idea, but none strong enough to shoot it down. Pretty soon I said, “Might work. If the room’s still for rent-the sign was down when I was there yesterday. And if McManus has no prejudice against Latinos. He’ll have to be damn careful if he does get in.”
“You know Alex-he’s always careful.”
“Okay, then. Give him a call.”
“Already did. He’s on his way.”
One jump ahead of me, as usual. “There’s another tack we can take,” I said. “Find out the names of some of McManus’s other roomers, track down their present whereabouts. Maybe one of them has some information we can use. What’s the real estate outfit that handles her lease?”
“Barber and Associates. Offices on Sansome downtown.”
“You have the agent’s name?”
“No, but I can get it.”
“Do that. I’ll make a second canvass of McManus’s neighbors, too-have another talk with Selma Hightower.”
Tamara favored me with a satisfied grin. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” she said.
Alex Chavez had come and gone, fully briefed, and I was on my way out when the third piece of news arrived. This one came in a text message from Felice Johnson, Tamara’s friend and contact at SFPD. Tamara had asked her for a personal BOLO for David Virden’s Porsche Cayman, and the car had just turned up-or what was left of it had-in an alley out near the Cow Palace. A couple of message exchanges later, we had the details.
Found abandoned, stripped down to the frame. The officers who’d spotted it were regulars on that beat; their report said it hadn’t been there when they made their first pass through the area shortly past midnight. Driver’s window smashed, the ignition hot-wired. No signs of blood, interior or exterior. Nothing to indicate what might have happened to Virden.
I said, “The ignition hot-wire pretty much rules out a carjacking.”
“Tells me it was abandoned twice,” Tamara said. “First time on some dark street near the projects. Wouldn’t’ve lasted more than an hour after midnight. Sweet set of wheels like that’s a prime target for car boosters. Then hot-wired and driven over to that alley and stripped.”
“McManus and Carson again.”
“Who else? One of ’em drove it out of Dogpatch sometime Tuesday; the other one followed in the SUV to bring her back.”
“That’s one explanation,” I said. “Another is that the first boost was by somebody in Dogpatch or elsewhere.”
“Car thieves don’t hang on to a ride three days before they strip it.”
“Nonprofessionals might. Joyriders, gangbangers.”
“Then what happened to Virden?”
“Hit over the head, robbed, the body dumped where it hasn’t been found yet.”
“By joyriders or gangbangers? I don’t buy it. McManus and Carson whacked him, all right.”
“How do you suppose they managed it? Big healthy guy, mad as hell, and two smallish women.”
“And one killer dog. Sicced that Rottweiler, what’s his name, Thor, on him, ripped his throat out.”
“Uh-huh. Which would mean blood all over the place. One hell of a job cleaning it up.”
“Not if it happened outside.”
“Where his screams could be heard a block away.”
Tamara made a face at me.
I said, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Time to call Judith LoPresti, let her know about the Porsche being found. Police probably wouldn’t have notified her yet and it’s better if she hears it from us.”
“You going to say anything about McManus and Carson?”
“That we might be dealing with a couple of identity thieves who also happen to be Madam Bluebeards? Not hardly. She’ll be upset enough as it is.”
16
JAKE RUNYON
When he left the agency he drove down to the Hall of Justice to have a talk with Bryn. Only he didn’t get to do that because they wouldn’t let him see her. She’d been put into Administrative Segregation for her own protection the night before, which meant no visitors except for her attorney. Why the hell would they AdSeg her? Nobody would tell Runyon the reason.