“Which was?”
“A half billion dollars over the next three years,” Eileen said. “She was dreaming. I told her to pare it down and then we could discuss the matter intelligently and who knows, she might even be able to sway me. She refused, so I refused.”
“What did that do to your friendship?”
Eileen’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m just asking a question.”
“Oh please!” Eileen’s face darkened. “I’m not stupid, and I resent the implication. I had nothing to do with Davida’s death and I’ll take a lie-detector test if you want to pursue this. But it is beyond insulting!”
“Where were you last night?”
“At home sleeping in bed with my husband.”
“Not at the capital.”
“Nor anywhere near Berkeley.”
Eileen’s district was a six-hour car ride from Davida’s. Amanda asked, “How did you travel here this morning?”
“I took a seven o’clock from my local airport. Anything else?”
“No offense intended, Eileen. I’m doing my job.”
Eileen huffed. “I suppose you are, but surely some independent thinking is called for.” Then, as if realizing something, she flashed a sudden, plastic smile. “I’m sorry, Amanda. This is all just so…traumatic.”
Larry’s money.
Amanda smiled back. “Just a few more questions?”
Sigh. “Sure.”
“How did your opposition to the bill affect your friendship with Davida?”
“It put a strain on it but we remained on speaking terms. It certainly didn’t discourage Davida from calling me frequently. Trying to convince me to change my mind. And I called her after the egging incident. I told her how horrified I was.”
“What did she say?”
“She thanked me for my sympathies, but she told me she’d rather thank me for my support. Then she went to work on me again. She was so persistent that I agreed to meet her later this week. She seemed so pleased about that.” Eileen swabbed her eyes with her napkin. “That was the last time I spoke to her. If you want to find out who did this, talk to those fascist cretins.”
“Which cretins in particular?”
“The Nutterly brothers.”
“They were in jail when Davida was shot.”
“Amanda, there are a helluva lot more White Tower boys than just the Nutterly brothers, and they all seem to congregate around Sacramento. Why aren’t you talking to them?”
“They’re on our official list.”
“Why are you talking to me first?”
“Because you were her friend, and I figured you could tell me who in the legislature was really after her.”
Eileen shook her head. “Lord knows the legislature has its share of SOBs but no one there would have killed her, for God’s sake. Stick around long enough, we’re all at odds with one another sometimes. That’s just the nature of the beast.”
“Did Davida ever talk to you about Harry Modell?”
“That psychotic weirdo? What about him?”
“I heard he sent her threatening letters.”
“He sends everyone threatening letters- ” Eileen blanched.
“Including you?”
“Oh my God!” she whispered frantically. “Do I have something to worry about?”
“Do you still have the letters, Eileen?”
“In my nut file. I’ll get them to you ASAP.” She signaled the waiter for the bill. Her face had taken on deep worry lines. “Answer me honestly. Should I be nervous? I mean…should I get a bodyguard?”
Amanda thought about that, had no clear answer. She said, “Until we know more, I don’t think it would hurt.”
Spoken like a true politician.
9
As luck would have it, Barnes found a parking space right on Telegraph, the avenue swimming with the typical time-warp mix of hippies, retro-hippies, one-note fanatics and junk entrepreneurs looking scruffier than any of the others. The uniform was torn jeans, message T-shirts, leather headbands and glassy eyes. Booths were set up on the sidewalks, hawking everything from Maoist theory and anti-Amerikan nihilism to mood rings, organic Viagra, and scented candles. Music blared from speakers attached to competing CD stores. The resulting aural broth was a wall of white noise to Barnes’s ears, but what did he know, he’d never progressed much past Buck Owens.
Noise and body odor notwithstanding, Barnes was happy to be there. The day had turned sunny, the skies were clear and his lungs needed to suck in something other than death. On Telegraph, that meant secondary smoke not from tobacco.
Back in the Stone ages, when he’d been an eighteen-year-old high school graduate, advanced education in his circles meant two years at a community college learning animal husbandry. He’d been a decent, but uninspired student and a good varsity football player. Unfortunately there weren’t a whole lot of jobs for “good but never, never, ever gonna make it to the pros” running backs. Ergo, the military, and that had been okay for a few years. When he finished up his tour, he had narrowed his future to farming, trucking, or the police academy. Law enforcement was the decision because it seemed like more fun, and Barnes had some book smarts so he advanced within a narrow sphere.
As a detective, he got to use his brain, and, sometimes, he felt like he had a good one.
Still, whenever he had any business at the UC, he felt uncomfortable. He had never attended classes at a genuine university, and the Berkeley campus was as big as a city. It had its own government, its own police force and its own set of rules, explicit and otherwise.
As he walked along leafy lanes, some of the buildings were downright imposing, others looked as inviting as a concrete bunker and he felt like an invader from outer space. Invader past his prime.
Using his little map as a guide, he couldn’t help but notice how young the kids were and that made him feel even older.
Dr. Alice Kurtag’s lab was housed in a six-story, post-modern, brick and concrete structure that had been retrofitted for earthquakes. Berkeley wasn’t perched directly on the San Andreas Fault, but like all the Bay Area, the ground was plenty seismic and no one could predict when The Big One was coming.
And yet, thought Barnes, we pretend. He entered Kurtag’s building, drawing stares from a clutch of grad students. Kurtag’s lab on the fourth floor was sizeable; her office was not. Her private domain barely held a desk and two chairs. It did have a nice view of the city and the water beyond. The fog had lifted several hours ago and the burn-off had produced a blue sky streaked with white clouds and contrails.
Kurtag looked to be in her fifties, a handsome woman with strong features and a short efficient hairdo. She had blond streaks running through dark hair, and strong brown eyes. She wore little makeup, just a dot of red on her cheeks and something soft and wet on her lips. She had on a long-sleeved green blouse, black slacks and boots. Her ears were adorned with diamond studs. Her nails were short but manicured.
“Do you know anything about a memorial service?” she asked Barnes.
Her voice was soft and surprisingly airy.
“No, Doctor, I don’t. But I’m sure there will be one as soon as the coroner releases the body.”
“I suppose it’s premature at this stage.”
Barnes nodded.
“This is just terrible. What happened? Was it a robbery?”
“I hate to sound evasive, but we just don’t have all the facts. I know the city council is going to hold a town hall meeting tonight at seven. Maybe we’ll know more by then.”
“I certainly hope so. This is so upsetting. I work late at night. I’m alone here myself quite often. I’d hate to think of a predator stalking single women. And of course, poor Davida.”