Officer Hart said, "When did you last speak with Ms. Osborne?"
"What is it?" Lucinda said. She leaned forward studying the two officers. "What's happened? We called last night. I didn't talk with her; I left a message on her machine. Oh my God. What's happened?"
"She's all right, she's fine," said Officer Hart quickly. "She had a break-in last night. Someone trashed her place."
Both officers watched them intently.
"What time was this?" Pedric said.
"Late afternoon or early evening. She got home and found it around eight-thirty," said Hart. "Totally destroyed the place, overturned and broke the furniture. They were after some jewelry."
Lucinda looked quietly back at them then hurried out to the car. She returned carrying her cell phone, shaking her head. There were no messages.
"She surely would have told us," Lucinda said. "Maybe she called our motel in Fort Bragg and left a message there. When we went to bed, we turned the ringer down. Maybe she left a message with the motel and somehow, checking out, we didn't get it."
The officers sat filling in their reports while Lucinda called Kate. Kate answered on the first ring.
"Kate? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Lucinda. My line was out last night. I didn't get your message until late. Where are you? I'm so eager to see you. The place is a terrible mess but I've straightened up the guest room-I think you'll be comfortable. Have you had breakfast? You did get my message? Where are you?"
"We're just down the street. No, we didn't get your message, but we know what happened. I'll explain when we see you. Do you know who broke in? Did you see anyone?"
"I know who she is," Kate said.
"It wasn't a man? You didn't see a man?"
"A man has been following me, Lucinda. Why? He stopped following for a while, and I'd hoped it was over. But now he's back. How do you- Why do you ask?"
"What does he look like?"
"He… he looks like that waiter. In the village. At Charlie's gallery opening. I told you about that. The waiter who-"
"The waiter who died," Lucinda said. "Yes, Captain Harper called us. Sammy Clarkman. I told Harper his name, and where we met him, but I didn't know anything more about him." She glanced at the attentive officers. "Clarkman died in Molena Point, of a days-old trauma," she told them. And, to Kate, "We'll be there within the hour, see you then."
"The man we saw this morning," she told the officers, "the man who broke into our RV, he surely looked like that waiter. Clarkman died two weeks ago, while serving at a gallery opening. Kate says that would describe, as well, the man who followed her.
"We met Sammy in Russian River a few months ago, when he was waiting tables at the hotel. Then in Molena Point we saw him at Jolly's Deli. Well, he helped cater the exhibit of a friend of ours there. He died while serving drinks, just fell over dead. The coroner said from a days-old blow to the head. He looked enough like the man who stole our RV to be his brother."
Officer Maconachy said, "Can you tell me the date of the opening?"
Lucinda thought a minute. "October twenty-fourth. A Sunday night."
He watched her thoughtfully. "Do you know anything about Clarkman, how long he lived in Russian River, or in Molena Point?"
"No, I'm sorry. Nor do I know what took him away from Russian River."
"Do you know if he ever lived here in the city?"
"He didn't mention living here. I don't remember that he mentioned San Francisco at all."
Maconachy rose. "After you've met your friend, would you come down to the station and talk with the detective who's been in touch with Mendocino County? He'll want to hear what you have to say."
As the officers headed away, and the Greenlaws stepped to the desk to cancel their reservation, just a few miles south Clyde Damen approached the city driving a borrowed Cadillac sedan that was heavier and thus safer on the road than his antique roadster. On the seat beside him, Joe Grey stood with his paws on the dash, looking out at the approaching city with deep interest.
26
The time was 9:30, the morning sun burning off the last of the valley fog as Clyde and Joe Grey approached San Francisco. They had left the house at 7:30. The Cadillac still smelled new though it was a year old, a trade-in that Clyde had borrowed from the dealership with which his automotive shop shared space. A car more reliable on the freeway at high speed than Clyde's dozen vintage antiques, most of which were tucked away in the back garage awaiting Clyde's further attention in therapeutic engine mechanics, body smoothing, and, ultimately, cosmetic detailing and bright new paint. The sun, rising ahead of them, drenched the San Francisco skyline, offering, to Joe Grey, a far more inviting view of the city than the dim, garbage-strewn alleys of his kittenhood.
Peering out, Joe thought about the Greenlaws turning up alive, about Kate's trashed apartment, and about Marlin Dorriss's various enterprises. If these matters were connected, the thread that bound them was tangled enough to give anyone a headache. Quietly he glanced at Clyde-his housemate was in a better mood since he'd downed some caffeine; in San Jose they'd made a pit stop, picking up a cup of coffee, a cinnamon bun, and, for Joe, a quarter-pounder, hold the pickles and lettuce. Joe had taken care of his own pit stop under a tree behind the fast food emporium while Clyde kept an eye out for dogs, and they were on the road again. Their argument this early morning over whether Joe should accompany him had been stressful for them both.
Clyde said the San Francisco streets were dangerous for a cat. Had pointed out that Joe hadn't survived those streets very well as a young cat, that Clyde had rescued him from the gutter, half dead. Joe said he'd gotten along just fine until his tail got broken, and that on this present junket he did not expect to be running the city's back streets and alleys.
"You damn near died in that gutter."
"I'm not going back to the gutter."
Clyde had maintained there was nothing Joe could do in San Francisco to help Kate. Joe reminded him that Azrael was there harassing Kate and that Clyde, despite his many talents, was not skilled at getting up the sides of buildings or slipping through cat-size openings to chase a surly tomcat. But the fact remained that Clyde was deeply concerned about Kate. Joe watched his housemate with interest. His sense was that, no matter how much Clyde was put off by Kate's unusual feline talents, no matter how she had distanced herself from him romantically, they needed each other very much as friends.
The two went back a long way. They had been good friends while Kate and Jimmie were married. The three were often together, though even then Clyde and Kate seemed close, laughing and having fun together and enjoying Clyde's various pets, while Jimmie hated cats and had always seemed the odd man out. Jimmie had often been sarcastic and patronizing to Kate, and that hadn't gone down well with Clyde.
It seemed to Joe that, when the beginning romance between Clyde and Kate went so quickly awry, the feelings that remained had slowly mellowed into a deep and needful friendship. And that was nice. Friendship between two of opposite sexes, without the need to crawl into bed, was one of the values of human civility and intelligence that Joe Grey had come to admire.
Joe did not reveal to Clyde his real reason for demanding to accompany him to the city, and that had deepened their early morning conflict. And of course Clyde had said, "What about Dulcie and the kit? Don't you think they'll be mad as hell when they find out we ran off to San Francisco without them? With all Dulcie's dreams of spending a weekend at the St. Francis? Of shopping at Saks and I. Magnin? As Dulcie would put it, like a grand human lady?"