They finished eating in silence. Then MacNally took an axe out to the yard and began chopping wood. It would be cold tonight, and splitting the logs worked up a sweat-but more than anything, it worked off his anger and frustration.
MacNally would go back to the bank tomorrow. There had to be a way to get at the money. He just had to figure it out.
16
Vail and Burden walked back into the Homicide Detail while Friedberg finished with the digital tape and asked the technician to create a still print of their suspect. They agreed that even if it was unrevealing, it still helped eliminate, to some extent, suspects with certain body types, ages and constitutions. He was also going to check on that enhanced image, in case there was any hidden data in the tape that, when modified, could reveal a facial trait not previously visible.
Before Vail had settled into Burden’s side chair, Friedberg burst into the suite.
“Birdie. Another vic.”
Vail cursed beneath her breath. “Where?”
“Totally different part of the city. At the Cliff House.”
“Cliff house?”
Burden grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “I’ll explain on the way.”
SEVEN MINUTES LATER, THEY were getting into a gray unmarked Ford Taurus that was parked beneath a freeway overpass a block from Bryant Street’s Hall of Justice. The top of the vehicle was caked with pigeon shit, a clear tipoff to any skel who knew anything about the SFPD and where the detectives parked their cars.
“Love your ride,” Vail said. “Don’t they have car washes in California?”
“We’ve got a budget crisis,” Friedberg said. “Haven’t you heard?”
“I would think you’d call it fiscally challenged,” Vail said as she swung her body into the rear seat.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Burden said with a chuckle. As they turned onto Fulton Street, he said, “The Cliff House is in an area that the locals refer to as being ‘out in the Avenues.’ West area of the city.”
“And what is this place? A house on a cliff?”
“The Palace of Fine Arts really was a kind of palace where fine arts were displayed,” Friedberg said. “But the Cliff House isn’t a house-at least it hasn’t been since the late 1800s. Or maybe the early 1900s. Anyway, it’s been rebuilt or remodeled a few times, and has been a restaurant for several decades. But it’s not just a restaurant. It’s part of the National Park Service and used to have a penny arcade on the lower level.”
“Anything else that might make it a prime location for a body dump?”
“It’s secluded after hours,” Burden said. “But during the day, there’s a steady flow of visitors.”
“Do we know when the body was placed there?”
“We’ll have to find out when we meet up with the first-on-scene.”
Vail watched as the terrain changed subtly from city to shoreline. “Something else to think about. If we’ve got another body left in a public place-”
“What do you think?” Burden asked. “We gonna find a companion somewhere else in the city?”
“If this is our offender’s ritual, then yeah. Very likely.”
A few blocks later, Burden gestured with this chin. “It’s coming up.” He headed down a sloped two-lane road, the Pacific Ocean swinging into view directly ahead of them. Off to the right, a sizable low-slung cream-colored structure dominated the waterfront. Large capital Art Deco lettering announced that the flat roofed building was, indeed, the Cliff House they were there to see.
Two San Francisco Police Department cruisers sat at the curb, idling with lights flashing in front of a large, glass-walled midsection of the restaurant. A cop stood out front, a blue SFPD baseball cap topping off his uniform.
Burden brought the car to a stop beside the squad cars. Vail was the first out and caught the brunt of a strong, whipping wind that blew her red hair across her face. “Where’s the body?” she managed to ask as she swept the locks away from her mouth.
“Down by the Sutro Baths,” the officer said.
Vail turned to her cohorts for clarification.
“Sutro Baths, got it,” Friedberg said. “This way.” He led them up the steep sidewalk, away from the Cliff House, past a couple of sightseeing telescopes on the left and street vendors selling handmade jewelry on the right. In front of them was a small, family-owned seafood café. But before they reached it, Friedberg turned onto a sloping dirt path.
To their left rolled a hillside, tufts of wild grass, scrub, and bushes sprouting from the rocky face. To the right, a steep, nearly barren shale cliff. And directly ahead, abutting the beachfront and the gray Pacific beyond, was a complex of ruins-sans roofs-with half walls divided into what appeared to be rooms, partially filled with pooled water.
“What’s that down there?” Vail asked.
“Those are-were-the Sutro Baths,” Friedberg said. He tripped on an emergent rock on the increasingly steeper dirt and graveled path, but regained his balance. He stopped and shielded his eyes from the glare. “Back in the late 1800s, I think, there was this guy Sutro, who solved some engineering issues they had with a major gold mine up north. Made him a multimillionaire. He built this complex, which had six humongous, glass-enclosed, indoor swimming pools, a skating rink, a museum, and other shit like that. People came from all over. Anyway, it was still standing after the 1906 earthquake, but ironically burned down a year later. Go figure.”
“Indoor glass-enclosed pools,” Vail said, looking out at the gray Pacific. “Must’ve had a magnificent ocean view.”
“I’m sure that’s why it was such a huge hit. Come on.”
They continued down the path. To their right, a large brown and white sign read
CAUTION
CLIFF AND SURF AREA
EXTREMELY DANGEROUS
People have been swept from the rocks and drowned
“Good to know,” Vail quipped. “Watch out for giant, man-eating waves.”
“It’s no joke,” Friedberg said as they passed the warning placard tunnel. “Over thirty ships have been pounded to smithereens against those rocks below us.”
“Looks like we found our crime scene.” Burden gestured to an area at the end of their path, where an SFPD officer stood guard. “By that hole in the rock face.”
“And what is that hole in the rock face?” Vail asked.
Burden shrugged.
“Beats me,” Friedberg said. “I’ve only been here once, for dinner. I read about the Sutro Baths in the gift shop.”
“And here I thought you were a scholar, a historian to be taken seriously.”
“As a matter of fact-”
“Please,” Burden said. “Don’t get him started on that.”
As they reached the bottom of the path, another brown Caution sign rose from the scattered boulders, warning people of the dangers of falling off the cliffs and into the ocean.