“Meaning?” Friedberg asked.
“Meaning,” Allman said, “the key has no overt purpose for being there. And I believe Agent Vail can tell you that means it has relevance to the killer’s behavior. Isn’t that right, Agent Vail?”
Vail turned back. “Potentially. What kind of key is it? Where was it found?”
Allman held up two fingers about three inches apart. “Brass. Big and wide. It looks old, because the brass is tarnished, but it’s not worn. I don’t know if it’s significant, but something’s been filed off the top. It was on the dresser across from Mrs. Ilg’s body.”
“I saw that,” Friedberg said. “I thought it was just a key.”
“And this ties in to a prior murder, how?” Vail asked.
“Back in ’82,” Burden said. “A key like Clay’s describing was found at the crime scene of a male who’d been murdered, his body dumped in San Bruno, outside the federal building.”
Vail tilted her head. “San Bruno-I’ve seen that. On a sign, I think. Where is it?”
“Near SFO,” Friedberg said. “San Mateo County. Ever hear of Keith Hernandez, the baseball player?”
“Wasn’t he on Seinfeld a couple of times?” Vail asked.
“One of the best first basemen in history. Went to high school in San Bruno.”
“I’m sure tens of thousands of kids did,” Vail said. “Why do I need to know this? And why did SFPD get the case if it was San Mateo County?”
“Because,” Allman said, “even though the vic was discovered in San Bruno, he lived in the city.”
“I want to see that file,” Vail said. “Everything you’ve got.”
“Yeah, well…” Burden pursed his lips. “I’d like to give it to you, but a lot of homicide files were destroyed in a fire in ’99. What the fire didn’t get, the water from the fire department did. We’ve got some stuff, but it was all dumped in a warehouse. We never had the money to sort through all that garbage. If we need something, we either find the info some other way or one of us spends hours sifting through all that moldy shit. And most of the time we never find what we’re looking for.”
Allman spread both hands, palm up. “I can help.”
“And what’s that’s gonna cost us?” Friedberg asked.
Allman grinned. “Nothing. I’m offering my services as someone doing his civic duty. Of course, if you find it in your hearts to return the favor at some point in this investigation…”
“How are you gonna help?” Burden asked.
“That murder was the first scene I covered for the Tribune as the lead reporter. I’ll give you my story, photos, everything I’ve got that the paper’ll let me release. I might even have some other stuff in my archives. And the Trib may have something. I’ll have to see. We were computerized, but we still used onsite servers.”
“Anything you can give us’ll be appreciated,” Burden said.
“We had full access to crime scenes back then, so I’ve got a fair amount of stuff.”
“When can you get it to us?” Friedberg asked.
“I’ve gotta file this story-the one I can’t say much about-and then I’ll dig around and get it all together.”
“You can’t say anything about the key,” Vail said.
Allman jutted his head back. “So let me get this straight, Vail. I give you this all important detail that may provide linkage to a thirty-year-old unsolved case-which all of you missed-and you tell me, a member of the press, that I can’t include that in my story?”
“That sounds about right,” Vail said.
“Well, it sounds about wrong to me,” Allman said.
“Clay.” Burden stepped forward and placed a hand around Allman’s shoulders. “Come here for a sec.”
Vail watched as Burden and Allman took ten paces, then turned to face one another. “You have a problem with reporters,” she said to Friedberg.
Friedberg’s face remained still, but his fingers fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. He extracted one, pulled out a match, and set it alight. “You really want to know?”
“I’m not just making small talk.”
“I’ve never told anyone this, and if I didn’t know you from that Crush Killer case, I’d never be telling you.” He took a drag and studied her face. “But I feel like I can trust you.” He blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. “Can I?”
“I’m a cop, of course you can trust me. But that’s a loaded question. If you’re going to confess to a murder, I’m not sure how that would work out.” Vail thought of a situation exactly like that, something that had occurred only two months ago. The circumstances were different, but the scenario was the same.
“No, no confession.” He held the cigarette in front of him, examined it a moment, then said, “When I was with the county-remember, I was with the sheriff’s department in Marin. There was this case. A reporter was covering it for the Register. And he was at a crime scene, outside the tape, about twenty yards away.
“He comes over to me and says he has to talk to me about something. I didn’t know who the hell he was. Then he introduced himself and I knew of him. He used to be with the Trib, taught Clay the ropes. Anyway, he says we should do coffee. I thought he wanted some inside scoop on the case, and I’ve never been one to leak stuff to the press, and I know you gotta be real careful what you say to them because it may end up plastered all over the front page, and if it gets picked up and runs nationally, it could cause problems. But I figure, hey, this guy’s been around a long time in the Bay Area, so sure. I’ll give him the time of day.”
“So you met with him.”
“I hadn’t even sat down with my hot coffee before he tells me that he’s gonna report me to my boss. For what, I ask. For planting evidence, he says.”
“Did you know what he was talking about?”
“No idea. But I gotta tell you, I felt the anger rising in my head, like bile. You know? So I bite down and hold my mouth, because I was ready to rip him a new asshole. Like, who the hell are you to accuse me of something like that? I’ve been a cop for twenty-three years, and I’ve never done anything wrong on the job. Never. Goddamn boy scout.”
“So what was the deal?”
“He said he saw me put something on the vic. I told him I checked inside his belt buckle, when I was looking for his piece, which we later found underneath him, caught in his jacket. See, the skel got off a couple rounds, I returned fire and took him down. But at first we couldn’t find the weapon. I thought it was an automatic, turns out it was a revolver. They never did find any of the slugs he shot, which just added fuel to the fire.”
“So this reporter thought you planted the revolver on the vic’s body.”
“Which is stupid. If I was gonna do something like that-which I would never do-but if I was going to, why would I wait till other cops-and the press-are there?”