AT VAIL’S URGING, BURDEN CALLED Allman and told him to meet them at the Tadich Grill, a four minute ride from the station. They hadn’t eaten in several hours, and with Burden looking to avoid his lieutenant’s overtime budgetary wrath, they decided to extend their day by meeting, unofficially, offsite.
“Tadich is the oldest restaurant in the city,” Friedberg said. “It may even be the oldest business, period. Dates all the way back to the Gold Rush days, 1849.”
The neon sign that protruded perpendicularly from the emerald-toned building front confirmed Friedberg’s information. Apparently, the establishment was proud of their heritage, as it was also emblazoned across the transom over the doorway. And on the glass storefront.
Vail pointed to the text. “Actually, it says they’re the oldest in the state, not just the city.”
Friedberg hiked his brow. “Whaddya know. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Please do,” Vail said. She leaned back and looked accusingly at Friedberg. “Is the rest of your info that faulty?”
“Did you notice the name of this building?” Burden asked. He pointed to the sign above the Tadich entrance. “The Bitch Building. Guess it’s only fitting that you’re eating here.”
“It’s B-u-i-c-h,” Friedberg said, spelling it out. “I’m not sure I’d pronounce it ‘bitch.’”
“Karen might,” Burden said.
Vail jutted her chin back and looked admiringly at Burden. “Good one.”
Dixon pulled open the polished copper door and they filed in. Ahead of them stood an expansive bar that dominated the right side of the long and narrow restaurant. A silver-haired man in a white jacket and black pants greeted them and led them across the white tile and paneled walls to a series of private booths that lined the left side of the interior. Quarter loaves of round sourdough bread sat on a plate on each empty table, along with a bowl of sliced lemons.
“In a few minutes this place is gonna be packed,” Burden said.
“Food’s that good?” Vail asked.
Burden bobbed his head from side to side. “It’s more…the experience of eating here.”
“The experience,” Vail repeated. She turned to Dixon. “I think we’re in trouble.”
The waiter gave Vail an unsavory twist of his face, set down the cardstock menus, and pushed his way toward the front of the restaurant, where more diners were entering.
Their table was separated by a tall wood divider that gave them a sense of isolation. Stacks of white linens were piled atop each of the dividers, which extended into the distance.
“I figured this would be the best place to discuss serial killers without pissing off the customers,” Burden said.
Dixon pulled out her wood chair, then nodded at the front door. “There’s our guest.”
Clay Allman followed the same path the others had a moment earlier, then pulled over an extra chair and placed it at the end of the table. “I haven’t eaten here in years.”
“I hear it’s quite the experience,” Vail said.
Allman pursed his lips as he snagged an extra napkin from the divider and unfurled it with a flick of his wrist. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“So remember we talked about helping each other out?” Burden said.
“That’s what I do, Birdie. And have done, for twenty-five years. You know that-what’s this about?”
“We’ve got something that needs to appear in tomorrow’s paper.”
Allman stole a look at his watch. “You did say, tomorrow, right?”
“I did.”
Allman sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “We missed the 5-star deadline, but I can probably make the 8:30 ‘1-dot’ edition. What’s so urgent that it has to get into the paper?”
Burden looked at Vail, who picked up the conversation.
“We got a letter from the offender.”
“What’s it say?”
Vail glanced at her task force colleagues, then said, “It reads like a manifesto. Off the record, it seems like he’s done time in prison.”
“And that’s off the record? Give me a break, Karen.” Allman leaned closer. “Can I call you Karen?”
“Call me whatever you want. But we need you to print something for us.”
“How ’bout I print that for you and you let me see this manifesto-and let me mention that prison thing in the article?” Allman twitched his brow.
“How ’bout we buy you dinner,” Vail said. “And you mention that we received a letter from the offender.”
Allman tilted his head in thought. “How ’bout-”
“Clay,” Burden said. “We’re up against the wall here and we need you to do this.” He looked at Allman, his gaze steady-and intense.
“Evening everyone,” the waiter said. “May I take your order?”
They pulled the menus up to their face, selected quickly-Pasta and Clams for Burden, White Branzino Sea Bass for Friedberg, Bay Shrimp Diablo for Vail, and Pacific Oysters Rockefeller for Dixon.
“You’re buying?” Allman asked.
“If we’ve got a deal,” Vail said, “we’re buying.”
Allman groaned. “Fine.” He looked up at the waiter. “Lobster thermidor.” He glanced again at his watch. “Not that I’ll have much time to eat it…”
The server collected the menus and left.
Allman pulled out a spiral notepad from his leather bomber jacket. “So what do you want this to say?”
Vail looked off at the rapidly filling restaurant. The scent of fresh fish sat heavily on the air, the sizzle of frying food off somewhere in the distance. Appeal to his superior intellect. “Try this: A letter was received today by the investigating detective on the Bay Killer case. The task force is awed by the killer’s intellect, and by his insights on the rules of society.” We have to challenge him. “But I’m asking him to be more forthcoming about what his intent is, and what it all means, because even with the mistakes he’s made, I haven’t been able to figure it out.”
Allman stopped writing, then looked up. “You want this personal. You used the first person. Is that the way you want it? A direct quote?”
“I want him knowing it came from my mouth, yeah.”
“Want to clarify what you mean by ‘the mistakes’ he’s made?”
“Just go with what I gave you, Clay. But don’t post it online tonight. Let it hit the paper in the morning. I want to control when he sees it in case he feels the need to act. I’d rather it be daylight.”
Allman again consulted his watch. “If I’m going to make tomorrow’s edition, I’ll have to leave here in fifteen, twenty at the most.”