Wish we’d seen that before.
“We’re missing a number,” Burden said.
Vail stepped up to the board and jabbed a finger at one of the messages the offender had sent. “He wrote, I’ve given you some latitude, but you’ve come up short.” She faced them. “One number short.”
Dixon looked at the wall clock. “Here’s another number we’re gonna come up short on. We’ve only got twenty-seven minutes to get there.”
AS THEY RAN DOWN THE stairs, Burden called the SFPD Marine Unit and told them they needed the Zodiac ready to rock and roll in ten minutes. They hit the lobby in single file and ran past security, then out the front door into the cold night air.
They dashed left, around the corner, and into the lot where the Taurus was parked. From there, Burden accelerated hard and screeched his tires, headed for Pier 39.
BURDEN SWERVED WIDE ON A turn and his rear fender caught the corner of a San Francisco Register street dispenser. Vail and Dixon grabbed for something to hold onto.
“Was the DB Friedberg?” Dixon asked.
“Don’t know,” Burden said. “Should’ve asked. Roxxann-get the goddamn light up there.”
Dixon, riding shotgun, reached down and put the flashing dome atop the roof.
“Guard said it was a male, no ID.”
“That fits the pattern,” Vail said. “Doesn’t get much more high profile than leaving a body on Alcatraz.”
“No kidding,” Burden said. “They get like five thousand visitors a day there. People come from all over the world. It’s like mythic or something. People are fascinated by the place.”
“How long till we get there?”
“We’ll be at the dock in five, if I run some lights.”
“And to the island?”
“No idea. I’ve only gone there by ferry. Fifteen minutes, maybe. I think we can do a lot better in the Zodiac.”
“Either way,” Vail said, “it’s gonna be close.” She thought a moment, then said, “Think back to all the victims. The way they were positioned. They were facing the Bay. But were they all facing Alcatraz?”
Burden thought a long moment, no doubt running the crime scenes and male victims through his memory. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Except for Ilg, who was in the tunnel-the hole-I think they were.”
Vail nodded. Then we’re right. Alcatraz is the key. “This guy. Our UNSUB is likely a former prisoner there.”
“And,” Dixon said, “the vics are probably tied to Alcatraz in some way, too.”
“Reasonable assumption,” Vail said. “Other prisoners who wronged him. Or guards.”
“The phone that text came from,” Burden said as he swung a hard right onto Embarcadero. “Send a reply. We’re on our way.”
“He’s not interested in hearing from us. He wants us there, to find what he’s left for us. But I’ll see if they can put a trap on the phone. He’s too smart to get caught like that-but who knows.”
Moments later, the Ford pulled up hard against the curb and they jumped out, making a dash for the small Zodiac inflatable, which was lit with spotlights and moored at the dock. An officer stood in the back, adjusting a setting on the Johnson outboard motor.
“Whoa.” The cop held up a hand as they approached the Zodiac. “Not enough room to bring you all over. One of you’s gonna have to stay behind.”
Vail looked at Burden and Dixon, then said, “We’re all going. Together.” She stepped down into the inflatable gray craft, followed by Burden and Dixon.
“You heard the woman.” Burden, perched on the elevated hump in front, gestured with his chin. “Move it!”
60
September 16, 1962
Alcatraz
The morning after his discussion with Clarence Carnes, Carnes introduced MacNally to Reese Shoemacher in the recreation yard. They talked about the progress Shoemacher had made in cutting through the bars, then, having finished their business, moved off their separate ways: Shoemacher to play dominoes with the other negroes, and MacNally to sit and think, alone.
MacNally closed his eyes and took a deep breath of salty, damp San Francisco air. The uncharacteristically sunny day gave him much needed light, and an equally uncharacteristic lift to his spirits.
He sat on the top step, his back against the penitentiary wall, symbolic in so many ways that he dared not explore it too deeply.
And then a man called his name. MacNally opened his eyes and saw a short, squat individual he had never before seen. He was not an inmate, as he was dressed in a black suit. As he approached, MacNally saw a roman collar. A priest-and he was now standing in front of him, blocking the sun.
“I was told I should come talk with you.”
“That right?” MacNally said, turning his gaze away, toward the Bay. “And who told you that?”
“Warden Dollison. You apparently made an impression on him. He said he was concerned about you and felt you could use a friend.”
“I don’t have any friends.”
“That’s precisely why you could use one.” He extended a hand. “Ralph Finelli.”
MacNally examined the offer but did not accept it.
Rather than walking off, Finelli sat down beside him.
MacNally looked at him, his bewilderment likely showing on his face.
“I’m a seminarian,” Finelli said, “at Mission San Francisco de Asís.”
“You mean, like a sky pilot?”
Finelli smiled. He was obviously familiar with the prison term for a priest. “Not yet. But soon.” He tilted his head and regarded MacNally. “You have a great deal of anger. And heartache. I can see it in your face, the way you hunch your shoulders. It’s tearing you up inside.”
“All due respect, Father. I’m not interested in religious discussions.”
“Call me Ralph. And I’m not here to proselytize or talk with you about religion. I’m just here to listen, lend some advice if that’s what you need, and to guide you through a difficult time.”
“After what’s happened to me the past few years, I can’t say I believe in God.”
“I’m only here to help,” Finelli said, palms out. “That’s it.”
“I need to get out of this place, to see my son. He’s living in some kind of orphanage. Can you help me with that?”
Finelli grinned broadly, as if MacNally had said something ridiculously humorous. To an outsider, it may have seemed like just that.
“I’m afraid that’s beyond my powers of assistance. What’s your son’s name?”
MacNally clenched his jaw. He did not want to talk about Henry, unless it meant blazing a path for reuniting with him. But perhaps this man could help him in ways he did not yet understand. “Henry.”