All the if-onlys, and focusing on them didn’t change a thing.
She closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and thought about Haven Dietz. Leaving the brokerage firm with a hundred thousand dollars in her briefcase. Walking across the park from her bus. The briefcase had been found empty in a trash can several yards from where she was attacked-a scarred black leather case that had seen better days. Not a case that would attract a thief.
Someone had known the contents of that case.
And he or she had come prepared to carry the cash away, probably in the duffel bag that had been stashed under the floorboards of the Peepleses’ tack room.
The attack had been savage. Dietz’s assailant had taken out extreme rage and hatred on her.
Larry Peeples?
Julia couldn’t stand sitting around, waiting on word about Shar, waiting for a sudden inspiration to strike her. She looked at her watch: eleven o’clock, a good time for a drive to the wine country.
RAE KELLEHER
She’d stayed up late questioning Callie, slept a few hours. When she got up she made arrangements for the woman to give a deposition to Ricky’s and her attorney, then fly to New York City and stay at an apartment that Zenith Records, Ricky’s company, maintained there. An associate of Ricky’s would keep tabs on Callie until legal action about the things she had told Rae could be set in motion.
Rae checked with the hospital-Shar was hanging in there but far from out of the woods. She cooked Callie breakfast, then took her to the attorney’s office and then the airport. When she got back home, she listened to the tapes she’d made of their conversation. The only detail Callie had been reticent about was who had threatened her, but Rae could guess.
“… Lee Summers pimped his own daughter. At first it was like, she was pretty so he’d take her around, show her off to political people. But then he was setting her up with guys he wanted to give him a donation or owe him favors… I don’t know who, but they were important.
“She told me she freaked the first time, didn’t know her dad had turned her over to this older guy for sex. But after a while she kind of got into it, because it was a way of sticking it to Daddy in return. I could’ve told her Daddy couldn’t care less, but she didn’t want to hear it. He’s one cold son of a bitch, that Summers…
“I met her when Summers hired me to do a twosome with her. She was pretty drugged up, didn’t even know they were videotaping it. Afterwards I took her home with me, sobered her up, calmed her down. She didn’t want to go back to her parents’ place, so I let her stay. She changed her name, bought fake ID, turned some tricks, and six weeks later she was dead…
“Yeah, I knew who she really was, but I wasn’t gonna go to the cops with it. That Lee Summers is a bad dude; I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed her himself… Why? Because she was outside of his control. What if she decided to go to the press? What if she told somebody and they talked?
“… I don’t know who else was involved in the taping. Summers hired me, and a director and a couple of porn techies that I’ve seen around town handled the shoot… No, I can’t give you their names, but they work for a production company, Hot Shots. They’ve got an office and soundstage on Howard Street.
“… I’m talking to you because I read about what happened to your boss and I think Lee Summers had a hand in it. I hate men like him. I think you might be able to do something about this; then I won’t have to be looking over my shoulder my whole life.”
Rae clicked off the recorder.
All right, she thought, on to Hot Shots.
MICK SAVAGE
He’d been at the hospital for hours, but there was no change in Shar’s condition and he needed to do something at the pier. It was nearly noon, when Diane D’Angelo always left promptly for lunch-a good time for him to get into her files on the city hall case.
Craig distrusted the socialite who was playing at being an investigator, and Mick did, too. Not only because she’d produced no results on the case, but because her self-blaming remark about how Shar had gotten shot because she’d failed to solve the case smacked of insincerity, and-he’d realized this afternoon-the woman had never once visited his aunt since she’d been hospitalized. Everybody else from the agency had been at both SFG and the Brandt Institute.
Mick parked his Harley in his allotted space on the pier’s floor. Of the vehicles belonging to agency personnel, only Ted’s new red Smart car was there. He went upstairs, looked into Ted’s office: the office manager-or Grand Poobah, as he jokingly referred to himself-was at his desk, scowling at the computer monitor. Mick slipped by unobserved.
The agency’s system was difficult for outsiders to access, but simple for employees. They were a team, they trusted each other, no need to take extra precautions. Mick pulled his chair up to his workstation and began typing in passwords.
Diane D’Angelo’s files were blocked.
Uh-huh, but not for long. Not with the new software he and Derek had developed for just such contingencies.
He accessed the blocked files within three minutes. Found the ones D’Angelo had passed along to Craig and him, and also the file on the inquiry that Shar had handled last year for Amanda Teller. The one Derek had retrieved for Hy on Monday.
No reason for D’Angelo to have that file.
Next job: find out about the woman.
Mick’s fingers tapped over the keyboard as he moved from one search engine to another. What he discovered didn’t surprise him.
She wasn’t who she claimed to be. Diane D’Angelo, formerly of San Francisco and then of New York City, had died in a boating accident off the coast of Maine five years ago.
So who was this imposter? And why hadn’t Shar run a routine background check when she hired her? Or asked Derek or him to do it?
He began searching again.
JULIA RAFAEL
She arrived at the Peepleses’ winery at a quarter to one. It was hot in the Valley of the Moon, the surrounding vineyards still on this windless day. A couple of men in work clothes and sun-shade hats were out, doing whatever people did to tend vines, but they moved in slow motion. Julia parked in the driveway and went down a path at the side of the house to the stables, where Judy Peeples had told her she’d be. The tall, frail woman was grooming a big black horse that, to Julia, looked mean and dangerous.
When she called out, Mrs. Peeples turned and greeted her. She set down the brush she’d been using on the horse and put him in his stall, then came over and shook Julia’s hand.
“I’m sorry my husband can’t be here,” she said. “He’s at a wine-makers’ luncheon in town. A regular monthly event. I didn’t want him to miss it; he’s had so little diversion since he discovered that money.”
“And you? How’re you holding up?”
“Oh…” She made a dismissive gesture. “I have my diversions. I ride and I consult with our accounting personnel and I look after Thomas.”
And who looks after you?
Julia bit back the question, asked, “Could I take another look at the money and the bag that it was in?”
“Oh, dear. You came all the way up here for that?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Well, the money is still in the safe, but the bag-Thomas disposed of it.”
“Why? It was evidence!”
“Evidence of our son’s wrongdoing, Thomas said. He didn’t want it in the house.”
“Mierda!”
Mrs. Peeples looked conflicted. After several seconds she said, “It’s true that the bag isn’t in the house any more. But I removed it from the trash and put it back where he found it, under the floor of the tack room. It’s evidence, but I don’t care what my son did. I just want to know what happened to him.”