Tamara said, “Suppose he did see something that’d lead the cops to the perp? Suppose he’s been keeping it to himself all this time?”
“Everything about him says he’s a responsible citizen, but if he is holding back, then he’s a lot more damaged than we suspected.”
“So what do we do?”
“Just what we’ve been doing. We can’t alert the police without some kind of proof of his involvement. Where’s Jake now?”
“On his way back from seeing Ralph Linden.”
“And?”
“Troxell’s the one renting the granny unit. Jake can get in if we want him to go ahead. Linden offered him a spare key.”
“Offered being the operative word?”
“That’s what Jake said.”
“Does he have the key yet?”
“No. Shouldn’t take more than a phone call.”
Bill chewed on that for a time before he said, “There may not to be anything to find. Then again there may be more in that unit than we’re bargaining for. It’s a risk either way.”
“Only one way to find out. Won’t be the first time a law got broke in a good cause.” Like last spring, when she’d got herself into the mess in San Leandro and Bill and Jake had had to commit a B amp; E on the way to helping her out of it. But she didn’t say anything about that. Didn’t want to think about it. Those twenty-four hours still gave her nightmares.
“Bent, not broke. There’s a subtle distinction.”
“Uh-huh. Tell him to go ahead?”
“As far as setting it up with Linden for the key. Before we go any further than that, let’s see what Troxell does tonight.”
“You want Jake to keep up the surveillance?”
“No, I’ll take it. That’ll leave him free to do the bending if it works out that way. Meanwhile he can follow up on the stalker angle-talk to Erin Dumont’s sister, boyfriend, friends, the people she worked with.”
Tamara sat quiet for a time before she called Runyon. Her throat felt clogged up, as if she’d swallowed a bone. Images conjured up by the reports moved dark and ugly across the screen of her mind; she’d never laid eyes on Erin Dumont alive or dead, didn’t even know what the woman looked like, yet she could almost feel her terror and pain that last night of her life. Always been against the death penalty in principle, but whenever she came up against one of these inhuman scumbags, all her liberal attitudes went slipping and sliding away. This rape-homicide case, even though there was no personal connection, was having the same effect on her as the near-lethal encounters with the lunatic gunman last Christmas, the kid-abductor this past spring. Stalkers, rapists, child molesters, all the sadistic predators who preyed on women-they were the criminals she hated most. Lethal injection wasn’t enough for them. Every first-time offender convicted of a violent sexual crime ought to have his genitals whacked off; then there wouldn’t be any repeat offenders. If they used their dicks as weapons, they didn’t deserve to keep them. Why wasn’t that the goddamn law anyway? Because men made the laws. Cruel and unusual punishment, they said, the same self-righteous, pious bastard politicians who wanted to repeal the abortion laws and let women start dying again in agony and shame in back-alley rooms. What the hell was that if not cruel and unusual punishment?
Real easy, she thought bitterly, to understand why some women hated men, all men. Be real easy right now for her to count herself among that sisterhood.
12
JAKE RUNYON
Scott Iams, Erin Dumont’s boyfriend, worked for a catering company on Union Street on the edge of Cow Hollow-one block from the boutique FashionSense, where she’d been employed. Upscale neighborhood, mostly residential, tucked between Pacific Heights and the Marina, so named because city farmers and ranchers had kept dairy and beef cattle there during the Gold Rush years. Choice real estate nowadays, the kind of district where young, unskilled people worked and counted themselves lucky for their above-average salaries, but still couldn’t afford to live.
Iams was twenty-four, red-haired, linebacker-sized. He had the kind of face that would normally be good-natured, easygoing, but that was marked now by the filaments of tragedy. His blue eyes were mournful, his manner dull and listless. Runyon’s name and ID stirred up a little animation but no surprise; Risa Niland had called him earlier, he said, told him about her meeting with Runyon at the cemetery and his offer of help. He had a break coming and suggested they go for a walk while they talked. “I can’t seem to sit still since it happened. Seems like I have to be moving all the time, even in the middle of the night.”
Outside, Iams set a fast, long-striding pace that Runyon had to work to match. It was cold and windy here, this close to the bay, and there were twinges again in his bad leg. Exercise was good for the rebuilt bone and muscle; he’d learned to relish the pain, convert it into positive energy.
Iams said, “I don’t know what I can tell you, Mr. Runyon. Some nights I’d go jogging with Erin, but that night I had to work late. That night of all nights. Jesus, it makes me half crazy every time I think about what she must’ve gone through. I loved her, you know? I mean I really loved her.”
“How long had you been dating?”
“Six months, about. We met at Perry’s, that’s a bar up the street. We hit it off right away. I don’t believe in love at first sight or anything like that, but this was pretty close. You know?”
“Was she seeing anybody else at the time?”
“Not really. She had a lot of dates, she was so beautiful…” His voice caught on the last two words; he shook his head and repeated them, more to himself than to Runyon this time. “So beautiful.”
“Any steady boyfriends before you?”
“A couple, sure.”
“Relationships end on friendly terms?”
“As far as I know.”
“Was there anybody she had problems with?”
“Problems?”
“Men she dated who came on too strong, men she rejected who wouldn’t take no for an answer, kept bothering her?”
“Cops asked me that, too.”
“And?”
“I don’t think so,” Iams said.
“But you’re not positive?”
“She’d’ve told me if there was.”
“It wouldn’t have to have been recently. Before she knew you, at any time.”
“No, she’d’ve told me. We told each other everything about ourselves. That’s how serious it was getting between us… ah, Jesus. Jesus. Why her? Of all the people in this city, why Erin?”
There was nothing for Runyon to say to that.
Iams said, “I’ve been thinking the guy must’ve been a stranger, one of those crazy random things. But I guess he could be somebody she knew. And he wouldn’t’ve had to be hassling her, right?”
“Not necessarily.”
There was a little silence before Iams said, “Fatso.”
“Who would Fatso be?”
“A guy who was hanging around her for a while. But it couldn’t be him.”
“Why couldn’t it?”
“Well, it was a couple of years ago, before we hooked up. And he didn’t hassle her, not the way we’ve been talking about.”
“What did he do?”
“Just kept showing up, following her around like a big fat dog.”
“Is that the phrase Erin used, a big fat dog?”
“Yeah. She said he was humongous.”
“How big is humongous?”
“Three hundred pounds or more.”
“Where was it he kept showing up?” Runyon asked. “In this neighborhood? Where she lived? Someplace she went regularly?”
“… I don’t know. All she said was he was around for a while and then he was gone, like maybe the Animal Control people came and carted him off to the pound. She thought it was funny. She was laughing when she told me about him.”
“What was his real name?”
“All she called him was Fatso.”
“She know what he did for a living?”
“If she did, she didn’t say.”
“He followed her around, you said. Literally?”
“I don’t think she meant it like that,” Iams said. “Just that he kept turning up places she went.”