"Those days are over now," Rick simply stated. "Funny how an entire life reduces to that final moment. Bob probably thought he could get out of it, whatever or whoever. Self-confidence was never his problem."
"Same M.O.?" The coroner pulled the sheet up over Bob's discolored face.
"Yes. More than likely he wasn't shot at the school. His body was carried to the high school and up the steps. He's no feather either."
"One hundred and eighty-eight pounds, a good weight for a cornerback. Your killer will have sore legs unless he's a weight lifter."
When Rick and Cynthia drove away, Cynthia said, "Harry, Boom, and Fair certainly had a shock. They didn't know he'd been shot between the eyes until we hauled up the body. There's that moment when you see the corpse, the physical damage-it never leaves you."
"I was surprised that BoomBoom didn't swoon. She rarely misses an opportunity to give vent to her innermost feelings," Rick wryly commented.
"Remarkably restrained." Cynthia sighed. "Considering she'd slept with the man not six or seven hours before that."
"We've got her statement. She didn't waffle. I give her credit." Rick headed back toward the department, then turned toward Crozet.
"School?"
"No. BoomBoom's."
They pulled into the driveway of the beautiful white brick home. BoomBoom's deceased husband had made a lot of money in the gravel and concrete business, a business she still owned although she did not attend to day-to-day operations. Flakey as Boom could be, she could read an accounting report with the best of them, and she made a point of dropping in at the quarry once or twice a week. She intended to profit handsomely from the building boom in Albemarle County.
A Toyota Camry was parked next to her BMW.
If anything, BoomBoom seemed relieved to see them again. Her eyes, red from crying, were anxious.
Chris Sharpton and Bitsy Valenzuela rose when Rick and Cynthia walked into the lavish living room.
"Should we leave?"
"Not yet," Rick said.
Boom offered refreshments, which they declined.
"Ladies, what are you doing here?" the sheriff asked.
"I called them," Boom said.
"That's fine but I didn't ask you." Rick smiled, as he'd known Olivia Ulrich Craycroft since she was tiny, and no offense was taken on her part.
"Like she said, she called me, she was crying and I drove over," Chris said. "I'm afraid I haven't been much comfort. I told her to take a vacation. In fact, everyone from her class should take a vacation."
"She called me, too." Bitsy confirmed BoomBoom's statement. "I asked E.R. if I could come over. He's worried about all this but he relented since Chris and I were driving over to-gether."
"The victims are men." Cynthia leaned forward as Rick settled into his chair. "BoomBoom doesn't appear to be in danger."
"I'd hate to be the exception that proves the rule," BoomBoom said.
Rick waited, resting his head on his hand.
First she sat still, then she fidgeted. Finally she spoke. "I know you think I know something, sheriff, but I don't." Suddenly she got up and walked upstairs to her bedroom, returning with Bob's gold Rolex watch. She dropped it into Rick's upturned hand. "I didn't steal it. He left it here last night. Can you return it to his widow? I mean, you don't have to tell. Why should she know?"
"Fine." Rick slipped the heavy watch in his pocket.
"Were you two together in high school?" Cynthia asked.
"No. We just looked at one another at the supper and there it was. People told me these things happen at reunions but it wasn't a case of some old wish being fulfilled."
"Who did you date in high school? Any of the deceased?"
"Coop, I told you all this. No. My senior year I dated college guys mostly. The dances, let's see, I went with Bittner if my boyfriend at the time couldn't come."
"And where is this boyfriend?" Cynthia scribbled.
"A vice president at Coca-Cola in Atlanta. I think he'll be president someday. As you know, I married a hometown boy, although he was eight years older than I."
"Chris, sometimes outsiders can see more than insiders. What do you think?" Cynthia asked the blonde woman, who had been listening intently.
"That I'm glad I'm not part of this." She nervously glanced at BoomBoom. "Even if you are a woman and therefore probably safe, I'd be frightened."
"Did you notice anything unusual when you worked on the reunion?" Coop turned to Bitsy.
"Uh . . . well, they picked on one another. No one held much back." She smiled nervously. "But there wasn't enough hostility for murder."
"Did anyone ever discuss Charlie's illegitimate child from high school?"
Bitsy replied, "Not until Dennis lost his composure."
Chris looked Cynthia straight in the eye. "No. I didn't hear about that until later."
"You know that Dennis Rablan accused me of having Charlie's baby, but I didn't. I swear I didn't." BoomBoom frowned.
"But you know who did?" Rick quietly cornered her.
Boom's face turned red, then the color washed right out. "Oh God, I swore never to tell."
"You couldn't have foreseen this, and the information might have a bearing on the case." Rick remained calm and quiet.
Agitated, BoomBoom jumped from her chair. "No! I won't tell. She wouldn't have killed Charlie. She wouldn't. As for Leo and the others: Why? What could the motive possibly be? It makes no sense. I don't care what happened back then, if anything did happen. The murders make no sense."
"That's our job. To find out." Coop was now perched on the edge of her seat. "What may seem like no connection to you . . . well, there could be all kinds of reasons."
"But I thought these murders sprang from the supposed rape of Ron Brindell." Boom paced back and forth. "Isn't that what everyone's saying?"
"That's just it. No one admits to being there. Market Shiflett heard about it at school. Bittner says he wasn't there and the same for Dennis Rablan."
"What do you think?" BoomBoom asked Cynthia.
"It's not my job to point the finger until I have sufficient evidence. Right now what I think is immaterial."
"It's not immaterial to me." BoomBoom pouted, pacing faster. "You're asking me to betray a lifelong trust and I know in my heart that this woman has nothing to do with these awful murders." She sat down abruptly. "I know what you all think of me. You think I'm a dilettante. I have, as Mrs. Hogendobber so politely puts it, 'enthusiasms.' I sleep with men when I feel like it. That makes me a tramp, to some. I guess to most. You all think I take a new lover every night. I don't, of course. You think I'm overemotional, oversexed, and underpowered." She tapped her skull. "Think what you will, I still have honor. I refuse to tell."
"This could get you in a lot of trouble," Rick softly replied.
"Trouble on the outside, not trouble on the inside." She pointed to her heart.
51
Rick had been on the phone for fifteen minutes. On a hunch he had Cynthia call the San Francisco Police Department.
He decided he wanted to talk to the officers on the scene that night. Luckily, Tony Minton, now a captain, remembered the case.
"-you're sure the note was his handwriting?"
Captain Minton replied, "Yes. We searched his apartment after the suicide and the handwriting was his. Our graphologist confirmed."
"Enough is enough." Rick quoted Ron's suicide note.
"That was it."
"There were three reliable witnesses."
"And others who didn't stop. They reported a young man climbing on the Golden Gate Bridge, waving good-bye and leaping. We never found the body."
"And the witnesses could describe the victim?"
"Medium height. Thin build. Young. Dark hair."
"Yes." Rick covered his eyes with his palm for a moment. "Did he have a police record?"
"No."
"Captain Minton, thank you for going over this again. If you think of anything at all, please call me."