"I mean no offense," Stuart said, adopting the tone, "but somebody must be lying about where they were if they killed Caryn, and I intend to find out who that was."
"Well." Again, palms up, unfeigned innocence. "It wasn't me. I'd say you could ask my wife or any of my three kids, but I'd really prefer you didn't see the need to do that. But because my heart goes out to you, it really does, I'll tell you more than the inspector asked. I barbecued a chicken on my new rotisserie. It was great, rosemary and lemon. Outstanding. And had half a bottle of wine-you know Chalk Hill Chardonnay? Awesome stuff. Then put the kids down by seven thirty-the oldest is six, so bedtime's always early. And I was sawing logs myself by nine. So no, I didn't kill Caryn. Besides which, I thought she was a great person. Smart, interesting, fun."
Stuart nodded, and suddenly found himself unable to speak. Evidently his wife had remained smart, interesting and fun to some people right up until the time she'd been killed. Covering his emotional lapse with a sip of coffee, Stuart put his mug down and got to his feet. "One more thing, if you don't mind? Did any of the other investors know she was working to get this postponement on going into full production?"
"Not that I know of. Not through me, certainly. Someone may have gotten some wind of it out of PII directly, but even that would have been unusual."
"Well." A chagrined look on his face, Stuart held out a hand. "Thanks for your time. Sorry for the questions."
"No problem," Furth said. "I wish I could have been more help."
The cab of Stuart's truck baked at close to one hundred degrees out in the lot. Opening both doors for cross-ventilation, he checked behind the front seat on the passenger side where he'd stashed his duffel bag and saw that it was where and how he'd left it and then, on second thought, brought it out and reached down to the bottom where he'd thrown in his little-used first generation cell phone. Going to stand in the shade of an olive tree while the cab aired out, he punched in his daughter's number.
"Hey, Dad. Where are you?"
"How did you know it was me?"
"You're kidding, right? You're in my address book. You call, your name comes up."
"Where?"
"On the window? In front? Hello? But let's play another game. Where are you?"
"Palo Alto. Talking to some people Mom did business with."
"What about?"
"What she was doing with them. If maybe it made somebody mad at her."
"Shouldn't the cops be doing that?"
"They're not, though. And I've decided I'm not going to get arrested, so it's up to me."
"What do you mean, you're not going to get arrested?"
"I mean pretty much the standard meaning. I'm not going to jail."
"Yeah, but… Dad, I don't think it's like they ask your opinion."
"No, I know. Which is why I wanted to call you and tell you how you could reach me if you need to. You've got my cell number?"
"Didn't we just do this? It's in my phone. How else would it know it was you calling?"
"Right. Yeah. Of course. But my point is that you can reach me anytime, but don't tell anybody you know where I am." "Anybody? What about your lawyer?" "No. I'll contact her if I need to."
"What about Debra?"
"You can tell Debra, but I don't really want to talk to her." "Why not? She's being nice to me."
"I know that. She's a fine person, and I'm glad she's letting you stay with her, but I just can't talk to her right now, okay? And I promise I'll do what I need to for the funeral. But for now, I've got to do some things and maybe stay out of sight."
"But what if… I mean, if they say you're under arrest, they can just come and get you."
"If they can find me, which is why I don't want you telling anybody about my number."
"But they might shoot you. Don't they do that, for like resisting arrest?"
"Nobody's going to shoot me, Kym. I'm just laying low, okay?" "I don't like it. I really don't like it, Daddy." "Well…"
"What if they do shoot you, then what? First Mom, and then… I mean, what am I supposed to do if…" This, Stuart knew, was classic Kym beginning her downward spiral, and it was only going to get worse if he didn't stand firm.
"Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie. Hold up. Whoa. We'll be in touch all the time, you and me. I'm not going to confront any policemen, I promise. If they find me, I'll go along. But I really, really want to avoid that. I'm not going to let anybody kill me. Cops or anybody else."
"You know what you tell me whenever I say anything like that?"
"No. What?"
"Famous last words."
It took him the better part of five minutes to end that conversation on anything less than a disastrously negative note, but he kept at it until his daughter was at least giving lip service to respecting his decision. In the course of the talk, though, he asked her if she'd tried to reach him at their house earlier in the day and she'd told him no. Debra hadn't tried to call him either.
He'd been sure it was a woman's voice on the answering machine when he'd been packing, so it must have been Gina. Which meant there may have been a development. He considered it for a few seconds, and decided it probably wouldn't be profitable to talk to her in person, plus he was all argued out with his daughter, so he called his own home number to get the message Gina must have left.
But it wasn't Gina.
"Hello, this is Kelley Gray Rusnak from PII calling for Stuart. Stuart, I don't know if you remember me, but I was Caryn's lab assistant down here. You and I met a couple of times. I see what they're saying in the papers about you and Caryn, but you know I've read all your books and I just don't believe you're the kind of person who could hurt someone, especially Caryn. And I don't know, maybe you're already in jail, but I haven't heard that on the news yet and I probably would have, so I thought I'd try to reach you at your home number. I think maybe there's something you should know about that's been going on here, that Caryn was kind of worried about…"
Nineteen
The PII corporate offices and laboratories were located in the industrial flats, pocked by low-rise development, near the San Francisco airport. Kelley Rusnak seemed relieved to hear back from Stuart, but didn't want to talk about it on the telephone. Stuart convinced her to take some time off and meet him in half an hour at the Hungry Hunter, a steak house just off the freeway in San Bruno, perhaps ten minutes from where she worked.
The cab of the truck had cooled to mere lava, but Stuart barely noticed. Kicking himself for not having answered the phone in his house, when Kelley's information, whatever it was, might have done him some good in his discussions with Fred Furth or even Juhle, he was obviously speeding as he flew past a Palo Alto city police car waiting at the front of a line at a red light on El Camino. Slamming on his brakes, then jamming down a couple of gears, his eyes were glued to the rearview as the cop turned in behind him and lit up his red flashers.
A murder suspect driving a vehicle with a stolen license plate,
carrying a loaded gun in the cab, Stuart put on his blinker and began to pull over. But the patrol car swung left around him. As it passed, the officer in the passenger seat wagged a finger at Stuart, but evidently they'd gotten a call to some event that trumped his traffic stop. Raising his own hand, acknowledging the warning with a wary smile, Stuart continued on the El Camino for another block before turning off the main thoroughfare into a side street-any side street. With his stomach churning and his head gone light with the close call, he wound his way through a neighborhood of mostly brand-new mansions, to the freeway entrance.
He was at the Hungry Hunter parking lot fifteen minutes later. It was past lunchtime now, and still an hour or more before happy hour was to begin, so there was no problem with parking. Stuart was rolling up his driver's side window when a knock on the other window almost made him jump. When he'd gotten Kelley's message, and even when he'd talked to her and set up this meeting, he hadn't been completely sure which of Caryn's lab colleagues Kelley was. But now, reaching over and unlocking the door, he recognized her right away.