Dead in the Water (13 page)

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19

Instead of heading for
the Golden Gate Bridge, I drove to the swim office in Fort Mason. I wanted a few minutes to myself before I went home. Even though Justin took off as if I had a contagious disease, I enjoyed the dinner, not just the food, but his company. Interesting man.

Pulling into the parking lot, I saw NPS security drive by. At the wheel was my friend, Jon Angel. He stopped when he saw me and slid down his window.

“Too nice to be working, but I’m here,” he said, looking over the Bay, shimmering in the evening sunlight. “Did you forget something?”

“I think I left the copier on. This will only take a minute.”

I walked quickly to the front door of the building. With Jon out there, I wouldn’t have all that much time to sit and think over my dinner with Justin. If I didn’t reappear in fifteen minutes, he’d come looking for me.

The door was still unlocked, but it felt so heavy to push open. Too many papusas. The automatic lights in the hall switched on as I walked into the building and climbed up the three flights of stairs. Not a soul was around. My footsteps echoed through the empty stairwell.

Stopping in front of the door to the Swimming Association office, I dug in my backpack for the keys. The rush of adrenaline that I felt before dinner was draining away. I rested my head against the door, beginning to feel pleasantly tired. The weight of my head pushed the door open slightly. I had closed and locked it when I left, I was sure. I always do.

Could someone be in there? I thought of Jon in the parking lot. Should I go get him? I held my breath and listened. Nothing, no noise, no sounds. All I could hear was the echo of my heartbeat in my ears. The darkness of the hallway closed in around me. Maybe the cleaning people had been there and forgot to shut the door.

I quietly placed my hand on the door and gave a small push. It opened a few inches. I stopped and listened. Nothing. I pushed again and then, “Hello, is anyone here?” All I heard was my own tentative voice. I gave one big push and stepped back quickly against the wall in the hallway. The door widened and hit the chair just inside the office. I reached in, searched for the light switch on the wall and turned it on. The office was empty, just as I left it a few hours ago.

With an audible sigh, I walked in and sat down at my desk. The red light was blinking on the phone, but the calls could wait. I walked over to the window and stared out. The pulsing navigation lights on Alcatraz could be seen. The sun was low in the west, a huge orange ball drifting down toward the ocean outside the Golden Gate. It turned the waters of the Bay a deep, bottomless blue-black.

I walked into hall heading for the storage room with the spaceage copier. The automatic hallway light had switched off and it was dark. For some reason, it didn’t go back on again when I stepped out of my office.

Hard to find the right key in this darkness. I squinted at each one in the dim light. Three flights down, I heard the front door to the building open. “Hello?” I called. There was no answer. “Jon, is that you?” Then I heard a door open and close. Somebody else must be working late.

Unlocking the storage room, I flipped on the light switch, shut the door behind me and looked at the copier. I really had left it on. Wanting to get a head start on the next day’s work, I grabbed a few packages of paper and filled the paper trays of the copier. I tested the machine and then powered it down and off.

Okay…exit stage right. Time to go home.

I walked out of the storage room. The light from the office across the hall created a yellow angular shadow on the black floor. I looked into the darkness, but saw nothing.

“This is creepy. Why doesn’t the light go on?”

I took a few steps forward and pushed open the door
.
Standing at my desk, was a thin man, about 5’8”. He was wearing a dark blue knit cap pulled low to his eyes, a black hoody, old Levi’s and Converse sneakers. He had my backpack in his hand.

“Put that down. Now,” I yelled. “Now, leave. Go, go.”

The backpack dropped to the floor. Like a football player running down a field, the thief stuck one arm straight out, pushed me out of the way and sprinted out the door, heading for the steps. I picked up the office phone and called the security guard number pasted on the wall.

“NPS Security.”

“There was someone in my office. I scared him. He almost took my backpack.”

“We’ll be right there. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Lock your door. Someone will be there immediately.”

Within a few minutes—what felt like a very long few minutes—there was a knock.

“Trisha, are you in there?”

“Yes.”

“Open the door. It’s okay. It’s me, Jon.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Trisha, please. I need to talk to you. I need a description of the man you found in your office.”

I opened the door a few inches. It really was Jon.

“He was trying to steal my backpack. I yelled at him to get out.”

“Not the best of moves. You could have been hurt. Next time, either go back into the storage room and lock it or run out of the building. You’re okay?”

“Just a little shaken up. I thought all he wanted was my backpack. But look over there at Bill’s side of the office. His files. They are all over the place.”

I walked over to Bill’s desk and started picking up the files on the floor. Jon came over and crouched down besides me. He picked up a manila folder and handed it to me.

“Why would someone be looking through the files?”

“I don’t know.”

For the next few minutes, Jon asked me questions about the thief’s description and radioed my answers to other guards in the area.

“Did anybody know that you were coming back to the office?”

“No, I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Jon’s radio buzzed. The NPS security had stopped someone matching the description I gave. He was near Hyde Street Pier.

“Want to take a ride and see if this is your guy?”

“Not my guy,” I said as I securely locked the door behind me and followed Jon down the steps.

I sat in the passenger side of the security car as we headed down Bay Street toward the popular tourist attractions near Ghirardelli Square.

“What were you doing back here? Did you stop to have a drink with some friends…go to a movie…what?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Well, if someone knew where you were and that the office was empty…?”

“Okay, I was having dinner with someone.”

“Did that someone have any connection with Nor Cal Swimming Association?”

“No…well…maybe. Kind of, I guess. It was the guy I was talking to earlier today.”

Jon never batted an eye.

“What is his association with your office?”

“Not much. He has a booth at the open water swims for nutritional products, mostly rehydration drinks.”

“Did he know that Bill was out of town?”

“I think I mentioned that to him.”

We crossed the cable car tracks at Hyde Street. Then, at the corner of North Point and Leavenworth, we turned left heading toward the Bay and the historic waterfront. July is the middle of tourist season in San Francisco and it is usually very chilly, especially by the water. But tonight was a rarity in the city, a warm summer night. By warm, I mean high sixties. Not a whisper of wind. The streets were jammed with visitors.

How could I pick someone out in a crowd like this.

Turning left on Jefferson, we slowed down. A block from the cable car turnaround, an NPS security guard was outside his car. Standing next to him, leaning against a bike, was a tall lanky man wearing a dark knit cap, black hoody, old Levi’s and Converse tennis shoes. The cyclist stared off into space.

We drove slowly by him and continued past the entrances to the South End Rowing Club and Dolphin Club, two swim clubs that encouraged Bay swimming. The narrow street near Aquatic Park was a dead end. We turned around and drove by slowly again so I could see his face.

“Nope, not him,” I said. “Right clothes, but wrong guy.”

Jon radioed the other guard. “Not our suspect. Let him go.”

With that, he turned right up Hyde Street past the crowd of tourists standing in line for the cable car and drove me back to the parking lot in Fort Mason.

“It’s none of my business, but you didn’t seem too happy to see that fellow earlier today. And didn’t you say, he stood you up? You sure this is a man you want to have dinner with?”

I didn’t answer. As soon as he parked the car, I jumped out.

“I need to do one last check on the office. Make sure everything is turned off, really turned off, and locked up.”

I trotted over toward the front door.

“Let’s get you safely in and out of here,” Jon said, following me.

“What’s that?” he said, looking at the tall green prickly shrubs that bordered the front door. I followed his gaze and saw some folders caught in the bushes. He pushed his hand through the greenery and picked up about three crumpled manila folders.

“Just a guess. Since these weren’t here earlier today, do they belong to your office?”

The tab on one folder said ‘Accident File, Richard Waddell.’ I opened it up but all the papers were gone. The other folders were labeled ‘Open Water Schedule’ and ‘Pool Meet Schedule.’

“Are you sure there aren’t any more papers stuck back behind the hedges?”

We both bent over the shrubs and poked our arms around. Jon turned on his flashlight. All we found were candy wrappers and a few empty soda cans.

“The thief took the insurance forms plus a few pages of notes. He wanted information about the Waddell accident. My backpack was just the cherry on top of the sundae. An unexpected bonus.”

Jon looked at the Waddell folder. “Can I have that? I’d like to show it to my supervisor.” He looked at me closely. “Did you ever talk to the SF police about your suspicions regarding the two accidents and your cards?”

“Not really.”

“Does that mean ‘no’”?

“That means ‘no, I didn’t.’ It seemed silly.”

“It’s not silly any more. This doesn’t fit the profile of the burglar who has been hitting the Fort Mason buildings during the day, and running out with purses, jackets, wallets, even laptops. Snatch and run. Like the damage done to your car, this is much more deliberate. There’s a specific intent here. This is getting serious and you and anyone working in the office could get hurt. I’m going to talk with the neighborhood police and alert them. Someone, either the SF cops or the NPS security guys will stop in tomorrow to talk to you.”

When we walked into the building, the automatic lights didn’t turn on. Jon walked over to the switch on the whitewashed wall. It had been unscrewed and pulled out. The switch plate was on the floor. The wires were cut and dangling from the wall.

Jon picked up his radio and called for another guard to come to the building. He kept his flashlight on and we walked up the steps.

“I feel like I’m walking in a dark closet,” I said.

I unlocked the door once again, picked up my backpack resting on the desk, and switched off the light. Jon held his flashlight on the door while I locked it. Then he walked me back down and out to my car.

“You okay to drive?”

“I guess. Thank you.”

He nodded as I got in my car.

“Lock it,” he said. When he heard the door lock, he nodded again and watched me drive to the exit of the parking lot.

The drive back home over the Golden Gate Bridge is normally the highlight of my day. Tonight the huge blazing sun was about to explode. It dropped behind a thin layer of fog. Sun above the fog; sun below the fog—an enormous ball cut in half. Then the top half sank into the thick grayness. When it emerged, the vibrating orange ball began to melt into the ocean. It was hard to make out the color of the water, as inch by inch it swallowed up the sinking sun.

I watched it and felt nothing. I wanted to be off the Bridge and home.

It was after 9:30 p.m. when I walked in the quiet house. I headed for the kitchen, sat down and pulled out the 3 x 5 cards from my backpack. I started a new one. Thief—male, late twenties, thin, watch cap, black hoodie, jeans, and Converse tennies.