Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (23 page)

“How would you know? Have you ever tried it?”

I shrugged dismissively and got to my feet. “I’m getting dressed now.” I noted the hungry look in his eyes and added, “You can’t watch.”

Anatoly smirked. “This isn’t turning out to be my day.”

Melanie wasn’t home. Worse yet, there were now two newspapers rolled up on her front yard. We knocked on the doors of a few more neighbors, but those who were home had no idea where she was, nor could they recall when they last saw her.

The trip to the police station wasn’t as traumatic as I had anticipated. For one thing, unlike the SFPD, the police in Walnut Creek were actually nice to me. That was probably because they didn’t know me, but whatever their reasons, I appreciated it. They asked us a ton of questions and Anatoly and I managed to keep our lies to ones of omission only. When we walked out, Anatoly put his arm around my shoulders and for once I didn’t read anything into it.

“I’ll take you home now,” Anatoly said as he handed me a helmet.

“What about you? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to visit Darrell Jenkins.”

“I’m going with you.”

“For a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with me, you spend a tremendous amount of time following me around.”

I grunted in response. The truth was that I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to give myself the time and space that would allow me to obsess over all the things that
might
have happened to Melanie.

I climbed on the bike behind Anatoly. If there was one thing that has always kept me from thinking, it’s the act of pressing my body up against Anatoly’s V-shaped back while straddling the pony-size vibrator he calls a Harley.

Anatoly explained that Darrell’s office was in Moraga, not far from Anne’s hometown of Lafayette, but since Darrell was following Anne, the first place we should look was in Livermore where Anne’s office was. Sure enough, sitting right across from the building that held the Brooke headquarters was a rusted white van.

Anatoly parked his bike around the corner and together we strode up to the van’s driver’s-side window where a guy with a blond buzz cut and green camouflage gear was sleeping behind the wheel. His head lolled back against the headrest and he was snoring loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Anatoly knocked gently and Darrell Jenkins jumped up as high as his seat belt would allow.

He knocked again and Darrell lowered his window, which I noted was not automatic.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Anatoly folded his arms over his chest and shifted his weight back onto his heels. “Why are you following Anne Brooke, Mr. Jenkins? And who are you working for?”

Darrell’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know what I’m doing? And how the fuck do you know my name?”

“We know because we are neither dumb nor blind,” Anatoly said simply. “It’s in your best interest to be cooperative. The government doesn’t like it when individuals stalk politicians.”

“Holy shit, are you the Secret Service? I thought you guys only protected the president!”

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped. “We’re not the Secret Service, you idiot, we’re…”

“FBI,” Anatoly said quickly.

“Holy shit!” The little color Darrell had drained from his face.

I bit down hard on my lip. Impersonating FBI agents? That was so illegal! Then again maybe it wasn’t. It’s not like Anatoly f lashed a badge or anything. Was it really our fault if some guy with an IQ of fifty took a bad joke seriously?

“I’m not a stalker,” Darrell said. “I wasn’t going to hurt her or even get near the lady! Hell, I’m even planning on voting for her!”

My eyes shot up to his military-style haircut. “You’ve never voted for a Democrat in your life.”

Darrell’s eyes grew about an inch in size. “How’d you know I was a Republican?”

“Voting records,” I said curtly.

“Voting records? But aren’t those private?”

“Not for the likes of you.” I was beginning to really enjoy myself. I leaned against the side of the truck and brushed a frizzy curl away from my eyes. “Listen, I’m going to give it to you straight. You were put on the national list of possible terrorists, and now that we’ve caught you following a senatorial candidate around—” I shook my head sadly “—let’s just say it doesn’t look good for you, Mr. Jenkins.”

Anatoly shot me a warning look, undoubtedly his way of telling me to tone it down, but Darrell was eating it up with a spoon. “Terrorist list! I’m not a terrorist! I’m a patriot!”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“No, really I am! You must know that if you’ve been watching me! Haven’t you been wiretapping my phone and shit?”

“We were going to, but the ACLU has really been up our ass about that stuff lately.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” Darrell said enthusiastically. “I hate the ACLU!”

“Really?” Anatoly pulled a small notebook and pen out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “Is that why you’ve been following Anne Brooke around? You knew she was a member of that organization and you wanted to hurt her in order to make a point?”

“What? No!”

“Then perhaps you were just going to bomb her campaign headquarters,” I suggested.

“I wasn’t going to bomb anybody!”

Now even Anatoly was amused. “Perhaps we should take you in for questioning.”

“You gotta listen to me!” Darrell pleaded. “I’m not a terrorist, and I don’t mean Anne Brooke any harm. I’m a private detective. You guys know that!”

“We know that’s your day job,” I said coolly.

“No, no, it’s my
everything
job! It’s all I do! This is my second case! Some guy wanted me to follow his wife around to make sure she wasn’t fucking somebody else, that’s all, I swear!”

“Some guy?” Anatoly said slowly. “Are you referring to Sam Griffin?”

“Yeah, that’s him, Anne Brooke’s husband. You believe me, right?”

Anatoly and I exchanged quick looks. “Have you caught her in the act of doing anything…suspicious?” he asked.

“Nah, but she’s up to something. She’s nervous as fuck, always looking over her shoulder and shit. It’s just a matter of time before I catch her screwing around.”

“I see,” Anatoly said flatly. “Did it ever occur to you that she was nervous because she was being followed?”

Darrell shook his head. “Who’s following her, you?”

“He’s taking about you, you moron!” I smacked the side of the van hard enough to make my hand tingle from the impact. “I take it back, you’re way too stupid to be a terrorist. We should get you enlisted in Al Qaeda just to fuck with them.”

This time Anatoly couldn’t help but chuckle. “Listen, Darrell, this is what I want you to do. I want you to allow Mr. Griffin to believe that you are continuing to tail his wife, but in reality I don’t want you to get anywhere near Anne Brooke. Going forward, the only people who will be tailing her will be me and my associate.”

Darrell grabbed a chewed-up pencil and started writing down Anatoly’s instructions on the back of a Proactiv Solution box that had been on the passenger seat. “Okay, got it. Anything else?”

“No, just remember to stay away from Anne Brooke. When the time’s right we’ll give you a report to hand over to Mr. Griffin.”

“Wait, does this mean that we’re working together now?”

“No,” Anatoly and I said in unison. Anatoly gestured to me that it was time to leave and I followed him around the corner to where he had parked his bike.

“That was sooo much fun!” I gushed.

“Yes,” Anatoly agreed, but he sounded distracted.

“What are you thinking?”

Anatoly turned to face me just as we reached the Harley. “I’m thinking that Melanie might have been right about Eugene.”

“About his having an affair or about his having done something unethical that somehow led to his murder?”

Anatoly tapped the handlebars of his bike gently. “Both would be true if he was having an affair with Anne Brooke.”

“But what about the letter from Peter Strauss?” I asked. “How does that fit in?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s possible that he seduced Anne under false pretenses.”

“You mean you think he was sleeping with her to get information?” I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “No way, it wasn’t his style.”

“You only met him once, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m a good judge of character.”

Anatoly snorted. “Just because you like to judge people doesn’t mean you’re good at it.”

“I’m telling you, Eugene would never have slept with Anne Brooke, for information or any other reason.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t just take your word for that.”

“Whatever,” I said with a shrug. “Bark up the wrong tree if you like. It’ll just give me a leg-up on figuring this thing out before you do.”

“And your legs always look so lovely when they’re up,” Anatoly said with a smile.

“Well, I hope your memories are enough to satisfy you, because you’re never going to be touching these legs again.”

“I’m giving you a ride home, right?” he asked.

“Of course you’re giving me a ride home.”

“Then you’re going to have to let me touch your legs, aren’t you?”

“I hate you.” I quickly pulled the helmet over my head before he could see me f lush.

15

Every woman knows that she will eventually lose the man in her life. Men leave to pursue younger women during their midlife crises or they die ten years before women due to their weaker hearts. But to lose a girlfriend…that’s an unexpected tragedy.

—C’est La Mort
.

IT WAS TEN-THIRTY AT NIGHT WHEN THE POLICE BUZZED MY APARTMENT.
I’m ashamed to admit this, but my first thought was that I didn’t want to greet them in the ratty sweatpants I had changed into. But I hadn’t been expecting any visitors. After Anatoly and I had gotten back to San Francisco, he’d gone off to the library and the city’s public records department to do a little research into Eugene’s FBI days. He didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. My intention had been to use the afternoon to look into Sam Griffin, but when a quick Google search and a fifty-dollar Internet background check told me that he had been married once before and had no criminal history, I had switched tasks and started working on my next manuscript. Escaping into a fictional universe was the only way I could keep myself from thinking about Melanie.

But maybe if I
had
been thinking about Melanie I would have been able to figure out why the police wanted to talk to me. When I opened the door I saw two plainclothes officers in ugly brown suits holding out badges for my inspection.

“Good evening,” said the first officer. He was a tall, thirty-something guy with prematurely gray hair that only served to bring more attention to his youthful face. “I’m Detective Kelly and this is my partner, Detective Stone.” He pointed a thumb in the direction of his dark-haired partner, who seemed to be overcompensating for his lack of height with the kind of muscle mass obtained by downing a bottle of Barry Bonds’s miracle head-growing vitamins.

“And you’re Sophie Katz,” Detective Kelly continued. “I recognize you from your picture.”

“My picture? You mean on the back of my books?”

“I mean the ones they’ve printed in the newspaper. You and your sister have often been the talk of the SFPD.”

“Uh-huh.” I leaned against the door frame. “I’m not really liking the way this conversation is starting out.”

“I’m sorry,” Detective Kelly said with a smile (apparently Mr. Mini-Universe was the silent type), “I didn’t mean to insult you or imply that you were in some kind of trouble, but we would like to ask you a few questions about the missing-person report you filed in Walnut Creek earlier today.”

“Oh, okay.” I waved them into the room. The Walnut Creek PD had asked for the assistance of the SFPD? Why? The San Francisco police didn’t have time to investigate the crimes committed on their own turf, let alone potential ones that took place a couple of cities away.

The two men walked in and stood in the middle of my living room, taking in the hardwood floors and the coffee table that was partially visible under a pile of magazines and a PG&E bill that I had made the mistake of opening while sober.

“Feel free to sit and make yourself comfortable,” I said. Mr. Katz came strolling down the hall, took one look at our visitors and did a quick one-eighty. He had inherited his owner’s aversion to authority figures.

The two officers sat side by side on the couch and Detective Stone pulled out a notepad before asking, “When exactly was the last time you heard from Melanie O’Reilly?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said as I sat opposite them on the love seat, “but I’ve already given all the information I have on Melanie to the Walnut Creek police.”

Detective Stone looked up with an expression that made me rethink my impulse to resist questioning. These guys were serious. I put my hand on my stomach as if that would help alleviate the queasiness that had just overtaken me.

“I spoke to her on the phone two days ago,” I said quietly. “She just called to check in. Later, around five o’clock that night, she phoned because she was upset about her husband, Eugene. He was killed in a drive-by shooting two weeks ago and I think Monday night it finally hit her that he was gone for good. My cell was off when she called so I didn’t get her message until hours after she left it. You know, you guys didn’t tell me what department you’re in. Are you normally assigned to missing-person stuff?”

Kelly and Stone exchanged quick glances. Kelly cleared his throat and scooted further forward on the couch. “We work in homicide, Ms. Katz. I regret to inform you that this morning we found a woman’s body hidden in some brush by Ocean Beach. She didn’t have any identification on her, but when we started calling other police departments we found out that there had been a missing-person report issued in Walnut Creek for a woman who fit the description of the victim.”

“You’ve made a mistake.” My voice sounded f lat and mechanical even to me. “The woman you found wasn’t Melanie. She had no reason to be in San Francisco….”

“We don’t think she was killed at the scene,” Detective Stone interjected.