Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
The Corporal Works of Murder (4 page)
“But I would have eventually,” Kate said. “Given enough time I would have remembered where I had seen that face. I wonder if someone else recognized her.”
“You're assuming that she stumbled into something and that's what got her killed. Maybe it was a random drive-by shooting. Or a crazy on the street who isn't pretending.” Gallagher stared at her over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses.
“I'm not ruling anything in or out,” Kate said. “I'm just thinking out loud.”
“And you could be wrong about who she is.” Gallagher swallowed
hard, then wagged his head like a weary hound. “I sure hope to God you're wrong.”
hard, then wagged his head like a weary hound. “I sure hope to God you're wrong.”
“Me, too,” Kate said, rummaging through the remaining plastic bags, hoping to find some positive identification. She was scarcely aware of the cars whizzing by on Eighth Street or the indelibly marked man studying her from the doorway of the tattoo parlor. “Nothing,” she said finally.
“So we don't even know for sure she was Vice.” Gallagher wasn't going to give up easily.
“Why don't I call Jack? Maybe he knows whether or not they've got a woman undercover.”
Jack Bassetti, Kate's husband, worked the Vice Squad of the San Francisco Police Department. It was one of the reasons she used her maiden nameâto avoid confusion. Two Inspector Bassettis was one too many. After Jack had been shot on duty, he was reassigned, but not for long. His heart was in Vice.
Quickly Kate stuffed the plastic bags back into the cart so a technician could take it downtown. “Why don't we use the phone in the Refuge? Their office would be private enough.”
Gallagher scowled. “The Refuge?” he groaned. “That's just inviting trouble. There must be another phone in this area.”
Kate shrugged. “Maybe, but I'm going to ask to use theirs. At least I know that no one will overhear me.”
“No one but that old nun,” Gallagher grumbled, “and who could be worse?”
“They have iced tea,” Kate tempted him.
Still grousing, her partner followed her down the block. His thirst must have outweighed his objections.
The minute they opened the front door, a tense silence filled the room. Anxious faces studied them. “Good morning, ladies,” Kate said pleasantly.
“That's what you think,” tiny, black Peanuts sneered.
“It ain't a good day at all when one of us be dead!” Miss Bobbie, her hair tightly braided, spoke up.
“Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch?”
a woman sang out.
a woman sang out.
There was no forgetting Crazy Alice. Although she was singing softer than Kate remembered, she looked as if she was going for the second line.
Before she had the chance, Mary Helen emerged from the kitchen. “Come in, Inspectors,” she called, holding a large pitcher of iced tea. “Why don't you sit down for a few minutes to cool off?”
Sister Anne followed her with the stack of plastic glasses. A third woman, the volunteer who gave her name as Ruth Davis, carried an enormous tray of oatmeal cookies.
“We need to use your office phone first, if you don't mind,” Kate said, grabbing a cookie. She noticed that her partner was unusually quiet, almost sheepish. Good, she thought, following Sister Anne, who unlocked the office door. He should feel shame-faced. While he had been outside complaining about Mary Helen, she had been inside doing something thoughtful for him. He had been so churlish with her and she, so gracious in return. Serves him right!
The Vice Squad telephone was answered on the second ring. Luckily, it was Jack who picked up the receiver. “Hi, pal. Do you have a woman named Sarah Something in Vice?” she asked without any preamble.
“Hi, hon. I'm fine, thanks. How are you?” Jack joked. “And, yes, we do. Sarah Spencer. Why?”
Quickly Kate told him of finding a homicide on the street and feeling that she recognized the woman's face, then discovering the Beretta and thinking that she may have seen her at the Hall of Justice, heading for the Vice Detail. “Was she, by any chance, undercover?” Kate asked.
Jack hesitated. “I don't know for sure. I haven't seen her around for a while. But she was a redhead. Was your homicide a redhead?”
“Her head was covered,” Kate said with a sinking feeling.
“I'll talk to the Lieutenant,” he said.
The minutes dragged by as she waited. She heard men's voices in the background. They were talking in low tones, and she couldn't make out their words. She thought she heard Lieutenant Donaldson's voice in the background. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the victim just reminded her of Sarah Spencer. She hadn't actually seen the red hair. Maybe Spencer was out sick or on vacation. Maybe the victim had found the gun and it was all a big coincidence. She crossed her fingers.
“Hi, hon.” Jack paused.
Those two words were enough. His tone of voice told her the answer.
“She was,” Gallagher said when she replaced the receiver. “I can tell by your face that she was.”
Kate sank into the desk chair.
Sister Mary Helen heard the office door open.
That was fast
, she thought, glancing up. Light from a small window in the office framed the two homicide inspectors in the doorway. In the glare she could not see their faces, yet she knew by the straight, tight way they both stood that the telephone call had not produced good news.
That was fast
, she thought, glancing up. Light from a small window in the office framed the two homicide inspectors in the doorway. In the glare she could not see their faces, yet she knew by the straight, tight way they both stood that the telephone call had not produced good news.
As the pair came into the room, their faces confirmed her suspicions. Gallagher, cheeks burning, yanked at his tie as though it were cutting off his windpipe. Kate's blue eyes, glistening with tears, were enormous in her bloodless face. Without so much as a nod good-bye, the two inspectors hurried through the gathering room and out into the street.
“Where they be going so fast?” Peanuts asked nobody in particular.
My question exactly
, Mary Helen thought,
and why?
, Mary Helen thought,
and why?
“Where are you going to my pretty maid? I'm going a-milking, sir, she said,”
Crazy Alice called out. She must have forgotten that Monday was her day to listen.
Crazy Alice called out. She must have forgotten that Monday was her day to listen.
“It can't be nothing good, makes them move like that,” Miss Bobbie said, ignoring Alice. She caught Mary Helen's eye. “What's really going on here, girlfriend?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Mary Helen said truthfully and started around the room refilling iced-tea glasses.
I'm sure we'll find out soon enough
, she thought, her mind jumping like a nervous flea from possibility to possibility. What had happened to upset the two inspectors in such a short space of time? Had there been another murder? Were they called to another crime scene?
I'm sure we'll find out soon enough
, she thought, her mind jumping like a nervous flea from possibility to possibility. What had happened to upset the two inspectors in such a short space of time? Had there been another murder? Were they called to another crime scene?
Mary Helen was still stewing and pouring iced tea when Geraldine burst through the front door as if she were steam driven. The wind had played with her new hairdo until it stood out around her head like an aura. Her brown eyes were bright with excitement.
“Hi, Genie,” Venus called out, using Geraldine's street name.
Mary Helen wasn't sure that even the gift of tongues would help her keep the women's real names and street names straight. Some, she had discovered, had aliases as well. None of them, however, seemed a bit confused about who was who.
“Hi, you all.” Geraldine scanned the room looking for the best spot. “I can't stay long,” she said, sitting down at Miss Bobbie's table. “I got some news you all gonna want to hear.”
“Iced-tea?” Mary Helen offered. Geraldine shook her head. Whatever her news was, apparently it was too important to postpone even for a little conversation and a cold drink.
“Well, what is it, girl?” Miss Bobbie demanded impatiently. “We can't wait all day. We got business, too.”
Frozen-faced, Geraldine stared at her. For a moment, Mary Helen thought she might not tell her news after all.
“Don't pay her no mind,” Peanuts said.
That was all the encouragement Geraldine needed. She
wouldn't let indignation get in the way of sharing some juicy tidbits. In fact, she looked relieved that she could both save face and tell all.
wouldn't let indignation get in the way of sharing some juicy tidbits. In fact, she looked relieved that she could both save face and tell all.
“Well, ladies, I be talking to my nephew.” She paused, surveying the group. “Junior Johnson ⦔
An awesome hush fell over the room. The silence could not have been more profound if she had said, “I be talking to my nephew, the Pope.” Mary Helen was impressed. This Junior Johnson must be something, all right.
She heard Sister Anne moving in behind her. “What does he know?” Anne whispered, making sure she wasn't overheard. “He's nothing more than a thug.”
A thug with a lot of clout,
Mary Helen thought. She smiled encouragingly at Geraldine, hoping she'd get on with it.
Mary Helen thought. She smiled encouragingly at Geraldine, hoping she'd get on with it.
Venus was smiling wide enough to show her missing front tooth. “What that home boy say?” she asked.
Geraldine seemed to know that she had the crowd in the palm of her hand. She could have held them there, too, except that she was as eager as they were to have her tell all.
“Well,” she lowered her voice, “Junior, he say that the lady who got herself killedâthat Sarahâshe was a police.”
“She didn't look like no polices,” Venus protested.
“She aâhow you say it, girl?âa decoy.”
“An undercover police officer,” Crazy Alice said in a rare moment of lucidity.
Suddenly the gathering room became even quieter. The tension was electric. Behind her, Mary Helen heard Anne suck in her breath. All at once everything jigsawed into placeâthe woman's sudden appearance on the streets; her obviously cared for skin and teeth; Geraldine's suspicion that she was not really homeless; and, finally, Kate and Gallagher's sudden exit from the Refuge. Kate's phone call had probably established the fact that Sarah, who looked as if she could be traveling with Saint Teresa, was in fact traveling with the SFPD.
Now her travels are over, Mary Helen thought, feeling hollow. Who could have done such a thing? She almost pitied the perpetrator. The police force would leave nothing and no one untouched to find the murderer of a fellow officer. Surely whoever did this was unaware that Sarah was a policewoman.
“What she be looking for?” Miss Bobbie's voice was hoarse.
“What you mean?” Geraldine asked.
“If she be undercover, she be undercover for something. What Junior say?” The scar along Miss Bobbie's right eye twitched as she stared at Geraldine.
The older woman ran her tongue along her bottom lip, considering her answer. “Junior, he didn't tell me that,” she said, “and you know what? I didn't ask him.”
Peanuts let out a snort. “You make a fine detective, Genie,” she said sarcastically. “Not asking no questions!”
Geraldine straightened her heavy shoulders. Looking at her, Mary Helen thought the woman had hurt feelings, but she should have known better. “I may be a lousy detective, Little Peanuts, but I be a wonderful auntie.”
The room exploded with nervous laughter. Crazy Alice, her face oyster white, closed her eyes and giggled wildly. The sharp, high tingle of it made the hair on Mary Helen's arms stand up.
“This is awful,” Anne whispered, her color gone. “Nobody's safe.”
Ruth, wearing a stunned expression, joined them.
“It could have been one of us,” Anne shivered. Her fear was back in full force.
“Only if it was a random shooting,” Mary Helen said practically.
“What else would it be?” Ruth asked.
“I tend to agree with Miss Bobbie. The woman wasn't undercover for nothing,” Mary Helen answered.
“This is like a nightmare.” Anne's voice cracked. She pushed a strand of dark hair off her cheek. “A regular nightmare!”
Unfortunately,
Mary Helen thought sadly,
it will still be with us when we wake up.
Mary Helen thought sadly,
it will still be with us when we wake up.
Inspectors Dennis Gallagher and Kate Murphy drove the few blocks back to the Hall of Justice in silence. It was as if a pall had been placed over the car, allowing each to wrestle with his or her private thoughts.
Kate scarcely noticed the homeless man on the island under the stoplight with his “Work for Food” sign. And she was only partly aware of the graffiti covering the Muni bus, which was taking its half of the road out of the middle. She couldn't seem to stop brooding about the beautiful Sarah Spencer with her full mane of auburn hair. What were her dreams, her fears? What had she expected from life? Were her parents still living? Did she have a husband and children? Above all, why had she been murdered?
When Kate and Gallagher finally reached the fourth floor of the Hall of Justice, it was obvious that their bad news had preceded them. Small groups spoke in hushed tones. Some officers simply sat staring into space and it was obvious that Myrtle, the Detail's secretary, had been crying. Her mascara had begun to run, giving her a slight raccoon look.
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