The Missing and the Dead: A Bragg Thriller (5 page)

FOUR

I
headed back for San Francisco. The Marin-bound commuters were leaving town in a tide of iron. Bridge traffic going in my direction was pinched down to two lanes, leaving four lanes open to outbound traffic. It was a minor annoyance. The same as what I'd learned so far about Jerry Lind was a minor annoyance. He didn't seem to behave right, all things considered. Maybe deep down he was as wacky as his sister seemed to be.

I avoided the clogged downtown area, driving down Bay Street and along the Embarcadero to Howard, then shot on up to the parking garage across from the
Chronicle
, left my car and walked over to the office on Market.

Carol Jean Mackey was just leaving when I arrived. She's a tall, practical girl from Minneapolis with a long face that she used like a jujitsu throw, reminding me of a horse with the capacity for social commentary. California, even Northern California these days, gave her a lot of opportunity to show her stuff.

"Able to get everything postponed, Ceejay?"

"Yes. What's the big new job?"

"I'm working for Janet Lind, the TV newswoman. Her brother's missing."

"You mean you actually talked to her?"

"Yes, why?"

"I can't believe her act, that's all. From what I've seen of her while dashing across the room to change the channel, I've decided she's just a big version of those dolls with a string coming out the back. Pull the string and they talk."

"You might be right, but she's got a long string."

"And lots of money, I hope. You'll be last to leave today. The counselors are banging away over at the tennis club."

"Did a police detective named Foley call?"

"No."

"Okay, thanks. Have a good weekend, Ceejay."

I went on into my office and dialed the Hall of Justice. Foley was out working and they didn't know when he'd return. I sat thinking about things for a while then looked up the number of Coast West Insurance again. There had to be somebody around who could give me a better idea of what went on inside young Jerry Lind's head. I got through to Stoval's secretary.

"Hi, Peter Bragg again, Miss Benson. Sorry I missed you to say good-bye."

"You nearly missed me now. I'm just leaving. Mr. Stoval's already gone for the day."

"That's okay, it was you I wanted to talk to. I'm spinning my wheels over Jerry Lind. I had the impression when I first called that you were concerned about him."

"Of course I am. He's a nice boy."

"How long have you known him?"

"For as long as he's worked here. Nearly two years."

"Were you familiar with his work?"

"Somewhat. I'm not exclusively Mr. Stoval's helper."

"That's interesting. Maybe we could meet for a drink somewhere and talk about Jerry."

"I'd be happy to help, Mr. Bragg, but I can't right now. I'm meeting an old school chum who's passing through town."

"I see. Well, I know how that's apt to go. Tomorrow, maybe?"

"I'll tell you what. How about later this evening?"

"Fine, if you're sure you won't still be with your friend."

"No, as a matter of fact you'd be doing me a little favor. My chum might think we're still as close as we once were, and he knows I'm not married anymore. He is. I'd like to have the
appointment with you as an excuse to break away. I'm just not a very good liar."

"Okay. Want to meet somewhere in town here?"

"Not especially. I live in Sausalito and I'm meeting my friend there, at the Trident."

"That'll be handy. I live in Sausalito myself."

"Fine. Then why don't you come up to my place later. Any time after nine."

"Okay. What's the address?"

She gave me a number on Spencer Avenue, up in the hills, and told me how to find my way back around to her basement apartment. A few minutes after she hung up I had a call from Foley.

"Hello, Peter, I got pulled out of the office."

"So I heard. Anything special?"

"Not really. I'm calling from a dead whore's apartment on Eddy. She and her boyfriend had a beef. Listen, I just phoned in to see what we and the Marin sheriff have on Lind. It isn't much. Sacramento doesn't have anything unusual on his car. He doesn't have a local police record and because of his job a run was made on his prints in Washington. It only showed he had an okay Army record. So unless his car or a body turns up there's not much more to be done."

"Okay, John, I appreciate the help. You might ask the guys to flag his file. Tell them you have a half-assed friend who's interested if anything develops. I'm beginning to worry about the guy."

"Why's that?"

"I can't find anywhere he would have gone off to, or a reason to go. And he knew he'd be coming into a bucket full of money if he stayed put."

"Any idea it could be a San Francisco matter?"

"Not yet. He worked here, lived in Marin and traveled. If I see where it might be I'll let you know."

"Do that, Peter. Gotta go now."

I went back to the phone book and found the listing for a J. Thorpe, on Klondike. The male voice that answered had a curiously breathless quality to it.

"Yes, hello?"

"Mr. Jonathan Thorpe?"

The voice took a turn. "Who is calling?"

"The name is Bragg. Mr. Thorpe doesn't know me, but it's about a matter of some importance."

"This is Thorpe."

There were other voices, all male and gentle in the background. Laughter. The sound of glass meeting glass.

"I'm a private investigator, Mr. Thorpe. You might be able to help me with a case I'm on. If you'd be good enough to spare me a few minutes."

"When?" The voice was guarded.

"As soon as possible. I could drive out there right now."

"That's impossible. I'm in the middle of a cocktail party."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Thorpe. But this could turn into a police matter at any moment. I was just speaking to Inspector Foley of the homicide detail. Maybe if you could talk to me for a few minutes it won't be necessary for you to talk to him."

"Just a moment."

The receiver at the other end was put down and I heard the riffling of pages.

"Bragg, you said your name was?"

"That's right."

"Are you calling from your office?"

"Right again."

"Hang up, please. I'll call you back."

I hung up, to let him prove it for himself. I couldn't really blame Thorpe, if he and his friends were part of San Francisco's populous homosexual community. Things were better for them in San Francisco than in a lot of places, and even better than they
used to be in San Francisco a few years earlier, but it still wasn't an easy life. And even private cops who professed to be ethical didn't hesitate to bring a little pressure to bear when they needed help. The phone rang.

"Bragg here."

"All right, Mr. Bragg. I suppose I'll have to see you. Do you have the address?"

"If it's the one in the phone book."

"It is. We're in a two-story flat on the corner. We're in the upper."

I drove on out. Thorpe lived in a quiet neighborhood of stucco and stone. I pushed the button under his mail slot. When the buzzer sounded, unlocking the front door, I stepped inside and climbed some stairs. They led to a hallway running the length of the flat. There were a lot of people and smoke in the place. Jonathan Thorpe came out to greet me. He was a tall, cadaverous-looking gentleman in his late thirties with thinning hair and eyes that didn't look as if they'd been getting much sleep. He wore dark slacks and a turtleneck sweater beneath a white sports jacket.

"You're Mr. Bragg?"

"That's right."

"Come along and have a drink."

"That won't be necessary. If we could just find a corner where we could talk for a few minutes..."

"No, Mr. Bragg," Thorpe said with a vengeful smile. "You insisted on barging in here. Now you'll just have to let me exhibit you." He paused at the doorway to a large living room at the rear of the building. "You aren't gay, are you?"

"Not beyond a friendly handshake."

"I thought not. As you might have surmised, everybody else here is. With the exception of one or two who might be closet straights gathering material for a book. At any rate, when I announced that a real private detective was on his way over, they
thought it was just a scream, and insisted that I bring you in so they could size you up, so to speak. This way, please."

I sighed and followed the fellow into the crowded room. It wasn't the first occasion I'd had to mingle with groups of homosexuals. This was a pretty refined bunch. They dressed well and could easily have been taken for any stag bunch of men. If some of them seemed to hold their cocktail glasses kind of funny, or to posture a bit more than seemed normal, I figured it was just because I was looking for it. But they had a way of making you pay. When a solitary straight guy entered their midst, they could remind him he was in lonely country. As Thorpe and I worked our way through the crowd I tried to ignore the quiet comments usually made somewhere just behind me.

"...some muscle..."

"Not a youth, by any means..."

"If I had his body I'd make you
all
behave..."

Thorpe led me to a bar setup. "What will it be, Mr. Bragg?"

"Bourbon and water will be fine."

"James, a bourbon and water for Mr. Bragg here."

James was the bartender. James was slender and graceful. Almost willowy, you could call him, and not a day over eighteen. James was not overdressed. He wore a pair of men's yellow bikini swim trunks and a knowing smile. He gave me my drink and Thorpe led me over to a corner window with a fine view of the sloping rows of homes marching toward the sea.

"Now, Mr. Bragg. What is this about homicide?"

"We don't know for sure that's what it is. If we did, you'd be speaking to somebody on the municipal force. But let's start with your car."

"My what?"

"Automobile. A blue Mercedes, this year's model. License number Four-Zero-One-Bee..."

"Yes, that's my automobile, what about it?"

"You don't know where it is, right?"

"I certainly do. It's in the garage downstairs."

"You have it?"

"Of course I have it. Would you like me to go back it out a few times for you?"

"You reported it stolen to the Coast West Insurance Company."

Thorpe raised one hand to the side of his long face. "Oh my dear God, I certainly did. And when I got it back I telephoned the police and told them, but I forgot to notify the insurance people."

"Mind telling me about it?"

"You want to hear about the Mercedes?"

"If you don't mind."

Thorpe turned to search the crowded room, then called out. "Ted? Oh, Teddy, over here, please."

A round-faced man with a deep tan crossed the room toward us. He was a few years younger than Thorpe. He wore casual sports clothes, a white shirt and cherry-colored ascot. He joined us with a tentative smile and arched eyebrow.

"Teddy, this is Mr. Bragg, the detective I announced was coming."

Teddy's eyebrow straightened.

"Mr. Bragg wants to know about the Mercedes, Teddy."

Teddy's smile went the way of his arched eyebrow. When he spoke it was to Thorpe, as if I'd wandered off over a hill.

"I borrowed it."

"For an entire week," Thorpe declared.

"That's right, I drove up to Lake Tahoe and stayed there an entire week because I had time on my hands and I didn't think you'd be going out anywhere for some while."

"And you didn't tell me you were taking it, did you, Teddy?"

"You
knew
I had a set of keys to it."

"I
did
not."

Teddy turned in my direction now, his face getting a little flushed beneath the tan.

"Do you know anything about..." Teddy's eyes quickly encompassed the room. "...us, Mr. Bragg?"

"Sure."

"Well, Jonathan and I were—close friends..."

Now it was Thorpe's turn to be nettled. "Teddy..." he warned, his voice rising.

"Don't 'Teddy' me, Jonathan," Teddy snapped. "You wanted me to tell this gentleman about the Mercedes and I'm going to tell him about the Mercedes..."

Thorpe shot a glance toward the ceiling. "Oh, for God's sake." He turned and hiked over to the bar for another drink.

"Well?" I asked.

"Jonathan and I were thinking of sharing this place," Teddy continued. "I had made arrangements to take a week's leave from my job to make the big move, when on Friday night I dropped in to find him with a boy he'd picked up over at the Lance—that's a bar—and I had thought we had all that straightened out. His promiscuousness, I mean. But it turned out that we hadn't. Well, I was just plain mad. And here I was with a week to do nothing in, and I wasn't even going to speak to Jonathan again. But he had given me a set of keys to his car, so I just took it. And he knew it, because it was parked right in front and I drove off in it right after catching him and that child right in this very room. And that's the entire story."

"Okay. Thanks for the help."

I went back over to the bar where Thorpe stood talking to the skinny kid in the bikini.

"That's an interesting yarn your friend just told me, Thorpe."