Be Mine (40 page)

WHAT HE GOT WAS PAYBACK.

Tom felt a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”
It was Della Thompson.

“Del, where’s Simon?”

“I told you, he’s off today.”

“Off?”

“Said he was going to drop by Molly’s place. Tom! What is it? Tom!”

He hurried to his desk and began jabbing numbers on his phone.

Bothered by the missing ring
, Sydowski
contacted Turgeon on her cell phone as she was driving into work.

“Don’t you remember me telling you?” she said. “I had called the
jewelry store where Hooper bought it, to see if they were holding it.”

“And?”

“Nothing came up. The manager was going to check in case it was a
custom order and get back to me. But I never heard from him. Then Ray happened,
then Yarrow happened, and--”

“Call him again right now. Push the store for an answer.”

Sydowski popped a Tums into his mouth. Grinding on it, he hoped that
the ring hadn’t disappeared from the scene. He combed the files again in case a
note was misplaced. Turgeon called back.

“It’s not with the jeweler. The manager checked, then put me on the
line with the clerk who sold Hooper the ring. She insists Hooper took it, even
has a signed receipt.”

“Christ.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “My other phone’s ringing. Just get in and
we’ll figure something out.”

Sydowski hung up his office line and answered his cell phone.

“It’s Reed. Where are you?”

“At the detail.”

“Check your fax, I just sent you something.”

“Tom, this is not a good time.”

“You
have
to see it.”

Sydowski went to the machine and studied the note.

“What is this?”

Tom explained as quickly as he could.

“Hold the line, Tom. Leo!” Sydowski waved the fax at Gonzales, then
told him about the OCC tip, about Simon Lepp and Molly. Then got back on the
line.

In the newsroom, Tom’s finger traced down a coffee stained staff
list pinned on his half wall, stopping at the Ws. He first recited Molly’s
address.

“We already have hers. Give me Simon Lepp’s.” Sydowski shouted the
addresses to Gonzales, who got on the line to the emergency dispatcher to send
cars to Molly’s building. Sydowski called Turgeon as he hurried to the
elevator.

Gonzales called the Northern and Central District captains to send
bodies into the area. And he alerted the Richmond District to send units to
Lepp’s address and called communications to put out a Bay Area lookout for his
car. Then they alerted the California Highway Patrol’s air unit.

Outside the Hall of Justice, Sydowski flagged Turgeon as she pulled
up. They drove to North Beach, coming upon five SFPD units in front and two
behind Molly’s building. The flashing lights and excitement drew a crowd, which
grew with the arrival of the TV news trucks.

Uniformed officer Luke Dinson was standing just inside the door
taking notes from Molly’s landlady. Sydowski and Turgeon arrived and saw the
fear etched in her face as Dinson took them aside.

“Mrs. Collery got a glimpse of Wilson. She’s positive it was her,
getting into a light-colored sedan with a white male in his thirties,” Dinson
said.

“How long ago?”

“About an hour.”

“Does Mrs. Collery know this guy? Get a look at him? Did Molly look
cooperative or compelled to go with him?”

“It was casual, she said. No, she didn’t get a good look at the guy
or recognize the car.”

Turgeon stepped aside to use her cell phone to update Gonzales. He
said units in the Richmond District were setting up on Lepp’s house near Golden
Gate Park and there was a lookout for Lepp’s car. Out of the corner of his eye,
Sydowski saw Tom Reed approaching. He turned and spread out his hands to calm
him.

“Is she all right?”

“Hang on, Tom.”

“I’ve been trying her cell phone. I can’t reach her. Is she here?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“She may have left with Lepp. We’ve got people looking and people at
Lepp’s home.”

At the southeastern edge of where the Richmond borders the Haight,
eight uniformed district officers toting shotguns took points on the house
rented by Simon Lepp. The University of California, San Francisco, was not far
and music strained from a student building. An old song by The Who.

No movement was seen around, or in, the small tidy bungalow. Lepp’s
car was not present. Letters and magazines peeked from the mailbox. A call
placed to the phone inside went unanswered.

Officer Russ Rutledge, a fifteen-year veteran, took charge of the
takedown. He spoke into his shoulder mike for the others to confirm their
positions and scene status.

No movement was reported as the music echoed eerily.

Rutledge radioed his supervisor and apprised him of the situation,
expecting to be ordered to hold their positions and await the tactical unit.

“Russ, this is a hot pursuit. Kick it. Go.”

Rutledge swallowed, then alerted his team at the rear.

“On three. One...two...three ...”

Rutledge and his partner kicked the front door open, while two other
officers entered through the rear. Outside, four other officers held positions
around the bungalow. Guns drawn, Rutledge and his crew completed a swift
room-by-room search. The house was empty but for the menace that filled it.

“Hoe-lee shit.”

All the blood drained from Rutledge’s face as the officers stared
wide-eyed at what greeted them.

One entire wall was papered floor to ceiling with pictures and news
clippings of Molly Wilson. Closer examination showed photographs of Molly
jogging, driving, shopping, entering the
Star
. Their grainy quality
indicated they were taken using a long lens. The array of pictures also
included several photographs from news stories about murders. Pictures of Cliff
Hooper and Ray Beamon.

“I don’t believe it,” Rutledge said. “First it’s Yarrow, freak
number one, stalking her. Now this, freak number two. Jee-zus.”

In every picture, Hooper’s and Beamon’s eyes had been blacked out.

The big-screen television dominating the living room was on. Molly’s
pretty face filled the screen, frozen from a videotape of an episode of Vince
Vincent’s show, Crime Scene.

Her head was circled with a thick line in red marker, which had bled
onto the words scrawled below.

TIME’S UP, MOLLY

“This is a nice car, Simon,”
Molly said
after they pulled away. “I thought you had a Ford. When did you get this? And
how can you afford it?”

“It’s a rental.” He turned to her. “Part of my surprise.”

“Any hints?”

He eased to a stop at a traffic light and thought for a moment.

“All right, what’s the one thing you told me would save you, if your
world was falling apart?”

“Gosh.” She thought. “I can’t remember.”

“Ice cream,” he said.

Molly blushed and a smile bloomed on her face.

Her beauty electrified Bleeder, turned the key in the vault of his
unfulfilled desires. He ached to slide his arm around her at that very moment,
pull her to him, and reveal who he really was.

Tell her. Remove your mask. Tell her now.

“Ice cream? Is that my surprise?”

“Part of it.”

The light turned green.

“Ice cream.” She giggled. “You’re so sweet for remembering,
considering we only went out two times.”

“Three times.”

“Three times.” She nodded, then touched his shoulder. Her warmth was
incredible, like that sweaty night in the gym and Amy’s cherry-candy kisses.
Molly kept smiling.

Good. Very good.

The ice cream shop was at the corner of Hyde and Union. After
finishing their cones, they went to Golden Gate Park. Then they headed south
along the coast driving for some time without speaking until Molly thanked him.

“I’m glad I came.” She looked out at the shimmering waves of the
Pacific. “This whole thing has been a living nightmare.”

He said nothing.

“You know, I’m sorry that I ended things so abruptly when we went
out. You know. You’ve been great.”

She was beginning to understand.
Tell her. Tell her now.
Molly searched the horizon, saying, “I don’t know why these horrible things
have happened. Cliff, Ray--what Frank did.”

“What he did?”

“I mean he was--he was--insane.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“He had problems.” She turned to him. “Not everything about him made
it into the news stories.”

“Like how he wanted you to keep the baby?”

Molly caught her breath.

“Did Della or Tom tell you that?”

“No.”

“Then how did you--?”

“Frank Yarrow told me.”

“Frank told you?”

“Before I killed him.”

Her heart slammed against her rib cage.

“Yarrow was an obstacle, like Hooper and Beamon. They were all
obstacles between us. I removed them.
For you.
”

“This isn’t funny.”

“No. Not at all.”

This can’t be real. No. No. He’s fantasizing. Delusional. Maybe off
some type of medication. This can’t be. She held her breath and struggled to be
calm.

“Would you please pull over at the next gas station?”

“I’m afraid we’re not stopping.”

“I really would like you to stop. Please, Simon--”

“Stop calling me Simon. Simon’s a pathetic loser. Do you see any
losers here?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I want you to listen and I want you to understand.” Her skin
prickled at his calmness.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Day after day after day, I sat near you. Close enough to hear you
flirting on the phone, close enough to know you wear Obsession. I love the
chime of your bracelets whenever you slide your fingers through your hair. And
in those rare times when you talked to me in the newsroom, sometimes you’d
touch me. Sometimes you’d share the little dramas in your life. You never knew
how much you meant to me. You were the sun in my life. I needed you but feared
a woman like you would never actually go out with me. But you did. Being with
you changed me. I realized we were meant for each other and prayed you’d
realize it too.”

“But we hardly went out at all.”

“You’re not listening!”

Molly’s mind raced. Think hard. Find a way out.

“You never gave me a chance. You never got to know who I am. I
handed you my heart and you threw it away. I waited, thinking you’d discover
your mistake and come round. But you didn’t. You dated others. Less worthy men.
Do you think for one goddamned second that they would’ve done the things I did
for you?”