Be Mine (7 page)

“You sure you’re good with that? I mean feeling safe and all?”

“It’s my neighborhood. It’s practically full light, I’ll be damned
if I let whoever did this take everything from me.” Molly stood to go change
when a sob exploded from her, doubling her. Thompson caught her.

“Oh God,” Molly gasped. “I just can’t believe it. It was horrible.”

“Hang on.” Thompson held her tight.

“It was so cold-blooded and Cliff was such a good man. A decent man.
I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“And the way I found him. Why? Who would do this? Why?”

“It makes no sense.”

“And it all happens just when I--” Molly stopped herself.

“What? It all happens just when you what?” Thompson asked.

Molly shook it off, regained her composure. “I should run. I need to
run.”

“All right.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Stay here, until I get back, see how I’m doing?”

“Sure.”

Molly left Thompson to digest the papers and catch the breakfast
newscasts. By the time she emerged in her jogging clothes, Thompson had
finished reading the
Star
’s stories on Hooper.

“Tom did a nice job.”

“I have to go,” Molly said, collecting her keys, heading for her
door just as her phone rang.

“I’ll screen it for you,” Thompson said. “It’s probably a reporter.”

“Hello...yes ...” She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Cliff’s sister,
you want to take it?”

She took it in her bedroom.

“This is Molly.”

“I’m sorry for calling so early. I’ve been up most of the night.”

“Me too.” Molly had never met Hooper’s sister, Andrea Carroway. She
lived in southern California. “Are you in San Francisco, Andrea? Would you like
to get together?”

“We’re downtown, at a hotel. Gosh, I don’t even know the name.
Molly, I’m calling because the medical examiner is supposed to release him to
the funeral home here this afternoon. I would like it if you would help us with
arrangements later today.”

“Me?”

“His partner is joining us. You know Ray?”

Molly squeezed the phone. “Yes. I know Ray.”

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot, it’s a difficult time for all
of us,” Andrea said. “We would like it if you’d consider saying something at
his eulogy.”

“Of course I’ll help. Please give me the time and place where I can
meet you.”

Andrea gave her the information, then before ending the call she
said, “Molly, I was talking to him on the phone a few days ago. He always
talked about you. I know he loved you. You made him happy. So happy.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Why, why, why did this happen? Molly asked the sky as she ran
through the steep streets of Telegraph Hill, her feet pounding in time with the
clanging of the cable cars. Gulls cried as she weaved through her neighborhood,
drinking in the bay views, inhaling the morning air, taking stock.

Dear God.

Who would do this to Hooper? Commit such a cold-blooded act. Such an
outrage. Anger shuddered through her as her feet hammered the street. He was
executed in his home. His gun and wallet displayed like some sort of twisted
victory memorial.

The story stared back at her from the newspaper boxes she passed.
Like a Greek chorus. Sydowski had to hunt the animal down and bring him to
justice. Emotions swirled through her. Hooper was her boyfriend. Last week he’d
asked her to think about moving in with him.

“Just think about it is all I’m saying, Molly.”

Why did he have to push it? She liked him. Maybe even loved him. She
must’ve loved him a little. But she wasn’t ready to move in with him, or anyone
else.

A horn blast pulled her from her thoughts and she veered from a car
she hadn’t seen while she skirted North Beach. None of that mattered a damn
anymore. Molly came within inches of colliding with an elderly Asian woman
carrying bags laden with vegetables.

“Sorry.”

She kept running, nearly finishing her route, knowing that it was
stupid to feel any guilt. Yet she did. Or maybe she felt bad because she was
going to end things with Hooper that night. God. She punched at the air,
gaining a second wind, driving herself with a ferocity she’d never known.

Yes, she’d wanted to tell him that she wanted to cool things. See
other people. But there was more going on. The truth was she’d already started
seeing someone else. Ray Beamon.

She’d committed no sin. But now their date, their one date, haunted
her and it was all so stupid. Come on. She’d warned Hooper not to expect a
serious relationship. And now he was dead. Who the hell did this? Molly covered
her face with both hands to keep her fury from escaping.

That’s when she noticed it.

The sedan parked down the street. The same one she’d almost stepped
into. Had that guy been following her? She stared hard at the car, at the guy
behind the wheel. She couldn’t make him out. His face was in shadow. He was
wearing a ball cap and dark glasses. Who was that? A cop? Molly held her gaze.
By his body language he knew she’d made him. A reporter? Sydowski had said
there was nothing to indicate she was in danger, but they might ask district
people to swing by her address.

This was odd.

Molly had been on the crime beat long enough to sniff out an
unmarked police car. She’d settle this right now. She’d get the damn plate. She
started toward the vehicle, half a block away. She saw a flash of hands, heard
an ignition.

“Hey!” She jogged toward it.

Tires squealed, the car lurched from its spot, pulled a 180-degree
turn, then disappeared.

The clerk at the twenty-four-hour
corner
store stared at his early morning customer, thinking how the dude was
transfixed by the newspapers he’d just bought. Look at him, just standing there
reading.

“Yo, sir?” The clerk scratched his eyebrow, the one pierced with the
captive bead ring. “Your change.”

“Keep it.”

The customer rolled his papers, tucked them under his arm, and left.

His home wasn’t far from the store. Sipping take-out coffee, he
walked in fear and anticipation. Recent events had unleashed forces beyond his
control, propelling him toward the point in his life where soon he’d unmask the
truth about himself.

For now, he had work to do.

He quickened his pace until he reached the place where he lived. It
was quiet. He liked it here but was prepared to relocate if circumstance
compelled him to do so. He was adept at moving fast.

Inside, he kept the curtains drawn, blocking out the sun. He
preferred darkness as he sat alone before his television, finishing his coffee
by the light of Bay Area morning newscasts. He assessed each paper’s reports on
Inspector Cliff Hooper’s murder. The
Star
’s headline stretched six
columns above the fold. HOMICIDE DETECTIVE FOUND SLAIN AT HOME.

Both the
Star
and
Chronicle
had full coverage with
front-page reports, keying to more stories and pictures inside. He locked on a
photo in the
Star
of Tom Reed with his arm around Molly Wilson at the
Hall of Justice.

The veins in his neck spasmed.

Take it easy.

He looked away in time to catch another TV news update on the
homicide. This one carried file footage from Vince Vincent’s show, Crime Scene,
and focused on Molly Wilson.

His heart rate ascended. Molly.

Look at her.

She took his breath away. Her face, her hair, the fragrant softness
of her skin, the sound of her voice. The way she moved. Something celestial lit
her from within. His stomach knotted whenever he imagined being with her.

Again.

Why had he been condemned to this torment? If only they’d never met.
Molly had resurrected an entity he thought he’d entombed years ago in the
darkest catacombs of his mind. With her touch she had brought a dangerous ghost
to life.

Bleeder.

Go back. Please. There has to be another way. He rubbed his sweating
hands on the cushioned arms of his chair. He feared Bleeder. Bleeder controlled
him. He struggled but it was futile. Bleeder, please. Please, Bleeder, stop.
There’s still time to go back before any more harm is done. Please. After what
happened with Amy. All those years ago. You promised you would never come back.
Never. I’m begging you to leave, before you make things worse.

Bleeder cackled from the darkness.

Forget about that old business, sport. Amy was a mistake. Amateur
stuff. Still, no one ever found out, did they?

Leave me alone.

Now, Molly. She’s different. And I’m wiser.

Shut up.

Look at her. You’ve never known anyone like her.

Stop.

She’s the reason you sent for me. You need me.

That’s not true.

Don’t lie to me, sport. She’s triggered your unfulfilled desires and
you will not relent until you possess her totally. That’s where I come in.

Stop.

Too late. No turning back now. Look at the news. You’ve set it all
in motion.

No.

Molly’s rightfully yours. She stepped into your world just like Amy
did. It went bad with Amy. A mistake. But don’t worry, we won’t let that happen
with Molly. I’m back to help you get it right this time. In fact, I’ll take
over from here.

Bleeder, please, I’m begging you. Don’t.

Relax, sport. You do your job. I’ll do mine. And nothing will stand
in our way. We’ll give Molly a little more time to put the pieces together. To
realize that what we did to Hooper, we did for her.

She’s the prize.

Soon we’ll claim her.

It was the first bunch of flowers
that
puzzled Tom.

Those long-stemmed roses for Molly that had arrived in the newsroom
the morning after Hooper’s murder. He’d practically bumped into the delivery
guy at the elevator. If they were sent in condolence, how had they arrived so
soon? More flowers came later but that was to be expected. It was a bit
strange, he thought, knotting his tie before his bathroom mirror.

What did the card say? The card. Where’d he put it? Tom sifted
through the closet laundry hamper for the shirt he’d worn yesterday. Looked in
the pocket. Not there.

“Dad, check this out.” Zach called Tom into his room where a model
of U.S.S. New Jersey was under construction on his desk. He was impressed with
Zach’s craftsmanship. No glue blobs anywhere. As Zach got older his work had
become flawless. Tom had taught him to use patience with his model building and
the pieces would eventually all come together. The way most of his stories did.

“Looking good, son. Real good.”

“Do you think you can help me with the superstructure later, Dad?”