Every Move She Makes (36 page)

He deserved it.

Torrance answered. "You may not believe us, but if we were to call your
office, go through the usual routine, we'd be another two hours. With
elections coming up next year, the DA would want to handle it himself,
and he's a busy man. No way would he let a deputy handle it, maybe steal
a moment of glory right before campaign season starts." That was at
least part of the truth. Suddenly I wondered if the elections weren't
part of what was behind the leak. A political motive. I could accept
that, whether I liked it or not. It fit Reid. "What?" Reid countered.

"You think you guys can write a warrant faster than us?" "Of course
not," I lied. If we turned this into an us against-them thing, nothing
would be accomplished. "All Torrance is saying is that we got a good
lead and ran with it. We tried to get a hold of you, but you weren't
there, and you know that Arlington isn't available, so it seemed simpler
to do it ourselves." Arlington was a deputy DA who worked primarily with
the Homicide detail. Under normal circumstances he would have sat in on
the task force, had the DA not been concerned with Arlington running for
his position next year. "Lieutenant?" A short, stocky female officer
waved at Torrance from the lobby of the second floor, the gear on her
Sam Brown jangling and squeaking with her movement. Torrance glanced at
me, then Reid, as though worried we

might go at each other's throats if he left us alone.

"Don't worry about me," I said. He approached the brown-haired woman,
but stood where he could keep an eye on us. She was the crime scene
technician who had gone out, dusted for prints, and taken photos after
the murders in Property. Since coming to Homicide, I knew just about
every technician. The thought nagged at me, but before I could place
why, Reid said, "You doing him?" "HI-hat?" I whipped my head around,
unable to believe he'd said that. Another reason not to sleep with
someone within these hallowed halls.

"You heard me."

"I'd tell you to go screw yourself, but that's apparently part of your
problem."

"I take it that means yes."

"No, it doesn't mean yes. And if it did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell
you." "I'm sorry. It was just that I thought we might have something
special between us." "Special? This from the man who was just kissing a
reporter in the hallway? The same reporter who was in his room in Napa?"

"A chance meeting."

"How convenient I was late." "I guess I got jealous. Something about the
way Torrance looked at you when you were down in Earling's chambers just
now." I couldn't believe how easily he bed. And then I thought about
what he said, getting jealous. He might have laughed had he realized
how many times Torrance and I should have slept together, but didn't.

Besides, Torrance was coming back, and I had no wish to continue the
conversation.

"Ready?" Torrance asked.

I nodded.

He asked Reid, "Are you coming with us?"

"Yes," Reid announced. If Torrance read the loud No! in my eyes, he
chose to ignore it. Reid's apology to me hadn't been sincere. I doubted
there was a sincere cell in his body. "We'll meet in the garage in a
half hour," Torrance told him. We left him standing in the hallway. Back
in Torrance's office, without going into minute detail, I told him about
Reid assuming the injured lover's role. "He acted like he was jealous."

"Maybe he was."

"More than likely he was overcompensating for his rendezvous with
Skyler. He had to be worried about the press leak."

"Any speculation?"

"I hate to think his motivation was anything more than trading a scoop
for sex. But who knows? He and Zim were thick as thieves the other day
in the hall. Reid said they were talking about an old homicide."

"Unusual?"

"Other than Reid and Zim hating each other, no. But it was more Reid's
expression when he saw me." "Maybe they were talking about an old
homicide." He patted the thick black three-ring binder on his desk. Dex
Kenngard's IA file. "We overlooked one minor detail. One of the
investigating officers in the case was Zim."

"This is taking coincidence a bit far."

"My thoughts exactly." I looked up at the dry erase board. "Maybe we
need to enlarge our pool of suspects. Add Dex Kermgard."

"What would be his motivation?"

"He's dirty on the murder of the snitch. Which makes him connected to
Paolini and Foust somehow. And he knows this building, the exitsi the
procedures. He could easily get in or out."

"You're thinking the murders in Property?"

"Absolutely." "Definitely something to think about. In the meantime, we
have a warrant to serve." That settled, we got together our mini task
force plus Reid. He rode with Shipley and Markowski while I rode with
Torrance to Hilliard Pharmaceutical's main facility, where we intended
to serve the warrant. It was a little after five when we arrived at the
pharmaceutical building. We managed to get security to let us in by
showing our stars and ID cards while keeping mum about the search
warrant. I didn't want anyone tipping the Hilliards off, and perhaps
allowing any evidence to be destroyed. Once we were in, the guard at the
front deskfull-time, not a moonlighting SFPD officer-refused to let us
go a step farther until he contacted Evan Hilliard, who apparently was
still in his office. The guard punched a number on the phone while he
kept his eye on us. Tall, heavy, mid-forties, he looked like a recent
ex-smoker, because he was going through gum like it was a wonder drug.

He'd chew a stick for a few minutes, then turn and spit it into the
garbage, like someone spitting tobacco juice into a spittoon. A minute
went by while he waited on hold, and soon he was unwrapping a new piece,
shoving it into his mouth.

"Yep. They're here now," he said into the phone.

"Yep. Can do." He hung up, then led us into a room off the main entryway
that was set up as a waiting area, with several low-back armchairs in a
dusty rose, a few silk - philodendron plants, and the requisite weeping
fig tree, also in silk. Two paintings, pastel blue, pink, and lavender
splotches, completed the "soft room" effect, a term we at the PD use for
an interview room where we interrogate witnesses as opposed to suspects.

Unlike our rooms, however, this had windows across the front through
which one could view the lobby and the elevator just off it. After about
fifteen minutes I began to pace the confines, the warrant rolled up in
my hand like a diploma about to be handed out. After the fourth time
across the room, I happened to glance up just as Dexter Kermgard stepped
off the elevator with several white-coated, cerebral looking men. I
pictured them calling up each other in the morning with, "Which pocket
protector are you wearing today?" The notion made me think of Scolariit
was the sort of comment he would make. Dex did not fit the pocket
protector role. I too easily pictured him in the bodyguard role. Mafia.

Paolini. I thought about Dex's shooting. The drug case. Ties to
organized crime? Neither Paolini nor Foust were big names in those days,
but they were up-and-coming in the world of crime, establishing a trade.

Dex had retired long before the rumors started to circulate that some
officers were suspected of being on Paolini's payroll. Still, Dex had
been a friend of my father. Not that I ever saw Dex again after the
shooting scandal--except for my brother's funeral. But now that I thought
about it, Dex never came to my father's funeral.

And what about the way Scolari had acted toward Dex?

Dex happened to look up, and saw me watching him. He halted in his
tracks. One of the other lab workers bumped into him and Dex's clipboard
crashed to the floor, papers flying on impact. I stepped out. "Dex?" He
glanced up in the midst of retrieving his clipboard and papers. His
coworkers stood there like robots, totally oblivious to a real-life
predicament. When he stood, they all started forward again, lending
further credence to my suspicions of artificial intelligence. I offered
my most solicitous smile, but found myself at a loss as to what to do.

Dex was an enigma. Now, after having read the IA report on his homicide
case, I was even less sure about him than before. I needed his help to
get past the watch dog at the front desk and into the doctor's office.

Half our battle might be over, just being inside Hilliard
Pharmaceutical, but it did little good if we didn't know which floor or
which room. Perhaps if I brought up his friendship with my father? No,
with Dex, I figured it was best to get straight to the point. "Listen,
Dex, I was wondering if you'd do us a favor?" There was a flicker of
something in his gaze, something indecipherable. He didn't comment,
merely waited for me to continue. "I need to get into Dr. Mead-Scolari's
office." You could have heard a search warrant drop in the ensuing
silence. As it was, I kept that particular document curled behind my
back. He looked into the room, saw the others waiting, watching. Finally
he said, "Officially or unofficially?" Now, there was a strange
response. "Does it matter?"

"Officially, I don't have a key. You'll have to wait."

"Unofficially, then." His smile was slight, almost nonexistent. "Follow
me." I walked beside Dex to the elevator, beckoning for the others to
follow. The door opened and we all stepped in. "How did people around
here take the news of the doctor's demise?" I asked.

"Actually, very few people were aware she worked here."

"Really?" "Yes. It was all hush-hush. Whatever it was about, Mrs.

Hilliard wanted it kept quiet." He hesitated, lowered his voice despite
that we were now enclosed in the elevator, out of earshot of his
coworkers. My companions did a great job of pretending interest in the
paneling on the elevator walls. "If you want my opinion, there were two
reasons besides the very obvious one of Josephine's addiction."

"Addiction?"

"Cocaine." If there was cocaine involved, then Paolini was probably
connected. "You're certain?"

"Look at her eyes the next time you see her."

"What are the other two reasons?" "The first, of course, was to protect
Mrs. Hilliard's reputation. Her alternative lifestyle."

"What was the second reason?"

The elevator door slid open. He took me by my arm, guiding me a few
steps away from the group. "The merger, of course. That sort of thing
might be okay here in San Francisco, but I guarantee, the moment Mrs.

Hilliard's. er, lifestyle got out to the stockholders of Montgard
Pharmaceutical, they'd balk." Undoubtedly Dex was right. Montgard
operated their main offices in the state of Arkansas, right in the midst
of the Bible Belt. Suddenly I recalled the words of the doctor's
secretary, Mary, and how she mentioned that Patricia Mead-Scolari wanted
to come out of the closet. Two motives popped up time and again in
homicide, and they were both staring me in the face right now.

The first, passion, included everything from love to hate.

The second, money, was a definite biggie. As a suspect, Scolari had a
motive that fell into the first category, because of his wife's
relationship with Josephine. The Hilliards, however, now fit the second
half of the motive theory. Money. A multimillion-dollar merger offered
plenty of motivation. Couple that with Hilliard's wife undoubtedly not
wanting it announced to the world what she did behind closed doors, and
you could add a dollop of passion to the list. Dex led us past a wide
open space filled with a dozen desks, announcing the accounting
department as though giving us a tour. We continued on down a hallway,
and he stopped in front of an unmarked door on our right. "Here it is,"