Steve read the report aloud as he walked with his partner to the parking lot, continuing the conversation as they drove. "Ted Brooks, 23. Originally from Los Angeles." After getting basic statistics from DMV, Steve had called in a favor from an old girlfriend at the registrar's office at Berkeley. "He was in his second year of his Masters in Art in Education. He shared an apartment with Anna Kearns in North Beach."
"Address?"
"2310 Mason Street, apartment 3, just past San Francisco Street."
"A block over from the turnaround where Kohler was found. Even though Brooks and Burke turned up outside of the Beach, everything's happened in about a five block square area. No way that's a coincidence."
"Our killer's hunting ground?"
"Maybe. Kohler went to the institute, although he lives in Tenderloin now, and we think Brooks worked there part time. Kearns worked up the street and they live in the neighborhood, there has got to be a connection. After we swing by the apartment, I think we need to make a stop at the school and then the gallery."
Steve shook his head in agreement as the men went quiet for a few moments, both hoping they could reason this one out before they found a new "Work of Art."
"Funny they lived in the city. How long would it take them to get to Berkeley every day?" Mike asked.
"I think the whole "arts" scene is a very urban thing. The galleries and their jobs were in the city. Plus now that BART* is open, it's a cable car ride up to the Powell Street Station and a quick train over to Berkeley. You don't need a car if you live in the city, a big plus for students and staving artists." Steve pulled up to the curb.
Mike knocked on the first floor apartment door marked "MANAGER."
A small, older man with thick, black framed glasses opened the door several inches, just to the length of the security chain. Mike held out his ID. "Police. Sir, can we speak with you."
The man opened the door and stepped out. "You finally going to bust that guy in 3?"
"Why would we be here to arrest him, sir?
"He's a dope fiend, I smell that, what's it called, oh yeah, marijuana all the time up there."
"Well no, we are not here for that, although we would like to take a look at the apartment. How long have Mr. Brooks and Ms. Kearns lived here?"
"He's been here two years, she moved in about 6 months ago. She's a sweet kid, don't know what she sees in that guy. Do you know how he makes a living? He models naked as a jaybird, not a stitch on, at that crazy art school Chestnut. And kids these days, no morals, living together before they get married, why in my day…" Mike turned around slightly and raised an eyebrow to Steve as the manager prattled on.
Steve responded with a silent, why are you looking at me? smirk.
Mike turned back to the owner. "Sir, we really need to see the apartment."
"What did he do? I knew it was only a matter of time before the cops showed up about him."
"I'm afraid he's dead sir."
The news of the death of his tenant effectively silenced the landlord. After trudging up three flights of stairs, Mike slipped the key in the lock and opened up the apartment.
The small, tidy suite had a definite artsy flair. The furniture was covered with colorful Indonesian batik cloths. Abstract painting and Native American carvings adorned the walls. The place had the distinctive odor of pot, still present despite a liberal dose of sandalwood incense.
"Should we get the lab guys out here?" Steve asked as he observed the living space.
"Doesn't look like the crime scene, does it, but you never know. Be careful what you touch, we'll give them a call when we finish looking around. I'll start out here, you hit the bedroom," Mike said as he looked through a stack of papers on the small counter adjacent to a kitchen.
He saw a hastily penned note dated the previous Saturday on a pink note tablet.
Ted,
Going home for a couple of days. I'll call you later in the week.
Love, Anna
Mike wondered if that was actually in Anna's hand, or the killers. They would to need to check back with her parent. He left it on the tablet for the lab boys to collect and fingerprint.
There were several bills and advertisements, plus a few post cards. He picked up a large envelope. It had no address and wasn't sealed, but the back bore the imprint of the Charles Campbell Gallery at 647 Chestnut Street, San Francisco.
He slipped out the engraved card. It was an invitation to a reception for the opening of a new show that very evening. Setting the card to the side he continued to look in and around various cabinets in the living area, finding nothing else of interest.
After about 10 minutes Steve exited the bedroom with several items, which included a few dime bags and a framed photo of Ted and Anna. The picture looked as if it was taken in Golden Gate Park, near where she was found. Mike looked at the drugs and sighed. He took the photo from Steve.
"Nice looking kids. You find anything useful."
"You mean like death threats or signed confessions?"
Mike rolled his eyes. "NO, funny boy, I mean like work schedules or phone number of friends so we can track their movements over the last week or so."
"Well as a matter of fact…" Steve handed Mike a pay stub from the San Francisco Institute of Art and a hand written schedule with times and names written on it. Ted's name was scrawled at the top. "He was a busy guy, must not have been carrying much of a class load at Berkeley if he was free to model this much. Looks like the last time he worked was Thursday for Todd Walters. He was scheduled to work for Millie Eichenmuller on Friday, but we know he didn't make that one."
Mike looked at the pay stub. "Seems like a pretty easy way to earn a living. You ever consider anything like this to pick extra cash in college?"
Steve blushed deeply and cleared his throat.
Mike looked wide eyed at his younger partner, about to press the issue. He decided against it as Steve thrust a small address book, the kind women usually kept in their purses, into his hands without making eye contact. Mike filed the modeling conversation for a later date.
"We'll need to take this and make some phone calls. Did you find a wallet or handbag?"
"No, but I did find this." Mike showed Steve the note.
"What are you thinking Mike, written by the killer to explain away her absence?"
"We won't know until we talk to her parents and compare the writing to a sample from our victim. We'll let the lab boys take care of that."
Mike then picked up the invitation and handed it to Steve.
"It's for the opening tonight." Steve wasn't normally star struck, but the thought of who might turn up at an Annie Leibovitz event was intriguing.
"We probably should check it out." Mike stated flatly.
Steve laughed out loud as he imagined a fedora and trench coat clad Mike at an Art Gallery opening. Particularly one with a Rolling Stone connection. "We, Mike? Maybe you better let me handle this one."
"Why? What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing." Steve said, still chortling as Mike relocked the apartment door and they started down the steps. The apartment manager was standing in the foyer when Mike and Steve came down the last flight.
"We'll keep this, sir." Mike said pocketing the key. "Our lab team will be by later today. Please don't let anybody else up there until they get here. Has anyone been around last night or this morning?"
"Not today, but a friend of theirs has been around a lot lately, almost always when nobody's home. They gave him a key, so I thought he was ok, although if you ask me, he was a little suspicious, with all that long hair. Probably one of Ted's druggie friends."
"Can you describe him?"
"Oh, I didn't really get a good look at him, just young. Denim jacket and jeans, dark hair. About your height, inspector. He drove one of those vans."
Mike and Steve both looked up. "What kind of van?" Steve asked.
"You know, one of those German jobs, blue and white I think, with the bumper stickers and peace signs on the back."
Mike looked at Steve. "Sir, do you think you could describe this man to one of our sketch artists?"
"I don't know, maybe, like I said, I just saw him in passing."
00000
Lizzy walked out of the kitchen and onto the dock. She let waning sun fall on her face, lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, closing her eyes. She knew it was a vile habit, but every once in a while it calmed her nerves and helped her keep her sanity in check.
Four hours into her shift, she had just about had it with tourists, especially ones that didn't tip. Maybe she should just work for Nonna at the Deli. Her thoughts drifted idly to the internship she had lost at the gallery. Her life would have been so much easier if that had come through, but she was beat out by a Berkeley girl. Oh well, at least she'd get to go to the opening tonight.
She walked a little way along the dock to look down at the sea lions in residence. Their barks made her laugh as she finished her cigarette and ground out the butt on the decking. She wrapped her arms around herself as a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze off the bay crawled up her spine. She looked back over her shoulder, suddenly sure that someone was watching her, but only saw a crowd of tourist.
A newspaper box by the railing caught her eye and she bought the afternoon edition of the Chronicle, not really believing that Gary was dead. He'd always been nice to her, even when she was a freshman. The front page article references a second victim, staged to look like Millais' "Ophelia," a painting that had always haunted her and now a third victim found that morning at the Palace of Fine Arts. Lizzy checked her watch and lit another cigarette. The thought of three art-related murder victims made her shiver once again.
00000
After calling in an APB on the suspect vehicle, Mike and Steve pulled up in front of the San Francisco Institute of Art and followed the sign to the main office. Upon flashing their ID's, they were directed to the office of the Dean, George Stein.
"I don't really see how I can help you gentlemen. The last two victims weren't students here and Mr. Kohler was an alum. The school's name shouldn't even be associated with something like this. That reporter in the paper is splashing it all over the front page, and well, we really don't need that type of publicity."
Mike was not surprised by the Dean's response to their inquiry. He'd seen the "head in the sand" mentality many times before, particularly in large public organizations. Steve was not nearly as understanding or diplomatic.
"Don't you care about the safety of your students?" Steve blurted out before Mike could stop him.
Mike eyed his younger partner and attempted to placate the increasingly reticent dean.
"Excuse my impulsive colleague here," Mike started, giving Steve a cease and desist glare. "We know you care about the welfare of these young people, sir. Any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated."
He sent the detectives to the Office of Alumni Affairs, who, although helpful, gave them little new information on Kohler. They were then directed to Todd Walter's classroom.
Steve knocked quietly on the door before entering the classroom, with Mike on his heels. Several students looked up, but quickly went back to drawing a young, dark-haired woman, who was lounging sans attires on a bed of white drapery. Mike startled at the naked model and looked away awkwardly. The teacher looked up and strode towards them, waving his hand to lead the officers out of the room.
"What can I do for you officers?" he asked with a voice oozing distain.
"Todd Walters?" Mike asked politely, ignoring the teacher's attitude and showing his ID.
"Yep."
"We understand that Ted Brooks modeled for you yesterday."
"Yeah, what of it? He models for me all the time. Don't you two storm troopers have anything better to roust kids about a little weed?"
Steve looked at Mike and mouthed, "I got this one," before turning back to the arrogant instructor.
"Mr. Walters, I'm afraid it's a little more involved than that. Mr. Brooks was found dead this morning at the Palace of Fine Art. We're pretty sure you were one of the last people to see him alive."
*The BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station in Berkeley open in January of 1973. The incomplete Mission Street station was used for the Season 1 Episode "Thirty Year Pin"