Mike entered the office of Gerry O'Brien at 8 am. After a quick call by the Assistant DA's secretary, he was assured Gerry would arrive presently. A photocopy of the letter Steve had liberated from Joe Randolph the previous evening was resting in a folder on his lap. When he got it from the lab, they were still at least 12 hours from fingerprints.
He closed his eyes and thought about the case. Something was nagging at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. They were just about out of options. He and Steve were reasonably sure the evidence for the murders was planted in the alley after right around the time of Walters' death. The only other person they suspected, Vince Molinaro, was a guest of the city at the time. If a link couldn't be discovered through Joe Randolph, they were fresh out of suspects.
The discussion last night with Steve had asked more questions than it answered. Coconspirators or parallel perpetrators, who knew. Steve planned to bring Lizzy back to Bryant Street after the funeral. Maybe she could come up with someone, anyone, who had a more than casual interest in her. It was a long shot. Most of the time, the object of obsession was the last to know.
Mike recalled meeting one of her friends on the apartment stairs, although he didn't remembers the young man's name. He wondered if it was the same friend who'd originally planned to put her up. Maybe, if he knew Lizzy well enough to offer her a room, he'd have noticed someone paying a little too much attention to her. He hoped Steve knew the kids name. I must really be desperate, if I'm considering dragging unnamed friends in for information.
Gerry came through the door as promised and was surprised to see Mike cooling his heels in the outer office.
"This is a surprise, Mike. What can I do for you?"
"Morning, Gerry. I just need a moment of your time. The Da Vinci Case." Mike hated using the nickname from the paper but, in this instance, it saved a lot of explanation.
"I thought that was a done deal? "
Mike sighed heavily. "The mayor's announcement may have been a little premature. We found some inconsistencies in the evidence found at the studio. We think we have either an accomplice or a separate killer."
"Typical, leave it to politicians to muck up a case for the sake of headlines."
"Couldn't agree more."
They walked into the office. Mike took out the photocopy and laid it on Gerry's desk.
"And this is?"
"A note from the killer to Joe Randolph from The Chronicle."
Gerry looked it over. "It's not much. Are you sure it's not from Todd Walters?"
"Pretty sure. Steve had a little chat with Randolph last night. He indicated he got letters for the first three murders. It was how he turned up at the scenes so quickly. But not on Woodward, the one we know died at Walters' place."
"What do you need?"
"A subpoena. Randolph only turned over the one letter, we really need to see the other two."
"It's pretty damning evidence. Randolph is looking at accessory after the fact or, at the very least, withhold evidence. Why would he turn it over in the first place?" Mike gave the assistant DA a vague smile. "I don't want to know, do I?"
"No, probably not. But the point is, we need to see the content of the other letters."
O'Brien signed off on the subpoena. Mike left the office with documents in hand and a determined look on his face. Now it was his turn to interview Joe Randolph.
00000
Steve woke up slightly disoriented when the telephone rang. He stood up and the knitted afghan he'd used to chase the evening chill dropped to the floor. It nearly tripping him as he searched for the phone in the darkened apartment. He finally caught sight of it on the floor, next to the coffee table, and reached over to answer.
When he picked up the receiver and said hello, no one responded. He was sure someone was on the line. After a heartbeat, he heard a telltale click on the other end. The phantom phone call reinforced his decision to check up on Lizzy the previous evening. Roused by the phone, the young woman ambled out of the bedroom, looking mussed and confused.
After several minutes of pounding had received no response at Lizzy's door last night, Steve had muscled it open and found her on the couch, not quite coherent. The bottle on the counter told him all he needed to know. He'd spent the next few hours nursing her through the tequila's effort to exit her stomach.
When she finally stopped heaving, Steve cleaned her up and poured her into bed. After tidying the bathroom, he returned to the living room and found the phone under the cushion. It made him snicker as he felt a small bit of empathy for Mike. He had disabled his phone in a similar manner on many evenings, to his partner's consternation. Unable to secure the front door properly after his impromptu entry, he put a chair under the doorknob, found a blanket and crashed on the couch.
"Who the hell is calling at 6:30 in the morning?" Lizzy asked as she shuffled over to the kitchen counter, pushing a tangled mass of curls out of her eyes. She winced as she flipped on the lights. Digging in the drawer, she came up with a bottle of aspirin.
"Apparently nobody. Are you going to be able to keep those down?"
"No choice. My head is gonna to fall off if I don't. I can't believe I did this to myself." She picked up the tequila bottle, gagged slightly at the smell and dropped it in the trash. "Never. Drinking. Again."
Steve smiled sympathetically, "Sure, that's what we all say."
Lizzy looked at the floor, "I sorry about last night, I feel like an idiot." She downed a glass of water and walked over to the couch, kicking the afghan out of the way and dropping onto the cushioned seat.
"Look, it's not the first time I've had to hold someone's hair back after a few too many, probably won't be the last."
"Yeah but…" She suddenly stopped, "Hey, what are you doing here and uh, how did you get in?" Lizzy looked at the chair under the doorknob.
Steve explained the chain of events from the previous evening. Even more embarrassed, Lizzy looked away from him.
"What time do we have to be at the church?" Steve asked.
"Oh crap, the funeral, how am I going to handle the funeral with a hangover?"
"I'll be there with you. After all you've been through, you can do this. What time?"
"Service is at 9:30, Pam's parents wanted me there at 9:00."
"Then you better hit the shower. We still need to swing by my place so I can change." Steve put out his hand and pulled Lizzy off the couch, turning her toward the bathroom. "Get a move on, it'll make you feel better." After she left the living room, Steve put the kettle on and searched for some tea. He fixed two cups, adding a heaping measure of sugar to the one earmarked for the young college student.
Lizzy felt a physical improvement after a lengthy shower. Unfortunately as she became more coherent, she remembered what happened after Steve's arrival and her mortification grew. How was she even going to look him in the eye after last night's little performance?
Feeling like she was slogging through mud, Lizzy managed to dress and fix her hair. She looked in the mirror, throwing her hands up in disgust at the pale reflection peering back. Steve was hanging up the phone when she walked into the living room.
"Locksmith," He answered sheepishly, before she asked. He pushed the mug of tea into her hand. "I kinda made a mess out of your door last night when you didn't answer. They will be here in an hour. We can stop downstairs and let Mrs. Molinaro know on our way out. Is she going to the funeral?"
Lizzy hadn't even thought about it. She took a sip from the mug. "I guess so. Wait, I can't afford the locksmith." She looked at the mug with distain, "Yuck, are you trying to kill me."
"I know it's sweet. Drink up, doctor's orders." She rolled her eyes as he drain his mug, "And don't sweat the bill. We should be able to get the city or your landlord's insurance to pony up for it. Police officer in the execution of his duty. You dig?"
That made her smile a little. She took another sip of tea, cringing at the syrupy sweetness. "Tell me one thing Steve Keller," Lizzy said as she grabbed her purse. "What did I do to deserve such a good friend?"
Steve didn't answer, just smiled as he opened the door for her.
After stopping in at the deli, they drove to Steve's apartment. He quickly showered and changed into what Mike called his "funeral suit." Dark qrey with a white shirt and the most somber tie he could find in the closet. Not his favorite look, but the occasion demanded it.
Lizzy was on the couch nursing a 7-Up she'd picked up at the deli. "You clean up nice," she said as he came down the stairs. She'd only seen him in jean and his cop clothes before now. The modern cut dark suit and tie made his good looks even more appealing. "Wish I could say the same."
He slipped his .38 into its holster and put his shield in his pocket. "Oh stop it, you look fine." He lied, hoping she didn't feel as rocky as she looked. "Are you ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." They left Union Street bound for Grace Cathedral, within sight of where Pam had been displayed in the Fountain of the Turtles. With the bright morning light threatening to incapacitate her, Lizzy dug into her purse to find sunglasses. She noticed a letter. Apparently she'd missed it going through the mail yesterday. She left it where it was after finding her shades and shoved the purse under the seat. She was too wobbly to even think about hauling the weighty bag into church. It could wait until later.
Steve parked the Porsche. He averted his sight from the fountain, shivering at the thought of Pam's cold dead eyes. He came around and opened the door for Lizzy, helping her up to her feet. She swayed a little and he put his hands on her waste to steady her. She leaned her forearms on the lapels of his jacket and rested her head on his shoulder. When she was more stable, he took her hand and they walked up the long stairs together.
00000
He could barely contain his rage when he saw Lizzy in the arms of another man. From his vantage point in the park, he could see them, the way she touched him and held his hand. He turned around in disgust and caught sight of the fountain where he'd stage his Venus and smiled. Breathing deeply, he willed himself calm. With all he had already accomplished, he could handle this. After all, he was so much smarter than that cop.
When he saw the Porsche pull up last night, he was initially concerned. After further thought, he'd assumed Lizzy had called him after she read the letter, to tell him he was not needed anymore. Maybe he came to plead with her, he didn't know or care. He went home and waited for her response to his missive, the call never came. When he phoned her this morning, to arrange a ride to the funeral and their future together, Steve answered. He'd been there all night.
Maybe he had misjudged Lizzy. Could it be that she was just another stupid cow, not his Mona Lisa? No, that wasn't right, even the old Italian woman in the deli recognized her for what she was, a masterpiece. It was him. The older, more experienced man had taken advantage of her; played the white knight in her moment of need. That had to be the reason. He had something very special in mind for this one.
It would be more difficult without Walters help, perhaps take a little more time, there were arrangements to make. He needed to find a new place to fabricate his creation. But surely she would help him. She had to.
He left his perch in the park after Lizzy and the interloper climbed the stairs, disappearing through the massive front doors of the Cathedral. It took him several minutes but, before he entered the church, his plan was in motion.