Chapter 11 A Death in the Family
KGOT News, Channel 14, announced the news at their 10 p.m. broadcast.
"We begin tonight with new details regarding the death of San Francisco Police Sergeant Fran Belding. Megan Watson has our story," the male newsreader with the perfect teeth and hair announced in a solemn baritone.
The camera shot flipped to a split screen of the newsreaders and an earnest young Black woman holding a microphone to her face in front of the Hennessey Gallery.
"Jed, Molly," she began.
The camera panned out to show the gallery now strewn with Crime Scene tape and markers. The reporter began her story.
"SFPD sent officers to the Hennessey Gallery after receiving reports of a burglar alarm at the gallery prior to its opening this morning. They discovered Sergeant Belding in the basement, unconscious. KGOT has exclusively learned that Sgt Belding had been working undercover at the gallery to help solve a series of robberies in the Dogpatch neighborhood. Sgt. Belding was transported to University Hospital but succumbed to her injuries late today. Commissioner Dennis Randall and Commander Carl Reese of Homeland Security held a press conference following the death of Sgt. Belding."
The screen switched, showing the front of Police Headquarters.
Dennis Randall looked small and old as he spoke behind a bank of microphones.
"The San Francisco Police Department is angered by the callous, brutal murder of one of our own today. Sergeant Fran Belding came from a family of San Francisco police officers. She was an outstanding officer. We are diminished by her loss. Thank you. I will not take questions at this time."
He turned and went back into the building to a cacophony of shutters and shouted questions.
Carl Reese was next at the microphones. He was angry and blunt.
"I'm, uh, Commander Carl Reese, Homeland Security. We are looking for this man."
A photograph of Thomas Hastings filled the screen.
"We're interested in making contact with this man, Thomas Hastings. He is a person of interest in the murder of Sergeant Belding. We are asking the public to help us locate Mr. Hastings. Personally, I wanna make this clear to the coward who did this. You brutally murdered a cop. We're coming for ya, dirtbag."
He turned and followed the Commissioner into the building.
The screen returned to the reporter.
"Jed and Molly, Andrew Mitchell, owner of the gallery, reported the loss of several paintings following the assault on Sgt Belding. At this hour, we do not know what paintings have been taken or their value. Funeral services for Sgt Belding, a nine-year veteran of the force, will be held Tuesday afternoon at St Peter's Catholic Church in the Mission District. Reporting live from the Hennessey Gallery. This is Megan Watson, KGOT News. Back to you and Molly in the studio."
"Thank you, Megan."
The woman newsreader turned to face the camera.
"In other police news, Special Assistant Robert Ironside has been hospitalized following an apparent heart attack today. The Chief will remain under observation for several days in the hospital as a precaution."
"Thanks for that update Molly, and here's hoping for a speedy and full recovery for the Chief from all of us at KGOT News"
"You're welcome, Nick. A short commercial break and we'll be back with a rep ..." she began, then the television flickered off.
"I'm dead?" Fran Belding's voice was tired.
Robert Ironside turned towards the hospital bed.
"It was the only way to get you off the case." His voice was gentle.
"You can't do that. You're not my boss anymore. " Fran replied.
"You're right, I'm not. I am, and always will be, your friend, and you, young lady, you, are very lucky to be alive."
He rolled up to the side of Fran's bed, raising the head of it slightly.
"Where am I?"
"University Hospital's VIP floor, under the name of Phoebe Anne Moses."
Fran paused a moment. "Annie Oakley?"
"None other. You'll receive full department honors at your funeral at St Peter's this Tuesday."
"You moved awfully fast."
"Blame Carl. Rezko Lenard needs to be worried. Knowing that the entire police department is after him should have him look more than just a little over his shoulder."
"Do I get a piper?"
"Amazing Grace on the church steps."
"I want a Mariachi band. Have them play something really sad like Nadie es eterno, then follow it with banda music. Something cheery to confuse all the Anglos."
"Don't push it, Fran."
"I'm sure I left a final directive somewhere. If I can't have a Mariachi band at church, then at the wake. Where are you having it?"
"Giamatti's"
"Danny will do it. Have him contact Nina Gomez, Mariposas Mexicanas is her band."
Ironside shook his head, took her hand, and pressed it to his lips. "You'll get your band. Anything else?"
"No."
There was a knock at the door, a pause, then another knock.
"Enter," Ironside called.
A policeman opened the door, allowing a medical tech to push through with a computer cart.
"Good evening, Ms. Moses; I'm here to get some blood."
The technician quickly and efficiently took the sample, recorded it on her computer, and left.
"How did I die?"
"Blood clots in the brain. Right now, Mark and Ed are accompanying your body to the crematorium. I'm assuming that Rezko or someone he trusts will be following them."
"Who knows I'm alive?"
"Just Carl and me. He's hoping that Mr Lenard will make a mistake, and we'll find Patrick Morgan."
Fran closed her eyes, trying to absorb it all.
"We need to find someplace safe for you."
"Jimmy probably is at Club Med. It's what Carl calls the safe house he set up when we need to keep someone out of sight."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No. Carl's never had a reason to send me there." Fran said.
"If Jimmy's there, it's not wise to have you there too."
"I don't need a babysitter," Fran said, knowing the argument coming while fighting the headache that was coming on.
"Oh, stop acting like a tin soldier Fran. You're here for a reason."
"A few bumps, a few bruises. I'll be fine."
"Try this laundry list, three cracked ribs, a bruised set of lungs, vertebrae, and a grade three, maybe four concussion. You've been unconscious most of the day. Don't be stubborn. You need to be looked after."
"How long are you going to be here?" she asked, changing the subject.
"I'm here on observation. My heart, if you must know. I'll be at the funeral for sure. For now, I'll stay here until you get your medication and fall asleep."
He watched as a nurse came in with her computer cart and Fran's medication in a little cup. Fran took it obediently, washing it down with water. Vitals were taken and recorded, and the nurse left after wishing her patient a good evening.
The Chief and Fran talked for a while longer until Fran began to drowse.
"Chief, tell Ed and Mark," she mumbled as the mix of opiate and sedative began to take hold.
"Tell them what?"
"Thanks."
"You'll be able to tell them yourself soon."
He wheeled himself out of her room. Carl Reese was waiting for him.
"How'd she take it?"
"As well as anyone finding out they're dead."
"Ideas on how to keep her safe?"
"Yes, and I know who I want with her."
"He's not going to like it."
"He's the best I've got. And she deserves the best after all she's done."
Ed hated this part of the job, to be a witness at the end. To watch the metamorphosis from a human to ash. Confirming the end of a person's existence. This time was especially hard. Fran Belding had been a co worker and a friend. He knew Mark felt the same. Better for her to be with friends at the end of her journey through life than to have a stranger.
Ed drove behind the funeral home hearse, parking next to it in the lot. A coffin was slid out the back and placed on a gurney. The funeral director met them with a clipboard. Mark signed the paperwork. The director handed them a small plastic bag containing Fran's jewelry.
They sat in a small room, watching. The crematorium fire was lit, and the thermometer reading quickly increased to 1800 degrees. A draped body was removed from the container and laid on the conveyor belt.
Ed's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold. Mark silently recited a prayer. There was a brief moment when they saw the outline of a body. Then it was gone. It was over as quickly as it began.
"When can we get the ashes?" Ed asked.
"They should be ready in half an hour. Do you have an urn?"
"Sorry, no, we don't. Our friend's death was unexpected," Mark replied.
"Why don't the two of you come into the next room? I have a selection of urns for you to consider."
Mark and Ed followed him into the room. It didn't take them long to select a redwood box, a short time later. the director came out with the box and a folder of paperwork handing it to Mark.
The urn and papers were placed in the back seat of the car, and they began the drive back into town.
"Check out the Volvo," Mark said as he checked the rearview mirror. "Same one as on the way in?"
Ed glanced up from the steering wheel and adjusted the mirror. "Yup."
"What do you want to do?"
"Get a trace on the plate. Get a car to pick it up. See where it goes."
Mark made the call to the DMV.
"Belongs to Rite Way Rentals. I'll get a uniform to pay a visit." He made another call.
"Done."
They drove silently for a time.
"Do you remember the night the Chief told you and Fran you had to go out on a date? What was that you told her?" Mark asked.
"Come with me, my love, to moonlight and romance. She thought it was funny. The way she said it back to the Chief."
"Thought you were going to kill her."
"She knew how to push my buttons, that's for sure. I threatened to break her wrist because she wanted to bust everyone in the place that night. Including a bouncer who was six foot four, weighed two hundred twenty pounds, and was better armed than I was."
"You threatened her with that? She really believed no one wanted to find her dad's murderer. Can you blame her for some of the things she did during that case?"
"No, I can't. I'll always remember she had one of the biggest hearts and more compassion that anyone I knew."
"She sure didn't deserve to die the way she did."
"Nope."
Mark's phone rang. He listened intently.
"We've got a car ready to pick them up in two miles."
"Good. Let's get back to the office." Ed said tersely.