“Father’s not doing well,” Alex said.
Phone cradled to her neck, Colleen toweled off her hair. She stood by her desk in her underwear, watching rain clouds roil in the night sky. It was getting late, past eight o’clock.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Alex.” And she was, even as she tried to keep the worry out of her voice so that it didn’t transfer over. “If it helps, I can tell you what I’ve got so far. You know how I feel about sharing information if it’s not ready, but … if you think it might comfort your father …”
“Colleen—ah—do you think you might see your way to coming down here and talking to him in person? The phone is so impersonal. And Father is about as old school as it gets.”
Colleen checked her watch.
“Give me about forty-five minutes,” she said. Half Moon Bay was down the coast, Highway 1. The two-lane road followed some sharp curves and it was raining. “Maybe an hour. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Thanks so much, Colleen.” Alex sounded like she was choking back tears.
Colleen opted for her dark business suit, the only suit she had, with her silver bird earrings and black pumps, no nylons.
She drove down 101 and took 92 to Half Moon Bay instead of 1, taking the curves too fast, the Torino having more muscle than agility. Once she got into Half Moon Bay proper and headed up the coast into the darkness, she rolled down the window. The fresh air felt good.
* * *
“This way, please, Ms. Hayes,” Harold, the butler, said.
The compact, middle-aged Asian man, wearing a crisp white shirt, black bow tie, black pinstripe vest and trousers, led Colleen up a flight of stairs carpeted with a red Persian runner. A huge stained-glass window on the landing offered a fragmented glimpse of the expansive yard behind the mansion. Beyond that, the dark Pacific.
Colleen followed Harold down a long hallway to a huge corner study that overlooked the back grounds. Like the rest the house, it was paneled with dark oak and carpeted in reds and golds. Flames danced in a stone fireplace. Frosted globe lights on the walls cast an additional warm glow.
The quiet hiss of oxygen emanated from the corner of the room.
Behind a large desk, his back to Colleen, sat Edward Copeland in his wheelchair, facing a picture window. Alex stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Tall trees swayed in the night wind. The back of Mr. Copeland’s head showed neatly combed gray hair, indented where the band of an oxygen mask was secured.
Alex turned, gave Colleen a nervous smile. Alex wore a black knee-length dress with a white pointed collar and white cuffs on short sleeves. Her shoes were two-toned black and white, to match the dress. Colleen wondered if she ever looked like she hadn’t just come off the runway. Alex’s eyes flickered with apprehension.
“Colleen’s here, Father.”
Mr. Copeland’s head turned.
“Splendid,” he said in a raspy voice. His thin arms struggled to turn the wheels of the chair. “Excellent.”
“Let me.” Alex took over, turned the chair around so Mr. Copeland could face Colleen.
“I’m not dead, yet,” Mr. Copeland replied, straightening his oxygen mask below his nose. His face was flushed with the minimum effort he had exerted. Silk pajamas showed beneath his paisley robe. No formal outfit today. He was doing the best he could.
“I do apologize for my slovenly appearance, Ms. Hayes,” he said. “And for you having to come upstairs to my little cave—especially after driving all the way from San Francisco in this weather. It’s not so easy for me to get downstairs anymore.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Colleen said, unhooking her bag from her shoulder.
“We need to install that wheelchair lift on the staircase, Father,” Alex said.
Mr. Copeland gave a weak but wry smile. “My daughter loves to play this game, Ms. Hayes: the one where I’m going to live forever.”
“Not forever, Father,” Alex said. “Just long enough to install a wheelchair lift and make good use of it for as long as possible.”
“Then the workmen best get started now and work round the clock,” he gasped.
Colleen couldn’t help but notice Alex’s affectionate tone toward her father. She liked what she saw.
Mr. Copeland motioned at Harold. “Harold, get something to drink for our guest, who is still standing and shouldn’t be. I’ll have a brandy. A large one.”
“Make it a small one,” Alex told Harold. “A very small one. And a large glass of water.”
“And for you, Ms. Hayes?” Harold bowed in Colleen’s direction.
“I’d love a glass of white wine,” she said.
He nodded deferentially, turning to Alex. “Miss Alex?”
“We don’t have any powdered rhino horn on hand, do we, Harold?” Alex winked at Colleen, making her blush.
Harold cleared his throat. “Not today, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing for me, then.”
Harold exited the room.
“I do wish you wouldn’t be so disrespectful,” Mr. Copeland said to Alex.
“It’s called levity, Father. And we could all use a bit more of it.”
Colleen sat down in one of the buttery soft leather wingback chairs on the guest side of the desk and opened her bag. She fished out her file folder, the cover marked with notes, phone numbers, and scribbles.
Drinks appeared. Harold floated away. Colleen took a sip of white wine. It was not at all like the stuff you got in the dairy case at the corner store.
Alex stood behind her father again, a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Copeland turned his head to address her. “Will you kindly leave Ms. Hayes and me alone for a few minutes, Alex?”
Alex flustered. “I’m the one who called Colleen. I want to hear what she has to say, too.”
“Not now, girl,” he said gruffly.
Alex fluttered her eyelashes uncontrollably, and Colleen could see her hiding a wave of hurt. She would always be a child to him.
“With all due respect, Mr. Copeland,” Colleen said, “I think it’s important that both of you hear what I have to say—even though much of it is still unconfirmed.”
“Do you now?” She could see Mr. Copeland inhaling deeply on the oxygen, clearly piqued, and trying not to show the effort involved in breathing.
“I’ll be blunt. Things are moving, but everything is taking longer than expected. As much as I hate to say it, that means you may not be here to see the end results. But Margaret’s murder is going to be resolved one way or another—and Alex may be the one who sees the investigation to completion.”
A silence fell over the room. Outside in the sprawling yard, wind blew the trees to and fro.
“Very well.” Mr. Copeland waved his hand. “Sit down, Alex.”
“I don’t think so, Father,” she said, patting his shoulder. “You’re doing more than enough of that for the both of us. I do wish you’d get off your lazy duff once in a while.”
“Hysterical,” he said. “Stand, then.” He nodded at Colleen. “Tell us what you’ve learned, Ms. Hayes.”
“I wasn’t ready to share this yet but, under the circumstances …” Opening her file folder on the desk, she began with the green Ford Falcon parked near the murder site the night before Margaret’s body was found. “The maintenance man out at Stow Lake says he reported the vehicle to SFPD, but that they didn’t seem interested. I’d love to see if the Falcon made it into the report. I’m still waiting for a copy. But that is still close to a month away, if my request doesn’t get ‘dropped.’” She told him about attempting to meet Jim Davis.
“It’s terrible about that poor man,” Mr. Copeland said.
“It’s a little more than terrible,” Colleen said. “I was supposed to meet with him the day before he was found dead. You might remember Christian authorized additional expenses—to pay him for a copy of the report.”
Both Mr. Copeland and Alex observed her with grim stares.
“But wasn’t the man a terrible drunk?” Mr. Copeland said. “An accident waiting to happen?”
“That may be how the newspapers like to put it, but Jim Davis was a functioning alcoholic. It doesn’t make sense that he would wander down to the beach and be set upon by transients when I was about to pay him two thousand dollars. And I got the distinct feeling he had something to tell me.”
“I see.”
She spoke about her attempt to connect with the Davis family. The lead on Margaret’s old roommate. The arson fire at H&M Paint. The blue Chevy C10 pickup truck. “Add the Ford Falcon into the mix and you’ve got a lot of doubt about Margaret’s murderer being the Zodiac.”
“Doubt being the operative word,” Mr. Copeland said. “It’s a function of the human mind to try to make order when there is none, Ms. Hayes. You can’t be faulted for it, but it’s likely your very intelligent brain is trying to make sense of things that perhaps make no sense.”
That took her aback. “I can’t get anyone to work with me: reporters, police—no one. In fact, SFPD feel like the opposite of cooperation.”
“SFPD are doing what they do best—sloppy work. And you don’t have a license, so no one is taking your requests seriously.”
“Supposedly disconnected events. But there’s a linchpin that binds them together.”
She had their attention now.
“Frank Madrid,” she said. “Owner of the pickup uncannily similar to the one spotted outside the H&M plant during the fire. Also seen outside Mary Davis’s house on multiple occasions. He’s also Jim Davis’s former subordinate and partner. And he didn’t seem to think that the green Ford Falcon without license plates near a murder site warranted writing down.”
Mr. Copeland appeared to mull that over while Alex shifted her weight to her other foot and frowned.
“So this is the path you’re pursuing?” Mr. Copeland said. “The ex-partner of the man who did shoddy work eleven years ago when my Margaret was murdered?”
“My Margaret, too,” Alex said quietly, squeezing his shoulder.
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Copeland focused on Colleen again. “So SFPD did substandard work then and probably have not changed their ways. City employees.” Mr. Copeland took a breath, with effort, let it out. “I’m not so sure you are on the right track, Ms. Hayes, I’m sorry to say.”
Colleen felt she was getting resistance for some reason other than her progress. “I did say I wasn’t ready to share what I’d found.”
“And I can see why.”
“Father!” Alex said.
“Ms. Hayes is a big girl, Alex. She can take it. She’s being well paid to. Perhaps hiring someone who doesn’t have a license and has her own problems with law enforcement may have been too optimistic on my part.”
“Father—Christian did his due diligence on Colleen. And we all decided that she was just what we were looking for.”
“Christian did have reservations,” Mr. Copeland said.
“I know I’m on to something, Mr. Copeland,” Colleen said.
“Based on what?”
“The facts will tie together. I just need a copy of that police report. And I’ll get one—eventually.”
Mr. Copeland spoke to Alex. “Would you leave the two of us alone, now, Alex?” He gulped a breath of air. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course?”
Alex gave Colleen a look. “Yes, Father.”
A few moments later, Alex’s heels echoed purposely down the hall.
Colleen sensed bad news.
“Just give it to me straight, Mr. Copeland.”
“My health has taken a serious turn for the worse, Ms. Hayes. I thought I had more time. A couple of months. Well, change that to weeks. The doctors are still being very generous, in my opinion. I’ve got a lot of work to do in order to settle my affairs.”
Colleen cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr. Copeland—I really am. But I thought settling Margaret’s murder was one of those affairs.”
He waved her comment away. “Alex can’t handle this by herself. Dredging up Margaret’s murder? Taking on SFPD? Making enemies? She’s a child. A lovely, spirited young woman—but still a child. It will be all she can do to take over my estate without squandering it on her ne’er-do-well friends.”
“Surely that’s what a trust is for.”
He squinted at her, as if it was none of her business, which it wasn’t. “There are ways around such things, Ms. Hayes, and believe me, if anyone can find them, it’s Alex.”
“From what I’ve seen, Alex is more than capable. And I think it’s important that you share this tragic experience and resolve it together. Even if you have to take my word for it that it will be resolved.”
Mr. Copeland gave Colleen a knowing squint, along with a smirk. “Has she gotten to you, too, Ms. Hayes?”
Colleen felt the warm blush on her cheeks as her face reddened. So that’s what was bothering him. Mr. Copeland continued. “She’s very good at that, Ms. Hayes: wrapping people around her little finger. The problem is, she’s not much good at anything else.”
“I think you might be underestimating her.”
“She’s my daughter. I’ve watched her for a quarter of a century—much longer than you. I know exactly what she is—pretty, vivacious, charming, seductive, but about as deep as a puddle. Just like her mother was.”
Colleen found herself shaking her head. “Alex is the one who insisted I come down here tonight to talk to you. She cares a lot more than you think.”
“Probably because she wanted to see you,” he said. “Everything she does ultimately comes down to her own childish wants and needs. It’s all about Alex. It always has been. She will always let me down.”
“Are you sure you’re not talking about Margaret?”
Mr. Copeland nodded sagely. “Touché. Very well. Let’s leave it this way, Ms. Hayes. Today is Friday. Spend the weekend on Margaret, then write it up. And then we’ll call it done. You keep the five thousand. You’ve done excellent work and I’m more than impressed. But Alex is going to have a lot on her plate sooner than we thought. She doesn’t need this hanging over her head as well.”
Colleen took a deep breath. “If you mean you think she doesn’t need me around, Mr. Copeland, I can assure you there’s nothing going on between the two of us.”
The old man nodded, clearly embarrassed. “Thank you for being so forthright. There have been, well … I worry that someone will take advantage of her. Especially when I’m gone. Not you, of course,” he added.
Colleen let that drop. “Margaret is as important to her as she is to you.” More, perhaps, she thought, recalling Margaret’s unsent letter. “From what I see, Alex isn’t done grieving. She needs to see Margaret’s murder solved if she’s ever going to get past it.”
“I value your opinion.” He began gasping, which turned into a sudden attack. Colleen rose from her chair, hurried over. His lips had turned pale blue. She dialed his oxygen up. He settled down to even, if shallow, breaths. When he stabilized, she handed him his glass of water, and he took it and drank a deep draught. She took the glass from him and set it on his desk.
“Thank you again, Ms. Hayes,” he said. “You have until Monday. Then make something up to keep Alex happy. Just between us, eh? I’ll have Christian pay you a bonus.”
“I don’t care about a damn bonus! You’re paying me more than enough as is. I just don’t want to drop this case.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.”
Colleen let out a sigh. “Is there any other reason you’re dropping the investigation, Mr. Copeland? Something I should know about?”
“No. It’s just that I thought I had more time. But I don’t. Mine is almost up.” Their eyes connected. “Thank you, Ms. Hayes. Now, I’ve kept you far too long. Please send Alex up on your way out and tell her I’m ready for bed. And thank you again for making the journey down here tonight.”
There were times you couldn’t cover any ground. There were times you lost it. This was one of those.
Colleen found Alex in the entryway at the bottom of the grand staircase, sitting like a statue in a chair that belonged in a museum. Legs crossed, hands folded, poised, in her black and white ensemble, she was stunning. But frown lines furled her pale brow.
She looked up as Colleen descended the stairs.
“He wants to see you,” Colleen said. “He’s ready for bed. I turned up his oxygen, by the way.”
“Thanks, Coll.” Alex stood up, smoothed out her dress. She looked up, meeting Colleen’s gaze with steely blue eyes. “So what did you two talk about?”
Colleen frowned. “He thinks you and I are having a thing.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to redden. She put her hands on her slim hips. “What a damn prude! Not to mention hypocrite. Do you know how many ‘secretaries’ he’s been through over the years? Right under Mother’s nose. Mine, too! Ever since I can remember. Margaret detested it. And now he’s worried about a couple of women doing a better job of things when all he did was send them packing when he got bored or when Mother eventually put her foot down?”
“It’s his generation. And we’re not doing any such thing. You have to let him know as much, Alex.”
“Isn’t it awful to be blamed for something you didn’t do? Perhaps you should have just gone for it.” She smiled, this time lasciviously.
A bolt of annoyance shot through Colleen. “Shut up. He told me to stop working on the case.”
Alex’s smiled dropped. “He did? But why?”
“From his perspective it looks like you and I are playing footsie under the table when I should be working and he’s running out of time. And that only feeds his fears that you’re just his little girl who can’t handle the grown-up world. He doesn’t think you can see it through.”
“Jesus Christ.” Alex let a huge sigh escape. “What a fuck-up.”
“He wants me to wrap it up by Monday. But I’m going to need more time.”
“Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t, Alex.”
She reached over, squeezed Colleen’s hand. “You’re the best unlicensed PI a girl could have. I’m sorry about that crack.”
“You can’t help it.” They traded cautious smiles. “Better get upstairs.”
Soon as she got in the car, Colleen pulled a cigarette from the box on the dash, lit it with the car lighter, and took several deep drags.
She didn’t want to tell Alex that she was going to solve this case even if she was cut off completely. Even if Alex told her to quit.
She owed it to Jim Davis.
She drove home taking Highway 1, the coast road, savoring the cool night air. A scrap of moonlight broke through the clouds and flickered off the ocean.
She’d missed dinner. She reached into the pocket of her jacket for a stick of gum, thinking about her wild woman walking along the sand dunes by Fort Funston. She’d try to connect with her again tomorrow.
In Pacifica she noticed a pair of headlights in her rearview mirror.
She squinted into the rearview. The vehicle was well enough behind and in the dark, she couldn’t make out much. But it was large, a sedan of some sort.
How long had it been following?