CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

Grenard Terrace was a private cul-de-sac off Greenwich Street in the Russian Hill District, surrounded by traditional apartments and a handful of exclusive condos. Ellie Mae's condo was at the top of the circular driveway. Her BMW Z4 was in the carport.

"Pardon me!" A middle-aged woman called out from across the communal driveway. She was dressed in a beige pencil skirt suit, and the glasses attached to a sparkling necklace bounced off her small breasts at the same tempo her beige heels clicked on the paving bricks. She must have recognized Ray as a person of authority and navigated toward where he stood among the assembled officers who'd followed Jack and him over from Sea Cliff Avenue.

As she approached, Ray said, "Just a moment," and turned back to Harry and Wash. "Same as before. You know what we're looking for. If you're met with any resistance by the occupant, let me know."

Jack watched the inspectors move toward the two-story Spanish-style residence with big windows and a red tile roof.

"Wash," Jack called. "Be sure to print the vehicle too." Wash gave Jack a mock salute and continued toward the residence.

"It's Inspector Navarro." Ray said when he faced the woman. "How can I help you?"

The woman's gaze followed the officers toward the house, then she looked back at Ray. "Are you here to do something about that woman's dog? It barks constantly. I've called the police on numerous occasions, but I feel like I'm being ignored."

"We're here now, so we'll have a talk with her," Ray assured the woman.

"She's not home."

"Her car is in the carport, missus . . ." Jack said.

"Miss. Mary Duncan. And yes, she was here, but you just missed her. I saw her head down the alley just before you pulled up." Mary pointed to a narrow gap between the residence and the boundary fence. "There's a narrow path some of us use that cuts through to Lombard rather than having to walk all the way around the block. Anyway, as you can hear, she's left that poor little dog alone. Again. I mean, why get a dog if you're just going to leave it cooped up and alone all day?" Mary's face screwed up in disbelief. "She could have at least taken it with her. She won't even take it with her when she goes out in the middle of the night."

"What do you mean ‘when she goes out in the middle of the night’?" Jack spoke up.

Mary gazed up at him. "Just what I said. As soon as she backs out of her carport, the dog starts barking. And howling."

"What time does she usually go out?" Jack asked.

"I don’t know. I'm not keeping a log of her comings and goings!" Ray folded his arms across his chest. Jack recognized his look of exasperation. Mary must have got the message too, as she took a deep breath before continuing, "It varies. She goes out, perhaps around one or two in the morning and won't return until after five or so. If at all until the next day." Mary leaned in and lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. Her eyes darted between Jack and Ray. "You don't think she's a prostitute, do you?"

Jack cleared his throat to muffle a laugh. "I don’t think so, Miss Duncan."

Ray took out his notebook and made several detailed notes. "Can you tell me about when she's home or not during the day?"

Shaking her head, Mary said, "Not really. I work around the corner at the bank. I often come home for lunch; it's more affordable than going out to eat, you see. If it's quiet, I know she's taken the dog away with her. Honestly, I keep hoping she'll leave the dog wherever it is she goes, because when she comes back, it's usually just to drop the dog and go. And the barking starts all over again."

"Yes, ma'am," Ray said. "Can you give me your neighbor's name?"

Good question, Jack thought. The property search showed Ellie had bought the house not long after she started making a name for herself as Jennifer Morgan. But did her neighbors know her as Ellie or Jennifer? Or did they even recognize her as Ginnie Whitney-Cummings?

Mary shook her head and folded her arms across her breasts. "No idea. She's lived here for years and has never talked to anyone that I'm aware of. That one is a bit strange; I don't mind telling you!"

Jack chuckled to himself. Mary had no idea how right she was. "We'll try locating her. And while we're here, we'll do a welfare check on the dog."

"A welfare check?" Mary's voice rose slightly with indignation. "Is that all you can do? Can't you take the dog to . . . I don't know where . . . maybe a shelter or something? It's disturbing our quiet enclave." She nodded to the surrounding apartments and duplexes. Some of the apartment dwellers had stepped onto their balconies and others were milling around the perimeter of the driveway, having taken an interest in all the patrol cars.

"I'm afraid that's all we can do unless we can prove the dog is in danger. Barking is a civil matter. If you've spoken with your neighbor and she won't remedy the situation, your next course of action is to seek legal advice," Ray explained.

"Isn't that what I'm doing now?"

Ray breathed deeply. "I mean, talk with a lawyer."

"That seems a bit extreme. Is it really too much to ask for some peace and quiet? It's not just barking. The howling is heartbreaking, like the poor thing is literally crying out for attention."

Jack glanced at Ray then to Mary. "Would you be interested in taking the dog in, or at least looking after it while its mistress is away?"

Mary's face contorted. "Hell, no. That dog isn't my responsibility and I don't want it to be. I just want my quiet life back."

"How long has this been going on?" Ray asked.

"I don't know. A year or so. Seems like forever."

Harry appeared at Jack's side. "The door's locked and no one's home. We need a locksmith."

Ray turned to Mary and said, "Thank you for your time. We'll see what we can do about the dog."

"What are you going to do about the other noise?" Mary asked.

Jack lifted an eyebrow at Mary's comment. "What other noise, Miss Duncan?"

"As if the barking wasn't bad enough, there's some kind of machine running over there. It's constantly on, whether she's home or not," Mary explained. "I can hear it from here."

Jack cocked his head and agreed there was a low-level hum coming from the direction of the condo, along with the dog that was intermittently barking and howling.

"Thank you, Miss Duncan," Ray said, adding the last detail to his notebook. "We'll take a look when we check on the dog."

Without waiting for her response, Jack and Ray followed Harry across the driveway and up the steps leading to the front door. Ray knocked to be sure no one was home, then checked the knob to confirm the door was secure. "Yep, we'll need a locksmith. Harry, call—"

"Give me a minute," Jack said. He'd noticed a door at the back of the carport and retraced his steps to the driveway. He side-stepped between the car and wall as he edged to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked too. Pulling out a small leather case from inside his jacket, he gazed around to make sure Mary Duncan had returned home. From this angle behind the car, and the surrounding patrol cars, he was sure none of the onlookers saw him either. Kneeling, he extracted the tools he needed from the case then inserted them into the lock. It sprang instantly. She really should have had better locks on the place.

After replacing the tools in the case and sliding it back into his inner pocket, he quickly went inside and closed the door behind him.

He knew Ginnie wasn't home, as the dog was barking somewhere upstairs. Even if she had been home, she probably wouldn’t have heard him above the racket the machine was making. It was no wonder Mary Duncan complained about the noise.

A long, narrow hall connected the carport to the rest of the lower level of the residence, which included a laundry room, a small guest bathroom, and two bedrooms, the first of which was the master with an en suite. The décor was practically the opposite of Ginnie's bedroom over on Sea Cliff. No contemporary minimalism here. This room had been designed with antique furnishings and finished off in floral patterns with ruffled curtains. It made sense to him now why the antique armoire was out of place over on Sea Cliff. It was definitely part of this matching bedroom suite.

The second bedroom had been converted into a sort of office-cum-workshop. A built-in wraparound counter filled three walls opposite the door. Built-in cabinets were under the middle portion of the worktop, and above that was a blacked-out window, the sliding panel of which was partially open.

The counter to the left was set up as desk space with three oversized monitors encircling a keyboard and mouse, and a plush swivel chair.

On the counter to Jack's right, there wasn't just one, but three professional size 3D printer machines set up against one wall, each of them creating various pieces Jack recognized as parts of a handgun.

He tapped the edge of the space bar on the computer keyboard. The monitors flickered and came to life. Designs for various components for an Imura revolver were spread across the screens.

Jack felt gut-punched. A ball of acid forced its way to the back of his throat. He wanted to throw himself into the swivel chair to catch his breath but didn't dare disturb any evidence on it.

Until yesterday in the park when Ray had told him and Haniford about Eleanor Mae Hogg, Jack couldn't understand what she'd have to do with Ranganathan and why she'd been in his apartment. Had she been the date Ranganathan told Franklin about?

It started coming together when Ray dropped his bombshell and revealed Ellie Mae had recreated herself as Jennifer Morgan, long before meeting Franklin Whitney-Cummings.

Now, standing here and watching the machines create the elements needed to make another Imura revolver, it rocked him to the core.

His client—the former top model and currently the unhappy wife—was the one who'd been killing patrons of the Majestic Lounge. But why? Certainly not just to obtain a divorce.

He needed to get Ray in here now. They had to find Ginnie before she knew they were onto her.

Jack rushed up the stairs to the main floor and through the open plan room to the front door. It barely registered that her choice of antique bedroom décor was the same throughout the residence. He snatched up the little dog on his way to the front door, both to quiet it and to keep officers from letting it out once the door was open. It instantly quieted but he felt it shivering against his arm.

Jack flung open the door then grabbed Ray by the front of his jacket with his free hand and pulled him through the house. "It's her," he said as he moved.

At the top of the stairs, Ray jerked out of his grasp. "What are you talking about?"

"It's her. Goddammit, it's her!" He flew headlong down the stairs and returned to the office. "Hurry up!"

"What the absolute fuck . . . " Ray said under his breath when he entered the room.

Jack spun, gesturing at the printers. His heart pounded so hard in his ears that he scrubbed his fist across his forehead to force back the pressure building there. He took a couple deep breaths to keep from shouting out his realization.

"Look. She's creating another weapon. The plans are on the screen. The noise Mary Duncan is hearing is Ginnie printing out handgun components." He waved his free hand toward the computer monitor. "It's her, Ray. Ginnie-fucking-Ellie Mae . . . she's the one staging the suicides. She's our killer."

Just then, Wash appeared behind Ray. "Umm, guys—" A hanger dangled from a beefy, gloved index finger. Upon it was a long, black coat and matching scarf. In his other gloved hand, he held a black, wide-brimmed hat. "These were in the closet near the front door."

Jack and Ray stared at each other for a long moment. Ray opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. Jack had a hard time finding words himself.

Harry squeezed past her partner. "Holy shit!" Another officer pushed in behind her.

Ray gazed up and spread his arms. "Okay, everyone. Out. We need to protect the scene."

"Wait. What's that?" Jack asked, stopping at the door, the last to leave the room. He cocked his head. Something squelched, followed by low level voices. He gazed at the partially open window. Was it someone outside? He moved toward the window and listened. He heard the sound again. Not outside. He gazed across the full length of the counter. There. Behind one of the monitors.

"What do you have, Jack?" Ray stepped back into the room.

Jack leaned over and turned up the volume. "Motorola."

"What the hell?"

"She's been monitoring police calls, Ray. She knew we were coming before we got here. There's no telling what else she's been privy to."