Chapter 20

Jessica smiled as Stacy opened the present she’d bought for her. They were sitting at a small table near the bar at Indochine, a trendy new restaurant that Alex Noonan had given a rave review. The Herald’s restaurant critic was almost impossible to please. If Alex said the food was good, they knew it would be excellent.

“Love Dust,” Stacy said, reading the label on the canister.

“Is that what I think it is?” Zoe asked as Stacy examined the mink brush attached to the Love Dust.

“You got it.” Jessica winked. “Dust it all over Scott and lick it off.”

“If I were you, I would dust it on myself—you know where—and let him lick it off,” Zoe said.

“That’s what I’m going to do when Scott comes home from the hospital tonight. He adores the wax job, and it’s no secret how much I like oral sex.”

The waiter arrived with their champagne. As the cork popped, Jessica caught the eye of a tall blonde sitting nearby at the bar. The woman looked away and began chatting up the guy next to her. Something about the blonde seemed familiar, but Jessica couldn’t place her.

After the waiter filled their glasses, they raised them and clicked.

“To Stacy and the big three-three,” Zoe said.

Jessica sipped her champagne. Tattinger was her favorite, but it was expensive. The group splurged only on birthdays and at Christmas.

“I saw you leaving with Cole this afternoon,” Zoe said. “What gives?”

Jessica knew what that tone meant. “Nothing gives. He wanted a bit of information for a piece he’s doing.”

“Well, I think Cole’s hot, and if you’re not going after him, mind if I do?”

Jessica did care if Zoe hit on Cole, but she had no right to stop her. Cole had made it clear; their relationship was strictly professional.

Stacy had a gleam in her eye as she said, “Jess is hesitating. She does mind.”

“No, I don’t. Go for it. He’s all yours.”

Zoe arched one dark brow, the way she often did. “Just kidding. Workplace romances get messy. Besides, I’m having too much fun playing the field.”

“Cole’s going to have a very interesting article on the Final Call Killer tomorrow,” Jessica said to change the subject.

“Tell all,” Zoe said.

“It’s in lockdown. We’ll have to read it in the paper tomorrow morning like everyone else.”

“In lockdown, huh?” Stacy said. “Cole must have another scoop or something.”

“I hope they catch him soon,” Zoe said. “He’s nothing but a sick psycho with sexual cravings.”

“Sexual cravings?” Stacy asked. “What makes you say that?”

“He didn’t rape those women,” added Jessica as she noticed the blonde looking at them again. She was close enough to hear what they were saying, if she were bored enough to listen.

“He probably can’t get it up. He wanted to rape them, but couldn’t,” Zoe insisted. “Why else would he undress them and leave them spread eagle?”

“I don’t agree,” Jessica said. “Sex isn’t on his agenda.”

“He’s a demented, twisted psychopath,” Zoe told them.

The waiter arrived with menus and began to explain the specials. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw the blonde get up and leave the bar. She still had the feeling they’d met somewhere.

Cole had his article approved long before they put the paper to bed. He was free to go home, but his place at the Embassy Suites wasn’t very appealing. He’d come to San Francisco on such sort notice that he hadn’t had time to get an apartment. This weekend he would start hunting.

For a second, he considered asking Jessica to help him. She’d lived in the city most of her life. She would know the best places to look for an apartment a reporter could afford in a town famous for its expensive housing.

He decided to consult Hank Newman instead. He was still royally pissed-off at the way Jessica had used him, then vanished without a word. But he had to admit he was attracted to her.

Over coffee this afternoon, his fingers literally itched to bury themselves in her silky hair. He’d resisted the urge and kept to business. Jessica was trouble. Big time.

Aw, hell, he wondered if he had anything left to give any woman—except sex. His heart had been broken two years, three months, and—he glanced at the date on the bottom of his computer screen—eleven days ago. Work was all he had, all he planned to have.

He glanced at the desk that once had been Dick Crawford’s and then Warren Jacobs’s. Cole had already cleaned out Jacobs’s things and packed them in a box to be shipped to his brother in Tacoma. Hank had told him the brother hadn’t bothered to attend Jacobs’s funeral.

Damn shame, he thought.

If he wasn’t careful, he and Jock would grow farther apart than they already had and end up like the Jacobs brothers. Cole had gone to Kauai to spend time with his brother. As it turned out, he’d seen more of Jessica.

He’d called his brother when he’d arrived in San Francisco, but Jock had gone to Tahiti for a surfing contest. He’d left a message, but Jock hadn’t called back yet.

There was a file folder in the “out” box on his desk. He’d left it there when he’d moved into the office, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it now. It was Dick Crawford’s notes on Jacobs’s death.

Since Dick could no longer write, he picked at the computer keyboard and didn’t bother to correct any spacing or spelling errors he made. His notes were pretty garbled. No doubt, Dick could make sense of them, but anyone else would have a struggle.

In the file was a copy of the coroner’s autopsy report. Out of curiosity, Cole read it. At Harvard, he’d majored in chemistry. He’d planned to become a biochemist, but one of his roommates convinced him to write an article for the Crimson. From then on, he was hooked—newspapers were in his blood.

He studied the report for a minute. There were trace amounts of some drugs that should never be in a human’s body. He read the report again, more closely this time.

Son of a bitch!

“Tomorrow is the big day,” Jessica told her father. “My first syndicated column will be out.”

They were sitting in the small living room having decaf. She’d stopped by on her way home after the birthday dinner. She’d taken a taxi even though she would have preferred to walk, because Stacy insisted.

The serial killer had every woman in the city on edge. Jessica was now in the habit of looking over her shoulder and eyeing men who passed her with suspicion, something she never would have done six months ago.

“What’s … your … col … umn a … bout?”

“Internet chat rooms. Everyone complains about all the spam they get. People don’t realize when they post their e-mail address in a chat room, or a newsgroup, or a Web page, spammers have computers that automatically—”

Buzzit—buzzit. The doorbell interrupted her.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“C-Cole.”

Jessica smothered a gasp. Why hadn’t her father mentioned this? If he had, she wouldn’t have stayed and made coffee.

“Buzz … him … in.”

Jessica got up, went over to the panel by the front door, and pressed the button to release the lock on the door downstairs. In a matter of minutes, Cole knocked on the apartment door.

She opened it and found him standing there with a file folder in his hand. Obviously, he hadn’t been home. He was still in the same sports coat and shirt he’d been wearing when they’d talked that afternoon. What had been the beginning of a five o’clock shadow was sexy stubble now.

He gave her the flimsiest of smiles, but her body reacted instantly. Her heartbeat blipped, and she felt slightly breathless. Something hung in the air between them. A vibrating current. She felt it, but did he?

“Come in,” she said, then she turned to her father. “It’s late. I’m going to run along.”

“Stay,” Cole said. “You might be able to help.”

Her father smiled at Cole, a warm, genuine smile, and she could see how happy her father was to have Cole visit. A sudden lump swelled in her throat. No denying it. Cole made her father happy in a way that she never could.

The scanner in the corner near her father’s computer equipment crackled as Cole walked over to where her father was sitting.

“Would you like a cup of decaf?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” Cole sat on the sofa and motioned for her to join them. “I’ve been reviewing the file on Warren Jacobs’s death.”

Jessica sat in the armchair opposite the sofa and listened.

“Jacobs didn’t die of heart failure. He had succinyl chlorine in him.”

“What’s that?” Jessica asked.

“It’s a powerful muscle relaxant used by veterinarians.”

“Are … you … sure?”

“Positive, but just to be certain, I e-mailed the coroner’s report to Tufts University’s School of Veterinary Science. It’s one of the best in the country. They should get back to me tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t the coroner pick up on it?” she asked.

Cole studied her a moment in that incisive way of his. “It’s in the report, but the coroner obviously didn’t understand its importance. The drug is rarely seen in humans. It relaxes every muscle in the body, including the heart and lungs.”

“That’s … why … there was … no evi … dence of a heart at … tack.”

“The heart did fail,” Cole said, “so the coroner’s finding is technically correct.”

“But if the coroner realized what caused the failure, the police would be trying to solve a murder.” She reached for the cup of decaf she’d left on the table. “Why would anyone want to kill him?”

“Good question.” Cole held up the manila file. “I brought along your notes,” he said to her father. “They’re a little hard to read, but there might be something in there that would tell us more.”

“I can help read them,” Jessica said. It was almost ten-thirty. By this time of day, talking was a real effort for her father.

She had helped him the last two years he’d been able to work. She knew he often omitted words when he typed to keep from exhausting himself. Cole handed her the report. The typing on the pages was worse than when she’d worked with him.

“The nurse on duty, Alma Thompson, went in to check on him at four-thirty. He wasn’t breathing. She called the other nurse. They tried to revive him, but he failed to respond. The paramedics arrived within three minutes—”

“There’s … fire sta … tion … just … down … the street.”

“They couldn’t do anything either, so he was immediately taken to the morgue.”

“Bingo!” Cole pointed his index finger straight up. “Succinyl chlorine breaks down quickly in the body, but vaults at the morgue are very cold. That delays the drug’s decomposition.”

“It’s the perfect murder weapon.”

“Just about.”

She studied her father’s notes. “No one came into the facility after nine.”

“Somebody had to have slipped in. Succinyl chlorine acts quickly. He must have received the injection within ten minutes of dying, I think, but when I hear from Tufts, I’ll know for sure.”

“I-Injection? No … needle marks … in coroner’s … report.”

“I noticed that,” Cole said. “As far as I know, it’s the only way to administer Succinyl chlorine, but I asked that question when I faxed Tufts.”

“Why would anyone go to so much trouble to kill Warren?” she asked.

“Money and crimes of passion are the two leading causes of murder.”

“I doubt Warren had much money. I wonder if he had a life insurance policy.”

“I called Jacobs’s brother in Tacoma. He claims Warren left him less than five thousand dollars. He didn’t know if Warren had enemies or not because the brothers weren’t close.”

“He didn’t even come to the funeral.” Jessica thought a moment. “You know, he took care of his second cousin, an elderly lady.”

“His brother didn’t mention any cousins. He said Warren had been married once a long time ago, but never had children. He just has the one brother.”

“There must be cousins somewhere because I sat next to the sweetest old lady at the funeral. If we can find the woman, she might be able to help. Warren might have mentioned something to her that would give you a lead.”

“I’ll call his brother again.” Cole stood up. “It’s late. I’d better get going.”

“Me, too.” Jessica rose, kissed her father good night, and put on her coat.

“Thanks for the help,” Cole said to her father. “I’ll call you tomorrow night after I’ve heard back from people.”

“G-good … night. Cole … please … walk Jessica—”

“That’s not necessary. I—”

“I’ll be happy to see her home,” Cole told her father. “A serial killer is on the loose. Women need to be very careful.”

Jessica wanted to argue, but she couldn’t stand to hear her father struggle to talk. She led Cole out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator.

“Thank you for being so kind to my father. The newspaper was his life. He likes being included in things.”

“I like your dad. He’s a cool guy.”

“What about your father?” she asked as they got on the elevator.

There was a long moment of silence. “My father died when we were kids.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Where’s your mother?” he asked.

She was sorry she’d brought up this subject. It had seemed to be an innocent enough conversation, but she detected something in his voice when he said his father had died. Now she would have to explain about her mother. She rarely discussed her with anyone even close friends.

“My mother left us when I was seven.”

“I see.” They got off the elevator and walked through the foyer.

“Is your mother still alive?” she asked.

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. Cole’s expression didn’t change but something flared in the depths of his eyes. He didn’t immediately answer.

“My mother ODed just like my father but several years later.”

“Oh, my God. That’s terrible. Who raised you and Jock?”

“The State of California.”

“You were in foster care?”

“That’s right.”

“They kept you two together, didn’t they?”

“Sometimes. I was in twelve different homes. Jock was in fourteen.”

How terrible, she thought. Her mother’s leaving hurt, but at least she had her father and there was never a question that he didn’t love her.

Outside a thick fog hung in the air like a wet shroud. The streetlights weren’t even visible. In the distance a streetcar clanged but the sound was muffled by the fog.

“San Francisco is famous for fog like this,” she said to change the subject.

“One of the first things I noticed when I first visited here was the street names carved into the sidewalk on each corner.”

“That’s how we find our way home in fog like this.”

He took her arm. “Which way?”

“Left. I’m around the corner and two blocks down. How are you going to find your way home?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

She couldn’t help worrying about him. She could only imagine how he must have suffered as a child. It made her angry with herself for moping about her mother. At least she’d been loved.

She wondered if Cole had ever been in love. Someone had asked him if he’d ever been married. He hadn’t but he could have loved a woman, or had his youth left him permanently damaged emotionally?