Chapter 36

At the end of the week, Rob Fuller called Cole. “Sorry it took so long. The shoe print didn’t match anything in the computer’s database. The print guys had to do some checking.”

“Could they ID it?”

“Maybe. It’s definitely a custom soft-soled shoe. The markings in the center aren’t for an orthopedic problem. They’re retractable wheels. You know, for skates.”

Skates! Holy shit! This jived with the scrap of fabric and his glove theory. The killer had to be a skateboarder or one of those guys with in-line skates that zipped around Golden Gate Park.

He asked, “Where did it come from?”

“Good question.”

Aw, hell. Not another dead end.

“There are several possibilities. Want me to fax you the list?”

“Sure, and if you have the report, I’d like it as well.” He thanked Rob and hung up.

Why would someone want retractable skates?

He pondered the question for a moment and remembered the Iron Man Marathon. Special curly shoelaces had been designed for the running event. The shoes could be removed without having to stop to untie the laces. In competitive sports like that, shaving a few seconds off your time was crucial.

He wasn’t familiar with skating competitions, but it was possible they skated then raced the way they did in the Iron Man. Too bad Hank Newman was in Seattle covering the Niners game with the Seahawks. He would be likely to know. He’d call his brother and see if he knew anything about it. If not, Cole could go on-line and find out.

While he sat at his desk, waiting for the fax to come through, he gazed across the city room at Jessica. She was diligently typing at her computer. She was on better terms with her mother now.

Meeting Alex had helped. Not that either of them particularly liked the overbearing woman, but they could see the two were happy. Alex had nurtured Jessica’s mother’s amazing talent, something her father had never done.

The fax machine clicked on and spit out two dozen pages. Most of it was technical data on the shoes. The list of possible custom shoemakers was two pages, single-spaced.

It was going to take a while, but what the hell? It was better than sniffing around the mayor’s office, hoping for a story or renting a car and driving south to Sacramento just to come up with another depressing article on the state’s budget crisis.

Before he started, he called his FBI source. Why go to a lot of trouble if the Feebies had already traced the shoes? Cole identified himself, using a prearranged code name.

“I haven’t got any time for golf,” the source told him.

This meant he needed to call Cole back on a secure line. He dropped the receiver into its cradle, thinking. He’d called on a regular telephone, not a cell, which could easily be monitored because it went out over the airwaves while a land line did not. The guy must think the FBI had taps on their own land lines.

Made sense.

Someone had leaked the info about the shoes to SmokingGun.com. They weren’t taking any chances, and he didn’t blame them.

His phone rang. It was his source. Cole explained the information he had received. The Feebies were one step ahead of him. They’d already contacted all the companies on the list and had come up with nothing.

“Do they know what the shoes were used for?” Cole asked.

“Just a guess at this point. They’re probably used in some off-beat athletic competition. All that extreme sports shit is hot now. They’re checking on it.”

Extreme sports. He needed to call his brother, anyway.

Cole phoned Kauai, not expecting to get his brother, but luck was with him. Jock was actually in his office doing paperwork. Cole told him about the high-tech shoes that converted to skates and asked if he knew of any sporting event that would call for them.

“Well, let me think, bro. Nothing’s coming to mind, but who says this is an American event? If I were you, I would check Japan and South Korea. It sounds like one of their weird competitions.”

Could be. A substantial portion of San Francisco’s population had their roots in Pacific Rim countries. The killer might be trying out the shoes he intended to wear in a specific sporting event overseas.

“Hey, dude, how’s the babe you’re living with?”

“She’s great. Just great.”

Great didn’t cover it. He was crazy about Jessica. He’d already realized how much he was attracted to her, when her mother had reappeared in her life.

Jessica had handled the situation much better than most women might have. She hadn’t reacted negatively to either parent even though both of her parents had made terrible choices that had hurt her.

“Jock, good thing you sent Kepa to the convention in Napa. The Herald is featuring several of his recipes. Your resort will get some great publicity.”

“Gnarly. Totally gnarly.”

They talked for a few minutes before Cole said goodbye. This might be all he would ever have with his brother, he thought. It wasn’t much more than Jessica had with her mother. Sometimes it was damn near impossible to reconnect.

He gazed at the two page list of custom shoemakers. This would take hours and hours. If the Feebies had come up empty … how was he supposed to do better?

Something about this was bothering him. He had the nagging suspicion he was missing a key element here. He called Stan Everetts, and the profiler immediately took his call. He explained what he knew about the special shoes.

“They convert from athletic shoes you would wear on the street to skates, right?” Everetts asked.

“You got it.”

Cole was blown away. They hadn’t told Everetts about the shoes. No wonder the FBI hadn’t heeded their field agents warnings about the men who later became the 9/11 terrorists. These people had major communications problems.

Cole asked, “How does this fit the profile?”

“It validates everything I’ve said. This is an immature man in his early thirties who still skates or skateboards.”

“Any chance he’s of Asian descent? He might have ordered these shoes for an athletic event in Asia.”

Everetts considered his question for a long moment. “No. This man is white. He’s highly intelligent to the point of being arrogant.”

“Does the skate angle tell you anything more about this killer?”

“Yes. It says he takes life very seriously. This isn’t a game to him. It’s not about extreme sports or any other kind of sports. This man does not know how to have fun.”

“Is there a way to analyze this lead with the shoes?”

“Think like the killer. Do what he would do. Leave your own mindset behind. That’s what I do when I’m called in on a case.”

Cole thanked him and hung up. The shoes were the key, and even if the killer had destroyed them, those shoes would lead them to the psycho. He took the list of custom shoe manufacturers and scanned it into his computer.

Think like the killer.

The maniac was a big-time techie. Think like him. What would you do? Go online. Cole was able to eliminate a quarter of the names on the list because they didn’t have Web sites.

Undoubtedly the FBI had checked these people. And come up empty. Why? Cole remembered the remailer the killer used to disguise the origin of his e-mail to the Herald. This guy was as familiar with computers as Bill Gates.

He must know the authorities had the shoe prints. Not only had he destroyed the shoes, he’d eliminated all the records of the transactions by hacking into the company’s computer.

Are we having fun yet?

This was going to call for good old-fashioned investigative reporting. Instead of contacting the billing departments to see if they’d shipped the shoes to the Bay Area, Cole would have to talk to the design department of each company with a Web site.

Jessica and Cole were dropping in to see her father after working late. Jessica had taken off a few hours that afternoon to go shopping with her mother for a dress to wear to the fund-raiser tomorrow night. Jessica had a suitable dress that she’d bought when she’d been married to Marshall, but her mother insisted on buying her something new.

It was her way of making up for lost time. Jessica couldn’t help remembering the shopping trips of her youth. How she’d missed her mother. A typical man, her father was clueless about women’s clothes. He’d relied on the clerk’s advice until Jessica was old enough to shop on her own.

They had found a beautiful midnight blue sheath with a V neck and a matching pashmina. Across the bodice of the gown were thousands of Swarovski crystals. When she moved, sparks seemed to fly off the dress.

It had been outrageously expensive, but her mother claimed it had been made for her and wouldn’t allow her to leave the shop without it. She’d told Jessica that she had made more money than she could ever possibly spend. Buying this dress wouldn’t put a dent in her bank account.

Jessica would rather have used the money to help her father, but that wasn’t an option. They spoke of many things—more comfortably now than before—but neither of them mentioned her father. She supposed she should be grateful. Her mother had told her half brother about her.

Dillon was still deployed overseas at some undisclosed location, but he had her e-mail address and was going to contact her. Jessica wasn’t sure what she would say to him. Would he want to get to know her? After all, she was his child’s aunt.

“What are you thinking about?” Cole asked.

They were in the stairwell on the way up to her father’s apartment. Even though it was past dinner time, they’d brought him dinner from L’Olivier where they’d grabbed a quick bite a short time ago. He could microwave the chicken pot pie tomorrow.

“I was wondering if Dillon will want to have any kind of relationship with me. I became an aunt without even knowing it.”

“He seems like an interesting guy. Becoming a SEAL isn’t easy. I suspect he had to fight both parents to go into the service.”

“You’re probably right. Two artists couldn’t have been thrilled to have their only child go into such a dangerous profession.”

“A man like that. He’ll be curious about you.”

They came up to her father’s door and heard voices.

“He has company.” Cole knocked on the door.

“At this hour, it has to be Grant.”

It was. Grant opened the door and they went inside.

“We brought you a chicken pot pie from L’Olivier.” Jessica waved the bag. “I’ll put it in the fridge.”

“T-thanks.”

“Anything new on the killer?” Grant asked.

“Not really. I’m checking some leads on the shoe prints. It’s going slow. The FBI turned up zilch. Maybe I’ll be luckier.”

Jessica sat down on the sofa beside Cole. “Grant, I owe you an apology. I was angry and rude when you told me that you had been in contact with my mother.”

“Forget it. I didn’t want to keep secrets from both of you,” he said, looking at her father. “I’m glad it’s out in the open.”

“We understand. Don’t we, Daddy?”

Her father merely nodded.

“I think we should all head home. Dick is exhausted. He exerted himself more than he should have. He went to see Allison’s exhibition, and—”

“You did? What did you think?” Jessica was more than a little shocked.

“Tal … ent … ed. Very t-talented.”

“Afterward he went to visit her.”

A wave of apprehension swept through Jessica. She didn’t want to see her father hurt. At least Alex had returned to Sedona. He wouldn’t have had to deal with her.

“What happened?”

Her father shrugged.

“Not much, really,” Grant said. “Allison said she was sorry about what had happened. She congratulated him on doing an excellent job raising you.”

Jessica knew how difficult and humiliating this must have been for her father. He was too proud to want her mother to see him in this weakened condition. He’d done it for her, Jessica realized.

Jessica went over and kissed her father’s cheek. She gazed into his eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate it so much.”

“Y-you … have … to … see her. Not … much time … left.”

She blinked back the tears filling her eyes. “I know.”

Her father thought she was referring to her mother’s illness. What she meant was she knew neither of her parents had long to live.

“She told him about the dress she bought you this afternoon for the fund-raiser tomorrow night,” said Grant.

“It’s an astonishing dress.”

“S-See … it.”

Jessica looked at Cole. “We’ll stop by here on the way to the party.”

Cole shook his head. “I’m going to have to meet you there. There’s one shoe company that’s exhibiting their gear at a trade show in Sacramento. I need to be there in the morning anyway to cover the governor’s budget speech. Afterward I’m tracking these guys down at the show. I want you to get dressed over at Stacy’s and go to the party with Stacy and Scott.”

Jessica had an idea. “Why don’t I have Mother get dressed at my place? If it’s all right with you, Daddy, we could drop by here on our way to the party.”

Her father nodded.

Cole stood up. “Okay. We’re outta here.”