eighteen

Stunned, I continued to stare at the window in spite of the fact that now there was nothing to see. David had said that Nora was the one doing all the work preparing for the trial against Deklon Management. It was completely unethical for her to have any contact with them. The company would have attorneys who would hit the roof if they knew their client was talking directly to lawyers from the opposing side. I waited, wishing I could be a fly on the wall and hear their conversation. What Nora was doing was enough to get her fired if not disbarred. I couldn’t help but wish there were some way to go up to that floor and listen at the door without being seen. Could she be handing them information, information about the firm’s strategy for trial? What other reason would she have to be there at this time of night?

I had a full view of the building’s brightly lit lobby from my angle of observation. I balled up the wrappings from my sandwich and stuffed the paper into a bag. After a few minutes, the elevator doors at the lobby entrance opened and Nora stepped out. I slouched down in my seat until I was almost invisible and then rose slowly until I had a view of the parking lot through the steering wheel. Nora pushed through the double glass doors and stepped outside. She scanned the area, then turned to walk toward her car. I was glad I’d ducked. I took a chance and lifted my head a bit more. There was a small package tucked under her arm.

Curiosity got the better of me. I was leery of following her because the streets were somewhat deserted this time of night, but I decided to give it a try. Nora pulled out to the side street and stopped at a red light. I started my car and slowly inched out of the parking lot. She was still waiting at the red light as I pulled up at a discreet distance behind her. She turned left as the light turned green, and then turned again on Lincoln. She was heading downtown. I stayed several car lengths behind her as the traffic became heavier and faster moving. She must be going home. From the personnel files I knew she had a condo on the corner of Davis. These were pricey little places with a lot of glass that faced the Bay.

Sure enough, Nora led me through the Park and out to Geary Boulevard. I followed her at a distance over Nob Hill, and then down into the Embarcadero. She pulled into a parking entrance that serviced her building. As I drove by, I spotted her outstretched hand keying in a code at the gate to the underground garage. I’d have to tell David what I had seen. There couldn’t be any reasonable explanation for her meeting with the Deklon people after hours.

Intending to head west, back to my neighborhood, on an impulse I turned the corner and followed Pine. I pulled into the front parking entrance of the firm on Montgomery Street and drove down to A-level, the first parking level. A glass wall with two entrance doors separated this lower lobby from the parking area. Inside, the elevator bank and the security desk, manned by two guards, were clearly visible.

I now had a parking card for the building that would allow me to park on levels B through D. This first level was used only for valet service. But the guards were stationed where they would see anyone driving into the building. A security camera was mounted at the entrance. Even though there were no cameras on the other parking levels, there would be a record of anyone using a parking card to go down to the lower levels. And even if someone entered the lobby after hours from the street, they’d still need to use their same security card to gain entrance. The police had seemed convinced this setup provided a foolproof way to check who’d entered the building on Sunday, the day they’d determined Jack was murdered. I wasn’t so sure.

A few years before, I had attended a birthday party for one of the people in David’s firm. We’d met for dinner at a restaurant on Sutter Street, around the corner. My car was here, and we’d walked to the restaurant. After dinner, one of the women, who was parked under the restaurant, offered me a lift back to my car. When she realized she hadn’t validated her parking ticket at the dinner, instead of returning to the upstairs restaurant, she told me she knew another way out, an underground shortcut to get back to our building on Montgomery. If she knew about this tunnel, anyone familiar with these buildings could know it as well.

It would be easy enough to check if the shortcut still existed. I made a U-turn and drove back up the ramp onto the street. I turned right, and then right again on Sutter. The parking entrance to the Abbey Grill at 55 Sutter was still there. I pulled a ticket from the machine and drove down one level. I slowed my speed, making a circuit of the area and searching for the large steel doors leading into the truck tunnel. I found them wide open at the very rear of the building. I drove into the tunnel and saw a sign that read Pedestrians Use At Your Own Risk. Deliveries For 44 Montgomery–55 Sutter Street– 350 Market Street. There it was. Entry into any of those three buildings, one level below the guard station. So much for security.

I followed the concrete tunnel in the dark, only my headlights illuminating the way. I turned right, and after several more feet, came to a huge open door. The tunnel was pitch black, but the door was outlined from the low-level lighting inside the parking structure of 44 Montgomery. A chain suspended from two short standing pillars blocked the opening. I left the engine running, got out of the car, and dragged one of the pillars to the side until there was enough room to squeeze my small car through. Once inside, I dragged the pillar back until the chain was stretched across the opening again. I had entered the B-level parking area of the Montgomery Street building and circumvented the security camera and the guards on A-level. Anyone could gain access to this building, as long as the metal door to the truck tunnel was open.

The next hurdle would be to get to the 41st floor from here without being seen. A bank of elevators serviced levels B through D, arriving at A-level. If I took that route, I’d have to pass the security guards and sign in. Another option was to climb the forty-one flights of stairs. That would be a daunting prospect, but not outside the realm of possibility for an athletic person.

I drove slowly around the perimeter of the parking area until I spotted the freight elevator, the only one that ran from the parking levels to all the upper floors. It was a large undecorated utilitarian box with front and back doors for easy deliveries. Best of all, it was sitting right there with its doors open. I parked my car in a nook between two concrete columns and stepped into it. Hoping it didn’t make a lot of noise, I pressed the button for the 41st floor. The doors closed and the elevator started a slow and jerking ascent. A digital readout of the floors flashed above the buttons. It didn’t stop at A-level. I breathed a sigh of relief. Would the guards’ console alert them that the elevator was moving? It was just possible they might not notice. And if they took no notice tonight, then surely they wouldn’t have batted an eye on Sunday.

The doors opened on the 41st floor, revealing a dark corridor. Total silence. No hum of computers, copying equipment, or neon lights. I stepped out into the darkness. The elevator doors started to close. I had a moment of panic and stepped back inside, pulling out the emergency stop button. The doors opened again. In case the security desk had an override, I dropped my purse on the track of the doors to prevent them from closing completely. I wasn’t sure if the stop button would signal the guard’s desk or trigger an alarm, but I’d take my chances.

I tested the doorknob of the main door to the litigation attorneys’ area. Locked. I went back to the elevator and slipped the key David had given me out of my purse. I unlocked the door, and once inside, the lights, keyed to movement, flickered on. Yellow police tape still stretched across the door to Jack’s office. I knew I’d never have another opportunity like this and decided to make the best of it.

I started with Nora’s office and quickly rummaged through each and every drawer. Her office was small, and on the whole, messy. Books and papers were balanced precariously on top of a bookcase. The credenza held folders that looked like working files, labeled by hand. The large desk drawer contained more files, marked with typed labels. I opened the two drawers of the credenza. They were filled with dark green hanging folders and seemed to be notes and drafts on various matters.

Just as I had decided there was nothing of interest in Nora’s office, I hit pay dirt in the top narrow drawer of the desk. It was stuffed with bills, demand letters, threats from collection agencies, and the like. A few bottles of cosmetics rattled around inside the drawer. I sat down and turned on the desk lamp. Either Nora was in financial trouble or she just couldn’t remember to write a check. She undoubtedly made a hefty salary at the firm, so where was her money going? I stepped back from the desk and pulled the drawer all the way out, pushing a clutter of pens, pencils, and paperclips out of the way. At the very back of the drawer was a small gold-plated cosmetic case. I clicked it open. It held a mirror on either side. A button caused one mirror to pop up, and behind it lay a small amount of white powder. I touched my index finger to the powder and rubbed a tiny amount on my gum, immediately feeling the numbing effect of cocaine. Nasty habit and maybe the reason she was so wound up.

I moved on to Ira’s office next door. It rivaled Nora’s for messiness. Every surface overflowed with stacks of files and documents. Boxes stood on every available floor surface, with only a narrow path to the chair. How could this kind of chaos ever generate client confidence? Ira’s desk drawers contained nothing more interesting than an extra tie, a T-shirt, a very old apple, and two pairs of socks, one of which didn’t look particularly fresh.

This snooping business was turning out to be pretty dull. Roger’s office was next. His desk was extremely neat, as were his drawers and bookshelves. Pending work was stacked in organized piles on the top of the credenza, and absolutely nothing was out of place. The desk accessories were black leather: a rectangular box with a lid and handle, a blotter, and a calendar holder. The leather box held a newspaper article with a photograph of Roger accepting a Bar Association award for his community work. A letter from the Bay Area Gazette thanking him for his recent article was clipped to a small stack of reprints. I scanned it quickly. The article Roger had submitted featured insurance company abuses in the care of AIDS patients and displayed his professional photo. Times have thankfully changed, but if Roger was gay, as Gale thought, living an alternative lifestyle could still subject him to career discrimination. This was certainly a topical issue and maybe Roger’s practice involved litigation against the insurance industry, but the Gazette was a publication aimed at the gay community. I folded up one of the reprints and stuffed it into my purse. I stepped out of Roger’s office and stared at Jack’s door. A shiver ran up my spine. I’d have to search there as well, but I cringed at the thought of his murder and the smell of death. I’d leave it for last.

Karen’s desk was so neat that the metal paperclips were separated from plastic ones. I like organization, but this was ridiculous. A search of the bottom drawer netted only a pair of flats and a lime-green cardigan. Dani’s desk contained the usual assortment of pens, sticky pads, paperclips, and other supplies. One lower drawer was stuffed with sheet music and flyers, and under that was a stun gun. She wasn’t taking any chances, I guessed, but I wondered why she didn’t keep it in her car or her purse. The odds of Dani being attacked in an office where she usually never worked late seemed slim. Of course, now that Jack had been killed here, maybe it was something I should consider.

The overhead lights flickered off. I moved away from the desk and waved my arms, but the neon lighting didn’t respond. That’s when I heard it. A rustling sound. I wasn’t alone.