thirty-four

I was floating somewhere near the rafters of the empty gallery at Fort Mason, looking down at the same room that had housed the art exhibit. It was devoid of decoration now, and several large sculptures were covered in white draping. I strained to see with dreaming eyes but couldn’t discern what lay under the coverings. In that knowledge peculiar to dream states, I knew that under one of the drapes was something other than a sculpture of stone. I floated down, my feet touching the floor, and became aware that I wasn’t alone. A dark shadow passed in my peripheral vision. I turned and saw nothing, but when I turned back to the rows of sculptures, one of the white coverings had disappeared.

The stone was morphing, taking the form of a tall faceless figure in a black tuxedo. I needed to know who he was. My heart was beating faster but as I moved toward him the face remained blank, as if the sculptor had neglected to chisel features. The figure raised a champagne glass and, smiling, beckoned me to come closer. He pointed at another large covered shape in the center of the studio. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t noticed it sooner. The dark figure reached up and grasped a small steel ball hanging from the rafters. He pulled downward and the drapery covering the sculpture became taut, finally lifting upward to reveal a dragon carved in a deep green-colored stone, the light playing on its surface as if it was made of malachite. The dragon raised its fearful head and stared at me, its tail beginning to swish back and forth. I watched, transfixed. I was afraid but couldn’t move to escape the fearsome creature coming to life. Wisps of smoke curled from its nostrils and two long flames shot out as the beast reared its head with a great roar. Its tail swept the room, knocking sculptures from pedestals, shattering all in its path. Shards of stone and wood flew everywhere. With a powerful thrust of its haunches, it leapt off the pedestal toward me. Blackness obscured my vision. I awoke on the bed, sweating and shaking, filled with a deep sense of dread.

Wizard was making questioning noises in his throat and looking at me strangely. I reached over to pat his head but he scooted away. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Early morning light was filtering through the curtains. I’d slept all night. I stretched and cracked my neck, trying to recover fragments of my dream. It made no sense, but dragons were stalking me, forcing themselves into my consciousness.

Stumbling to the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and drank a few sips from my cupped hand. I felt hot and dehydrated. Then I padded out to the kitchen, fed Wizard, and put the kettle on for coffee. Once the caffeine kicked in, I hopped in the shower and dressed. I straightened up the bedroom as much as possible and glanced at the clock. Nine o’clock. Perfect time to visit David as I’d promised. If I left now, I’d probably reach him just as the breakfast dishes were being cleared away. I wondered if he was enjoying the porridge a little more.

I made a pass through the apartment compiling a mental list of what needed to be done. The sofa cushions could be repaired, nothing valuable was broken or stolen, but I’d need to buy another set of sheets, pillows, and a comforter. I rarely entertained—well, maybe one client at a time—but it would be nice to have more than two dishes. Whoever had trashed my apartment had broken almost every single dish, cup, and saucer. They hadn’t had the time or inclination to destroy the wine glasses in the rack above the sink. I thanked the stars my office had been left untouched; my computer and my laptop were safe and my client files hadn’t been disturbed. That would have been horrible and expensive. I dreaded to think anyone could have harmed Wizard. I could only guess the intruder hadn’t had enough time. Or was there some logic to the fact that what was damaged was personal and intimate? The door from the laundry room had to have been the avenue of escape. Perhaps he or she was bolting down the street just as I was surveying the damage. The clothes that had been destroyed were old. They were my faves, things I wore every day, but I could live without them. Thanks to my grandmother, they could be replaced. I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being invaded. I made sure the deadbolts on the back door were in place and the window over the kitchen sink was locked. I still had to deal with my downstairs neighbors and a new garage opener but in the meantime the locks would protect me.

I hurried down the front stairs and climbed into my car. Pulling a U-turn, I drove up the hill to Geary and over to St. Joseph’s. On the way I stopped at a bakery and bought three jelly donuts. I hoped Caroline would forgive me. When I arrived at David’s room, Caroline was reading. I took a peek at her book cover. It featured a large bloodstained knife. “Good book?” I asked.

She looked up. “Hi, Julia!” Then she smiled. “Yes. I’m thinking of committing a crime right about now myself. What’s in the bag?”

“I’ll give you three guesses. I hope you don’t mind. There’s one for each of us.” I looked around. “Where is he?”

She shook her head. “In there.” She indicated the bathroom. “He’s getting dressed and wants to go home.”

“Well, that’s good.”

She made a face of disapproval. “Not if the doctor advised him to stay one more day, it isn’t.”

“I hope you’ll forgive the jelly donuts. I took pity on him.”

She smiled. “Pass that bag over, I’m starving.” I sat next to her and opened the bag, handing her a napkin. She reached in daintily and retrieved one of the donuts encrusted with sugar. She took a bite. “Oh, yummy. I can’t remember the last time I ate one of these. I make sure to never keep these in the house. David would inhale them all in one sitting.” I joined her with a donut of my own just as David exited the bathroom fully dressed.

“Oh my word,” he said. “You remembered. Thank you. I hope you two aren’t going to eat them all.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the rolling tray closer.

“You get one,” Caroline said. “Just one. Julia was kind enough to bring one for each of us.”

“Couldn’t come at a better time. All I had this morning was that dreary slop in a bowl. I can’t wait to get home.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Terrific. I’ve never felt better. This was all a tempest in a teapot. I’m just sorry Caroline got so scared.” He took a large bite of the donut. “So, Julia, any news? Any new developments? I don’t know what that sergeant is up to. I called him yesterday and he hemmed and hawed and said he’d keep me in the loop. In other words, nothing!”

“Not much,” I lied. “I did discover a few things, though.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, quite by accident, I learned that Dani’s boyfriend, who I met the other night, works delivering pizzas part time, and he was the person who delivered to the building the day of Jack’s murder.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Dani didn’t say anything.”

“He might never have mentioned it to her. Maybe she didn’t know at the time. And you know my theory about the Bank of San Francisco fire …”

“Oh, what’s that about?” Caroline asked, wiping her fingertips on a napkin.

I turned to her. “Of the three people who received death threats —Jack, Ira, and Suzanne—the one thing all three have in common is that they worked on the trial that resulted from the fire. They represented the insurance company that paid a settlement to the widow of the man who died in the fire.”

“I remember all that. It was so horrible and so unnecessary.”

“But here’s the thing.” I turned to David. “There was another death connected with that event.”

David’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t remember that.”

“You wouldn’t. It happened a couple of years later. The electrical contractor took the brunt of the blame. He wasn’t charged, but he lost his license and later committed suicide.”

“How awful,” Caroline said.

David shrugged. “I agree, but I don’t really see what that has to do with our firm.”

“I read through the trial transcripts, at least the ones before the settlement was hammered out, and Jack Harding destroyed that guy in deposition and on the stand in court. He was really brutal.”

“I believe it. That was his MO. He was a pit bull in court. Juries never liked him but he was a good trial attorney nonetheless.” David sat lost in thought for a moment. “You really think that case could be connected? Couldn’t the contractor have committed suicide for other reasons?”

“I keep going back in my mind to something Hilary said to me. She said that somebody must have felt that killing Jack was the only way they could survive.”