She looked away.
“Can we go into that Starbucks over there?” she asked. There was one directly adjacent to Alexa’s building. She’d probably been looking at it for hours, wanting to go in but afraid she’d miss Cain and Fischer when they arrived. “I’m freezing.”
They took a table near the window, so Cain could watch the street. Mona Castelli was just next door, at the Palace Hotel. Officer Combs had texted him ten minutes ago to say she was checked in. Room 8064, if he wanted to see her. What he really wanted was to see if she’d come for Alexa. If she did, Cain wondered what they’d say to each other.
“I was locked out of the office,” Melissa was saying. “But I could still get into the mailroom. I have an inbox there.”
She held her paper cup with both hands, was leaning toward it to breathe in the coffee’s warmth.
“What did you take?” Cain asked.
“I just looked inside. I wanted to make sure I knew what it was.”
She reached into her coat and brought out a nine-by-twelve clasped envelope. She set it on the small table between them. Out on the street, she’d been hugging herself, and now Cain understood why. She’d been holding the envelope to her chest, under her coat. Keeping it dry. Fischer looked at the front of the envelope but didn’t touch it.
“Look at the address,” she said. “Same wording, same font. It’s postmarked yesterday, from North Beach.”
“Who opened it?” Cain asked, turning to Melissa. “You?”
“Not me. It was open when I found it.”
“Then who?”
“Harry did—this was on it.”
She took a yellow sticky-note out of her jacket pocket. It had been folded in half, but when she opened it and set it on the table, he could see the words. The handwriting, in black ink, was a half-drunk scrawl.
M.M.—
Get Cain. He needs to know.
—H.C.
“That’s Harry’s handwriting?”
She nodded, and Fischer asked a question.
“What time did you leave City Hall last night?”
“Right after you were done with me—seven thirty, eight. I went to see Harry, asked if he needed anything. Sometimes he just wants to sit and talk. Sometimes, there’s more.”
“But not last night,” Cain said.
“No—he wanted to be left alone.”
“What were his exact words?”
“Leave me alone,” she said. Something crossed her face. A memory, maybe, of Castelli. “You have to understand Harry. He’s not a complicated man.”
“You checked your inbox before you left?”
“Yes.”
“So he put this in sometime after eight last night,” Cain said. “Is that right?”
“Sometime before he went home.”
Cain looked at the sticky-note. Get Cain. He needs to know. What the hell kind of suicide note was that?
“You looked inside but didn’t take anything out?” Cain asked.
“I didn’t need to take anything out. I saw the pictures, and I knew what it was.”
“You got gloves?” Fischer asked him. “Mine are in the car.”
“One set left.”
He took them from his jacket pocket and stretched them over his hands, glancing around the shop to see if any of the customers were standing close enough to see. There were a dozen people in line. By the window, a college-aged kid was leaning against the standup counter. He was only an arm’s length away, but he was busy with his phone. Texting with one hand and holding coffee with the other. He had an art student’s shoulder bag, paintbrushes poking from the canvas pockets. He turned and saw Cain watching him. He finished his text without looking at his phone’s screen, set his coffee on the counter, and went out the door.
Cain picked up the envelope.
The address was a half-assed job—Mr. Mayor, City Hall, San Francisco, CA 94102—as if the sender wanted to make sure someone other than the mayor, some underling, opened the letter before him. But somehow Castelli had seen it first. It was sliced open along the end, too clean of a cut to be anything but a sharp knife. Cain nudged it open, eased out four glossy black-and-white photographs and a laser-printed note. He read the note first.
Mayor Castelli:
5 – 6 – 7 – 8!
I said I’d give these to everyone, but guess what? I lied. They’re so embarrassing, I thought I’d give you one more chance. The rest are coming soon—if you don’t get them in the mail, don’t worry. Check the paper.
Think how much easier it would be if you didn’t have to see any more, if you’re not around when they figure out what you did.
BANG!
—A friend