“Sorry,” he said. “I can get that.”
He gathered up the pile of fast-food wrappers and empty water bottles, and then placed it on the seat of the wheelchair. He walked the trash over to a garbage receptacle and returned the chair to the lobby.
He’d rarely worked a case as incomprehensible as this double homicide that only had one actual fatality. But he was determined to see it through to its conclusion. Whatever that might be.
When he and Joan were both in the car and buckled up, she said, “Richard, why not just drop me at home? We can shake hands and say good-bye. I’ll write a note to your superior saying how good you have been to me. You have been very nice.”
“Joan, there was a dead body of a man found in a bed with you. He has a family out there somewhere and they’re never going to see him again. Someone killed him.” He wanted to add, Does that ring a bell? but he bit down on the sarcasm. The last thing he wanted to do was drive his witness underground.
Joan said nothing in reply. She just looked out the window at rush hour traffic on Pine.
He continued, “We’re going to make a quick stop at the medical examiner’s office. Twenty minutes after that, you’ll be home.”
She said, “I know I said I would look at that man. But this isn’t easy for me, Richard. I have really bad memories of that place.”
“I know you do. But can you try to look at this a different way? Your unscheduled stop at the ME’s office was a blip in the span of your life. Now you’re alive and well, and you’re helping out the San Francisco Police Department. For about two minutes, you’re going to return to the site of a personal miracle.”
She looked at him dubiously.
Rich gave her one of his beautiful smiles and said, “I’m not going to leave your side. You want the sirens, Joan? Or shall we just enjoy the ride?”
She let out a good laugh.
“Sirens,” she said.
Conklin grinned at her.
He flipped on the sirens and the lights, and they headed toward the medical examiner’s office. He couldn’t wait to reintroduce Joan to Mr. John Doe. He had absolutely no idea—couldn’t even guess—what she would say or do when she looked at the man’s dead body.
But he had a feeling her reaction was going to surprise him.
Chapter 11
Conklin draped his Windbreaker around Joan Murphy’s narrow shoulders and walked her from Harriet Street to the ME’s office.
Claire was waiting for them at the open rear door. She gently placed her arm around Joan and told her how glad she was to see her.
“How’s that shoulder? Are you feeling okay?” Claire asked.
“The pain pills are telling me that I feel just fine.” Joan Murphy’s smile faded as she looked around the autopsy suite. She stiffly walked with Claire and Richie into the cool room in the back. There, she took in the sight of the stacked stainless-steel drawers that were holding bodies of the dead.
Claire said cautiously, “Are you ready, Joan? I’m going to open the drawer now.”
Joan Murphy shook her head and said, “I’m never going to be ready for this. But let’s get it over with.”
Claire slid the drawer open slowly. Wisps of brown hair peeked out over the top of the crisp sheet, followed by a long topographical stretch of white. The sight before them terminated with a man’s knobby toes.
Claire carefully folded the sheet down below John Doe’s chin.
Conklin stood beside Joan as she peered down at the dead man’s blanched and chubby face. To Rich, the man’s features were unremarkable. He looked like a typical suburban dad, the kind of guy who would watch out for the kids on the block, was handy around the house, and didn’t fool around at the office.
Clearly, his appearance didn’t square with the circumstances in which his body had been discovered.
Joan stared at the corpse for a long moment. Then she seemed almost indignant when she said, “I’m supposed to know this person?”
Conklin looked past Joan to Claire. Their eyes met. He said, “Joan, this is the man who was found dead, naked, and in bed with you in room three twenty-one at the Warwick. His wallet was stolen. We’re trying to identify him and it’s only a matter of time before we’re successful. And we could do it faster and better if you can give us a name or a lead.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Richard. I’ve never seen this man before, and honestly, I don’t think I would even notice him if he walked by me on the street. He’s not my type.
“Here’s my theory,” she continued, looking up at Conklin. “Somehow, both he and I were drugged, kidnapped, put into that bed, and shot. Maybe he was already dead. I was as good as dead, and maybe they didn’t realize that I was still kicking. There’s no other explanation.”
Conklin stifled a laugh. He couldn’t believe that Joan had come up with the fantastic theory that somehow two people had been kidnapped and smuggled into the Warwick, where they were stripped, posed, and shot, in that order. For what purpose? To create a scandal?
Maybe to create a pulp fiction murder tableau for a book cover.
He arranged his features in a straight face. “But why would anyone do that to you?”
“How would I know? I don’t have a criminal mind. And now, I’m ready to go home. Didn’t you hear the doctor? I need to rest.”
Chapter 12
Conklin had promised to bring Joan home and he kept his word. He walked her back to his car and drove them to Seacliff. The sun was going down and house lights winked on along Lake Street. Conklin turned right on 28th and took it to El Camino Del Mar. When he pulled into her neighborhood, he noticed that it was an upmarket, oceanside area dotted with large estates. Many of them had water views and private access to the shoreline. Joan was looking straight ahead, saying to him, “How am I going to explain all of this to Robert?”
“That you were found in bed with another man?”
“What? No. He’ll believe me when I say that I was drugged and kidnapped. But I have to explain getting shot. Why would anyone shoot me? Maybe Robert got a call from the kidnapper. Maybe he had to pay ransom money or something. Did you think of that, Richard?”
Joan had some pretty crazy theories about her attempted murder, but this time, she had a point. Her husband hadn’t reported his wife as missing. Could he have forked over a ransom payment while he was waiting for his wife’s return?
Rich Conklin couldn’t wait to see Robert Murphy’s face when Joan came through the front door to her house—alive.
Maybe it would give him the final clue to crack this case.
Chapter 13
The closer they came to Joan’s home on El Camino Del Mar, the more anxious Joan became. She tried to call her husband again, as Mallory had done when Joan had first woken up in the morgue, but the call went unanswered.