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KATE caught a streetcar down Market for a few blocks, enjoying the feel of
being a tourist in her own town, then walked over to the Hall of Justice. Al
was still there, his ear glued to a phone, and she waved and picked up a phone
of her own. She located the number in the Gilbert case file; luckily, the
woman was home.
Corina Ferguson had been married to Philip Gilbert for just under two years
in the mid-1970s, when the young man came back from London and enrolled in a
master s program at Harvard. Ferguson s own degree was from the University of
Massachusetts, so they had probably not met in one of his lit classes, but her
family lived in Boston, and she did still.
She came on the line with irritation clear in her New England accents. The
irritation did not fade when Kate had identified herself.
Couldn t you call at a more reasonable hour? she demanded. I have guests
here.
Just a brief question, Ms. Ferguson.
Oh, well, go ahead.
Can you tell me why you and Philip divorced?
What my good woman, that takes some nerve
Kate broke into the protests with the practiced intonation of a cop who has
heard it all and been impressed by none of it. Ma am, please, if you could
just answer the question. It has to do with a lead I m following up regarding
his murder.
The harsh final word silenced the Boston voice for a moment; then, A lead.
Was Philip& You hear about these things, and in San Francisco& Was it& I hope it
wasn t one of those horrible gay bashings?
Bingo. Why do you ask that, Ms. Ferguson? Was Philip gay when you knew him?
No! I mean, why would I have married him if& But when you ask that question
and he s dead, you said he was murdered, I thought& And it s San Francisco&
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Kate continued to say nothing to rescue the woman, just kept quiet. No, he
wasn t gay. Kate still said nothing; reluctantly, the woman went on.
Although, I have to say, since then, I have occasionally wondered. I mean, he
was sweet, but the marriage, it wasn t really much in the bed department. She
tried out a laugh, which fell flat, and then she sighed. So I wondered, you
know? You do, after all, even after all those years. And then six or seven
years ago a friend mentioned they d seen him in a restaurant somewhere, with
an actor. Which made me think that maybe& Anyway, I never knew, but I hope he
was happy. Happier than he was with me, anyway.
Mentally, Kate reviewed the epitaphs she had been collecting for Philip
Gilbert, and found that of the long-estranged ex-wife surprisingly touching.
When Hawkin got off the phone, she told him about the conversations she d had
with two of the women in Gilbert s life. He sat back with his hands locked
over his stomach, and shook his head in wonder. A closeted gay in San
Francisco? Who d have thunk it?
Well, Louisa Brancusi did say he was old-fashioned. What about your shadowy
brother?
We were right, he s an ex-con name of Wayne Flanders. Not on parole, he
served his whole time. Seventeen and a half years. Grand theft auto, felony
drunk driving, felony manslaughter.
Got drunk, stole a car, killed someone, Kate translated.
More borrowed than stole, it belonged to a friend of his. And the driver of
the other car was drunk, too, so it wasn t like old Wayne killed some family
of six on their way to a church picnic.
But still.
And no parole because he refused to apply. Found Jesus in prison and thought
he ought to serve his full time.
Think we need to roust him?
I don t know. I m tempted to let it go for now.
I agree. Okay, so what have we got over the weekend?
You ve got a trip to Point Reyes with your family. All weekend. You re going
to relax and have fun and freeze to death on the beach.
Look, I can run back for a few hours on Saturday afternoon if you think
If I drag you away, Lee will flay me alive.
Yeah, probably, she admitted. But only when she s finished with me.
I think it s not a bad thing to let everyone settle down for a couple of
days. Let em begin to relax and we can hit them again Monday. And some of the
lab results should start to come in, too. That should give us a new set of
questions to work with.
I hate weekends, she grumbled.
No you don t. Weekends are our friends. Weekends keep us from going up in
flames. Weekends keep our marriages from going up in flames. Weekends keep
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Right, okay, say no more, I m off, and the world can just deal with its own
problems. See you Monday.
Have a great time. Bring me a seashell. And do not think about the case.
That s an order.
Yes, boss, she said. She slapped her things together, looked around as if
she d forgotten something, and strode out the door. In ten seconds, her head
was back in the room.
Um, Al? Lee will probably insist that I leave my cell phone home. But we ll
have hers with us. You do know that number, don t you?
NINETEEN
At a quite ridiculously early hour on Saturday morning, Kate came awake,
thinking of buff paper.
After staring up at the darkness for the better part of half an hour, she
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