Ronald Tierney - Good To The Last Kiss - Crimes of the Depraved Mind Series

The protocol had been worked out. The Gurneville police chief would hold a news conference at nine a.m. in Gurneville. They would talk about that specific incident, not the broader implications. The San Francisco police chief would talk at ten a.m. in San Francisco and would address the serial angle. Julia Bateman would be in seclusion. ‘Understandably, she is in need of a little peace and quiet,’ would be the phrase they would use.

The San Francisco Examiner finally got some benefit being an afternoon paper. The headline: Bay Strangler Dead?

Police today confirmed that Earl Falwell, 22, was shot and killed early this morning in a cabin near Gurneville. Gurneville police believe Falwell broke into the cabin owned by San Francisco private investigator Julia Bateman in order to kill the woman whom he had attacked earlier this year.

San Francisco police did not deny the allegation that Bateman, left for dead in the earlier attack, had been marked in a manner consistent with at least eight victims of the so-called Bay Strangler. Police did not elaborate on the mark nor did police from either department confirm that Earl Falwell was responsible for the other killings.

However, Lt. James Thompson said that the serial-killings had stopped during Earl Falwell’s incarceration between March 2 and May 5. Bateman was attacked shortly after his release. Thompson also said that a witness could put an automobile similar to the brown Camaro owned by Falwell on Twin Peaks at the site and time of the killing of Sandra Ellington, one of the victims. Falwell had a record of deviant sexual behavior and violent crimes and had just been released on bail. He had been charged with brutally beating a co-worker.

Bateman reportedly fired three shots into the body of Earl Falwell who was found nude at the scene. Medical examiners on the scene said that there were other cuts and abrasions on Falwell’s body. Police would not speculate why Falwell was naked, but indicated the cuts may have occurred during entry through a glass window. Falwell’s clothing was found outside, neatly stacked. A stolen car was found a few hundred feet away. Bateman could not be reached for comment.

The story continued, reconstructing all previous related killings. It included discussions of the original psychological profile, quotes from medical examiners, family members of the victims and police. Investigators kept the secret of the rose tattoo from print, though the fact that the bodies had been ‘tattooed’ was now mentioned for the first time.

When the Chronicle came out the next morning, the media relations people from the police department were already suggesting that it was only a matter of time before Earl Falwell would be linked to all the other murders.

However, the quest for Julia Bateman had begun.

TV and radio ran features on Bateman, though none of them knew anything about her. They couldn’t even come up with a picture. She was already being referred to as the ‘tough P.I.’

‘Thanks for being helpful,’ Bradley said. ‘You hate me?’

‘No,’ Paul said. He thought about adding, ‘because I never really loved you.’ It was true; but there was no point now. ‘I packed your diary… your uh… chapbook. It’s in with your leathers. And your other art is in the portfolio.’

‘Thanks,’ Bradley said.

There was something else on his mind, Paul thought. He didn’t want to probe. He really wasn’t interested.

‘Have you decided? Are you going to continue modeling or become an artist?’ Paul was escorting Bradley to the door with conversation. It was better than just asking him to leave. It was more like, here are your bags, Bradley, do you have to go? Let me get the door for you.

‘I’ll have to do something when my day in the sun is over.’

‘Yeah,’ Paul said.

B ack at the office, Gratelli made three phone calls. First, he wanted a list of calls made to Earl Falwell in the last month. Second, he wanted to know who made bail for Falwell. Third, he set up a time with the perfumer the guy at Macy’s recommended.

Number two was the first to yield some results. The bonding company was less than a block away.

‘Cash,’ said Toby Carbondale, the bondsman who handled Earl Falwell’s release.

‘Who from?’

‘Messenger,’ Carbondale said. He sensed Gratelli wouldn’t be happy. ‘A kid comes in with a box. I sign for it. Inside are cash and a note. Note says it’s to free Earl Falwell. No signature. The money’s right. Actually, it’s a little better than right. A tip, I figure.’

‘A messenger service?’

‘Probably, one of those bicycle guys. I didn’t pay any attention. Frankly, I was too busy worrying about whether some disgruntled son of a bitch was sending us a bomb.’

‘You get a receipt?’

‘Just signed a sheet.’

‘You still have the box?’

‘No. I’m sorry. Had no idea this kid was connected. We have no way of knowing.’

‘Isn’t it pretty unusual for someone to send you cash, to operate like this?’

‘Real rare. It’s happened before. Why isn’t it my business? Like I said, I’m sorry. But the dude got caught, right? It’s all over.’

‘The note?’

‘No. Nothing on it worth keeping. No return address, if that’s what you mean. Typed.’

Gratelli shook his head.

‘Wait a minute, trash hasn’t gone out this week. Could have the box and the note.’

The box did reveal the messenger service. The note was printed by a laser printer. He took them both. Fingerprints? He doubted it. The messenger service wasn’t much help. Earl Falwell’s get-out-of-jail-free donor had left the box and a note with more than enough money to handle the delivery. They were left on the counter of the service. Whoever left the package and instructions had managed to come and go unseen.

‘What?’ Gratelli said. Most of the calls to Earl Falwell in the past thirty days came from public telephones. The selection was random. The sites were scattered about the Bay area, mostly around North Beach and Chinatown. One was from the Hall of Justice on Bryant. McClellan’s direct line. One was from Tennessee. It hadn’t been identified.

Gratelli dialed the number.

‘Mildred O’Donnell, Valley Farms, how may I help you?’

‘I’m not sure you can,’ Gratelli said. ‘I’m trying to get some information on Earl Falwell.’

‘Earl?’

‘Yes, do you know him?’

‘My grandson. Why are you asking about him?’

‘I was trying to locate him,’ Gratelli lied. He hadn’t prepared himself to deliver the news of Earl Falwell’s death and the circumstances surrounding it.’

‘He’s in San Francisco. Is something wrong?’

‘What kind of farm do you have there, ma’am?’

‘It’s not really a farm. We sell bulbs, flowering bulbs.’

‘Like what kind?’

‘Lilies, iris, daffodils.’

‘Tulips?’

‘Oh yes. Award winners. Our best sellers.’

‘And roses?’

‘No, no. Roses don’t grow from bulbs, Mister…’

‘Gratelli. Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘It had to be Earl,’ Paul said to Julia while he fixed coffee. It was his apartment. Paul sat at the small kitchen table. Julia moved into the other room. ‘Had to be,’ Paul repeated. Julia looked out the window. The second floor was high enough to see over the single story buildings across Hayes. She could see the wide expanse of the hills rolling south out of the city and the square stair-stepped houses that dotted them.

‘I’ve always liked this view,’ she said.

‘You’re not listening,’ Paul said.

‘I am.’

‘You want this to keep going on? How else could it be? The guy was connected to the killings long before you. He comes back. How else would he know where you live? You want to think that the killer is out there. You want to live that way for the rest of your life?’