Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

Amanda had met her at fund-raisers and she greeted Amanda by first name. Larry’s money.

“You’re not hungry, Eileen?”

“How can I eat? This whole thing is just terrible! I…” Eileen’s eyes moistened. “Do you know why it happened?”

“I wish I did.” Amanda put down her turkey wrap and wiped her mouth. “That’s why I’m here. What can you tell me about Davida?”

“She was a colleague and a friend.” Again Eileen’s eyes moistened. “I’ve known her for a while. Even before she got elected to the House, we worked together on various issues.”

“Which issues?”

“Davida’s a lawyer, you know. She went to Hastings.”

“Yes, I heard something about that.” Amanda smiled at Eileen. “Which issues did you work with Davida on?”

“She had worked as a lobbyist for The Partnership Against Domestic Violence. She was very effective. I, of course, am an activist in that area.”

Amanda said, “Eileen, I heard that you and she had been at odds on this latest bill- HS…”

The state representative looked away. “We had our differences, sure.” She turned back to Amanda. “What of it?”

“Given your voting record, I would have assumed that the bill was something you would have wholly endorsed.”

“Then you would have been wrong.”

Tension in Eileen’s voice. Amanda said, “What didn’t you like about the bill?”

“Just about everything.” Eileen shook her head. “In theory, cell lines and cell cloning seems to be the kind of issue that every liberal should get behind. In reality, we are pouring millions of dollars into something that has yet to be proven to be consistently if at all effective. I’m progressive but I am fiscally responsible and the initiative-based institute has accomplished nothing, so far. I happen to believe there are sufficient monies allocated for stem-cell research and related topics. I didn’t feel it was prudent to allocate the amount of money Davida was talking about.”

“Which was?”

“A half billion dollars over the next three years,” Eileen said. “She was dreaming. I told her to pare it down and then we could discuss the matter intelligently and who knows, she might even be able to sway me. She refused, so I refused.”

“What did that do to your friendship?”

Eileen’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m just asking a question.”

“Oh please!” Eileen’s face darkened. “I’m not stupid, and I resent the implication. I had nothing to do with Davida’s death and I’ll take a lie-detector test if you want to pursue this. But it is beyond insulting!”

“Where were you last night?”

“At home sleeping in bed with my husband.”

“Not at the capital.”

“Nor anywhere near Berkeley.”

Eileen’s district was a six-hour car ride from Davida’s. Amanda asked, “How did you travel here this morning?”

“I took a seven o’clock from my local airport. Anything else?”

“No offense intended, Eileen. I’m doing my job.”

Eileen huffed. “I suppose you are, but surely some independent thinking is called for.” Then, as if realizing something, she flashed a sudden, plastic smile. “I’m sorry, Amanda. This is all just so…traumatic.”

Larry’s money.

Amanda smiled back. “Just a few more questions?”

Sigh. “Sure.”

“How did your opposition to the bill affect your friendship with Davida?”

“It put a strain on it but we remained on speaking terms. It certainly didn’t discourage Davida from calling me frequently. Trying to convince me to change my mind. And I called her after the egging incident. I told her how horrified I was.”

“What did she say?”

“She thanked me for my sympathies, but she told me she’d rather thank me for my support. Then she went to work on me again. She was so persistent that I agreed to meet her later this week. She seemed so pleased about that.” Eileen swabbed her eyes with her napkin. “That was the last time I spoke to her. If you want to find out who did this, talk to those fascist cretins.”

“Which cretins in particular?”

“The Nutterly brothers.”

“They were in jail when Davida was shot.”

“Amanda, there are a helluva lot more White Tower boys than just the Nutterly brothers, and they all seem to congregate around Sacramento. Why aren’t you talking to them?”

“They’re on our official list.”

“Why are you talking to me first ?”

“Because you were her friend, and I figured you could tell me who in the legislature was really after her.”

Eileen shook her head. “Lord knows the legislature has its share of SOBs but no one there would have killed her, for God’s sake. Stick around long enough, we’re all at odds with one another sometimes. That’s just the nature of the beast.”

“Did Davida ever talk to you about Harry Modell?”

“That psychotic weirdo? What about him?”

“I heard he sent her threatening letters.”

“He sends everyone threatening letters- ” Eileen blanched.

“Including you?”

“Oh my God!” she whispered frantically. “Do I have something to worry about?”

“Do you still have the letters, Eileen?”

“In my nut file. I’ll get them to you ASAP.” She signaled the waiter for the bill. Her face had taken on deep worry lines. “Answer me honestly. Should I be nervous? I mean…should I get a bodyguard?”

Amanda thought about that, had no clear answer. She said, “Until we know more, I don’t think it would hurt.”

Spoken like a true politician.

As luck would have it, Barnes found a parking space right on Telegraph, the avenue swimming with the typical time-warp mix of hippies, retro-hippies, one-note fanatics and junk entrepreneurs looking scruffier than any of the others. The uniform was torn jeans, message T-shirts, leather headbands and glassy eyes. Booths were set up on the sidewalks, hawking everything from Maoist theory and anti-Amerikan nihilism to mood rings, organic Viagra, and scented candles. Music blared from speakers attached to competing CD stores. The resulting aural broth was a wall of white noise to Barnes’s ears, but what did he know, he’d never progressed much past Buck Owens.

Noise and body odor notwithstanding, Barnes was happy to be there. The day had turned sunny, the skies were clear and his lungs needed to suck in something other than death. On Telegraph, that meant secondary smoke not from tobacco.

Back in the Stone ages, when he’d been an eighteen-year-old high school graduate, advanced education in his circles meant two years at a community college learning animal husbandry. He’d been a decent, but uninspired student and a good varsity football player. Unfortunately there weren’t a whole lot of jobs for “good but never, never, ever gonna make it to the pros” running backs. Ergo, the military, and that had been okay for a few years. When he finished up his tour, he had narrowed his future to farming, trucking, or the police academy. Law enforcement was the decision because it seemed like more fun, and Barnes had some book smarts so he advanced within a narrow sphere.

As a detective, he got to use his brain, and, sometimes, he felt like he had a good one.

Still, whenever he had any business at the UC, he felt uncomfortable. He had never attended classes at a genuine university, and the Berkeley campus was as big as a city. It had its own government, its own police force and its own set of rules, explicit and otherwise.

As he walked along leafy lanes, some of the buildings were downright imposing, others looked as inviting as a concrete bunker and he felt like an invader from outer space. Invader past his prime.