Eyeshot (29 page)

Her purse would be sitting on a desk, right where she had left it. She would take a minute and look inside—checking for the fifty dollars and the earrings from her sister. And they'd be there. She'd be relieved and happy. She would think that her ordeal was over.

“Here,” Sam said. “Four-thirty-two. Micah Caplan's office. Her old office.”

It belonged to somebody named Harry now. There was a cartoon on the door—an alligator, with the caption, “Trust me, I'm the boss.” The paper was dirty and curling at the edges. Sonora wondered if it had been there eight years ago. She wondered if Micah had put it up.

She took two more steps, then stopped. “Sam, what floor are we on? I thought we were on the fourth floor.”

“We are.”

“Then how come that little black door has a three on it?”

He walked back toward her. Looked at the opposite wall. “You mean this?”

“How many other little black doors do you see?”

“It's a dumbwaiter.”

“No kidding. It's still got a three over top, why is that?”

“You're worse than my kid, I don't know
everything
.”

“Yeah, but wouldn't you think, if you saw a three over a door, that you were on the third floor? This is where she got confused. This is why Julia Winchell thought she was on the third floor.”

“Don't go overboard, Sonora, it's not going to buy us a warrant.”

“It's indicative, Sam.”

“That I'll give you.”

“Right before Julia heads into the ladies room and descends into hell, she sees this little black door with a three over it. Which explains why later, when she went for the security guard, she told him she was on the third floor.”

“Which buys Caplan time to make off with the body. Another thing we're going to have to figure out.” He headed back down the hallway. “Women's rest room, Sonora. The scene of the alleged crime.”

Sonora stood outside the door. She was aware of a metallic background hum, as if they were close to a physical plant. Display cases lined the right-hand side of the wall, with printouts and faculty lists mounted under glass.

She wondered how it had sounded, the noises coming from the bathroom that night eight years ago. It was an odd, echoey building. People far away sounded close. You could hear voices and doors closing, and still not see a soul.

What had it been like for Julia Winchell, alone, or nearly alone. Hearing the splash, the choking noises. Having the courage to open the door.

“Sonora?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

He pointed to the blocky black outline of a stick figure in a skirt, denoting female. “I think, seeing how this is the ladies room, maybe you better go in first by yourself, make sure there isn't anybody else there.”

Sonora leaned sideways against the bathroom door and pushed. Behind her, someone came out of a doorway. She caught the dark silhouette out of the corner of her eye, before whoever it was turned a corner and was gone. The bathroom door creaked, and she went in.

“Loud door. Why didn't Caplan hear her?”

“Think what he's doing, Sonora. Micah's making a lot of noise. He's involved. Crying, if Julia Winchell didn't make that up.”

“You think he didn't know a thing till he looked up, then voila, there's Julia? Watching and witnessing?”

“Celebrate the moments of your life.”

The first thing Sonora saw walking into the bathroom was the opposite wall. Julia Winchell must have found that disconcerting. Yellow tile wall, mustard-brown linoleum. Then you veered right, and there were the sinks and soap dispensers on the right-hand side, a row of mirrors, opposite a line of individual stalls.

A towel dispenser and inset trash can were on the far wall. All stall doors were open, all cubicles empty. Sonora opened the door and looked at Sam.

“The coast is clear, come on in and adjust your panty hose.”

“I could probably get arrested for this,” Sam muttered.

“I promise to swear I don't know you.”

They stood side by side, staring into the cubicles, as if there was something to see.

“I wonder which one it was,” Sam said.

“Which what?”

“Stall.”

“That one,” Sonora said, pointing to the one second from the left.

“Why that one?”

She shrugged.

Sam turned and faced the mirrors. “She saw it there first.”

“The reflection? Probably. Saw something, and turned and looked.”

The bathroom door opened. A girl in plaid shorts and chunky shoes came in, arms bare and sunburned. She stopped suddenly, looked up at Sam.

“It's opposite day, right?”

Sam and Sonora scooted out.

Sam took a deep breath once they were in the hallway. “What is opposite day, anyway?”

“Pay attention, Sam. We got Julia Winchell running screaming out of the bathroom. She goes … this away, maybe?” Sonora headed to the right. The corridor ended in T. Green swing doors, one propped open, which led into a large lab-type classroom. Clustered next to the door were three dress forms and two mannequins, hanging on a wall by the door.

Sam stopped. “Look at that.”

“Didn't she say something—what was it? She thought she saw people, but it turned out to be mannequins?”

“Everything's clocking.”

“God, Sam, can you imagine? She sees Caplan in the bathroom, drowning Micah, she runs screaming for help, thinks she sees people, comes full tilt in here and gets … this. No people. She must have had nightmares for years.”

“Let's go back to the bad guy,” Sam said. “What's Caplan do with the body?”

“He knows the cavalry's coming and he's got to move fast.”

“There's a lot of doors, up and down the hallway. He could have gone in any one of them.”

“At night, Sam? Lot of them will be locked.”

“The mannequin room isn't locked.”

“Think he brought her in here?”

Sam wandered in, and Sonora followed. He pointed. “Right there. Big black trash barrels. Could have put her in one of those, temporarily. Mail cart right there, could have slid her right on in.” He stepped into the hallway. “Dumbwaiter is right down the hall. Could have loaded her onto that.”

“Suppose someone was at the other end?”

“He's moving fast, now, Sonora, taking risks. How about these lockers.” He stepped out into the hallway, “Think he could have fit her in one of those?”

The lockers were painted army green. A few had combination locks on them, most didn't. “Full length. Looks possible.”

Sam opened the locker that was second from the end. “Get in. She was littler than you are.”

“Hey. She was pregnant.”

“Except for that.”

Sonora ducked and scooted in. “Easy fit, actually.”

“There must be fifty ways to store this body.”

“So he stashes the body, then waits till Julia and the security guy leave. Maybe waited a couple hours till everything is dead quiet. She was a little bitty thing. He could have rolled her out in the mail cart. I wonder if he planned to leave her here in the building, his original plan, before he got discovered, or if he'd planned that business at the creek all along.”

“We'll never know,” Sam said.

“Unless he tells us.” Sonora chewed a thumbnail. “If that guy, Marsh, had made a better search, they'd have found her that night.”

“Sonora, look at it from his point of view. Co-ed comes running out and says there's a murder going on in the women's bathroom on the third floor, which just so happens to be a parking lot.”

“People get confused.”

“He looked in every bathroom. There was still nothing there.”

“Let's take a look at that parking garage.”

They headed down the hallway, found the elevator. Sam ushered Sonora in, pushed the button for three. Sonora leaned against the wall, thinking about Julia Winchell, pressed against this very wall, trying to catch her breath, trying to get back in time.

The elevator door opened into a dark cavern of asphalt and noise. The brash sound of a car horn floated in with the smell of oil and gasoline fumes. Sam walked out into the parking lot, looked around, then came back.

“So he doesn't have to haul her body out the front door. He can come down the elevator and put her right into the car. Mighty damn convenient.”

“Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah.”

“There's one other place he could have hid her.”

“What?”

“He could have hung her up, with the rest of the mannequins.”

“You're a sick puppy, Sonora.”

“So is he.”

58

Sonora was on the phone with Heather when she heard Sam tell her that Gruber wanted them. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Just one second, okay, Sam?

“Yes, I promise to read the whole magazine article, but I'm telling you, Heather, it's a come-on. We can't get rich raising chinchillas and the smell is—” Sonora paused. “Heather, listen. You don't worry about the Visa bill. Mom takes care of that. We are not going to raise chinchillas.” Sonora hung up the phone. “You seen Gruber?”

“Last I saw he was headed into the women's bathroom.”

“Must still be opposite day. Let's see what he knows about those soil samples on the Bobo killer's shoe.”

Sonora and Sam found him washing his hands. He grinned at Sonora as they came through the door.

“You girls ought to clean up once in a while.” Gruber checked his hair in the mirror. “I got something for you two, don't know if it's of any use. But I know forensics came up with creosote on the carpet in the Winchell rental car. Same as they found in Bobo's tennie.”

Gruber turned the faucet on, slicked down a piece of hair that was lying funny. He reached for the paper towels. Sam handed him one before he got to the dispenser. “You know, Delarosa, you ever get tired of police work, you have a promising career as a bathroom attendant in your future.”

Sam held out a hand.

Gruber looked at Sonora. “He expect a tip?”

Sonora nodded. “I always tip him.”

“Here's your tip, kiddos. Bobo killer is one of those model railroad hobby guys. You know, the ones set up those little tracks in their basement and build little houses and stuff to go around it. He goes train watching on his lunch hour.”

Sam frowned. “What's that?”

Gruber wadded the paper towel, threw it into the trash. “It means he watches trains, Einstein. Goes to railroad tracks and switch yards and basically just hangs around like a dork.”

“A train groupie,” Sam said.

“Whatever. But that's where the creosote came from. Railroad tracks.” Gruber headed for the door, looked back over his shoulder at Sonora and Sam. “Nice bathroom you got here, ladies. Needs reading material.”

Sonora waved him off. “Everything
you'd
need, Gruber, is scrawled on the walls.”

Sonora's phone was ringing as she and Sam headed for the bullpen. She tripped over Molliter getting to it.

“I took a message for you while you were out,” Molliter said. “And I washed your coffee mug for you.” He put the dripping mug on top of her stack of bills.”

“You took a message for me? You don't have work, or were you afraid my answering machine wouldn't get it?”

Molliter took a breath. “Look, the woman sounded upset.”

“What woman?”

“Don't jump down my throat. Dorothy Ainsley. I told her you'd get back to her.”

Sonora grabbed the phone. “My seven year old lies better than you do, Molliter. Get the hell away from my desk.”

Molliter headed for the file cabinet, hands full of papers. “I don't know why I try to get along with you, Sonora.”

“Hey, Molliter,” Sam said. “She was kidding.”

“Homicide, Blair.” Sonora heard noise on the other end, something like a copy machine in the background, phones ringing. “Hello?”

“Is this Detective Blair?”

A woman, and she sounded familiar. Sonora frowned, trying to place the voice. “Yeah, this is Blair. How can I help you?”

“This is Bea Wallace. I'm Gage Caplan's—”

“Chief of staff, yes.”

“I was going to say secretary.”

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Wallace?”

“Mr. Caplan has dictated a chronology of his actions on July the eighteenth. He asked me to fax them to you.”

“I see. And you need the—”

“Yes,” Wallace interrupted. “I got your message about the fax machine being broken.”

Sonora stayed quiet, thinking. The fax machine was fine. She hadn't left a message. And Caplan knew everything that went on in the bullpen. “Mrs. Wallace, I really need that chronology right away. I'm sure you understand that in an ongoing murder investigation—”

“Detective, Mr. Caplan has instructed me to … I believe the word he used was facilitate. My job is to help you out. Whether or not I want to personally doesn't enter into it.” Her voice was tight, just on the hairy edge of rude.

Smart lady, Sonora thought. Wondered what she had to say. Thought a minute, trying to provide a safe venue for her to say it.

“Any chance you could drop by the office and pick it up?” Bea Wallace asked.

Surely not, Sonora thought, with Gage Caplan breathing down their necks. “Ma'am, my boss has just instructed me not to harass your boss and the last thing I want to do is show up in your office.” Sonora looked over her shoulder. Saw Molliter was listening. He'd worked with Caplan several times last year, hadn't he? “Why don't you meet me out front in the lobby? I should be there in half an hour. That all right? Caplan unchain you from your desk long enough to run downstairs and hand me a piece of paper?”

“Detective, I don't like your tone of voice.”

“Like it or not, Mrs. Wallace, you be there. I'll try not to get held up.”