Girl With a Past (7 page)

“What the fuck?” Steven reached over to
brush dirt and blades of lawn from my jacket. “What was that
about?”

“Get outa here fast!” I yelled.

Steven jerked the steering wheel, punched
the gas and forced his way into the stream of traffic to the tune
of screeched brakes, honked horns, and screamed expletives.

“Someone shot at me,” I said, my heart
pounding to break out of my chest.

“With a gun?” Steven’s look clearly said
that he thought I was up to what he sees as my usual drama queen
antics. I’m really not a DQ, but Steven is so damn mellow about
everything he makes me look, well, dramatic.

“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” he said.

“Well, I fucking felt it go whizzing past my
head.” I wasn’t dramatizing. “Where are you going?” I asked as he
sped down University Avenue.

“Dad wants us to meet him in the courthouse,
in a conference room.”

“We have to get Mom. Dad can wait.”

“Where do we go?” Steven pulled the car to
the curb in front of a shop that sold Indian Saris.

“Head for the city.” I punched numbers into
my phone to call Detective Schmidt. “Has my mother showed up
yet?”

“I take it this is Miss Nichols,” the
detective answered. “No sign of her.”

“She’s been kidnapped. Put out an all points
bulletin or whatever you call it for a blue van, royal blue
econo-van with white scrapes on the passenger’s side and for my
mother’s silver Lexus. Steven, do you know Mom’s license
plate?”

Steven shook his head. He wove around
stoned, meandering drivers headed down University Avenue.

“Hold on young lady,” the detective’s voice
grew snappish. “What makes you think she’s been kidnapped?”

“My father has received threats,” I sucked
in a deep breath, exhaled. “I have a copy of a threatening letter
he got.”

“Your father hasn’t reported any such thing,
hasn’t asked for protection.”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is the
matter with my father,” I yelled into the phone. “But my mother is
in danger. Seriously. And someone just took a shot at me.”

“What?” That got his attention. “Where?”

“On the Berkeley campus. In front of Kroeber
Hall.”

“Did campus security notify the police?”

“I don’t know if security is aware––”

“Don’t tell me you left the scene?” the
detective said in a voice heavy with annoyance.

“Of course I left the fucking scene––my
mother is––are you gonna help me or not?”

“I’ll arrange for your mother to be located.
I need you to go back to where you were shot at and show the police
where it happened.”

“My father wants my brother and me to meet
him before he has to go back into court. We’re headed to the
city.”

Steven drove onto the overpass headed for
the freeway and the bay bridge. Ahead of us the choppy water of the
San Francisco Bay gleamed with afternoon sun but a threatening bank
of fog hung out past the Golden Gate.

“Someone is liable to pick up that bullet.
That is, if it didn’t hit someone.” Detective Schmidt’s tone of
voice indicated patience wearing thin.

“Oh, you’re right. Steven, turn the car
around.” I twirled my hand in a circular motion. “Detective, I need
to call my father. Can you go see him before he goes back to
court?”

“I’m headed over there, to him. Come to
think of it, I’ll have an officer from the Berkeley PD meet you
outside Kroeber Hall.”

Steven shot past the freeway entrance,
turned into the Berkeley Marina and flipped a U in the hotel
parking lot. For once, midday traffic going up to the campus was
light, but in my adrenalin pumped state every second seemed an
hour.

I pushed the speed dial for my dad.

“Al, goddamn, I told you to get rid of that
phone.”

“Huh, yeah, before I got a chance to do
that,” I paused, “someone shot at me.”

I heard his intake of breath. “What?” Dad
said.

“I spoke with Detective Schmidt, you know
the detective from the house––“

“I know Detective Schmidt,” Dad said in his
no nonsense tone.

“He said I have to show the Berkeley PD
where the shots were fired. Steven's driving us back to
campus.”

An exasperated, heaving sigh greeted this
news.

“Dad?”

“As soon as you’ve done that, you and Steven
are to go directly to your grandfather’s. Do you understand
me?”

“I do, I do understand, but Dad, I want to
help Detective Schmidt find Mom.”

“Let me speak to your brother.”

“Dad,” I continued, “you have to tell me
what you know about this. I found the letter.”

“The letter?”

“The one that threatens your wife and
children if you––”

“Al!” Dad shouted. “We are NOT, not going to
have this conversation over a cell phone.”

“Fine, then you can just talk to the
detective about it. He’s on his way to see you.” I punched end just
as Steven pulled the car up in front of Kroeber hall.

My brother grabbed my arm as I opened the
door. “You really were shot at?” He looked freaked, his face paled
beneath his tan.

“Yes, I told you.” I shook my head and
rolled my eyes.

Two police cars were at the curb, four
officers and two campus security guards stood in a circle.

I told them everything I knew. A notch out
of a tree trunk inches above the height of my head clued the
location of the bullet in the flowerbed three feet beyond the tree.
A second bullet was dug out of the dirt less than a foot away from
the first. Trajectory had all the officers looking at the second
floor windows across the street.

After I promised to come to the station the
next day to sign a statement, I climbed back into my brother’s
jeep.

“Where to now?” Steven failed to suppress a
nervous grin. “I’m guessing not Grandpa’s.”

“I’ve been trying to reach,” I took a
breath, “Aunt Carol. She’s not answering, thought she might know
what Mom had planned for the day.” I sat in the front seat of
Steven’s jeep hugging my knees, wondering what we could do
next.

I dialed Detective Schmidt who snapped that
he would certainly let me know if our mother were located and
joined our father in demanding we await his call in a safe location
such as our grandfather’s estate. I didn’t relay his orders to
Steven.

“Well, we can’t stay parked in this red zone
forever. Your cop friends might lose patience eventually.” Steven
raised both eyebrows in my direction. “So?”

“Let’s try Carol’s studio.”

Steven pulled away from the curb with less
urgency this time. “You know what this is about?” he asked.

“Either the trial Dad’s prosecuting . . . or
the Zodiac. Maybe there’s a connection.”

“What’s Dad prosecuting?” Steven asked.

I shrugged. “Did he tell you anything about
that case? Even when I work in his office over summer break, he’s
very secretive until after the verdict. He never tells me anything
about his cases.”

Steven shook his head. “Me neither.” He
changed lanes. “Why do you think this could have anything to do
with the Zodiac?”

I explained about the file and yesterday’s
events.

“You read Dad’s file on the Zodiac?” Steven
asked.

“Yeah.”

“Any mention of anyone else Dad knows in
that file?”

“All Dad’s college friends. Carol, Mom, Dad,
Dave, Ron, Suzy, Tom, Elliott, and Jamie were all interviewed in
connection with his friend Alexandra’s murder.”

“Who knew you were looking for the
file?”

“Dad, Dad’s new secretary . . .”

“Nobody else?”

I thought back to the previous afternoon.
“Dad was on the phone as I was leaving, he had me say good-bye to
an uncle.”

“Which one?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, I just
yelled out hello and hurried out of Dad’s office before he changed
his mind about letting me get the file.”

“Dad can tell us.”

“When he gets out of court.” I rubbed my
arms.

“You’re shivering. Are you cold?” Steven
asked.

“A little. Mostly nervous.” I clenched my
teeth together in an effort to stop them chattering.

Steven looked at the lightweight jacket I’d
tossed over my T-shirt. He turned on the car heater. “Got a warmer
jacket with you?” He nodded at my backpack.

“No.”

He stopped at a signal, took off his pea
coat, and placed it around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but didn’t relax my bite.

Steven turned the car around again.

“Where are you going?” I muttered.

“To your house, to get you warmer
clothes."

We weren’t far from my house on Piedmont
Avenue, and a warm jacket that fit me would be good. I slunk down
in the seat and pulled the pea coat tighter feeling the scratch of
the wool on my neck.

I knew I wasn’t thinking straight. Or at
all. My mind kept going blank, but one wild thought persisted.

“Do you think one of our so-called uncles
could’ve been the Zodiac killer?” I muttered through clenched
teeth. My body was really shaking now.

“Na-ah.” Steven shook his head, rolled his
eyes as if to say, ‘here goes the drama again.’ “Where did that
come from? That’s nuts.”

“What . . .” I took a huge breath and
exhaled before continuing. “What makes you so sure?”

“For one thing, there’s that guy that the
police thought was the killer, but they couldn’t prove it. What was
his name? Allen?”

“Arthur Allen.” I supplied.

“Yeah, him.” Steven brought the car to a
halt while a stream of students crossed the street; he turned his
head and studied me. “Are you okay? You aren’t going into shock, or
something are you?” He held out a bottle of water and insisted I
take a swallow.

I ignored his question. How the hell was I
supposed to know what going into shock felt like? But then, how did
I know it was a bullet that went whizzing past my ear? “DNA
evidence from the stamps on the Zodiac letters didn’t match
Allen.”

“Don’t you think the fact that the killings
ended in the seventies would indicate that the guy died?” Steven
pointed out.

“Or went to prison for something else?” I
said.

“Yeah . . . neither of which would apply to
any of our uncles,” he said. “As Dad would say, you’re barking up
the wrong tree with this uncle business.”

I shook my head. “No, guess not.” My hand
continued to tremble as I dug my house keys out of my jean’s pocket
when Steven pulled his car into the driveway of my house.

“Hold on. I’m coming with you.” Steven
turned off the car.

I was relieved. Not because I thought bad
dudes might be waiting inside, but because the house mascot, a ten
foot tall taxidermied grizzly bear, that stood in the curve of the
staircase, freaked me out every time I ran past him and up the
stairs. The knit Cal cap, the blue and gold striped scarf, and
letterman’s sweater my housemates had dressed the monster in did
nothing to alleviate my fear of his mouthful of sharp teeth and his
ginormous paws.

My six-foot tall brother stood at the base
of the stairs, dwarfed by the giant bear, but not intimidated. “Hey
Oski, ole buddy, how ya doin’?” Steven pulled a play punch at the
stuffed creature. “Sis, want me to come up there with ya?”

“I’m okay.” Once I got past the grizzly, I
was fine. My housemates were all on campus, in class or the
library. The house would remain empty and quiet until
dinnertime.

In my sun porch bedroom, I tore off my grass
and mud splattered jeans, T-shirt and jacket, pulled on clean
jeans, a turtleneck, sweater, and down jacket, shoved the papers
into my pocket, and swept a brush through my blonde mane. A quick
swipe with the electric toothbrush and I was ready to go again.

Ignoring the fucking bear, I ran down the
stairs with my attention on my brother. “Carol can tell us about
the dudes, our so called uncles, what they were like when they were
young. I’ve always had the idea that Mom wasn’t totally crazy about
all of them, like she didn’t think they were the greatest buds for
Dad.”

Steven gave me a questioning look. “Really?
Wow, that’s fuckin’ weird. I thought they were everyone of’em real
good friends. Come on, those uncles practically raised us.” Steven
checked the lock on the door as he pulled it closed behind us.

My brother opened the car door for me. When
he climbed into the driver seat, I continued. “Mom and Carol are
good friends. And we spent a lot of our childhood at her house. But
didn’t you ever notice that Mom never sent us off by ourselves with
certain of the men?”

“Never paid much attention to that.” Steven
looked at me with surprise in his eyes.

“Well, Uncle Elliott and his wife Nancy were
allowed to take us on outings along with their kids. Ron, Jamie,
and Tom never took us anywhere unless Mom and Dad were along.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to take kids without
some help.”

“No, Mom would discreetly shake her head at
Dad and the plans would change to include the whole family.”

“You think Mom didn’t trust them? Probably
just thought they were too careless to be trusted with kids.”
Steven said.

“They
were
a bunch of druggies.” I
announced to my brother. But I was already thinking about something
else, remembering what had happened yesterday afternoon at my
parent’s house.

“Did you ever see them doin’ drugs? They
wouldn’t do that in front of kids.” Steven said as he drove up the
hill on the road that wound around the gleaming white wedding cake
buildings of the Claremont Hotel.

“Al, are you crying?” Steven pulled the car
off the road to study my tear-streaked face.

“Steven, I think . . . I might be the reason
that Kira was shot.”

“What?” He handed me a box of tissues. “How
do you figure?”

“Clearly I was the intended target. She was
shot because she looks like me.”