One Through the Heart (9 page)

‘There are.’

‘So that’s like another hazardous waste deal. Can I schedule that?’

‘You can get someone in to look at it and give you a price but don’t pull them out yet.’

‘Don’t you have photos and everything else?’ Ferranti couldn’t get his head around the continued delay. ‘Inspector Raveneau, I just don’t get it. How is it going to affect your investigation if I get the batteries dealt with?’

Raveneau turned to answer and then didn’t have to as Coe walked up and an agitated Ferranti confronted him.

‘Who are you?’

Coe smiled and Raveneau expected him to pull his ID, but he didn’t. He said, ‘I’m with the city historical committee and here to take a look at the fallout shelter. You must be the contractor.’

This was a thing Raveneau liked about Coe. It was a streak the FBI very definitely didn’t cultivate or encourage.

‘How can you do that?’ Ferranti asked. ‘It’s on private property.’

‘Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean we won’t preserve it if it is of historical significance.’

‘A bomb shelter?’

‘We call them fallout shelters, and I realize you’re too young to remember the Cold War Era, but we had planes in the air twenty-four hours a day carrying nuclear weapons and ready to go. These shelters played a very significant role in the societal dynamics of that period. I arranged with Inspector Raveneau to meet this morning so I can evaluate and determine what we’re going to do about this one. The inspector has told me you’re anxious to get it filled in and that’s one of the reasons we’re meeting on a Saturday. If we do a study we should have an answer within a year, or I should say I like to aim for a year. I always make that goal.’

‘You’re joking, right? You’re another homicide inspector.’

‘Please don’t say that.’

‘Tell me you’re joking.’ When Coe hesitated, Ferranti said, ‘Do you know what this is for my clients? It’s their worst nightmare. A committee on bomb shelters, that’s insane—’

‘It’s a fallout shelter, not a bomb shelter, sir.’

‘I can’t fucking believe this city. I can’t redo the guest cottage before I get the lowest landscape wall built. I won’t be able to do anything in the back.’ Ferranti stared hard at Coe. ‘It’s a concrete hole in the ground. There’s nothing special about it.’

Raveneau knew Coe was about to let Ferranti off the hook but Ferranti spoke first.

‘One of the subcontractors here used to be on the San Francisco Homicide Detail. He says this should have been released by now.’

The comment wasn’t for Coe. It was for him, and Raveneau knew as he heard it that it was true. That was Hugh, and as Raveneau confirmed it and Coe told Ferranti he was joking Ferranti said something else under his breath that they couldn’t hear and huffed off.

Raveneau and Coe went down into the shelter, Raveneau carrying photos with him. They looked at those, and he showed Coe where the skulls were and told him the Missouri connection was looking more likely. Bone samples were on their way here to compare DNA. He talked through the drink at Grate’s Place with Attis Martin, Lindsley, Ike, and John the Baptist, and then they climbed back out into the light, and Coe, who was something like fifteen years younger than Raveneau, asked, ‘You’re old enough, aren’t you? How did all these shelters happen?’

‘I was young, but I remember. In the sixties we tried to put in an air raid warning system. If you heard the siren go off at two in the morning the idea was you’d have ten minutes to get your family inside. In the shelter you’d have food and water and a radio if the antenna was still up. Half of the people who died at Hiroshima and Nagasaki died in the first day – most of those in the blast but some for lack of protection. That’s where we were getting our information. Then the bombs got a lot bigger and it didn’t seem like there was any way to ride it out anymore, so the idea faded away.’

‘Where do you want our help first?’

‘Interview Lisa Berge, the property manager who took the tape. She’s only partially cooperating with us and blew off a deadline I gave her. I could make another run at her but I think you’ll have more success. I’m going to talk to my commander about possible surveillance of the Attis Martin crew if we learn more. Anything you learn about them will help.’

‘Send me what you’ve got and we’ll see what we come up with.’

‘You’ll get it this morning,’ Raveneau said.

‘Are you that worried?’

‘Not really, but I’m also not sure what I’m dealing with here. I’d like to know.’

‘We’ll get in touch with Berge today. Are you still bringing this Brandon Lindsley character out here?’ Coe asked.

‘I am.’

‘Maybe you should wait.’

Raveneau understood Coe’s message. The Bureau would assign a few agents and find out what they could about Lindsley and the threesome last night, and Coe thought SFPD should keep it quiet until the Bureau checked into these people.

Raveneau shook his head. ‘Lindsley is my key to this case. I’m going to keep working on him.’

‘Other than talk to her, what can we do to help you with Berge?’

‘Track the money the rent got paid with. We’ve got it as far as a shell corporation. Find out who was paying the rent and then find them. I don’t know if this little band has the ability to do anything, but let’s find out. Let’s talk later today.’

‘Call me.’

R
aveneau was in the bomb shelter with Lindsley and the hatch was open. Daylight filtered in, as did voices, though Raveneau couldn’t tell who they belonged to and as they moved the voices were gone.

Lindsley’s flashlight beam slid across the wall on to the wooden seat near the generator. ‘What’s that for?’

‘You sit on that seat and work those paddles with your legs. That draws fresh air in manually. It also recharges the battery.’

‘What’s that leaking next to it?’

‘Battery acid.’

Lindsley moved his light off it and found the metal bathroom door. ‘Where does that go?’

‘It’s a toilet. Didn’t Professor Lash ever bring you down here?’

‘No. We stayed in the house, though when it was warm he liked to sit in the garden. Did I tell you if he hadn’t gotten sick we were going to collaborate on a book or that’s what he wanted me to believe? We talked for a year about the first book. I did research for him. We actually talked about collaborating on more than one book.’

‘He lied to you.’

‘Oh, he did more than lie to me. He used me.’

‘What was the collaborative book going to be about?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He was never really going to do it.’

‘Would he have written one with Ann?’

‘Ask him.’

‘Did he ever talk about doing a book with her?’

‘Not that I remember, but ask him and he’ll say, ‘No–ooo.’ Does he say, ‘G–o–o–d to s–e–eeee you, In–spec–tor?’

Raveneau flicked his flashlight abruptly and in time to catch Lindsley’s grin and his abrupt shift away from it.

‘I’ve seen enough, Inspector, and I appreciate you showing it to me. I hate to think that Ann might have been in here. That’s a terrible thought. On Lash and me and the book thing, the last time I saw him was after the house had sold and he was just a few weeks from moving out. We talked on a Saturday morning and collaborating on books was still the plan. I waited to hear from him when he got settled in his apartment in the assisted living place, but he never called and he didn’t return my calls. The caregiver, his doctor, his lawyer, no one would tell me where he was. They were sure the professor meant to call me before moving, they said, but with all the moving and the big change, he was overwhelmed.

‘I waited. Finally, I found out where he was. Maybe he was freaked because he knew this bomb shelter would get found. Maybe it was the finality of it, that he would never live in a house again or ever have anything normal anymore. Or that the disease was going to kill him.’

‘Did you know him as well as he says?’

‘I don’t know what he said.’ Lindsley grasped a rung with his left hand. ‘I’m going to climb up. Let’s talk in the sunlight, but yeah there was a time when I thought we knew each other pretty well and were good friends. Now I don’t believe any of that was ever true. He lied to me all along.’

‘Have you visited him where he is now?’

‘I have but probably won’t ever again. When I first met him we would sit in his living room and drink whiskey and talk about American history. Now it’s hard for him to talk and we don’t have much to say to each other anymore. He’s not going to write any more books and I finally figured out he used my ambition to string me along for years.’

‘Did he pay you for the research?’

‘He did do that.’

‘Are you certain he never mentioned this shelter?’

Lindsley sighed heavily. ‘Man, give it a rest. Whatever you think of me, just give it a rest. I was a grad student who realized he wasn’t ever going to end up a professor but who might do OK writing books that popularized history if I could get some help getting my name out there. And we got along. It was great to be in his circle and we got as far as working out the chapters of the first book and the arc of it. But he was always going to write it himself. The way he told me the collaboration was off was by saying that in his condition he couldn’t do it. Those weren’t the exact words but it was that.’

‘He’s in a tough spot.’

‘Oh, yeah, I know, it’s very bad now, but back then he still had some hope. The book was going to be a follow-up on the one he did that included Ann’s ideas. This was going to be a history of the Indian Wars through the eyes of five who were there and wrote about battles and decisions. Sounds dry but it wouldn’t have been. He probably didn’t want me to know where he was moving because he still thought he could write it.’

Lindsley’s voice has risen as he talked and it echoed faintly in the shelter, and though Raveneau doubted la Rosa could make out the words, she had to be wondering.

‘That’s what happened,’ Lindsley said, and then climbed the ladder.

‘If you write the book now are you going to give Lash any credit?’

The vehemence of the answer surprised Raveneau. Lindsley’s voice was very emotional and loud. ‘I’m going to expose him. I’m going to show the world what a fucking fraud he is.’

When they got back into the sunlight Lindsley’s gaze roamed from him to la Rosa.

‘Do you know what I can’t stand? Do you know what I can’t handle? I can’t stand that he might die first. I want him to stay alive and then I’ll come visit him and I’ll read my book to him. I’m working on the book now. I’m writing it and he’s just got to hold on. I want him paralysed, trapped, and me reading and the people taking care of him thinking he’s loving it. Thanks for the tour, Inspector. I’m out of here. Good luck with everything.’

Raveneau watched his quick steps up the garden stairs and the way he broke to his left and went around the side of the house.

‘See that?’ Raveneau said to la Rosa. ‘He does know his way around here. It wasn’t all in the living room.’ He considered that a moment and added, ‘And he wants us to know that. He gave me a little more today. He gives me a little more each time. He gave me a reason why he might have been jealous of Ann and another motive for framing Lash.’

‘What’s he say about Lash?’

‘That he hates him, and I’m starting to believe him.’

S
unday dawn Raveneau was on his redwood deck with coffee and a laptop open reading into Coryell’s dissertation. Attis had quoted several times from page twenty-nine and he read that first.

‘
No society can move forward carrying unreconciled genocide. It leads inevitably to detachment and the inability of a society to envision its future.
’

He skimmed forward looking for hard facts and stopped at the heading ‘
Trail of Tears
’, then read her distillation on the forced relocation of the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee, and Seminole tribes with the passage of the Indian Removal Act of 1830. The Choctaw were first to go. They were removed in 1831, Seminoles in 1832, the Muscogee or Creek in 1834, and the Chickasaw in 1837. A year later it was the Cherokees, the last of those called the ‘civilized tribes.’ That opened twenty-five million acres for settlement of what would become known as the Deep South.

Coryell focused on the Cherokees who came last. The Cherokee tribe resisted and were relocated to a concentration camp in Tennessee prior to a forced walk to the Oklahoma territory. Four thousand died of disease, starvation, and cold along the way. He read those stats, laid the dissertation down, and went to get more coffee.

He read about the Navajo and Coryell’s theory that it wasn’t about numbers killed but the thing done to a people. The Navajo dead numbered two hundred on the eighteen-day march from Arizona to eastern New Mexico. That was very poor land, and they eventually returned home to the land between the four sacred mountains. That wasn’t in here but Raveneau remembered reading about their return.

He looked up from the laptop as Celeste walked out. She leaned and kissed him and passed on by and walked down the wooden plank way leading toward the stairs, and halfway down she walked out across the flat roof to the parapet. Raveneau’s apartment sat up on top of an industrial building in China Basin. The view from that parapet looked north-east across China Basin. She was standing out there with a coffee, and he walked over now and stood with her.

Three hours later he was sitting in the FBI San Francisco Field Office watching the video feed as Lisa Berge was interviewed. One male and one female agent, both similar in age to Lisa, shook her hand and thanked her for coming. Berge seemed flustered.

‘I’ll be honest,’ she told them, ‘I don’t think much of any government organizations and didn’t have any choice but to come here. SFPD is trying to intimidate me and I’m sure you’re talking with them. I think this is one big set-up by people who don’t really know what they’re doing. So ask your questions and let’s get this over with.’

Special Agent Alyssa Fry didn’t challenge her on that and it looked like Fry was going to be the alpha here. She opened a notebook and tapped the table with a pen, though lightly, as if musing about something, or waiting for a signal from Berge. If so, she got it a few seconds later, though it didn’t have anything to do with the answering machine.