Death in the Haight by Ronald Tierney Read Free Book Online Page B

day’s autopsies.
    â€œWent long today,” the medical examiner said, slipping off her gloves. “Do I have anyone here that belongs to you?”
    â€œI’m here about the Vanderveer case. The dead girl.”
    â€œYou on the case now?”
    â€œNot officially,” Gratelli said, dodging.
    â€œCan’t.” She put her finger to her lips. “It’s all hush-hush and still more hush. More hush than I’ve seen before. I can’t say a word to you, especially you. I promised not to speak to anyone about it or hand over my files.”
    â€œEvidence of sexual activity?” Gratelli asked, a mild and rare expression of amusement on his face. “I’m not asking you to
say
anything.” He raised his eyebrows, waited.
    She thought for a moment. She didn’t speak, but nodded.
    â€œShot, knifed, strangled, beaten?”
    She put her hands around her throat.
    â€œRough stuff?”
    She shrugged.
    â€œWhere was she found?”
    She looked befuddled. But soon she was smiling. She pulled out an imaginary wallet, pulled out an imaginary credit card, handed it to an imaginary clerk.
    â€œExcellent,” Gratelli said. “Which hotel?”
    She was disappointed.
    â€œHow many stars?” Gratelli asked.
    She held up one finger.
    â€œIn the city?”
    She nodded.
    â€œTenderloin?”
    She shook her head, mimicked toking on a joint.
    â€œThe Haight?”
    She nodded.
    â€œProstitute?”
    She nodded.
    â€œHow old?”
    She held up both hands and flashed them twice.
    â€œTwenty. And you haven’t said a word to me.”
    She smiled. “Stern is an asshole.”
    â€œYes, he is,” Gratelli said. If Stern had been decent, she wouldn’t have cooperated at all. “By the way, you’d be a great mime out at Fisherman’s Wharf.”
    â€œGood to know.”
    Â * * * 
    He had not been back to his loft, slept in his own bed, in nearly two days. Buddha was fine at Thanh’s, a place he regarded as a second home. He called Thanh to tell him Brinkman would relieve his watch. He called Brinkman to make sure Brinkman knew where to go and what to watch for.
    Lang drove over to Koret, a gym only a few blocks away that had an Olympic-sized swimming pool but also, more importantly, a shower. The key for Lang was to stay in public places. Stern wouldn’t want witnesses.
    The shower felt good, so good he took two of them, one before and one after a long swim. He splurged on dinner at Limón on Valencia, a lush Peruvian restaurant. The street was busy, and a few shops were still open. After dinner he walked several blocks on Valencia. He went into a couple of bookstores that bore no resemblance to a Barnes & Noble.
    Eventually, back in his office, he called Vanderveer.
    â€œI’m not hearing anything from you,” Lang told him.
    â€œThat’s because there is nothing to tell.” The man seemed weary yet still impatient. “No calls. Why are they having me wait?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI hate having all this money here. It is like we’re trapped by it. Trapped into guarding it. What kind of punishment is this?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Lang said. “I’m working on getting something out of the police. They haven’t been cooperative.”
    â€œNothing is happening,” Vanderveer said angrily. “Nothing. Police. You. The kidnappers. Nothing.”
    â€œI’ll let you know if we find out something.”
    â€œI would think so,” Vanderveer said and disconnected.
    The office was still. The only light came from the little desk lamp and the computer screen, where Lang searched the local news for information about the missing kid—none.
    He was in until midnight, when he would relieve Brinkman. He set the alarm. Maybe he could grab a little sleep before then. But that wasn’t in the cards. A call came from Gratelli, who made him