The Night Searchers (A Sharon McCone Mystery) by Marcia Muller Page B

sat down on a secluded bench to eat.
    “Parklets” are another recent phenomenon in the city—or perhaps they’ve always existed but have now been given a name. Little grassy and well-landscaped oases—often equipped with benches, tables, and chairs—tucked away from the general foot traffic, where people can eat their lunches, have quiet conversations, or simply contemplate their lives. Most are privately financed, as was this one by RI; others are the products of nonprofits; a few are maintained by the already-strapped coffers of the city. They add to San Francisco’s old-world charm and sense of concern for the well-being of its citizens.
    Hy pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed them to me. There, in the familiar capital-letters format, were five messages:
    DON’T WANT HIM BACK AS MUCH AS WE THOUGHT, DO YOU?
    THOSE SECRETS HE’S HOLDING ONTO COULD TEAR THIS COUNTRY APART.
    THE PRICE IS GOING UP EVERY MINUTE YOU HESITATE.
    HE’S PISSED OFF AT YOU AND GETTING READY TO TALK.
    YOU BETTER CAPITULATE—OR HE DIES.
    “They—or he—are getting more aggressive in his tone,” I said. “Frustrated that there’s been no publicity or definite response.”
    “So let’s up his aggression and frustration. Those’re two emotions that can lead to revealing actions.”
    “Dangerous actions too. We don’t want any more out-of-control killings in this country.”
    “This guy’s not dangerous. Not like that.”
    “How d’you know?”
    “Believe me, McCone, for more years than I care to remember, I’ve sat across tables in interrogation rooms from guys like this. Give me a little time and I’ll figure out how to lure him right into our arms.”
    “Okay. Now we need to talk more about the situation. I e-mailed you about those conflicting reports from the family members. Which sounds the most genuine to you?”
    “None, but there’s a grain of truth in all of them.”
    “Let’s start with the Global Policy Forum. I put Derek on it, and it turns out that it is going to be terminated. Leaving Hoffman out of a job and with minimal retirement and health benefits.”
    “And the violence that the one daughter talked about?”
    “No hospital or emergency services reports. Doesn’t go with the apathy his niece Suzy described to me.”
    “Jane Hoffman’s take on things…?”
    “Doesn’t count. She’s either an expert liar or so far out in la-la land that I don’t think she’ll ever make her way back.”
    “Terrific family.” Hy shook his head. “Crazy mom, crazy daughter, estranged daughter, and Suzy, who seems to be the only one of them who’s halfway well wrapped.”
    “Or devious mom and daughters. Suzy’s really the only one I trust—with reservations.”
    “Which are?”
    “I sense she doesn’t like any of the others, and as the favorite niece, Suzy has a great deal to gain if they fall out of favor with their parents.”
    “As I said, terrific family.”
    3:45 p.m.
    Julia came into my office looking tipsy. She flopped into a chair, removed the abalone-shell combs from her hair, and let it fall.
    “What a day!” she exclaimed, exhaling heartily.
    I could smell her breath: red wine and garlic.
    “Imbibed a bit again, huh?”
    “A bit? No, a lot. That Chad Kenyon can really put his booze away. And eat? That man could gobble down a whole steer and then ask for an ox.” She burped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I hooked up with him for lunch, and he practically forced me to keep pace with him.”
    “How’d you manage that? The hooking up, not the keeping pace.”
    “Wasn’t difficult. He came out of his office building, went to Bella—same restaurant as last night. Same private booth. I asked the waiter for the booth across the aisle. Only this time I oogled him.”
    “Oogled?”
    “Maybe it’s pronounced ogle . Anyway, turns out he really is a sucker for Latina beauties—that’s what he called me, a Latina beauty.”
    “And you called