More Than an Echo (Echo Branson Series) (21 page)

I smiled back at her. Normal was such a relative term in my life. “Maybe you didn’t catch my name; there’s nothing
normal
about me. I’m a very healthy eater.”

She ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a side salad and Coke. She was incredibly handsome in her uniform. Those Kevlar vests ride high when a cop sits down, giving her that puffed up look. Her skin was a dark olive color and she had sandy brown hair waving to her shoulders. I was glad she didn’t wear a buzz cut like a lot of other cops. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown that took in the whole room. I had no doubt Sergeant Finn knew exactly who was in the cafe and how long they had been there.

Two deep dimples adorned her cheeks whenever she smiled, which was a lot for someone in such a depressing profession. It took a special person to be a walking target these days, and I had the feeling she was very special.

When she finished ordering, she turned those soft eyes on me. “Normally, I’m the one assessing a room, but you’re good. I like that.”

I poured sugar in my coffee. “You’re not listening. I’m
not
normal.”

She laughed at this. “Something tells me you’re probably not kidding.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Echo. There’s no love lost between Carter Ellsworth and me. He’s gotten into my way or in the department’s way more times than I can count. If there is any way I can help you, I will.”

There was so much I liked about her, not just her willingness to help, but the warmth of her words. She was one of the most authentic people I’d ever met.

“I really appreciate your time.”

She nodded a hello to someone behind me who had just walked in. “If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know. I would really love to help you get the drop on that wiener.”

I laughed out loud. Danica used to call dumb boys
wieners
. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean it. You know, cops aren’t very fond of the reporters. We never get a fair shake from you folks no matter how much of our blood is spilled on the streets. We can never do it right enough, never get there fast enough, never be fair enough. Guys like Ellsworth get off on rubbing our noses in some story he cracked before we did; as if he could do so without an inside in the department.” Finn shook her head sadly. “I hate that guy.”

“Well, just as long as you don’t put me in the same category. My career hasn’t gotten off the ground yet, but when it does, I’ll be sure to give you that fair shake.”

Her eyes scanned the room once more, as if she was looking for someone, but I knew she was just being a cop. “I would just like to see the department get some praise every now and then, but with guys like that dirtbag Ellsworth, we’re just fodder for the papers.”

I smiled. Her use of the word fodder made my stomach tingle. She was one of the good guys. Integrity and loyalty were as vital to her as eating and drinking. She was the kind of person you could trust; the kind you called when you needed your car jumped or a shoulder to lean on. I needed more Marist Finns in my life. “Maybe I can help paint a different picture.”

She grinned and those dimples jumped out at me. “Excellent. I’ll comb through the files and see if I can find anything you can use. Here’s my cell number. I don’t have to tell you it’s frowned upon for us to be talking to reporters. You guys aren’t our favorite people, so discretion is in order.”

I reached for the card. “I understand. Here’s mine,” I said, writing my personal cell number on the back before sliding it discreetly across the table. “Because you know...” I lowered my voice. “It’s frowned upon for us to be seen eating doughnuts with hot women in blue.”

Finn threw her head back and laughed. “So, tell me about Echo. Besides being a reporter, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun? What’s that?”

We finished the rest of dinner on more personal notes. She was twenty-nine and had been a cop for almost eight years. She was the oldest of eight kids in a typically Irish Catholic family. She loved her job, lived alone off  Market Street and confessed to being somewhat of a movie buff. She was close to her parents, loved the city and wasn’t addicted to anything.

So why was she still single?

There was a good give-and-take to our conversation, a nice ebb and flow. So many women just blathered on about themselves, but she asked questions and listened attentively. It was really quite enjoyable. When her pager went off, we both sighed.

“Well, I’m up.” Locking eyes with me, she smiled softly. “I’ve had a really good time.”

“I’m glad. So have I.” I rose. “Have you heard anything about a missing homeless guy?”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I wish I was. I know it sounds nuts, but—”

“Nuts is an understatement. Do you have any idea how many homeless people there are in the city?”

“I know. It’s just...a good friend of mine said a friend of his from the streets is missing. I told him I would see what I could find out.”

“You have... homeless friends?” She cocked her head. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Echo Branson.”

I flashed her my best grin. “I told you, I am not normal. I have all sorts of friends... including women in uniform.”

She looked me up and down, settling on my eyes. “I can see that. Well, Echo Branson, I’m glad you include one SFPD sergeant among them.”

“I believe I do, Officer Finn. I believe I do.”

“Goddamn it,” I growled, leaning against the car.

“Bad morning?”

Whirling around, I almost punched Bob. “You’re far from home. Are you lost, little boy?”

Bob forced a grin and shook his head. “Someone else has gone missing, Jane. Gone without a trace. Donnie’s wife said he went to get something for them to eat and never returned. She’s sick with worry, Jane. She said this is not like him at all. I have to agree. Donnie is crazy about her. He would never want her to worry.”

“And no one else has seen him?”

Bob shook his head slowly, and then I heard his stomach rumble.

“Come on. Let’s see if Luigi’s got a little something to quiet that belly of yours.”

Luigi was in the back as he always was until about nine. His brother, Franko, waited on customers and handled the counter in the morning. He was a good baker, but not in the same league as Luigi.

I ordered a coffee and bagel with cream cheese, and Bob ordered a coffee with a bear claw. I tried to get him to order more, but he wouldn’t.

“What’s really going on down there?”

“If you want to know what’s going on in the city of San Francisco, ask a homeless guy. But Jane, none of us have seen a Goddamn thing. We see everything that happens in this city whether it wants to be seen or not. So...to
not
see two of our own go missing...well...it rattles our cages.”

“I’m not sure I can help. I’ve already checked the hospitals. I’ve even talked to SFPD, but—”

“Try the morgue.”

I blinked several times before replying. “I’ll check it out, but Bob, without real first and last names, I’m just spitting in the wind. You have to get me more than just first names.”

Reaching his dirty fingers into his jacket pocket, Bob carefully extracted a folded bar napkin. “I did a lot of asking around and found out Rusty’s last name was...is Van Pelt.” He handed the napkin to me with only a slight tremble.

“And Donnie’s last name is Jack? His last name is Jack?”

Bob shrugged. “We all called him Donnie, but I suppose his name could be Jack Donnie. I just don’t know.”

Taking the napkin, I put it in my notebook. I have always carried a notebook around ever since I was a kid. I could draw in it, write poems or even make games. When you’re in a foster home, it’s always good to look like you’re really busy or really smart. “I’ll look into it today. In the meantime, why don’t you spend the next few nights at the shelter? You look awful.”

He grinned and nodded his thanks to Frank who waved back. “I’m a little tired is all. We spent most of the night looking for Donnie.” Bob shook his head.

I dropped Bob back in the Mission District and checked my phone messages. Finn left one saying that she had enjoyed dinner and hoped we could do it again sometime. I have to say, I am a sucker for manners and gentility, so I made a mental note to ask her out to dinner. I am always suspicious when someone appears too good to be true, and when that happens, I lower my shields. Hey, all bets are off when it comes to protecting my heart.

Turning Ladybug around, I headed to Danica’s office, sure the boys had found something for me by now.

“So, did you do it?” Carl asked when I arrived at the Bat Cave.

I looked over at Franklin, who was playing some sort of army computer game. He turned and winked at me. “You can tell us. Did you ask her out?”

“What on earth are you—” Then I stopped and stared at all three of them. They were three little boys with a secret.

I watched Franklin’s computer generated soldier toss what looked like a grenade into a building. When it blew up, the smoke-filled abandoned building blew up and a bunch of soldiers ran out into the smoke, where his one soldier picked them off one-by-one.

“I did not.”

Franklin extended his hand to the other two. “Pay up.”

“Okay, guys, what the hell is going on here?” I moved my gaze to each one in turn, and each time, they looked away.

Carl walked over and reached for my purse, which I snatched away. “What are you doing?”

“Well…we…um…traced you.”

“You. Did. What?”

Roger cleared his throat. “Traced you. It’s a bug we’ve been working on that is a GPS with audio. We needed to try it out, but we only got half of the conversation.”

“Enough to hear the proverbial sparks flying,” Franklin chuckled like a little boy who heard the word boob for the first time.

I punched his arm. “There were no sparks, but there’s gonna be in a second. You
eavesdropped
on my conversation?”

“Not really. Like we said, the audio was a bit unstable.” Carl plucked a small device from my purse strap. “If we’d known you were going on a date—”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Then we would have told you.”

Roger nodded. “When’s the last time you were even on a date?”

“It wasn’t a date!”

Franklin nodded. “Sure sounded like a date.”

“Well it wasn’t.” I wasn’t angry with the boys; they were too cute to get mad at. I was, however, impressed with whatever technology they had used to trace me. “Look, I came by to see if you guys came up with anything for me. I’m getting desperate.”

Carl grinned. “You’re never desperate. We think we might have something for you. Come over here.”

I walked over to his computer. He was playing a game with a beautiful landscape on the monitor. I had never known any of the boys to play a game that wasn’t full of fire and destruction, blood and guts. Typical boys.

“Wow, that’s beautiful.”

“The object of this game is that we are looking for a key that will get us to the next level. We have to search the whole area first. Tell me, Princess, if you were playing this game where would you start looking?”

There were a hundred different places I could look. Up in a tree, in the tree trunk, in the river, by the roots of the huge oak tree or in the bushes. I was still thinking of where I would look when Carl moved the cursor on the screen to a rock. The cursor turned into a hand and grabbed the rock. Underneath was a golden key.

“Sometimes, it pays to look in the obvious places before rooting around and really getting lost. Advanced gamers know that game creators are always trying to fool us. If you get stumped looking for a story, we suggest doing what we do.”

“Focus on the obvious?”

“Bingo.”

I smiled.  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

Carl paused his game and looked up at me. “You’re not getting it, are you?”

“’Cause she’s not recovered from her date.”

They all snickered.

“It wasn’t a…oh shit, never mind. What am I not getting?”

Carl motioned to my notepad. “The story you’re looking for is right in front of your face.”

I looked down at my notepad. “The missing homeless?”

They all nodded, but it was Roger who spoke. “We started doing a little digging on that front. Missing homeless might not seem like a hot story, but the lack of care about them is a perfect venue for you to show off your wares.”

Carl joined in. “Think about it. People still have soft spots for the homeless. The fact that one goes missing? No story because no one cares. Make them care, Princess. Make them care because
you
do.”

I looked at all three of them, their cumulative IQ probably hovering near five hundred, and I realized that anyone who wouldn’t listen to three geniuses must be obtuse.

“But there are a lot of San Franciscans who
want
them to go away. It’s a dead-in-the-water story.”

“The homeless is a story affecting every city in the country. Do San Franciscans want them gone? Sure. Can you paint a different picture to make them care? Sure you can. That’s the beauty of a piece like that. You do what no other reporter can.”