“We have your address. I can get it from the tax records.”
“My home is owned by my corporation.”
“Corporations are matters of public record. I can find the information there, as well.”
Hood frowned. “You see, Katie? This is what I've been talking about on air. There is no more privacy.” It was an echo of West's words earlier. I had a feeling that these two men shared some of the same sentiments on that topic. Then I heard him say, “Robin Hod-dle, born and reared in San Francisco and now a resident of Santa Rita. Robby Hood is the name I go by now and would prefer to be called by it.”
On it went until my mind numbed. Each question seemed sharper than the previous and each answer came in terse tones. These men were building a nice hatred for each other. Floyd seemed uncomfortable, like a child watching his parents argue.
“Who plans your show schedule?” West asked.
“In large part, Katie does. She serves as my primary researcher and sets the schedule. Other producers have input, but Katie and I make the final decisions.”
“So you can choose what makes it on the show and what doesn't?”
“Yes. Are you wondering if I'm directing the killings by the topics I choose?”
“Perhaps. I look at all avenues.”
Hood smiled. “Have you ever heard of the Cydonia area of Mars?”
“No,” West admitted. “My jurisdiction is limited to this planet.”
Hood ignored the remark. “It was in the summer of 1976 . . . July, I think . . . that the Viking Orbiter One was taking pictures of Mars. Its mission was to find possible landing sites for the Viking Lander Two. Late in July it photographed an area called Cydonia. The area has fewer craters and some interesting hills and escarpments. One such hill looks very much like a face when seen from altitude. Ever since the photo was released there have been those who argue that the facelike hill is artificially made. Are you following me?”
“Artificially made means someone had to have been on Mars to make it,” Floyd interjected.
“That's right, Floyd. Others have argued that it's nothing more than a hill. Over twenty-five years later, people are debating the issue. Believers say that NASA and the government are covering up the truth; nonbelievers say the believers are caught up in wishful thinking.”
“What's your point?” West pressed.
“People see what they want to see. They hear what they want to hear. You see three horrible deaths and compare them to my schedule and see the face of a murderer. I look at it and see coincidence.”
“I didn't think guys like you believed in coincidence.”
“Guys like me? You mean people who discuss off-the-wall topics. It's true, my mind is more open than most, but I don't believe everything that comes my way. I'm not stupid, Detective West. You look at me and think I'm gullible because of the topics I choose to discuss on my program. I look at you and the mayor and see people far more gullible than I.”
That stung but I pretended not to notice.
Hood looked at West. “You'll find no murderer in this house.”
W
e left the house. West and I remained long enough to see Floyd crank up his car, pull a U-turn, and drive off. Overhead the blue of the sky had deepened as the sun began its slide toward the ocean. There were a few hours of sunlight left but not many. Days are short in the winter. West was working through the afternoon traffic. We spent the first five minutes in silence. I couldn't tell if he was tossing water on an emotional fire or if he was simply digesting what he had learned.
I was trying to make heads or tails out of it all. Hood was nothing of what I anticipated, although I didn't know what I expected. Whatever it was, he wasn't it. I was also a little uncomfortable. West has always struck me as genteel and polite. With Hood, he was as cuddly as sandpaper. His tone had been dark and threatening, his approach cutting. Why the change? What was he seeing that I wasn't?
He broke the silence. “Did you see the body on Hood's wife?”
That I wasn't expecting. My face grew hot. “I'll admit that I noticed, but I didn't dwell on it like some people I know.”
He shot me a confused glance, then returned his gaze to the road ahead. “What are you . . . Oh, I get it.” He smiled. “Careful now, or we'll need another seat belt for your jealousy.”
“I'm not jealous.”
“Of course not, but just in case you were, let me put that to rest. I'm not talking about sexual attractionâalthough she was easy on the eyes.”
“If I pop you one, would you arrest me for assaulting a police officer?”
He laughed. “Probably. My point isn't that she had a beautiful body, but that she had a fit body. In fact, I wouldn't doubt she throws the weights around on a regular basis.”
The image of the little red bikini came to mind. When Katie first came to the door all I could see was how much I could see. I was set back by the little amount of cloth, and I felt embarrassed for her. “She likes to work out. So what?”
“I'm betting that she isn't just his wife, if she's his wife at all.”
“What else would she be?”
He looked at me, and I expected to hear something about her being his live-in lover. “Bodyguard.” He made a turn, then asked, “What was your first thought when you saw Hood?”
That was easy. “This guy couldn't break another man's neck, even an elderly security guard.”
“Exactly, but I bet Katie could.”
“Really? She didn't look that strong.”
“That's because you didn't look as closely as I did.”
“No doubt about that.”
“I'm wondering what Katie Lysgaard does while hubby is entertaining the late-night masses.” He had verified names before leaving.
“I assume she handles the loose ends of the program, brings him coffeeâI have no idea. You think she might go out and prowl the streets looking for people to kill.”
“It's not as impossible as you make it sound. It looks like she has the physical ability to do the deeds, especially if she's had some martial arts training. I suppose she could even have been in the military. That's pretty common now. We have women on the force who could get pretty physical in an altercation. I've seen it. There's a couple I wouldn't want to go rounds with.”
“But how would she go about killing the men?”
“Your problem is that you don't have a man's brain.”
“Odd, I've always thought of that as an advantage.”
“Funny. Katie is a babe, and your jealousy just goes to prove it.”
“I'm not jealâ”
“With her looks she could approach most men, and it wouldn't be fear that they'd be feeling. If a man steps close to another man there is instant suspicion. When a beautiful women moves closer a different emotion surfaces.”
“And you think she's strong enough to not only wring a man's neck but lift his body and place it back in a car, an airplane, and on a stool in a guard shack.”
“We think the guard was killed right where we found him, but your point is well taken. I know one thing. I'm going to do a little more investigating on Ms. Lysgaard.”
“Try not to enjoy it too much.”
“At this point, it's nothing but background checks and fingerprints.”
Something occurred to me. “You were pretty pushy back at Hood's home. In fact, I could be forgiven for using the word
rude.
Did he bother you that much or was that an act?”
“Both. He was a little too smug for my tastes, but I pressed him to see what his response would be. More to the point, I pressed him to see what his wife would do.”
“She didn't do anything.”
“Another reason to be suspicious. If your husband was still alive and someone like me was making implications like I made with Hood, what would you do?”
“Show you the door.”
“She didn't do that. She let every innuendo pass. She was coolâtoo cool. Sometimes it isn't what people do that reveals their nature, it's what they don't do.”
I hadn't thought of that. “What now?”
“I take you back to your office, and you do whatever you do. I go watch my third autopsy. Then around seven tonight, I pick you up, and we go out for steaks.”
I eyed him. “How do you know I don't have plans?”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I'm meeting with Nat and my issues team.”
“Oh.” He nodded as if my statement didn't matter, but there was enough change in his expression to let me know that it did.
“There'll be food but not steaks. Pizza.”
“The world runs on pizza,” West said.
“It wouldn't be a date, but I could make sure there was enough food for one more.”
“Is that an invitation?” He smiled. There were those white teeth again. I felt soft in the middle. It must have been the talk of pizza.
“You haven't lived until you sit in a room with political junkies talking over the details of unemployment rates, taxation laws, military spendingâ”
“Please, no more. I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm.” He chuckled.
“Laugh if you will, some of us think it's better than television.”
“I think I'll pass. How about something afterwards? Maybe drinks.”
“I don't drink.”
“Fair enough. Do you pie-and-coffee?”
“I've been known to send a piece of chocolate cream to its final resting place.”
“Pie it is. Will eight be too early?”
“I'm not sure we should be dating,” I said. The words sounded strange coming from my mouth. “There might be repercussions.”
“I was wondering when that would come up. That's why I've put off asking you out. I knew you'd feel that way and turn me down.” If he was hurt, he didn't show it. “What repercussions?”
“I'm the mayor, and you're a detective on the police force. It might seem inappropriate.”
He shook his head. “To whom?” I hadn't expected that and in truth, I hadn't been honest enough with myself to ask. He pressed. “The other members of the council? Voters? The media?”
“I suppose. I'm more worried about the ethics.”
“Having pie with a cop is unethical?”
“Of course not, at least not in this county.”
“Mayor . . . Maddy, listen. I'm just a regular guy who happens to be a police detective. I'm not the police chief who responds to you directly. I don't argue budget, ask for money, or make policy. I investigate crimes.”
“Still, it may be misconstrued by others. This is a difficult time for me.”
“Why? Because you're running for congress?” He shook his head and turned on the street that led to city hall. “Do you think I'll cost you votes? Let me tell you what I've learned, Mayor. Decisions made out of fear usually cost more than those made in courage.”
“I don't consider you a liability.” I was feeling defensive. “I resent you suggesting that I would be that petty. My life is more complex than you imagine. There are issues I have to deal with.”
He didn't reply but his grip on the steering wheel was noticeably tighter. “Issues? Do you know anyone who doesn't have issues? We all do. Yours are no different.” He pulled around the block and into the back lot and stopped by the rear entrance.
“I think my issues are different and quite honestly, I don't think you can understand.” My jaw was tightening and the muscles in my neck stiffened.
“Why? Because you lost a husband? Lopez may have been estranged from his family, but his kids still lost a father; Fritzy lost a husband, and . . . others have lost special people.” He frowned, reached across me, and shoved my door open. “I have to check in at the office. Forgive me for not walking you to your office.”
There aren't many times when I'm wordless. I wasn't sure what had just happened, but I knew something had gone sour and gone quickly. I released the catch on my seat belt and exited. I searched for the right words, the last phrase to utter at that tense moment. I came up empty. I pushed the car door closed.
West drove across the lot toward the police station.
He didn't look back.
T
he last volunteer had left Santa Barbara's Jimmy's Mafia Pizzeria. It was renowned in the area for having the best Sicilian pizza on the west coast. This despite the fact that Jimmy was not part of the Mafia and wasn't even Italian. Thankfully, there was no law prohibiting a short Irishman from making the world's favorite food. The pizzeria was tucked away on the east side of the freeway and just inside Santa Barbara's southernmost border. It had a large dining area with the required battered wood tables and red-and-white checkered tablecloths which were more plastic than cloth. At the back of the restaurant was a meeting area for private parties. Nat had rented it for our meeting.
Ten others had joined us, all volunteers, but each with a set of credentials that made them especially useful on the issues team. We had a banker, a tax accountant, a middle school teacher, the head of a large construction company, an attorney, a computer scientist, and a handful of others with special experience. Their job was to educate me, alert me to possible areas of dissent, and help form policy. It was heady stuff. We had met many times and I ended every meeting feeling as dumb as a post. The amount of information I needed to have at my fingertips when I spoke to women's groups, chamber of commerce gatherings, senior advocacies, homeschool-ing organizations, and a hundred other mix of voters was enormous. I used to become frustrated with politicians who gave vague answers or answered questions not asked. Like many I assumed they were being evasive, not wanting to say what they really believed. I now know that they often did this so as not to reveal that they didn't yet have a position.
The large room had now grown empty. Employees gathered up dirtied plates and empty pizza trays. Half-empty water bottles stood like lone sentries, marking the place where their owners had used them, then left them for the Dumpster. Crumbs and soiled napkins remained evidence that a short while ago, the room had bustled with smart, opinionated people. Now, just Nat and I remained, a basket of cold breadsticks between us.