Half Moon Bay: A Novel (Clay Edison Book 3)
Half Moon Bay: Chapter 5

His call wasn’t the first. Anytime you solicit the public for tips—even when you don’t—you’re bound to hear from folks nursing conspiracy theories or personal grievances.

Dead kid? You need to talk to my ex-husband.

We’d also become a target for protesters seeking to vent their spleen about the park with hang-ups and profane tirades.

Peter Franchette didn’t sound disgruntled. Maybe he was working his way up to crazy.

I said, “What makes you think that?”

“I had a sister who—she died, I think.”

“You don’t know if she died.”

“It’s a little complicated,” he said. “I believe she’s still considered missing. Although I’m not a hundred percent sure about that, either. Look, this would be a lot easier in person. I’ve some material I’d be happy to show you.”

Here we go: crazy. Hadn’t even taken that long. “What material would that be?”

“Photographs. Newspaper articles. At one point I hired a private investigator to do a public records search for me. There’s interviews, I have the audio files. I mean, I’ve only gotten so far. I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise.”

“If you’d like, you can send the material to me.”

“It’s a lot of stuff.”

“How about you pick one or two items that you think are informative?”

“I was really hoping we could meet.”

Only his mention of Nwodo had kept me on the line this long. “Can I ask your sister’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I understand how this must come across,” he said.

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

“My best guess is that she was about three when she disappeared.”

“In that case, it’s doubtful she’s the individual whose remains we recovered.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry. It’s an active investigation. I can’t discuss details.”

“She might be older,” Franchette said, “or younger. There’s a lot that’s unclear.”

“As I said, feel free to send me a couple of items.”

“I can pay you. I’m happy to pay.”

I said, “That’s not how it works.”

A silence.

“I apologize,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention…I apologize.”

“It’s fine, sir. No harm done.”

“I…” A short, crestfallen laugh. “I think I’ve been building you up in my mind. The way Delilah spoke about you, I had this idea…I’m sorry.”

I felt a twinge of pity.

“The offer stands,” I said. “Send me something to look at. I can’t promise I’ll get to it right away, but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Take care, Mr. Franchette.”

“You too.”

I hung up and called Nwodo.

“The great Clay Edison,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

We spent a few minutes catching up. She’d recently transferred to sex crimes.

“I asked myself, ‘How can you make your life more depressing? There must be a way…’ How’s that baby of yours? Balling yet?”

“I got her a little basket, attaches to the side of the crib. Amy made me take it down. Apparently it’s a quote-unquote ‘strangulation hazard.’ ”

Nwodo clucked her tongue. “That woman, where are her priorities? You know, I got a present for you sitting in my trunk. I went by your place. Some dude answered the door.”

“We moved to Berkeley a little while ago.”

“Nice.”

“Cheaper.”

“Since when is Berkeley cheaper than anywhere?”

“We’re renting from a friend of Amy’s parents. She’s giving us a deal. Saving up for a down payment.”

“Aw, my boy’s growing up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to wonder if we’ll survive that long. There’s one bedroom where the baby sleeps. Amy and I are on a futon next to the kitchenette.”

“You can’t stay with family?”

“Tried that. After two weeks it became a quote-unquote ‘strangulation hazard.’ ”

Nwodo laughed. “Invite me over for dinner. I’ll give you the present then.”

“Sounds good. Hey, so: I just got off the phone with Peter Franchette.”

“No kidding.”

“He called me up wanting to know about this body at People’s Park. He had an idea it might be his long-lost sister.”

“Is it?”

“Doubtful. Wrong age. He sounded wound up, though. Said you sent him my way.”

“Hold up,” she said. “That’s not what happened.”

She’d last seen Franchette back in March, at her father’s seventieth birthday party. Royal Nwodo had built his first fortune bringing internet service to Ghana, and with that money, several subsequent fortunes. It was a running joke that Delilah’s job was just for fun.

“You know how your GPS reroutes you around traffic?” she said. “Franchette wrote the software that replaces the new route. My dad was an early backer.”

At the party, she and Franchette got to schmoozing. She told him about the murder she’d recently wrapped, a case I helped out on. By that point in the evening everyone had a few glasses of wine in them. Franchette, whom Nwodo thought of as a buttoned-up sort of guy, started opening up to her about his own personal mystery, a sibling he’d never met.

“How’d I come into it?”

“Man, I don’t know. I was listening with half an ear. He’s going on about how he keeps getting stuck, the cops won’t take him seriously.”

“Can’t imagine where he’d get that impression.”

“You know how it is,” she said. “People are always dropping their baggage on me. Either that, or they freeze up like I’m going to pull out a warrant. It’s like: I truly do not care if you shoplifted in sixth grade…Anyway, I probably said something along the lines of, ‘You should meet my friend Clay, this is right up his alley.’ ”

“Thanks so much.”

“Like I said, wine. I didn’t think he’d follow up. It was months ago, I figured he forgot about it.”

“I guess hearing about the park reminded him.”

“You say it’s unrelated, though.”

“Unless we’re off the mark on age. Or he is. Either way, I ain’t about to get his hopes up.”

“Too bad. He’s a decent guy.”

“He offered me money.”

Nwodo started to laugh again. “No he did not. How much?”

“We didn’t get that far. To be fair, I don’t think he meant it as a bribe. More an honest mistake. Like he’s used to solving problems with a credit card.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you could.”

“If of the century,” I said. “Good to hear your voice, Delilah.”

“You too. Text me your address so I can bring you that present.”

“Will do.”

“Seriously, though,” she said. “You might want to talk to Peter, get his story. It’s actually pretty interesting.”

“I thought you were listening with half an ear.”

“Half of mine,” she said, “beats two of yours.”

—

THE CRIME LAB report on DNA from the infant’s tooth stated that the donor was two point nine trillion times more likely to have been Caucasian than black or Asian. Not that we needed additional proof, but it felt good to have science in our corner.

The report also stated that the individual was male. As a courtesy to Nwodo, I briefly flirted with calling Peter Franchette to give him the bad news. I didn’t think it would help. Either he’d taken me at my word, in which case I’d be rubbing in his disappointment. Or he hadn’t, in which case a piece of paper would do little to change his mind.

What about lab error he’d say. What about sample contamination? I’ll pay for a retest.

I sent a note to the UCPD detective, Nieminen, and forwarded the profile for entry into the various state and national DNA databases.

With no reason to go to People’s Park, I’d stopped monitoring the situation there, assuming that the protest had gone the way of most causes in our short-attention-span age: out with a whimper.

I was surprised, then, to pass by a few days later, en route to my in-laws’ to drop off the baby, and notice the site quiet. No chugging machinery, no swarms of men in hard hats and reflective vests. The closest thing to a sign of life was a line of people sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk along Haste, holding cardboard signs.

$HAME ON UC

PROTECT NATIVE LANDS—SAVE OUR PARK

GREEDY DEVELOPERS OUT OF BERKELEY

They weren’t chanting, just staring into the distance, stolid and grave, as though they’d fused to the concrete.

The next surprise met me in the squad room that evening: the unit captain, waiting at my cubicle.

“Deputy,” she said. “Can I steal you for a minute?”

Rarely did Noreen Bakke leave her perch on the fourth floor, and never for a grunt such as myself. I managed to shoot a look at Moffett, who gave a micro-shrug and put his head down. “Yes, ma’am.”

In the elevator she said, “How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Just fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, Deputy. I know how it is.”

“We’re hanging in there,” I said.

A small frown. She seemed to want an admission of weakness.

“Tired, no doubt about it,” I added.

“Lieutenant Hambrick tells me you weren’t able to piece together much time off.”

“I appreciated his flexibility, ma’am.”

“Night shift’s working out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

“No, ma’am. Not at all.”

“It’ll be quick,” she said. “Quick as you make it.”

Waiting in her office was the day’s third surprise.

Sitting half-twisted—one arm thrown carelessly back—in all his coiffed, glen plaid glory, was University of California, Berkeley, executive vice chancellor George Greenspan.

He stood to pump my hand.

“Clay. Good to see you again.”

“Have a seat,” Captain Bakke said.

I took the remaining chair.

“I went and checked out your stats,” Greenspan said. “Either I was being forgetful, or you were being modest. You were one hell of a point guard.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How’d you—” he began.

End up here.

“—choose this path,” he settled on.

“I wanted to serve my community,” I said. “The best way I knew how.”

Greenspan smacked his thighs. “That is wonderful. Let me tell you: I’ve been at this game for thirty years, and that kind of attitude is something we could do with more of. A lot more. Not to take anything away from our kids. We need our doctors and our lawyers and our entrepreneurs. I don’t begrudge anyone that. You’re the first in your family to go to college? Go ahead. Spread your wings. We support you, one hundred percent. That is a core part of our mission.”

He paused expectantly.

“Yes, sir.”

“At the same time, when I came up, there was this feeling—I realize how corny it must sound to the contemporary ear—but we had a certain sense of togetherness. It was in the air. We understood that we would sink or swim as one, and that each of us was going to have to work a little, and give a little.”

“ ‘Ask not what your country can do for you,’ ” Captain Bakke said.

“That’s right,” he said. “Although you’re not old enough to know that.”

She smiled obligingly.

“Anyway,” Greenspan said, “take it from a geezer. I look around today—not just at our kids, but at the wider society—I can’t escape the feeling that something’s missing. A national shortage of…I don’t know. Call it civic duty. Between you and me, I replace the prevailing attitude to be a little selfish, and more than a bit frightening. So I’m glad to hear we’re on the same page, you and I.”

I said, “Thank you, sir.”

It was the prudent thing to say. Same question at a party? I’m going to give a very different answer.

“Which is why”—his pensiveness curdled into annoyance—“it pains me, in a way that these self-proclaimed ‘community activists’ cannot begin to understand, to be accused of attempting to take advantage of that community. Our sole aim in building is to increase the housing stock and alleviate the strain on our students, and by extension on the city as a whole. It’s basic supply and demand. Three thousand dollars for a studio? Not when you’re the first in your family to go to college. They’re hurting the very groups they claim to protect. But.”

He sighed. “Neither here nor there. Point is, there’s a lot of emotional steam built up around this issue that needs to be vented off. The chancellor also feels it’s important to amplify that the status of the remains is not, ultimately, UC’s decision. We’re merely accepting your ruling.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the Coroner’s Bureau or me personally.

“The idea came up to hold a panel,” Greenspan said. “Allow the public to air concerns and ask questions in a venue that’s safe and constructive.”

“Pardon my saying so, sir,” I said. “It’s within your rights to go ahead. I’d think you’d be concerned about legitimizing the opposition.”

“That’s a fair point, an excellent point.” Greenspan grinned at the captain. “You can see why I thought of him.” To me: “What’s on my mind is the history, and what we can learn from it. We don’t need a repeat of the stadium fiasco.”

Said fiasco was a two-year-long tree sit-in. “No, sir, I’m sure you don’t.”

“What was missing from that process was transparency. Since day one I’ve been adamant that we need to be open, in order to get public opinion on our side. In point of fact they’re on our side already, they just need to be made aware of it. There’s this notion floating around that the same support exists for keeping the park as did twenty-five years ago. But that’s mistaken. We’ve done extensive polling. Overwhelmingly folks want it gone. But they also don’t want to feel like we’ve sneaked in in the middle of the night and stolen the socks off their feet. You see what I mean? From an informational standpoint, we need to put this to bed. Include a multiplicity of perspectives—legal, academic, medical, tribal, policy-oriented. A united front, so that everyone can see how deeply in the minority the opposition is.”

The captain said, “The sheriff has asked us to send a representative.”

Why me.

“I’m flattered, ma’am. Thank you.”

“See,” Greenspan said. “This is a guy who plays ball.”

I said, “Wouldn’t you prefer someone more qualified, though?”

“On the contrary, I think you bring a unique point of view. You’re a Cal alum, and a prominent one at that.”

“Nobody remembers me, sir.”

He turned to Bakke. “There he goes, being modest again. You said it yourself, Clay: You’ve chosen to serve the community in this…unique way. You’ve got expertise. You’re used to performing under the microscope. Plus the captain tells me you have experience with educational programming.”

Confused, I looked at Bakke.

“The school group visits,” she said. “You used to help out with those, didn’t you?”

“Those were tenth graders, ma’am.”

“These folks waving signs,” Greenspan said, “they’re basically kids, too.”

“All I did was set up the classroom. The sergeant did the talking.”

“You won’t be up there alone,” Bakke said. “Dr. Bronson has agreed to participate.”

“What about Professor Szabla?”

“I don’t think we can rely on Ralph to play nice,” Bakke said. “I appreciate it, Clay. The sheriff wanted me to let you know that he appreciates it, too. He’d do it himself if he could. We discussed it with Media Relations, and everyone agrees you’re the best fit.”

Greenspan said, “Of course they do. We’re shooting for a balance of authority and accessibility.”

And expendability.

Captain Bakke said, “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. We should replace some ways to accommodate you, going forward.”

Behold, a carrot for the Sacrificial Lamb.

I could see now why she preferred me exhausted and needy.

“When is this happening?” I asked.

“Splendid,” Greenspan said, smacking his thighs again. “One week from yesterday. You’ll meet with our team and be given ample time to prepare. Although the longer we wait, the more entrenched falsehoods get. Already some joker’s filed for an injunction. Misinformation travels fast.”

The captain gave a weary nod.

“So.” Greenspan smiled. “Are we feeling good about this?”

I said, “Go Bears.”