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“How’d she die?”
“Not there yet, Linds,” she said. “I know you’re thinking that we’ve seen this before. But unlike their doppelgangers, Jane’s neck wasn’t slashed.”
“What then?”
Claire threw a sigh.
“Look here. Discoloration at the sides of her neck and swelling at the back. The perp held a strong young mother, probably fighting back as best she could, long enough to kill. Whoever did this was strong.”
“Shit,” I said, picturing it.
Claire put a gloved hand on my arm and kept talking.
“There was no sign of sexual activity. And she was wearing these.”
She held up a plastic bag containing a wedding band and an engagement ring with a large diamond solitaire.
“No robbery. These’ll go to the lab tonight along with their clothes and the baby carrier,” Claire said. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket, tapped a message. Paused. Typed again.
“It’s Edmund,” she said, texting her husband. “I’m late.”
I said, “Another minute, Claire. Marin’s M.E. found a copy of Cindy’s book in Ralph Hammer’s car.
“It’s a long shot, but I asked Hallows to run it for any prints not belonging to Hammer. I asked pretty please.”
Claire looked at her watch, then at me. She said, “You want to know about the baby.”
“Yes.”
She lowered her chin and muttered,unh, unh. Dead kids come with the territory, but a mother of four, Claire always took young victims hard. I was right there with her.
“I don’t have much else, Linds. The X-rays show no broken bones on either victim. Baby Doe was smothered. This is not unique, not a signature. Babies are killed this way. I’ll show you the body tomorrow. Okay?”
I nodded, yes. I thanked Claire again and left her offices. I had just reached the Hall’s back door when Brady phoned me.
“I have to run out,” he said. “We got a hit from Missing Persons. Jane Doe’s name is Catherine Fleet. Her baby is Josephina. The Fleet family lives in Russian Hill. The husband,Brad Fleet, is in Interview One with Conklin and Alvarez. They’re waiting on you,” Brady said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
CHAPTER 23
I STOOD AT the glass in the observation room abutting Interview One. Conklin was questioning Brad Fleet, a fit man in his thirties with prematurely gray hair, wearing a rumpled tan suit. Even without sound, Catherine Fleet’s bereaved husband appeared devastated.
I dialed up the audio and quickly got the gist. Fleet had no idea what had happened to his wife and child, and pleaded with Conklin, “Whatever you need from me. Whatever you can do …”
That was my cue. I knocked on the door and Alvarez opened it wide, showing me in. I said, “I’m Lindsay. Sergeant Boxer, Mr. Fleet. Very sorry for your loss.”
He nodded his acknowledgment and said, “I still. Can’t believe this is real. I just can’t.”
I took the chair beside Fleet, who threw a long sigh before lifting his eyes to mine.
Conklin said, “Mr. Fleet. If you could tell Sergeant Boxer what you told us about the last time you saw Catherine and Josie.”
Fleet nodded, but he didn’t speak. I let the silence play out. Finally, he said, “Yesterday morning. I didn’t even say goodbye.” He whimpered, then said, “Are you sure it’s them. I haven’t seen their …” He took out his phone, showed me a picture of his wife and child. Vibrant. Laughing. Alive.
“It appears to be them. I’m very sorry,” I said. “Then, what can you tell me about yesterday morning?”
Fleet spoke haltingly as he recalled his last living memory of his wife and baby.
“Like I said, it was a Monday. Cath gets up like always and takes the baby out for a walk in Ina Coolbrith Park. Every day they come back to say goodbye before I leave for work. Yesterday, they didn’t. I had a strategy meeting …”
