The Dark Room(50)

“I know I don’t like that second gunshot,” Cain said. “There’s that.”

“You had an explanation—he didn’t know for sure the gun would fire. He pulls the trigger, waits a minute to get his nerve back up, and then pulls it again.”

“I’d like to see what Dr. Levy has to say.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Fischer said. “I want to hear that too. I don’t want to close the book until we get to the end.”

“Even if it’s a suicide, we still have questions.”

“Sure we do,” Fischer said.

“Who sent the note? Who’s the girl—and what happened to her? If Castelli shot himself, does it mean he was involved?”

Fischer caught a red light at Park Presidio. The spot of blue sky Cain had seen a minute ago was gone. They were both still wet from standing in the Petrovics’ backyard, and Fischer twisted the heater knob to its limit.

“Those reporters crawling everywhere—Even if Mona hasn’t called Alexa, she’s got to know by now,” Cain said.

“Hell of a way to find out your dad died.”

“You haven’t met Alexa yet.”



They parked around the corner from Alexa’s school, the Academy of Art, and walked the block and a half to the address they’d gotten. She lived on New Montgomery, which happened to be across the street from her mother’s temporary home, the Palace Hotel. They were on the wrong side of the street and had to wait for a gap in the traffic before they could cross.

He’d lived in an apartment the last three years he’d been in college, at San Francisco State. That was a third-floor walkup with bars on the windows. Eight hundred a month, with a roommate. He learned to sleep through sirens.

Alexa’s building was a different story.

There’d been a recent renovation, but outwardly it held on to its roots. It could have been mistaken for an Edwardian-era bank, but Cain knew it had actually been the headquarters of a newspaper, theSan Francisco Call. The building’s street number was displayed on a polished bronze cartouche above the oversize glass and wrought-iron door, each side flanked with an imperial crown. The lobby beyond the entrance was two floors high; behind the glass, a chandelier hung far above the floor, its lights glowing against the midafternoon gloom.

The doorman, if there was one, was drying off inside. Out on the sidewalk, next to one of the gray stone columns, a young woman watched the street. Tired-looking and too thin, she hugged her coat against her ribs. Cain recognized her first. He pulled Fischer back from the curb.

“Did Melissa Montgomery say she was meeting us here?” He pointed with a tilt of his head, then looked back into the Academy of Art so his face would be hidden.

“She just gave me the address, and that’s it. I told her we needed it but didn’t say when we were coming.”

“She must want to talk, face to face.”

“Let’s go see what she’s got to say.”

When the light changed on Market, there was a gap in the traffic and they crossed the street. Melissa saw them when they were halfway across and she came to the curb to meet them. Her hair was soaked from the rain. The drops were so small and it had been falling so lightly that she could only have gotten that wet by standing in it for hours.

“How long have you been out here?” Cain asked her.

“Since I heard—when I came to the office this morning, it was locked and there were cops. They wouldn’t let any of us in. They wouldn’t tell me—or they didn’t know. I finally saw something online at ten. I knew I’d find you here.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Cain asked. “You’ve got both our numbers.”

She looked away.

“Can we go into that Starbucks over there?” she asked. There was one directly adjacent to Alexa’s building. She’d probably been looking at it for hours, wanting to go in but afraid she’d miss Cain and Fischer when they arrived. “I’m freezing.”



They took a table near the window, so Cain could watch the street. Mona Castelli was just next door, at the Palace Hotel. Officer Combs had texted him ten minutes ago to say she was checked in. Room 8064, if he wanted to see her. What he really wanted was to see if she’d come for Alexa. If she did, Cain wondered what they’d say to each other.

“I was locked out of the office,” Melissa was saying. “But I could still get into the mailroom. I have an inbox there.”

She held her paper cup with both hands, was leaning toward it to breathe in the coffee’s warmth.

“What did you take?” Cain asked.

“I just looked inside. I wanted to make sure I knew what it was.”

She reached into her coat and brought out a nine-by-twelve clasped envelope. She set it on the small table between them. Out on the street, she’d been hugging herself, and now Cain understood why. She’d been holding the envelope to her chest, under her coat. Keeping it dry. Fischer looked at the front of the envelope but didn’t touch it.

“Look at the address,” she said. “Same wording, same font. It’s postmarked yesterday, from North Beach.”

“Who opened it?” Cain asked, turning to Melissa. “You?”

“Not me. It was open when I found it.”