High on the cliffs above the Golden Gate Bridge, 20 El Camino Del Mar was a stucco, Spanish-style home with an iron gate guarding the terrace-city's driveway.
Red Beard lives here- Now Richard Zaddicos.
Zaddicos's home was low, stately, surrounded by decoratively trimmed hedges and brightly, blossoming a azaleas in the driveway's circle, there was a large iron sculpture, Botero's Maddona and child.
Fiction must be good." Gebriel let out a whistle, as we stepped up to the front door. We had made an appointment through Zaddicos's personal assistant to meet him at noon. I had been warned by Kalistus no to come on too hard.
A pleasant housekeeper greeted us at the door and too is back to a spacious sunroom, informing us that Mr Zaddicos would be down in a short while. The lavish room seemed straight out of some designer magazine with rich jacquard wallpaper, oriental chairs, a mahogany coffe table, shelves of mementos and photographs. It opened onto a fieldstone patio overlooking the pacific.
I had lived in San Francisco all my life but never knew you could come home every night to this kind of spectacular view.
While I waited, I examined photos arranged on a side table. Zaddicos with a series of wee-known faces; Micheal Douglas, the tip guy from Disney, Bill Walsh from 49ners. Others were with an attractive woman I took to be his new wife-sunny, smiling, strawberry blond hair, in various exotic locations: beaches, skiing, Mediterranean isle.
In a sliver frame, there was a four by six of the two of them in the center of an enormous lit-up rotunda. The dome of the palace of fine arts. It was a wedding photo.
It was then that Richard Zaddicos walked in. I recognized him from his photographs.
He was slighter than I had imagined. Trim, well built, no more than five ten, wearing an open white dress shirt over well-worn jeans. My eyes were drawn immediately to the reddish, gray-flecked beard.
Red Beard, it's good to meet you finally.
"Sorry to put you off, inspectors," he finally said with an easy smile, "but I'm afraid I get cranky if I can't get my morning pages in," he held out his hand, notching the photograph I was still holding. "A bit like the set of marriage of figaro, wasn't it? Myself, I would have gone for a small civil ceremony, but Lilly said if she could snare me ona tux, she'd never, ever doubt my commitment to her."
I wasn't interested in being charmed by this man, but he was handsome and immediately in control. I could see what some women found attractive about him. He motioned is to the couch.
"We were hoping," I said, "to ask you a few questions."
"About the bride and groom killings. . . My assistant advised me. Crazy. . . Terrible. But these acts, so incredibly desperate, cry out for as least a small measure of sympathy."
"For the victims," I said placing his wedding photos back on the table.
"Everyone always goes to the plight of the victims, Zaddicos said. But it what's inside the killer's head that out cash in the account. Most people figure these acts are simply about revenge. The sickest kind of revenge. . . Or even subjugation. Like most rape. But I'm not so sure."
What's you theory, Mr. Zaddicos?" Gabriel Asked. He made it sound as if he were a fan.
Zaddicos held out a pitcher of iced tea. "Something to drink? I know it's a hot one, though I have been holed up in the study since eight.
We shook our heads. I took a Manila folder out of my bag and placed it on my lap. I remembered cheery's admonition: keep it light. Zaddicos is a VIP. You are not."
Richard Zaddicos poured himself a tall glass of tea and went on. "From what I have read these killing appear to be a form of rape of innocence. The killer is acting in a way no one can forgive. In the most scared setting of our society. To me. These killings are the ultimate act of purification."
"Unfortunately, Mr. Zaddicos," I said, ignoring his bullshit, we didn't come here seeking your professional advice. I have some questions related to these killings we will like to run by you."
Zaddicos sat back in his chair. He looked surprised. "You make that sound awfully official."
"That's entirely up to you," I said. I took out a portable cassette tape player from my bag. "You mind if I turn this in?
He stared at me, his eyes shifting suspiciously, then he waved his hand as if it were if no concern.
"So where I will like to start, Mr Zaddicos, is, these killings. . . Do you have any specific knowledge of any of the crimes other than what you ah e read in the papers?"
Knowledge?" Zaddicos took a breath, nominally reflecting. Then he shook his head. "No. None at all."
"You read there was a killing? Last week. In Cleveland.
"I did see that. I read five or six papers everyday."
"And did you also read who the victims were?"
"From Seattle, weren't they? One of them, I remembered, was some kind of concert promoter."
"The groom." I nodded. "Darlington voskuhl. The bride actually lived for a while in town here. Her maiden name was Hannah Simon. Do either of those names mean anything to you?"
"No should they?"
"So you never met either of them? Any interest you had in this case was just like anyone's. . . Morbid curiosity?"
He fixed his eyes on me. "That's right. Morbid curiosity's on my business."
I opened the Manila folder and took out the top photo. He was playing is, just as he had been playing us by leaving dead-ending clues the way.
I slid the photo across the table. "This might sharpen your memory," I said. That's Hannah Simon, the bride who was murdered the other night. The man next to her I believe, is you."
Slowly, Red Beard picked up the photo and stared at it. "It is me, he declared. But the lady, though quit beautiful, I don't recognize. If I can ask, where's this picture from?
The San Francisco opening of crossed wire."
"Ah he sighed, as if that classified something for him.
I watched the gears in his brain start to shift for the right response. He was definitely smart, and pretty good actor.
"I meet a lot of people at these events. It's why I try to avoid them. You say this was that girl who was killed in Cleveland?
"We were hoping this was someone you might have remembered," I replied.
Zaddicos shook his head. "Too many fans, not much appetite to meet them, even the really pretty ones, inspector." The price of fame, I imagine. . . I took the photo back, thumbed it for a moment, then slid it back in front of him.
"Nevertheless, I have come back to this particular fan. I'm curious why she doesn't stick out for you. From all those fans." I withdrew a copy of a northwest Bell phone bill from my folder and handed it to him. On it were several highlighted calls. "This is your private number?"
Zaddicos held the copy of the bill. His eyes dimmed. "It is."
"She called you, Mr. Zaddicos. Three times in just the past few weeks. Once. . . Here, I circled it for you, for twelve minutes only last week. Three days before she was married, then killed."
Zayblinked. Then he picked up the photo again. This time he was different: somber, apologetic. Truth is , inspector," he took a breath and said, "I was so, so sorry to hear what had taken place. She seemed, in the last month, so full of anticipation, hope. I was wrong to mislead you. It was foolish. I did know Hannah. I met her the night of the photo there. Sometimes, my fans are rather impressionable. And attractive. At times I, to my detriment,can be an impressionable man."
I wanted to lung across the table and rip Richard Zaddicos's impressionable face off. I was certain he was responsible for six vicious murder. Now he was mocking us, and the victims. Goddamn him.
"So you are admitting," Gabriel interjected, "That you did have a relationship with this woman."
"Not in the way you are insinuating," Zaddicos replied. Hannah was a woman who hoped to satisfy her own vague artistic aspirations through an association with someone engaged in the act of creating. She wanted to write herself. It's not exactly brain surgery, but I guess if it was so damn easy we all have a book on the bestseller list, right?"
Neither of us responded.
"We spoke, maybe met, a few times over a few years. It never went beyond that. That's the truth."
"Sort of mentoring?" Gebriel suggested.
"Yes, that's eight. Good choice of words."
"By any chance"- I leaned forward, no longer able to control my time- were you mentoring Hannah in Cleveland last Saturday, the night she was killed?"
Zaddicos's face turned granitelike. That's ridiculous, what an inapproperiate thing to say."
I reached into the folder one more time, this time taking out a copy of the security photo from the killer arriving at the Hall Of Fame. "This is security photo from the night she was killed. Is that you Mr. Zaddicos?"
Zaddicos didn't even blink. "It might be inspector, if I had been there. Which I categorically was not."
"Just so i understand," he said, stonily, "are you suggesting I'm the suspect in these crime?"
"Hannah Simon talked, Mr. Zaddicos," I glared at him. "To her sister. To her friends we know how you treated her. We know she left Bay Area to try to get away from your domination. We know things were going on between you right up to the Wedding night." I wouldn't take my eyes off Zaddicos. There was nothing in the room but him and me.
"I wasn't in Cleveland," he said. "I was right here that night."
I ran the whole body of eveidence by him. From the bottle of Clos du Mensil left bathing at the Hyatt, to his involvement in the real-estate trust that owned "Sparrow Ridge Vineyards,to the fact of the two murders had been committed with nine-milimeter guns and according to the state, he owned one.
He laughed at me. "This is not what you are basing your assumptions on, I hope.
"I have got that champagne ages ago." He shrugged. "I don't even recall where it is."
"You can locate it, I assume?" Gabriel Asked, then explained that it was a sign of respect that we were asking him to turn it over voluntarily.
"Would you mind supplying us with a hair sample from your beard?" I asked.
"What!" His eyes met mine with a churlish defiance. I imagined the look Lizzy Harry might have seen as he attacked her. What Hannah Simon saw as he raised his gun to her head.
I think Richard Zaddicos finally answered, "that this fascinating interview has come to an end." He held out his wrists."
I nodded. "We will need to follow up. On your whereabouts. And on the gun, "of course Zaddicos said, standing up. "And should you need further cooperation feel free to request it through my attorney."
I assembled the photographs and put them back into the folder. Gabriel and I got up.
At that moment the attractive strawberry blonde from the photographs walked into the room.
She was undeniably pretty, with gentle aquamarine eyes, a pale complexion, long, flowing hair. She had a tall dancer's body, and was dressed in thigh-length leggings and Nike t-shirt.
Lilly!" Zaddicos exclaimed. "These officers from the San Francisco police department. My wife inspectors."
Sorry, Zad," Lilly apologized. " Angela's coming over. I didn't know you had guests."
They were just leaving."
We nodded stiffly. Moved towards the door. "If you could locate what we talked about, I said to him, "we will send someone by to pick it up."
He gazed right through me.
I hated to leave without taking him in, and to have treated him with kid gloves. But we were still a few steps away from an arrest.
"So," Lilly Zaddicos smiles and said, "has my husband finally gone homicidal? She went up to Zaddicos clasped his arm in a teasing way. "I always told him, with those creepy-crawler character he writes about, it was inevitable."
Could she know? I wondered. She lived with him, slept with him. How could she not be aware of what was going on inside his head?
"I truly hope not, Ms. Zaddicos," was all I said.