Brady had said what they’d all been thinking—that if Kennedy had motive and a gun, he could have gotten into the car with Faye Farmer, shot her, then walked home. He would never have been missed at his free-floating party.
If he had a motive. If he had a gun.
They still had no idea how Faye Farmer’s body had left the morgue and if the theft had anything to do with her murder.
The three had parted, driving away in separate cars.
There was almost no traffic downtown, and Rich drove from the Embarcadero Center through North Beach and Pacific Heights without catching a single light. From the Richmond he crossed the Panhandle on his way to the apartment he shared with Cindy on Kirkham.
As he drove, he thought about Jeff Kennedy’s story about his last fight with Faye Farmer, and understood how frustrated the man had been with the woman he loved.
He and Cindy had also been fighting. He said she was inconsiderate. She said that he was. He thought she’d changed. She shrugged, said, “Maybe I have.”
He wanted comfort and affection when he came home. And maybe some good sex once in a while.
She said, “I’m busy,” and “I’m tired.”
Rich grabbed his cell from the passenger seat, speed-dialed Cindy, and when she didn’t answer their home phone, he called her cell.
“It’s me,” he said when she answered. “Where are you?”
He could hear background noise, dishes clattering, and the muffled roar of shouted conversation.
“Susie’s,” she said.
Susie’s. Where the “girls” meet to eat. Also blow off steam, commiserate, and do some problem solving, too. Maybe they could solve his problem.
He said to Cindy, “We’ve got a bad connection,” then clicked off.
He reversed his direction, headed east on Oak to Van Ness, and then turned onto Broadway. He was steaming the entire time. Cindy hadn’t told him she was going out. He’d had a day he would’ve liked to have told her about. He would have enjoyed seeing her face across the dinner table.
Ten minutes after he hung up with Cindy, Rich parked the car on Sansome and walked a couple of blocks to the corner of Jackson. The light coming through the windows of Susie’s brightened the sidewalk and made him think of food.
He pushed open the front door and walked into the Caribbean-style café and its welcoming ambience—steel drums, the pungent smell of spicy food, and the good feel of conversation bouncing off the walls.
The hostess had her back to him and he didn’t wait for her to turn around. He broke through the bar crowd in the front room, made his way along the narrow passageway, and walked past the pickup window, where he sidestepped a waitress with a loaded tray.
When he got to the back room, he saw Cindy, Claire, and Yuki at their favorite booth. Cindy’s blond hair was curled tight from the rain. It looked like a halo around her sweet face.
He said, “What’s today’s special?”
Cindy looked up and he kissed her.
She didn’t look happy to see him.
Chapter 43
CINDY COULDN’T BELIEVE that Richie had appeared without warning and was looming over her. He leaned down and kissed her and Cindy accepted his kiss, but she was pissed, giving him the eye that clearly told him so.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Hey, Claire. Yuki. I haven’t eaten. Cindy, I’m starving. What’s good here?”
Rich swung into the banquette, squeezed in next to Cindy.
“The pulled pork is tasty,” Yuki said.
“This seat is taken,” Cindy said, pointing to the half-full beer mug at Rich’s right hand.