Chapter 13 Section 12

When Anita Dong was questioned yesterday, she had reservations about what Grisky was eager to know, and this also allowed Grisky to fully understand the performances of Bracco and Fisk.So he ordered that they be prohibited from directly interviewing any of the other witnesses mentioned by Dong, especially not near Eric Kenson or anyone at Parnassus headquarters.Unless they discover new clues and find other witnesses, then they can make their own judgments.He also asked them to promptly report to the homicide squad every day on the status of the investigation, whatever the outcome. The captain has even suggested that, given their area of ​​expertise, it might be an efficient use of their time to have them visit some auto detailing shops and car washes, and track down suspicious vehicles that the patrols see in some businesses, institutions or communities. a way of.Fisk accepted the task more happily, as if he had been relieved.But as they drove here and there, carrying out their mission for hours in the endless rain, Bracco lost patience.

"Damn it! It's not a hit-and-run case anymore, Harlan! Griski's got us to do the research, and we'll probably break some eggs and make a pretty good omelette out of them. But I'm damned here Driving around all day in bad weather looking for a damn car. Anyway, that's not what killed him." They set out from the Justice Building and stopped at a red light on Van Ness Avenue near City Hall.Fisk curled up in a ball in the passenger seat, arms folded against the cold.He shook his head and said, "Grisky was talking about finding the car and not getting involved with Kenson."

"Okay then, but what about his wife? She got involved with Markham, you know how she got involved." This made Fisk feel uncomfortable. "I don't know. It has everything to do with Kenson. Don't you think so? Besides, where does she live?" "On Anza Street, behind USF. I have her address." "How did you get it?" "I called the information inquiry center and asked." He turned to his colleague and smiled. "Believe it or not, I found it. She lives about four blocks from Caesar Avenue." Marsonic. I even went down there as a hunchback and checked it out. It's true. Have you ever noticed how many doctors' wives are nurses? I said let's go talk to her."

Fisk dismissed the proposal, but after a while, he regained his airs. "You remember the night you drove me to the Daddy's, don't you? I mentioned the case to my Aunt Cassie, and she said that all of Parnassus' troubles had become the real age of Nancy Ross. A quicker piece of heart disease. She feels sorry for her." "Who is Nancy Ross?" "Malachy Rose's wife." "I don't know Malachy Ross," Braco admitted. Fisk forced a slight smile. "With Markham dead," he said, "Parnathes is in his charge now. Didn't you read 'Talk of the City' today? It was very interesting."

"Did you become a policeman in front of me, Harlan? Did your aunt know his wife?" "Quite familiar, I think. She knows everybody." "This is a useful situation." Bracco pointed out, "and we are just talking about this time, the city hall is visible on the right hand side." He suddenly made up his mind and parked the car on the side of the road , "Let me go over and say hello to your aunt." From the looks of it, Casey West and her nephew don't share any genetics.Maybe, Braco thought, she was just the wife of a family member related to Harlan.Fifty-five or six-year-old, coupled with his unsmiling expression, demeanor between movement and movement, petite frame, and short gray hair, made Darrell Braco only think of sparrows when facing her —a sparrow with a friendly attitude and a bright mind.

The municipal supervisor's office is on the second floor, small and tidy, but very comfortable.Inside was an old desk with built-in bookshelves and a row of windows on the west-facing wall.Her nephew and his partner showed up at her office unexpectedly, but it didn't seem like an intrusive gesture to her.She greeted them warmly, then ordered her well-dressed and courteous administrative assistant named Peter to bring over some cups of coffee. After a few minutes of brief pleasantries and a cursory look at her workspace—a small bedroom with a desk each, a cramped library, and an archive—when When the coffee arrived, she closed the office door behind them, and everyone took their seats. "So," she began, "I guess you've come to me to say something about Parnassus. Isn't that what the 'Talk of the City' column is doing? I don't know about Malachy Ross. How should I face his employees today and keep my mouth shut about the matters of the board of directors. Hmm..." She looked forward to getting an answer in her eyes, and stopped before she finished speaking.

Bracco acted as a temporary spokesperson. "Harlan said you knew Mrs. Ross. I wonder if you could tell us something about her before we go and talk to her." "Why do you want to talk to her? Don't you believe she's not a suspect at all?" Fisk responded bluntly: "Our intention was that you could give Capt. Griski a call and get him to hold back. This is the first real case we've had, and I think he wants us to wait Work on the periphery and don't startle any important witnesses with childish questions." "Parnassus may be part of the motive, if there is a motive." Braco said this in a confident tone, as if he had done this kind of thing hundreds of times before.

"Nancy, Rose?" West asked. "Was she there when Markham died? She was supposed to be in the hospital, wasn't she?" "She's not a suspect," Fisk reiterated, "We're just interested in Parnassus' personal connections—if you will. We want to know about those involved in the game, and it would be nice if we could find something .” "Well..." she put down her coffee mug, "I don't really know Malachy Rose very well, although we've met a few times in the interim. Nancy, in other words, I know her pretty well. She's a sweetheart." I mean, socially, she's very active. She also volunteers with the Drama Council, the Kidney Foundation, and several other medically-related charities." West narrowed his eyes slightly , "I can also tell you that she is also a friend of mine in politics. So I'm afraid I'm not going to be a good source of negative news about her."

"We're not looking for anything negative about her," Braco assured her.With all the tainted evidence he longed for in his head, this wasn't the place to ask that question. "By the way, is she a nurse?" West shook his head in the negative. "I don't think Nancy ever made a living for herself—I mean any real work. She never had to. She was born with money." "Even her husband was like this when he was young? Didn't he help out with the family?" Braco asked. Upon hearing this, West laughed. "When her husband was young, Agent, Nancy was a child. She was Dr. Ross's second wife. I'd be surprised if she was over thirty-five." A shadow flickered across her face. "None of her parents approved of her marriage. I remember hearing that the profession didn't bring in a lot of money. They couldn't accept that Nancy was an old man's trophy and completely disinherited her." .I mean her inheritance. As it turned out, that wasn't a big deal. Malachy's been very successful," she said, shaking her head sympathetically, "and the whole town knows it now. "

Harlan finally thought of a question. "Has she done anything with her husband? For Parnassus?" The overseer shook his head. "I don't really think so, there's nothing special about that company. But she's been doing some entertaining stuff, and I think that's part of his business in a way." "Has it always been like this?" Bracco asked. She nodded. "I don't understand how she does it, with the kids—she has twin girls, I think about six—but I think the nannies..." She paused for a moment, collecting the thoughts in her head. Thoughts like, "Going back to your question, she throws a really lavish party every other month, and some smaller things—charity events—two or three times a week."

Bracco knew little about this way of life, and didn't seem to have figured it out yet. "Is it like this most of the time?" "So to speak. As long as she's in the city." "Where do you go if you're not in the city?" "Well," she smiled, spreading her hands in front of her, "anywhere she wants to go, I think. They have another place—very nice, I've been there seven or eight times Thousands of square feet—right on the shore of Lake Tahoe. I also know that they—maybe she and her daughters—spend Christmas in Poplar City or Pleasure City. They have their own private jet, I believe." After coming out of City Hall, Darrell Braco and his partner trotted through the rain to his car, got in and sat in their seats.As Harlan buckled up next to him, he stared at him with wide eyes and said exaggeratedly, "My God!" "It's really rich," Fisk agreed, "It's really a rich man's life." "Do they have their own plane? I want my own plane too." "But how can you afford the gas to fly around?" "Yes, that's true." Braco drove into the traffic.The rain washed against the windshield in front of them. The rain was still falling, and it seemed that it had no intention of stopping.It was almost noon, and the sky was still as dark as dawn, and it didn't take long for Bracco's face to darken, which matched the sky outside very well. "But we know they're rich, don't we? I don't see what else we get out of it." Fisk pondered this for a while. "We also got a cup of coffee instead of staying at Ed's auto detailer." "At least that's it." The message, especially the welcome message from Fisk, is a good thing, they're finally working on a homicide worthy of the name, and not a hit-and-run vehicular case indistinguishable case.In fact the two are completely different.Now, without any substantive guidance from their superiors, their work is guided and driven by their own wisdom and instinct, and they can do whatever they think of.They were gathering disjointed information, most of which had little to do with the case itself, strictly speaking.But some of them may be very important - you won't know until you know how things turn out. The two didn't discuss it, and Braco drove the car west to Caesar Avenue, heading for Ankensen's residence.Fisk sat next to him concentrating on something, passed two blocks in silence, and then suddenly said, "Darrell." "Ok?" "How much does an airplane cost, do you think?" "I guess it's one of those things you don't have to ask, you can't afford it." But his partner's behavior today is completely confusing.Something had set his mind on fire, and now he was clearly following his train of thought. "No, not that. I mean its maintenance costs alone—hangar rent, fuel, monthly expenses, insurance." "I don't know. I think it depends on where you store it, the size of the plane, etc. Why do you ask that?" Fisk shrugged. "I'm thinking about twelve million dollars. What a huge number." This was no problem for Darrell. "If I had 12 million, I'd spend my days in Costa Rica and on the beach. Where's that money going to come from?" "Ross can earn it in a year." Braco glared across the seat with extremely suspicious eyes, which aroused Fisk's rebuttal. "Hey, that's the number mentioned in the 'Talk of the City' in the newspapers, and there's nothing wrong with that. But my opinion isn't how much it is, but whether it's enough to spend." This made Bracco laugh. "Enough is enough, trust me." "Really? Two big houses, an ended marriage, which means living expenses to ex-wife and maybe child support. A new, young, party-loving, out-and-out wives, kids in private schools, employing people, private jets, going on vacation." "But that's twelve million." For a cop's son like Durrell, a million dollars was probably as much as a trillion dollars, both unfathomable sums Money, enough money for a lifetime. Obviously, this is different for Fisker. "Have you ever read a book called The Campfire of the Vanities?" "Is that the book? I think I saw the movie." "Yeah, well, the movie is based on that novel of the same name, but it was originally a novel. Anyway, there's a cool thing in that book, this guy checks off a list of expenses he spends money on, and shows the reader a It’s impossible to live on a million dollars a year, and that was ten years ago.” "He should call me," Braco said, "I can help him with this problem." "The point is," Fisk emphasized, "maybe we can apply what we just learned from Aunt Cathy. Instead of focusing on how rich Ross is, think about how rich he is." How poor, maybe that's the smarter thing to do. I mean, let's face it, if you spend a lot more than you earn, you're poor, right? It doesn't matter how much you earn. " They first stopped on Caesar Avenue and found out that Mrs. Kenson had taken sick leave to rest at home. It has been raining non-stop since last night, but now it is a different scene. Like the rainy season, it is almost close to the sea level and driven by strong winds. The raindrops hit the two stations in Ken On the agent on the Mori's front steps.She answered the door wearing thick gray socks, logo jeans, and a jumper with a red hood, giving Bracco the impression that she hadn't slept in days. Her shoulder-length blond hair was messed up and untouched, looking tired and haggard, but even that didn't take away from her charm.Especially her sunken eyes, large and striking, almost sky blue.He had never seen such beautiful eyes. Even after they introduced themselves and showed their police badges, Mrs. Kenson just stared at them in a daze.It wasn't until Bracco asked them if they could enter the house that she took a step back as if recovering, nodded and opened the door. "Sorry," she said ambiguously, and it took a while before closing the door behind them. The antechamber was dimly lit.They stood in the corner of the woven rug, dripping water from their bodies. "Maybe we should..." she said absently, but then she stopped and led them down a short hallway, then turned right into the kitchen. A pile of laundry was stacked on top of the table, so full that it fell to the floor.She lifted up the clothes beside the table and pulled out a stool from underneath.On the dining table were the same utensils from the morning—a carton of milk and a juice carton, two boxes of cereal, a battered plate with sliced ​​brown pears and bananas.Finally, her attention returned to the agent standing in the small, dank room. "Okay, what's the matter?" Startled eyes flicked back and forth between the two agents. Bracco pulled out his cassette player and set it on the dining table in front of her, cleared his throat, and gave his name, badge number, and interview time as a matter of routine.He hadn't thought about what he was going to say, or even thought about what kind of emotional state this woman would be in before opening the door.But he felt that, sooner or later, these words would make her throw them both out. "Mrs. Kenson, Tim Markham and you are lovers, aren't you?" She coughed lightly. "It used to be, but he broke it off. Twice." "why?" "Because he felt that doing this made him feel guilty about his family, especially because he didn't want to hurt his children. But he didn't love his wife anymore, so he kept coming back to me." "And he left you again? Is that so?" Braco asked. "Temporarily. He'll be back." "Then why did he leave you?" "Because he wants to try to get along with them again. Just do it again, he said." Fisk asked, "When did that happen?" "Last week. The second half of last week." "Are you okay with him doing that?" Bracco asked. "A decision about him?" "What can I do? I know . . . " Her eyes harden. "I know he'll come back to me eventually, as he always does. He loves me. I don't Understand why he has to put everyone through another torture. It goes on and on. I told him he should just get out and make it over." "The way you handle marriage?" Fisk asked. If she felt offended by this statement, then she would not say the following words again. "Yeah, like me. As soon as I realized I loved Tim and not Eric, I told him he had to move out. I was like, what's the big deal? I I don’t intend to live a life of self-deception.” Fisk glanced at his partner. "How did Carla know all this? Was it because he was away from home?" "He never left her," she corrected sharply. "I was always secondary." "But did she know about you? What happened after that?" "Yes, she threatened him - of course - that she was going to leave him and take all his money. He wouldn't get visitation rights for the kids. That's why he went back." "You mean the last time?" Fisk didn't wait for her to answer his partner's question before he spoke eagerly. "You also know that Carla and the children are dead?" She was silent for a moment before saying: "I saw the news, but I didn't see all of it. I'm not interested in her affairs. She has nothing to do with me." She was a little excited, provocative Looking up at them, "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't care what happens to her." Fisk raised his voice. "Maybe Kara hasn't accepted his change of heart? Maybe she's still messing with him?" She raised her voice suddenly and explosively. "Didn't you listen to me! I've already talked about this issue." The wind blew in gusts, and the big raindrops crackled against the kitchen windowpane. "He's going to tell her all the wrong things in his life and try to do it all over again. The bloody idiot!" "Did he actually tell her that?" Fisk asked. "Who knows! Does it matter now? I haven't seen him since he left me," she said sharply. "I don't know what he's done." "When did that happen?" Braco asked more gently, "When was the last time you saw him?" She slapped the dining table furiously. "Damn! I don't care! Didn't you hear me? The important thing is that I'm left here." She reached out her hand in despair and gestured around the messy and small kitchen, "It's right here, only myself Alone." Fisk suddenly asked unexpectedly: "Do you know that Mr. Markham was treated by your husband at Portola Hospital?" "Yes, I know. I've seen him since the incident." Her eyes suddenly became sharp, "Is it important?" "Markham has ruined your marriage and maybe he still has a grudge against him." "Yes, but so what?" She shook her head in annoyance, "This is something that happened two years ago, it's an old thing." The two agents exchanged glances. "Are you saying he's not bothered about it anymore?" Fisk asked. "Of course he's bitter. He didn't have the guts to hate Tim. He's always..." She hesitated. "Why did he get into this?" Fisk told her, "We're trying to find out who killed Markham, Mrs. Kenson. I guess you want to know about that too?" She narrowed her eyes and her expression became serious. "What do you mean, kill him? He was hit by a car." "No, ma'am, he was killed," Bracco said. "Don't you know about that?" Fisk asked sternly. "Didn't you read the paper this morning?" "Yes," she said with obvious sarcasm, "I drop the kids off at school and have the maid bring me newspapers, coffee, and sweets. She hasn't come to do the laundry yet. and clean up the dishes." She turned away from Fisk, turned to Bracco and asked, "You mean someone hit him on purpose?" Bracco shook his head in the negative. "It wasn't an accident," he said. "He was killed in the hospital. Someone gave him a potassium overdose." Her eyes began to panic. "I don't understand what you're talking about." Fisk took a step toward her. "You're a nurse yourself, don't you know what potassium is?" "Of course I know about that thing, but what does it have to do with Markham's death?" "That's what killed him," Braco replied. "It's true." Slowly, the news seemed to be working. "Are you in the hospital?" Then slowly, her mind seemed to go blank for a moment, and she stopped turning, and her face finally became distorted and ugly due to extreme anger. "That son of a bitch. That poor bastard!" She looked back and forth between the two agents, her gnashed voice full of unmistakable affirmation. "You can stop investigating," she said. "I know it's who killed him."