The Nitrogen Murder(73)

“Don’t you have her keys?” Elaine asked.

“Just this.” Matt produced a miniature blue-striped beach sandal hanging on a chain, along with a single key. “I’m sure Dana has another.”

“Why would she do that? Just sneak off.”

I felt Dana had had enough of us, but I didn’t express that to Elaine. “She probably needed some space” was how I put it. I thought it sounded holistic enough for a Berkeley native.



We sat in front of dried-out eggplant parmegiana, limp salad greens, and strained conversation, until Elaine called us to order.

“Okay, I’ve consumed about two thousand calories here. It’s time to come clean.”

Well, at least the food brought back her sense of humor, I thought.

We laid everything in front of Elaine, including the two Phils: one in Hawaii and one on Woodland Road. There was a way quantum mechanics could account for colocation, through the eigenstates of a system, but I knew it wasn’t the time for a modern physics lesson.

I could tell Elaine was running the possibilities through her mind. “He could have business in Hawaii,” she said finally, casting her vote against my first-rate evidence. “Did they tell you which hotel he checked into?” she asked Matt.

I had to admire my friend, keeping it together while asking my fiance what the police had reported on the whereabouts of her fiance.

Matt shook his head. I searched his face for signs of strain. The bags under his eyes were a permanent part of his Italian American look, I knew, so I wasn’t worried about them, and I calmed myself by remembering that his doctor had given him a referral to a Berkeley physician in case of emergency. “I think they quit at the airlines stage,” he told Elaine.

Elaine put her napkin aside and got up from the dining room table. “Excuse me, please. I need to make some calls.”

I followed her as far as the stairway and gave her a hug.

“I’m here,” I said.

I was sorry I had so little to offer.



Once again I was on my own.

I’d heard Elaine’s office door close, shutting me out of the e-mail and attachments that might be coming from the young PDA genius, William Galigani. I imagined her coursing through every hotel on the five Hawaiian Islands.

Matt had fallen asleep on the couch to a mellow jazz saxophone. He’d found a CD of the Monterey Jazz Festival among the collection Elaine’s old boyfriend Bruce had left behind.

It was a good thing my cell phone rang, to keep me from being bored. I picked up on the first ring, not to disturb Matt, and carried the phone to the empty kitchen, which still smelled of cooked tomatoes and oregano.

“Hello?” I said.

“Galileo?” A man’s voice.

I nearly knocked over a stack of dishes on the counter. I couldn’t be sure it was Phil. But who else? Even if someone else had heard the answering machine message I’d left at Patel’s phone number, he wouldn’t know who Galileo was. Or was I more transparent than I thought?

“Yes,” I said. A soft, quick answer, not wanting to wake Matt, and even less to betray my fear and ignorance of who was on the line.

“Come to the house. Alone.”

I held on to the phone with both hands and talked in a whisper. “What house?” As if I didn’t know. “Who is this?” As if I couldn’t guess.

But the line had gone dead.

I tried to remember my phone message to “Robert Boyle.” I’d referred to my cell phone number only, knowing that Phil had it—he’d used it to change the location of our lunch date. There was no question in my mind; the house was Patel’s, the caller Phil.

I told myself how foolish it would be for me to respond, unescorted, to such a message. Then I rationalized. How superb it would be if I got some valuable information, especially something that cleared Phil in all our minds. And if he meant to hurt me, surely there were easier ways to get to me than to lure me with a nebulous phone call.

I checked Elaine’s freezer. No ice cream. Good.

I walked upstairs and knocked on Elaine’s office door.

“I’m going out for a bit—we’re out of ice cream.” I talked quickly, hoping to sound desperate for dessert, with no time to chat.

“Oh, sorry, and thanks, Gloria. I’m plugging away here. We’ll have some ice cream when you get back.” Elaine seemed no more eager to chat than I was. “Was that your phone I heard?”

“Wrong number,” I said.



I drove to Woodland Road, my brain split between This is unwise; you’re going to be killed and What a lucky break; we can settle this and get back to the plans for the wedding. I never thought I’d long for chats about who would be seated with whom at the ten-person tables at Elaine and Phil’s wedding reception.