The Nitrogen Murder(94)

“Well, it should be.”



On Friday morning, the day before the wedding, I had a voice message from Rose, who’d sent a lovely set of linens as a shower present. I knew she’d want a complete description of the party. I tried to remember the menu (mushrooms plus an outstanding seven-layer cake were all I could recall), what everyone wore (California casual), what the other gifts were (general household merchandise, boring as it sounded). I wished I’d taken notes.

Catholic guilt took over my mind, and I decided to dig out and look over the police report Rose had sent me on the exploding hearse, so I could sound as though I cared. After all, I thought, Rose is the person I’ll be living near whenever I’m not on vacation in California.

I scanned the report, stopping at a mention of nitrogen, my current favorite element. Apparently the uniform who wrote up the incident decided to include a tutorial on the workings of explosives. I read his description.

Most bombs are like fireworks. They contain nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon, I read. When the molecules containing these atoms decompose, carbon dioxide and nitrogen gases are released quickly and with great energy, making the explosion.

Not bad, I decided, and figured that passage was probably the reason Rose wanted me to see the report.

“That was one thing,” Rose said, when I reached her. “And I also wanted you to see that list down at the bottom, where the police catalogued the other incidents that they felt were from the same perps. See, I just didn’t want you to think I was crazy.”

I looked at the sheet of paper with the familiar letterhead. At the very bottom was a list of what the RPD had called “similar pranks,” some of which I’d already heard from Rose. Like the switched clothing. My eyes settled on a new one to me.

Deceased had tennis ball stuffed in mouth.

“A tennis ball?” I asked, fishing around my mind for a connection I knew was there.

“Yes,” Rose said. “Didn’t I tell you that one? That was at O’Neal’s, too. Someone came in the middle of the night and evidently went into the parlor and stuffed a tennis ball in the deceased’s mouth. Imagine when his family came in for the viewing—”

“Thanks, Rose,” I said. “You’ve just become part of the Berkeley homicide team.”



“It was there all along,” I said.

“The tennis connection,” Matt said. He’d already made the trip to the Berkeley PD, as the official liaison for the team. “Robin hanging out with the rich guys at the tennis club; Patel right there, recruiting for his cause.”

It hadn’t taken a long discussion for Matt and me to decide to inform Elaine, Phil, and Dana of this new development, for safety reasons first. Robin was still Dana’s roommate, after all.

Robin had been in charge all along, we realized. Working with Julia for money, as Dana figured out, and with Christopher and Patel for political reasons. She’d used her skills in finance to help Julia launder money, and her knowledge of international business procedures to help Patel manage his crimes against the country

“Well, Russell was impressed,” Matt said. “That’s something, huh? He said they were on it. They’ve already hit the bank where Robin works with a warrant. Since Robin thinks she’s clear, there shouldn’t be any problem finding her.”

“I knew something was going on in her mind, some real resentment about the way her father ended up,” Dana said. “It was like she blamed the government for what happened to the Vietnam vets.”

“Many people did,” I said.

“But why would she think India was any better?” Dana asked, apparently still trying to make sense of things.

“Not everyone thinks things through,” Matt said.

I had a few things to add, but I could see that Dana was satisfied with that.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Friday night, the wedding eve, at last. We gathered at the viewing patio at the top level of the Rose Garden. The sunset vista was perfect in all directions, from the hills of Marin County straight ahead of us to Richmond on one side and Oakland on the other.

Time for the rehearsal, the official start of the wedding celebration. We were so close to having this wedding come off with no more disasters, I thought I should be breathing easily, but instead I was tense as we walked down the stone steps. The tennis courts off to the side of the garden reminded me of Robin, and I half expected her to jump from behind a lovely bush and attack us all.

I scanned the sparse crowd of people in the garden, some paying attention to us, others wandering among the rows of shrubs, lost in their own conversations or meditations. No one was threatening the bridal party. Relax, I told myself, but I kept my shoulders stiff and my gaze alert.