Day One
July 21, 1952
Monday Evening
San Francisco was so exotic and atmospheric that Waverly could live there forever, starting right now. The trolley cars, the hills, the water, the bridges, the diversity, the fog, the harbors, the downtown skyline, it was all conspiring to make her stay.
Sean Waterfield didn’t see the need to leave Chinatown for dinner and took her to a place called the Hong Kong Clay Pot at 9th and Grant.
He looked nice.
Better than nice, actually.
“A woman named Kava Every used to work at your firm,” Waverly said.
Waterfield raised an eyebrow.
“That’s right. Do you know her?”
“She’s my cousin. That whole temp thing today, that was sort of unintended,” she said. “I came to town to see if I could find out what happened to her. That’s why I came to the firm, to see if anyone might know something.”
The words sunk in.
Waterfield’s face changed.
“So you aren’t really a temp?”
“No, but after you wanted me to get you food, well, you seemed nice so I figured, what the hell,” she said. “Then one thing led to another …”
Waterfield shook his head in amusement.
Then he got serious.
“Kava was a good person,” he said. “It was a damn shame, what happened to her.”
True.
“Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
Waterfield got a distant look.
“There’s one little thing,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s anything or not.”
“Tell me.”
He hesitated.
“Do you live in San Francisco?”
“No, Denver.”
“That’s a long ways off.”
Right.
It was.
“I’m actually thinking of moving here,” she said. “Trade the sunshine for fog.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to convince you to do it, let me know.”
“I will.”
He speared a shrimp, chewed and swallowed, washing it down with a sip of tea. “The cops talked to a number of us at Bristol after the fact. The theory was that it was a murder rather than an accident or suicide and that the murder was done by someone who knew her and knew her well, a boyfriend or lover to be precise. None of us at the firm knew anything about a boyfriend or lover.”
“So it was a dead end,” Waverly said.
“It was. Over the years it’s been gnawing at me. She was a vibrant woman. She wasn’t the kind of woman to not have a sex life. In hindsight, I think she was seeing someone in the firm. I think they were keeping it quiet to avoid complications.”
“Who was it?”
“Two people come to mind,” he said. “One is an associate architect named Brian Fernier.”
Waverly tried to picture him and drew a blank.
“He wasn’t at work today,” Waterfield said. “The other is Tom Bristol. Actually, he makes the most sense. If he was having an affair with one of the firm’s architects, there’d be cries of favoritism every time she got assigned to a good project or promoted or whatever. They’d have a motive to keep it close to the vest.”
“Tom Bristol.”
“Right, Tom Bristol.”
“Tell me about him,” Waverly said.
Waterfield frowned.
“He’s a hell of a man, actually. You don’t build up a firm like ours and raise it to national recognition without being something of a force.”
Waverly took a sip of tea.
“I’m going to come back tomorrow and continue temping,” she said. “I need to see him up close and personal.”
Waterfield’s face tightened.
“Be careful.”