Rogue Wave Read Free

test.”
    “Not just a semantic difference. The polymerase chain reaction is only ninety-three percent accurate—at best.”
    “Yeah, but add to that that a witness saw a red convertible near the scene of the hit-and-run, and Robin Matucci drives a red sports car.”
    “Did she have it three years ago?”
    “She did. And she’s one of only fourteen women in all of San Francisco who’ve got both red hair and red convertibles. Maybe you’ve been gone too long to recall that San Francisco is fog land. Only people with money to blow buy convertibles so they can freeze.”
    Tchernak rounded the doorway, platter in hands. Ezra jumped up and bounded to the table.
    “Have a seat,” Tchernak grumbled “since you’re the only one who’s interested.”
    Refusing to acknowledge the jibe, Kiernan said, “The red convertible could have been borrowed. Still, okay, so the woman who captained this boat is a suspect in the attack on Brant three years ago.”
    “Yes and no.”
    “What?”
    “The statute of limitations for felonious vehicular assault is three years and one day. The accident was just over three years ago. The statute’s run out. And I’m off the force, so, for all intents and purposes the Brant case is closed. But for Garrett Brant’s wife, it’s more open than ever, and she wants to hire you.”
    “To do what? If Robin Matucci went over the side of the boat and didn’t wash up on the Farallons, there’s a lot less left of her than there was of Delaney.”
    “Officially, Matucci is only missing. And Mrs. Brant believes that. She wants you to find her.”
    Tchernak popped the wine cork.
    The smell of garlic and olive oil mixed with the musty scent of dog that was attractive only to a dog-owner. Why was Olsen so obsessed with this case? She shook off the question and said, “I don’t like wild-goose chases. I don’t have the patience for them. My fee is considerable and I’m not willing to charge a client to hold her hand. And I definitely won’t take her money for nothing.”
    “It’s not ‘nothing’ to her. It’s a long shot, sure, but one she’s desperate to bet on. And you are the only person who can get her any odds at all.”
    Tchernak was pouring the wine.
    “Why me?”
    “Because she needs a detective who can eyeball Delaney’s body and spot something that doesn’t fit with drowning.”
    “Just what is it she wants me to find?”
    “Proof that Delaney’s death was no accident, that he was murdered.”
    “Whew! Two people go out on a small boat in the Pacific and one body is recovered and your client assumes that there was murder. That’s quite a leap.”
    “We’re talking about a woman who left Garrett Brant for dead on the Great Highway.”
    “Well, bon appétit, Ez.” Tchernak lifted his glass.
    Turning her back to the table, Kiernan said, “Still, Olsen … Does your client have any facts that support her supposition? Did the coroner’s report find anything questionable?”
    “The final report isn’t in yet, but the word I got is ‘drowning.’ Still, he could have missed something. That’s what Maureen needs you to find.”
    Kiernan sighed. “This sounds more and more like a waste of time, Olsen. I know the coroner’s department in San Francisco. They’re not slipshod. And they’re not about to let strangers wander in to eyeball bodies. You need to be a representative of the family, or at least of the lawyer. They wouldn’t let you or me waltz in and critique their work.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong. The acting coroner will let you in.”
    Behind her, metal clanked loudly against china. Ezra slurped, the sure sound of an illicit handout.
    “Skip, it’s been years since I was a resident with the San Francisco coroner.”
    “He’ll let you in.”
    She asked the question she could tell he was angling for. “Why?”
    “Because the acting coroner of San Francisco is Marc Rosten.”
    Her shoulders tensed and she could feel her face flushing. “That was