Detective Fog and the Mission Pigeon

Chapter 34. Inspector Prince's Investigation continued

When Leander wasn't sitting on top of the piano machine, he followed Malyssa Alafogiannis​. He tailed the detective in and out of bakeries and dive bars, giving her the polite smile of a chance encounter every time she spotted him and watching with keen eyes he didn't even try to hide every time she met with a possible accomplice.

If he could, he would snap a picture on his phone, drawing and shooting in the time it took most tourists with photography skills to unlock their home screens, all while looking as if he was only maneuvering to get a 3G signal.

Once or twice he added a little flip of the device as if clumsily fighting not to drop it in a dimly lit brasserie, then apologizing to the closest patrons for the obnoxious bright light, leaving none the wiser that he had captured a perfect flash photo​.

His collection of Detective Fog's friends became like baseball cards that he showed to other officers in search of recognition. He Googled their stats. In the few days after the Minardos/Aniston murder, Malyssa Alafogiannis​ had met with a dozen friends. She had hugged an old mate with tie-dye pants and an afro at a grunge bar, brunched with roommates on a Tuesday, bumped into someone she knew at the grocery store, and grabbed coffee with an eligible bachelor. When Leander asked Officer Dianthea whether her sister usually kept such a thriving social calendar, his partner had responded, as expected, with, "No idea" and no apologies.

Even if she suspected that Leander was sniffing out the scent of her accomplice, there was no way she could orchestrate bumping into people she knew every single place she went just to throw him off. He was being paranoid. But his pool of possible accomplices seemed to grow every hour, as he seemingly had to take into account every single person the woman had ever met. And she managed this while appearing to carry out her investigations as well.

She chose Bush over the Stockton tunnel to confront him. Four days after the murder, in the bright light of day, he shadowed her in and out of a liquor store on Stockton with no complaint from her. It seemed he lost her when she exited while he bought a cheap bottle of whiskey with no regrets. He caught a glimpse of her left turn, tripping south, downhill. Even though she had completely disappeared in a matter of thirty seconds, Leander went downhill too accelerated, by the hill's steep grade, into a near run, thinking that was most likely how she had disappeared so quickly as well. He checked doorways and alleys for a sign of her.

The little city's view wasn't bad from where he tripped down the hill at a fast clip. A corridor of short highrises with Victorian detail ended in the distance, blocked by the wall of Market Street buildings, including a striking pistachio and terracotta hotel declaring itself "Palomar" with an Old Navy and Levi's sharing the street-level storefront. Much closer, the street came to an end at the waist-high stone wall protecting against the drop over the famous Stockton tunnel. Stockton Street seemed to end in a cliff at Bush street and, unseen from Leander's vantage, but beneath his feet, the road emerged from the tunnel and continued on to Market.

Trotting across the intersection of Bush and Stockton where the hill leveled out before the stone wall, he had tunnel vision. He could see only the wall over which he expected to see Fog jogging the rest of the way down Stockton toward Market Street, passing Macy's and all of the other big brand stores, plus luxury stores. She must have fled down the stairs at one side or the other of the cliff at Bush Street. Where he now stood.

The last thing he expected was for her to come back up the stairs and appear in front of him, and when she did, panting a little and with dots of perspiration on her forehead from a short sprint to get to where she could ambush him, her face split into a grin that said it was so worth it. She wore slacks and a vest over her collared shirt, her thick mass of white-gold hair tied back.

"Funny bumping into you again, Inspector. Out for a post-liquor store impromptu whisky-carrying jog? That's the latest fitness trend, right? I love running in brogues, really wearing in that leather, much cooler than the shoeless running trend and much more applicable to city life, plus you can just slide seamlessly into the nearest business casual watering hole. Try doing that in your bare toes, not to mention sliding through the filth on these sidewalks. Four days after the last rainfall and already that fantastic urine and dung smell is back."