“San Francisco?” the captain asked, feigning shock. “Is this a vacation request?”

“Cap, our only suspect is in San Francisco,” Croft said. “The media are all over us on this thing, and we don’t have anything to tell them.”

“You actually think you’re going to get something out of this Grosvenor woman?”

“We can only try.”

“I remember her from her murder trial. I was the lead detective on that case, and she is the coldest, smoothest bitch I’ve ever laid eyes or ears on. She doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Nobody’s lucky all the time,” Morales said.

“Luck has nothing to do with it. Look, if that bomb hadn’t gone off when it did, this Gregg character would have exploded it after the plane took off and we’d be right where we are now, with nothing but two waterlogged corpses. That’s bad luck.”

“At least we could have questioned Gregg.”

“Questioned him? You wouldn’t even know he existed.”

“You’ve got a point, Cap,” Croft said. “But we’ve gotta try to nail this woman.”

“God knows I’d love to do that,” Clark said. He signed the expense form and scribbled something on it. “You’ve got three days and my very best wishes.” He slid the form back across the desk. “See the cashier, and make your travel arrangements through the department. No Ritz-Carlton.”

Morales and Croft got out of there as fast as they could.

Chapter 40

The Grosvenor Gulfstream IV landed smoothly at Oakland and taxied to the Business Jet Center. The stewardess took their hand luggage while the pilots and linemen moved their larger baggage from the rear compartment to their Bentley Mulsanne, which stood, idling, beside the big jet.

“Anything I need to know about the last twenty-four hours?” Charles asked as he helped Barbara into her coat.

“Nothing you want to know,” she said, pecking him on the lips. “Just remember I haven’t been out of your sight the past couple of days, except to go to the hotel salon.”

They walked down the airstair door and into the Bentley.

“Home, James,” Charles said to their driver, whose name was actually James. He had been invalided out of a career as a pro football linebacker by a knee injury during his fourth season and was now a factotum for the Grosvenors.

James delivered them to their apartment on Green Street, just off Nob Hill, and they took the elevator to the penthouse while James and the doormen dealt with the luggage.

Charles called his dealership and got a report from the sales manager, then he hung up. “We sold two Flying Spurs and a Mulsanne while we were gone, and four used vehicles. I wish Bentley would deliver new cars at the factory in England—we’d sell four or five more a year to people who want to tour in their new cars.”