He said, “Clapper’s the best. If there’s trace on the body or evidence in the woods, he’ll find it. And this media hurricane is going to pay off, Lindsay. Someone, a witness to the abduction or the murders, is going to remember something and come forward with a bona fide lead.”
If only. If there was a hot tip out there, it had to come in before we found Susan Jones.
CHAPTER 77
Joe had requisitioned a repurposed black Toyota RAV4 with a powerful engine and high-tech bells and whistles throughout.
The GPS tracking device on the underside of Petrović’s car was transmitting to a monitor attached to the Toyota’s dash. The blue Jaguar was still parked across the street from Petrović’s yellow Victorian house.
It was a weekday morning, and Tony’s Place for Steak wasn’t yet open, but Joe had a team on California Street watching the front and another team on Jones with a view of the adjacent condo and garage. Petrović couldn’t leave either place without being seen and followed. Period.
Joe had eyes on the target’s house when the front door opened and Petrović stepped out. He locked the door behind him, then came down the front steps to the street. Joe lifted his binoculars to his eyes and watched as the hog puffed on his cigar—always managing to obscure a clear view of his face—and headed toward his car with a nice jaunty step.
Life for Slobodan Petrović was very good.
The blue Jaguar was parked within fifty yards of where Joe sat in the Toyota. He observed Petrović unlock his eighty-thousand-dollar showboat and surreptitiously look up and down the block, checking out the traffic, parked cars, neighboring homes. He seemed satisfied that there was nothing untoward around him—no danger, no tail, just another beautiful morning in the City by the Bay.
The Butcher of Djoba got into his car and started her up.
Joe switched on the little Toyota as well. He was prepared to follow Petrović to his restaurant, as he’d done every morning this week, but the Jaguar had a new flight path.
Petrović drove west on Fell, took a left turn on Masonic, crossing the Panhandle, and took another left on Oak, heading back the way he had come.
Where was Petrović going?
Joe was three cars back as the Jag took the left on Oak, a wide residential street that ran parallel to Fell. Joe followed the Jag through the awkward turn but now had to hang back so as not to be seen. And then, damn it, he caught a red light while the Jag sailed through the intersection.
Joe checked the empty one-way cross street and ran the light. Once he was clear, he called his guys at the steak house to let them know that it looked like Petrović was heading into the Civic Center area.
His team was also tracking the Jaguar on their monitors, and while one car stayed in place on California, the other tore out of a side street and headed toward the straightaway of Van Ness.
The little Toyota SUV with the hot-rod engine was the most unremarkable-looking car on the road—if you didn’t know that it was loaded with a hundred thousand dollars of government electronics.
Right now the GPS was pinging the satellite and laying out the Jaguar’s route on the monitor. As Joe followed Petrović’s car through the crowded Civic Center area, passing Davies Symphony Hall and the War Memorial Opera House on the left, and City Hall on the right, he was concerned that Petrović was going off script.
Why? And what was his destination?
CHAPTER 78
Joe drove through Polk Gulch with a backup team behind him, both cars tailing the Jag, when Petrović took a right on Union where it crossed Van Ness.
Was Petrović trying to lose them? Or was this a ruse, a deliberate joke on them, taking them out of the way and then doubling back to his restaurant?
Or was this was something else entirely?
Instead of looping back, Petrović stayed on Union, climbing uphill to the high-priced neighborhood of Russian Hill.
Joe exchanged words with his teams, instructing his follow car to speed up and pass him. If Petrović had picked up the Toyota in the rearview, he would now think that he’d lost his tail.
A church was up ahead on the left, and something was happening there. A half dozen limos interspersed with media trucks were parked out front. Reporters sat on high canvas director’s chairs, facing their cameras, makeup people touching up their hair. Traffic cops held up their hands to slow and detour traffic.
Just then the huge church doors swung open, and the newlyweds burst through with their wedding guests. The church emptied behind the new couple coming down the steps, waving, ducking rice, the bride pausing to turn around and toss the bouquet over her shoulder to a squealing crowd.
Joe recognized the couple, a Silicon Valley billionaire and a Hollywood movie star. He got a good look because the wedding party had produced a one-lane logjam that had slowed the flow of traffic to just under a crawl.
He was now at a dead stop. His backup team, just ahead of him, was also locked into the parking-lot variety of standstill.
Cursing to himself, Joe checked the GPS.
Petrović was zipping along Lombard within the speed limit, but at the same time was far, far away.
Joe sent the backup team to Tony’s Place and checked in with the team on Fell Street who were now waiting for another team to relieve them.
Once free of traffic, Joe took the next turn that would take him back to his office. He continued to watch the Jaguar’s contrail on his desktop computer, the little blip that was Petrović motoring back to the steak house.
Joe hoped that the butcher wasn’t having a big laugh on him. But he couldn’t dismiss the possibility.
If Petrović had anything to do with the murdered schoolteachers, he was winning. And to prove it, he’d just given the Bureau a big fat middle finger.
CHAPTER 79
Fifteen minutes later Joe was with Steinmetz in his corner office, updating him on the day’s chase.
“I have a team on Petrović’s house. I have the second team watching the restaurant where Tony is now overseeing the lunchtime service.”
Joe told Steinmetz about the wedding party roadblock caused by newlywed celebrities and attendant paparazzi, the frustration of seeing a renowned mass murderer drive around San Francisco with impunity.
Joe said, “How can I stop him?”
Steinmetz muttered, “We’re a nation of laws.”
Joe nodded his agreement, then told his supervisor what he’d learned about the murder of Adele Saran.
Steinmetz said, “I’m on top of that case. The bottom line is that there were lots of footprints in the woods, no forensic evidence, no witnesses to the crime, and no video recorders out in the middle of Sierra Azul Open Space.”
“Correct,” Joe said. “Lindsay is of the opinion that Petrović may be involved in the schoolteacher murders.”
“Because?”
“Because Petrović liked to hang his victims.”
Steinmetz cracked a smile. “That would almost be too good to be true. You had eyes on him at the time of the Saran girl’s murder?”
“We had eyes on his house.”
“So no. He wasn’t sighted here in town. What do you know about his associates?”
“Guy who runs his restaurant, Marko Vladic, has no record. Petrović has some kitchen help that are also squeaky clean. No one wants to get caught up in an ICE sweep. The Boy Scouts have nothing on Petrović’s crew.”