Eleventh Hour

been into had had at least one display case. And here, there was also a touch of whimsy—in a corner stood a colorful wooden carousel horse. Utilitarian and whimsical, a nice combination.
    Dane knew that Chief Kreider could never sit on that carousel horse. He was a huge man, at least six-foot-four-inches, a good two hundred sixty pounds, not much of it excess, even around his belly. He had military-short hair, steel gray, and lots of it, wore aviator glasses, and looked to be in his mid-fifties.
    He wasn’t smiling. “Carver? Dane Carver? Special Agent?”
    Dane nodded, shook the chief’s hand.
    “It’s good to meet you. Come, sit down. Tina, bring us some coffee.”
    Delion and Dane sat at the small circular table in the center of the room. The chief still didn’t sit, he stood towering over them, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he began to pace until Tina, an older woman, with the same military precision as the chief, poured coffee, nodded to the chief, and marched out. Finally he said, “I got an e-mail from Dillon Savich, your boss back at Disneyland East.”
    “That’s a good one,” Delion said.
    Kreider said, “Yeah, fitting. Savich writes that you’re smarter than you’ve a right to be and you’ve got great gut instincts. He asks that we keep you in the loop. Delion, what do you think? You want to cooperate with the Feds?”
    “No,” Delion said. “This is my case. But I’ll accept Carver in on the case with me, as long as I’m the boss and what I say goes.”
    “I don’t want to take over the case,” Dane said, “not at all. I just want to help find my brother’s murderer.”
    Kreider said, “All right then. Delion’s partner, Marty Loomis, is out with shingles, of all things, laid up for another couple of weeks. Inspector Marino has been in on this since Sunday night with Delion. I’ve given this some thought.” He paused a moment, smiled. “I knew Dillon Savich’s father, Buck Savich. He was a wild man, smart enough to scare a crook off to Latvia. I hear his son isn’t wild—not like his father was—but he’s got his father’s brains, lots of imagination, and is a professional to his toenails. I respected the father and I respect the son. You, Carver, I don’t know a bloody thing about you, but for the moment I’ll take Savich’s word that you’re pretty good.”
    “Like I said,” Delion said, “I don’t mind him tagging along, sir. Hey, maybe he’ll even say something bright every now and again.”
    “That’s what I was thinking,” Kreider said. He paced a couple more times, then pulled up right in front of Dane. “Or would you rather go off on your own?”
    Dane looked over at Delion. The man wasn’t giving anything away at all. He just stared back. Dane wasn’t a fool. He slowly shook his head. “No, I’d like to work with Delion.”
    “Good.” Chief Kreider raised his coffee cup, took one sip, and set it down. “I’ll have the lieutenant reassign Marino. Delion, I expect twice-daily updates.”
    After they were dismissed, Delion said as they walked to the garage, “Lots of the guys wonder how Kreider makes love since the guy is always pacing, back and forth, never stopping. Tough to get much done when you can’t hold still.”
    “Didn’t you see that old movie with Jack Nicholson— Five Easy Pieces ?”
    Delion rolled his eyes and laughed as he pulled the 1998 Ford Crown Victoria, white with dark blue interior, out into traffic on Bryant Street. Delion headed north, crossed Market Street, and weaved his way in and out of traffic to Nob Hill. They found a parking slot on Clay.
    Delion said, “Dispatch sent a field patrol officer from the Tenth District. He notified Operations, and they called me and the paramedics. Here, our paramedics are the ones who notify the medical examiner. Because it’s very high profile, Dr. Boyd himself came to the church. I don’t know how well you know San Francisco, but we’re near one of the gay districts. Polk Street is known for lots of action. It’s just a couple of streets over.”
    “Yes, I know,” Dane said. “Just in case you’re wondering, my brother wasn’t gay.”
    “That’s what your sister told me,” Delion said. He paused a moment, looking up at the church. “Saint Bartholomew’s was built in 1910, just four years after the earthquake. The other church burned down. They made this one of redbrick and concrete. See that bell tower—one of the big civic leaders at the time,