Dead Girl
11:16 AM - Saturday, November 1, 2014
Julius Khan Playground Parking Area, West Pacific Ave, The Presidio
Greenberg rolled down West Pacific from Arguello at a slow pace after getting past the Park Police at the top of the road. The area was already full of unmarked cars and a few black and whites. Two uniformed officers were at the gate of the playground, turning away anyone that approached. Parking, he grabbed his ID lanyard, phone, and pulled his Glock out of the glove compartment.
Walking over to the two officers, he heard them turning away a young couple with a baby stroller. How did they even get through? “We’re so sorry, there’s been a sewer line burst below the restrooms - we can’t have anyone coming in.” The couple, both dressed in impeccable Lululemon, instinctively recoiled pushing their UppaBaby stroller back toward the wall. Greenberg approached, lifting his ID lanyard.
“Hi - I’m Special Agent Mark Greenberg, I’m here to meet Officer Mayfield of the Park Police.”
“Hi - I’m Officer Choy, this is Officer Hagen. Officer Mayfield just went down to the site with our Captain to give him a briefing, but he should be back shortly. I’ll give them a call on the radio.” The officer, a young Asian woman with a grand piano smile, was eager but kept her voice quiet. The whole place had a hush about it and it was surreal to see a still, empty playground on a Saturday morning. Hagen was looking to the top of the road as another car approached.
“We should have someone over there at Walnut where the wall is low - everyone jumps the wall there.” She said quietly to Choy. Greenberg had no idea what she was saying, but had seen some kind of wall running along the side of the road. This one was also young, also pretty, but in a lovely Irish way. Curling brown hair peeking from under her cap, rosy complexion, flashing green-gold eyes. Greenberg knew it was a cliché for Jewish boys to love Irish girls, but they were his kryptonite. That’s why he married one. He looked across to the wall to see what she meant - the wall did slant lower further up the hill.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I also liked the sewer line remark. No one’s going to question that.” Both officers looked at him with rueful smiles. He could tell they weren’t going to give up much to him.
“Officer Choy calling Officer Mayfield, over.” She said into the remote on her shoulder.
“Mayfield copy.”
“Officer Mayfield, Mark Greenberg is at the playground gate.” Her eyes looked him over and she smiled a little. “What’s your 20, over?” Greenberg realized she didn’t say he was from the FBI.
“Captain and I are heading in your direction. Be there in 5 minutes. 10-4.” The three were quiet again.
“It’s that bad?” Greenberg asked softly. They both turned and looked him full in the face, not saying anything. “You’re not using codes or anything identifiable on the radio.” Mark knew this may be an over-abundance of caution, or it could be something explosive.
“We were told to stay at the gate,” Officer Choy replied blankly. Hagen looked across the playground to the crest of the hill. Two figures in midnight blue uniforms were slowly making their way toward them. Choy, Hagen, and Greenberg watched them. The two men had their heads down, looking at the ground, not at each other.
“So far,” Hagen began conspiratorialy, “it doesn’t look too good. Captain looks like he’s aged ten years since going down there.” Choy nodded.
The two men stopped momentarily while the Park Police officer, who Greenberg could only assume was Mayfield, started to tick off his fingers and gestured broadly. The Captain nodded, said something, and clapped him on the shoulder. They approached to about 15 feet from the gate, and Paco gestured to them.
“Greenberg?” He called. Mark nodded, and Choy and Hagen let him through. Greenberg shook hands with Paco and the Captain.
“Sorry for the delay - I was coming in from Oakland.” He explained.
“That’s okay, she’s not going anywhere.” The Captain said under his breath.
“I want you to see the scene. Our forensics man is still on his way, so we can’t move her. We’re also waiting on the coroner.” Paco was all business, and clearly in a mild panic. “I also still haven’t heard from Investigative Branch -”
“Oh - I ah, I called my guy there.” Greenberg began timidly. Both Paco and the Captain stared at him. “He said I’m the one for now. They’re swamped.” He raised his eyebrows. Paco exhaled a huff of annoyance.
“You’d think they’d let me know.”
“I’ll call the coroner now. See if they can get moving.” The Captain offered, searching his phone while he moved away. Paco looked at him.
“Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” Mark nodded. He could tell the guy was out of his depth but still swimming, which is more than he could say for some. “We just received a report of a missing person, a teen named Alexa Thomas who lives just over there.” He gestured vaguely to the forest further north, across the gully. “She didn’t come home last night. Could be coincidence or it could be her, we just don’t know. Victim is wearing a Halloween costume.” Hearing this, Mark’s stomach turned. “We can’t really identify her at all yet. Cap are you coming back down?” The Captain looked up from his phone.
“I don’t need to see it again.” The Captain replied quietly, his face ashen. “Actually, Mayfield — give me a minute. I may have someone to give you.” He turned away.
Paco and Greenberg saw the Captain gesture to Hagen and she joined him. He chatted with her briefly and she seemed to get defensive, asking questions until he stopped her. He spoke quietly so neither of them could hear the details. Chastened, Hagen looked up at the Captain and gave him a nod. “Good,” he said simply, leading her over to the two of them.
“Mayfield, Greenberg, this is Officer Jean Hagen. She’s one of this year’s top academy graduates and has already contributed to our efforts today, giving context to the area and terrain in our briefing. She’s a San Francisco native who grew up near here, and may have some insight. I wish I could offer you more by way of assistance, but after the evidence sweep is over, I’m afraid this is the best I can do.” Greenberg saw Hagen’s cheeks flush as he said this. “It’s your jurisdiction, but I thought Hagen would be helpful.” Paco was quiet, looking between Hagen, the Captain, and himself. Mark heard him take a breath.
“Thank you Captain.” He managed. “Hagen, we’ll be happy to have your help.”
“I’ll make those calls, Mayfield, and I’ll see what other help I can provide long-term, but I can’t promise anything. I know what’s like to be under-allocated though, so I’ll do my best. Let me know about Alexa Thomas - she could be in the city.” The Captain shook hands with both Mayfield and Greenberg. “Hagen, keep me updated.”
“Yes sir. Thank you Captain.” Greenberg felt for her. She looked both complimented and humiliated at once. Typical for this line of work — even when you’re good at your job, the shit still rolls right down hill.
The trio watched the Captain walk off and then they turned to look at each other.
“Hi, I’m Jeannie.” She said quietly, shaking hands with both Mayfield and Greenberg.
“Mark,” he replied, trying not to notice her blush of embarrassment.
“Paco.” Mayfield joined. They proceeded toward the trail head.
“Is that Paco as in Frank?” Jeannie asked. Mayfield didn’t answer for a second, and then paused, turning to look at her. Mark could tell this might be the final test of Mayfield’s patience, but he stayed calm.
“No, not as in Frank. That’s usually a Mexican nickname, I’m Native American.”
“Oh,” Jeannie said softly. “Are you Ohlone?” Paco squinted a little, looking at her.
“Actually, I’m a Yokut, I come from the Tule River Reservation in San Joaquin.” Jeannie nodded. “Do you know about the Ohlone?”
“A bit. From college. I also used to volunteer with the GGNPC.” Mayfield seemed to soften. “But I’m definitely not an expert.”
“The Captain said you gave context in the briefing?”
“Yes, I know the spring.” Mayfield nodded at her, appraisingly. Greenberg looked between the two of them and jumped in.
“Well, I don’t know the spring. I don’t know this park at all, but it seems I have to learn and in a short amount of time.” He had to break this up somehow. Hagen and Mayfield turned to look at him.
“Tell the wasichu what you told in your briefing. I’ll jump in if I need to.” Mayfield said chuckling. Greenberg knew the word “wasichu” was likely some kind of dig, but he let it go. Mayfield led them down the hill, past the restrooms with the supposedly ruptured sewer line to a trail crossroads. A team of two searchers were about 50 yards up the trail to the left, and another pair was about 25 yards down the trail to the right. They continued straight ahead and Hagen prattled off a brief history of the spring, its usage, its importance as a watershed. They proceeded down to a trail where a Park Police officer was guarding the path. Mayfield thanked the officer as he moved the tape away.
The trail was designated by simple metal spikes stuck into the ground, with a rope connecting them through loops. It was primitive, but it worked. The trail path was tidy, with natural landscaping on either side. It switched-back a few times, with young-looking shrubbery, grasses and wildflowers starting to encroach, but the path was still clear.
“This doesn’t even look like a city any more.” Greenberg said. The hills rolled away across the gully, and the eucalyptus trees swayed at the top of the hill. He heard Hagen chuckle behind him.
“That’s the Presidio,” she said.
At the base of the trail, another Park Police officer was waiting. Greenberg saw a wild looking thicket in the center, with a curved path surrounding it. Paco paused before they moved on.
“Okay Greenberg,” he started, “this is the spring. At least, this is the spring in general. There are culverts that gather rain runoff and the spring water and channel them into the center of the thicket. There’s a small stone structure there, kind of like a well. But, the main spring head is over around to the left.” It was a dreary, moody day, but it was beautiful. Greenberg was trying to square the idea that somewhere around here was a dead girl, but couldn’t imagine it.
“We received a call from SFPD emergency this morning.” Mayfield continued, as they dipped under the tape again and began to move to the left. “Someone called 911 and said they saw blood in the spring water. I thought it could have been an animal, but the dispatcher didn’t elaborate. When I arrived about 15 minutes later, no one was here. I arrived at the other end of the spring,” Paco pointed north, “and the water there was pink-ish. I have photos for you. I went through the center to the well, where it was also pinkish, but then I walked up the culvert through the thicket to here.” They were standing at the base of the hill they’d just come down, with water runoff flowing lightly over the cobblestones of the culvert.
“I don’t see any blood.” Greenberg said.
“Exactly, it’s clear.” Mayfield agreed. “Had to be from the source.” He added quietly. He looked at both of them, eyes inscrutable, and lead them on. “This side of the trail is elevated above the spring flow, so the watershed is undisturbed.” Mayfield indicated the wooden planking underfoot. You could see the water had gathered in pools toward the center of the thicket due to yesterday’s rain. Greenberg noted the benches carved out of felled logs to the side, as well as an educational plaque indicating the seasonal wildlife that could be seen around the spring. Another officer was waiting mid-way down the circle on this side, looking toward the thicket. When he saw Mayfield, he looked relieved.
“Baker - this is Jean Hagen from the SFPD and Mark Greenberg from the FBI.” Baker looked like he hadn’t slept. “Any updates?”
“Nothing. Actually, it’s incredibly quiet.” Baker said simply. It was true. There wasn’t a bird anywhere. But for the trickle of the water and a faint foghorn from the bay, the whole place felt like it was in a weird bubble. Greenberg saw a tower of five gallon buckets next to Baker, and a few that were filled with pink liquid were lined up down the trail. “There were a few vultures out before, but since we put up the tent, they seem to be gone.” Mayfield nodded and turned to explain.
“We propped up a shelter over the body since we don’t know how long it will be before the coroner gets here. The main problem right now is the water. I’m worried it’s going to wash away any evidence. We’re swapping out buckets as they fill and we can test them later, but we can’t turn it off. And with the rain, it’s got a pretty good flow. We can’t keep her in the water forever - the coroner needs to get here.” An unspoken look went between Mayfield and Baker, and Baker stepped aside. Mayfield put latex gloves on from his pocket and pulled aside the overgrown grasses and blackberry.
About 10 to 12 feet away from where they were on the trail, Greenberg saw the blue-ish pale swollen hand hanging over the edge of the short brick dam, a white bucket propped below it, catching the spring water. It was still flowing dark pink. Somewhere, the body was still losing blood. The hand had a signet ring on the fourth finger, but he couldn’t make out the initial. The hand was so blue and swollen the ring would need to be cut off. The oddest part was the pale yellow blond hair that could only have been a wig, floating at the surface of the water. Otherwise, there was little to indicate how the body was laying or where she had been wounded, it was all obscured by the grasses from this angle. He couldn’t even see the rest of her body. But for the blood, it could have been a mannequin - someone’s sick Halloween joke. The girl appeared to be wearing some sort of orange dress, but it was hard to make out through the overgrowth. Greenberg felt sick. He looked to Hagen whose face was contorted in disbelief, her features melted like she was about to scream or cry. He cleared his throat.
“Do you have any more gloves?” He asked Mayfield. Baker dug into the tower of buckets for the box of gloves and offered it to Greenberg. Pulling them on, he asked “What about this fencing - anyone touch it putting up the tent?”
“I came in at the side over here, and I wore booties.” Baker replied, “The tent isn’t exactly in there very well - just propped on the grass and shrubs - the hillside is steep and so overgrown.”
“That’s okay. Where is the forensics guy?”
“He’s incoming.” Mayfield said. Hagen started to say something and then stopped.
“What is it?” Mayfield asked her.
“Well…ahh” She began slowly, “look at how she’s positioned. No one stood where we are and placed her body in there, there’d be a lot more disturbance in the grasses on this side. And it looks like her legs are higher than her head. She fell from above. Either that, or…”
“Or what?” Mayfield asked. All three of them were looking from the body to Hagen.
“Or, someone is truly twisted.” They were all silent.
“Mayfield did you get a photo of the ring?” Greenberg asked, finding his phone. The idea Jeannie put out was more than his brain could manage. He needed something simple.
“I tried, I couldn’t get it very clear.” Greenberg zoomed in and snapped again, zooming in further on the picture on the phone. He showed it to Mayfield and Hagen.
“Looks like an D.” He said, but the cursive letters were florid, old fashioned.
“It is a D. It’s old fashioned though - it could be an heirloom.” Hagen said simply. She looked at all three of them, and then looked away, like she was guilty for saying anything.