The Castro '76 - An Israel Wren Mystery

3

Corona Heights Park was a short but steep walk from the Castro. It took Israel about fifteen minutes before he stood, breathing hard, at the top of a treeless windswept hill. Below him San Francisco sprawled out towards the bay in a long rambling panorama. The sun peeped out from behind a travelling cloud and then disappeared. The skyscrapers downtown stood grey and foreboding in the distance. He found a bench to sit on and took a moment to observe the wildflowers that bloomed on the otherwise stark hillside around him. After a few quiet minutes, his sharp eyes spied a nest in a rocky crag about fifty feet away. He lifted the binoculars from his chest to take a closer look. As he waited patiently, he detected the faint scent of cologne on the gentle breeze blown in from the ocean. He turned in his seat as a portly man approached walking a large curly haired dog. The man puffed to a stop and let the dog off its leash. Israel looked away and raised his binoculars to hide his annoyance. He was not averse to dogs but they did tend to frighten off his birds.

Over the years he had formed something of an affinity with birds. From a distance, the freedom of flight, the lightness of their existence seemed attractive. Careful observation, however, showed that behind the plumage their lives were as harsh and as that of any other animal, sometimes more so. As if to prove his point, the shaggy hound bounded into a stand of nearby poison oak, flushing a small flock of sparrows out of their shelter and into the dangerous, open skies. Israel watched as the birds darted for cover, heads perpetually twitching and turning in heart-racing vigilance. Beauty, danger and freedom all packaged in tiny balsa-boned bodies. The man and his dog sidled away and peace returned.

An hour later, with fog rolling ominously in from the Pacific, Israel started his downhill route. As he strolled back towards the shops and bars on Castro Street his head was clear and he felt calmer than before. He had resolved at least one issue that had been troubling him. When Harvey and Scott returned he would find a place to stay in a local hostel. He wandered languidly down the hill and turned down Market Street looking for a place to eat. He eventually settled on a quaint-looking Italian place near the corner of 14th.

‘Are you dining alone tonight, sir?’ asked the friendly waiter as he guided Israel to a table near the window.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Oh, well then, let me recommend the osso buco.  It’s the chef’s specialty and it goes great with a glass of red wine.’

‘That sounds appetising. Do you sell red wine by the glass?’

‘Just the house red, but it’s not bad.’

‘I will go with your recommendation then.’ He watched closely as the darkly handsome waiter produced a pencil and wrote his order with a flourish.

It didn’t take long for the food to arrive and the waiter was right about the wine. It wasn’t bad, but the sharp edges dropped away when accompanied by the deep, savoury flavours of the meat.

He ordered an espresso as the waiter came to take his plate away. A siren suddenly came to life on the street outside and they both peered out the window as a black and white police car wailed past them.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ Israel looked earnestly into the waiter’s dark brown eyes.

‘Sure.’

‘Do you always use a 12B pencil to write your orders?’

The man looked at the pencil in his hand and laughed. ‘Nah, this is the only thing I could find around here to write with. The boss likes to do sketches in his spare time.’

‘Oh, I see… Have you heard of the Zodiac Killer?’

‘Sure, who hasn’t?’

‘What about the Doodler?’

‘What’s that, a cartoon character?’

Israel didn’t bother to correct him and asked for the bill. He sighed as he finished his espresso and glanced at his wristwatch. It was past eight now, so the coast should be clear for him to return to Castro Camera without stepping on any toes.