An elevator chimes in the lobby of One Hundred Eighty Grand Avenue, a mirrored midcentury high-rise in booming uptown Oakland and home to the Bay Area offices of the FBI. Jack Kovac strides out between mirrored elevator doors, a different man.

He looks and acts like such a different man, I have to blink. Who is this man? An identical twin brother who covers for Kovac when he calls in sick?

Or maybe it’s just me. Research suggests that people who imbibe strong caffeinated drinks may be prone to seeing pink elephants and other hallucinations. I’ve got an adrenaline buzz that won’t quit as much from the Sumatra Extra-bold I’ve been guzzling all morning as my eagerness to give my statement. I’ve got a million questions of my own for Kovac about Tilden Park.

Jack Kovac is no pink elephant.

He’s smiling, keenly alert but relaxed, and awesomely dapper…

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