Chauncey Bailey had a full day ahead of him when his alarm clock rang at 6:30 a.m.

The Oakland Post editor had a dozen things to do - a couple of news stories to write, a meeting with the Post’s publisher, a beauty pageant to coordinate, a movie to cast - so he started off bright and early.

For a year and a half, Bailey had lived in a first-floor apartment near the south end of Lake Merritt. His girlfriend, Deborah Oduwa, lived with him the past three months. Leaving her half asleep in bed, he got up and got ready for work.

Bailey was known as a snappy dresser, yet a thrifty one, often proud of his second-hand-store finds of quality pieces. Growing up in East Oakland and Hayward in a working class family meant he appreciated a dollar.

On this day, he donned a blue shirt, a black-and-gray tie with matching pocket square, lace-up dress shoes with a fine shine, blue pants and a dark-gray suit jacket with a pen and a jury summons in the left-front pocket - the crisp business attire softened slightly by the short dreadlocks he’d been growing out during the past year.

He picked up his black-and-blue “Port of Oakland” duffel bag - a freebie from a press event - which he’d been using in place of a briefcase.

By then, it was a little after 7 a.m., a nice morning on a summer day. It was supposed to get into the upper 70s, but was still cool in the early hours. Bailey’s apartment house on First Avenue near International Boulevard was an older two-story gray building with white trim, a stone’s throw from Lake Merritt, but with no view of the water. The front of the building faced east onto First Avenue. So even this early, sunlight spilled through the glass front door and into the lobby. Bailey liked his place, and his landlord liked him. She said he was one of her best tenants.

He was off to meet his publisher and friend, Paul Cobb, at the Post’s offices, several small rooms on the 12th floor of an historic office building on 14th and Franklin streets. It’s about 10 fairly short city blocks from Bailey’s apartment, so a straight shot there at a brisk pace would take about 12 to 15 minutes; could be 20 or 25, with a stop or two.

Bailey hit the sidewalk and likely went left from his apartment house toward the lake, the water glowing gold in the sun, the downtown office buildings mere squiggles in the sheen.

At that time of day, a smattering of people are out, walking their dogs, going to work, waiting at the bus shelter at First and International Boulevard, just steps from Bailey’s front door. He sometimes took the bus, his girlfriend said, but he really enjoyed a good walk.

There was a spring in his step. At 57, he had reconnected with his father after more than 25 years estranged. And professionally, he had recently been named editor of the Post - a job he loved.

Bailey turned the curve onto 14th Street, the orange bike-lane barrier fending off the noise and rush of cars and busses whizzing by. He walked along 14th toward the Alameda County courthouse. There, he likely crossed over 14th to the south side of the street, after cutting through an opening in the bike barrier. He passed the main library, and a building ...