Chapter25
THE FIRST WEEK of the bride and groom investigation was gone. Unbelievable. Jacobi's team had pounded the jacket-and-champagne search, but so far they had come up empty. Raleigh and I had spoken to twenty wedding guests, from the mayor to the groom's best friend. All of them were numb and sickened, but unable to put a finger on any one thing that might move us along. All I could focus on was that we needed something firm- fast- before this guy who took the rings killed again. I underwent my second transfusion. I watched the thick red blood drip into my vein. I prayed it was making me stronger, but I didn't know. It had the slow, steady beat of a ticking clock. And the clock was ticking. Mine, Chief Mercer's. Saturday at six, Jacobi closed his pad, put on his sport jacket, and tucked his gun into his belt. "See ya, Boxer," he said. Raleigh stopped by before heading out. "I owe you a beer. You want to collect?" A beer would be nice, I thought. I was even growing used to Raleigh's company. But something told me that if I went with him now, I'd let everything out: Negli's, my treatments, the fear in my heart. I shook my head. "Think I'll stick around," I said with a polite shrug. "You got plans tomorrow?" "Yeah. I'm meeting Claire. Then I'll come in here. What about you?" "Jason's in a soccer tournament in Palo Alto. I'm taking both boys down." "Sounds nice." It did sound nice. It had the ring of something I might miss out on in life. "I'll be back tomorrow evening." He had given me his beeper the first day we hooked up. "I'm an hour away. Call if anything comes up." With Raleigh gone, my corner of the squad room became shrouded in silence. The investigation was shut down for the night. One or two of the night staff were chatting out in the hall. I had never felt so lonely. I knew that if I went home now I'd be leaving behind some vital nexus to the case. Failing some unsaid promise I had made to Melanie. One more look, I said. One more pass. Why would the killer take the rings? A wave of exhaustion washed through my veins. My new fighting cells were sapping my strength even as they defended me, multiplied. The cavalry, charging in to the rescue. Hope attacking doubt. It seemed crazy. I had to let David and Melanie sleep for the night. I bound the thick crime file up in its elastic cord and placed it in the gray bin marked "Open Cases." Next to similar files, with similar names. Then I sat at my desk in the dark squad room for a couple of minutes more. I started to cry. Book Two
THE WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB
Chapter26
BECKY DE GEORGE in the bloom of her first full day as Michael's wife, walked out of the hotel lobby holding her husband's hand. She breathed in the cool night air, the first fresh air she had inhaled all day. In the brief span of their marriage, she and Michael had made love several times and taken two steamy showers together. They had poked their heads out for an obligatory but, at last, final brunch with the families. They had begged off the trip to Opus One, scurried back upstairs, and popped a last bottle of champagne. Michael had put on a sex video and as they watched the film they played out some unusual and exciting roles. He seemed to have several fantasies about wearing women's clothes. Tomorrow, they'd be off to Mazatlan, for a heavenly week exploring all those sexy spots on his body she had yet to find. Maybe they'd even come out once or twice to see the dolphins. So far, she decided, things were going very well. Tonight, they were headed to the French Laundry, the finest restaurant in Napa. Everyone said it was the place to eat, and they had booked the reservation almost six months in advance. Becky's mouth watered as she dreamed of some fabulous sequence of tastes: foie gras, wild-berry duck, all washed down with an expensive champagne. On the short walk to the car, a black limo pulled up alongside them. The passenger window opened, and a uniformed driver stuck his head out. "Mr. and Mrs. De George They looked at each other, puzzled, then smiled. "That's us." "I'm at your service," the driver announced. "Compliments of the hotel." Becky was ecstatic. "You mean for us?" Once, in her job as a legal secretary, at a big closing, she had ridden in a fabulous stretch; but she had been jammed in the backseat with four preoccupied lawyers. "Booked and paid for the night," the driver said, and winked. The newlyweds exchanged a bright, exclamatory look. "No one mentioned anything about this," said Michael, who seemed pleased with the notion that he was thought of as a VIP. Becky peeked inside. "Oh, Michael." There were lush leather seats and a polished mahogany bar with crystal glasses. The lights were dimmed to a romantic glow. There was even a bottle of chardonnay on ice. She thought of pulling up to the most fashionable restaurant in Napa in this wonderful car. "C'mon, Michael." She laughed, almost pulling him in. "It'll be a trip." "I can be waiting at the restaurant when you come out," the driver said, "and as it happens, you're talking to someone who happens to know the most scenic routes through Napa." She saw Michael's mild hesitation begin to crack. "Don't you want to take your princess in style?" Just as he had when she first smiled his way in the office, just as he had in bed last night, she saw him slowly come around. He was a little cautious sometimes. Accountants often were. But she'd always found ways of loosening him up. "Whatever Becky wants," Michael finally said.
Chapter27
"JUST MARRIED?" Phillip Campbell asked, his heart jumping. The bright lights of oncoming cars shot through him like X rays, exposing innermost desires. "Twenty-six hours, twenty-two minutes, and… forty five seconds," Becky chirped. Campbell's heart pounded loudly. She was perfect. They were perfect together. Even better than he had hoped. The road was blank and seemed directionless, but he knew where he was going. "Help yourself to a drink. That's a Palmeyer in the bucket. Some people think it's the best in the valley." As he drove, the killer's nerves were taut and excited. What is the worst thing anyone has ever done? Can I do it again? More to the point, can I ever stop doing it? He glanced back and saw Becky and Michael pouring the Palmeyer wine. He heard the clink of raised glasses, then something about years of good luck. With a chill in his heart, he watched them kiss. He hated every smug, deluded pore in their bodies. Don't you want to take your princess in style? He fingered the gun resting in his lap. He was changing murder weapons. After a while, Campbell turned the limo up a steep hill off the main road. "Where're we heading, driver?" the husband's voice came from the back. He glanced in the mirror and smiled confidently at the De Georges "I thought I'd take you the scenic way. Best views in the valley. And I'll still have you to the restaurant by eight." "We don't want to be late," the groom warned sheepishly. "These reservations were harder to get than the damn hotel." "Oh, c'mon, honey," Becky chimed in with perfect timing. "Things start to open up just ahead," he told them. "Real pretty. In the meantime, relax. Put on some music. I'll show you the best views. Very romantic." He pushed a button, and a thin band of pulsing lights began to shoot around the roof of the back compartment, a soft, romantic light show. "Oooh," Becky said as the lights came on. "This is so great." "I'll put up the privacy screen for the rest of the trip. You're only newlyweds once. Feel free to do whatever. Just look at it as your night." He left the screen slightly open, so he could still see and hear them as he drove deeper into the hills. They were nuzzling now, sharing kisses. The groom's hand was moving up Becky's thigh. She pushed her pelvis into him. The road became bumpy, and at intermittent points the rough, split concrete gave way to gravelly dirt. They were climbing. On both sides, the slopes were patterned with grids of darkened vines. Becky's teasing laughter gave way to a steady rhythm of deep-throated sighs. Phillip Campbell's breath began to race. Only inches away, he could hear her panting. A warm, velvety sensation began to burn in his thighs, as it had a week ago at the Grand Hyatt. Michael was entering Becky, and she moaned. What is the worst thing! At a clearing, he pulled the car to a stop, turned the headlights off. He took the gun and pulled back the double-clicking action. Then he lowered the privacy screen. In the ambient light, there was Becky, her black cocktail dress pulled up around her waist. "Bravo!" he exclaimed. They looked up, startled. He saw a flicker of fear in the bride's eyes. She tried to cover herself. Only then did the killer recognize that the warm flood burning his thighs and his knees was his own urine. He emptied the gun into Becky and Michael De George