Chapter 39
RALEIGH DROVE back to town in our car. I hung around and caught a ride with Claire. I needed to tell her what was going on with me. Claire and I have been best friends for years. We talk at least once every day. I knew why I was having trouble telling her about my illness- I didn't want to hurt her. Or to burden her with my problems. I loved her so much. As the MEs van bumped down the mountain road, I asked if she had been able to pick up anything at the murder scene. "There was definitely sexual activity going on before they were killed," she replied confidently. "I could see labial distension around the vagina. Secretions on her thighs. "This is guesswork- I only had a few minutes- but I think the husband was shot first, Lindsay. The one clean wound to the head suggests he was dispatched without resistance. Head on. Wounds on Rebecca indicate something else. She was shot from the rear. Through the shoulder blades, the neck. From a distance, I would estimate, of no more than three to five feet. If the semen matches up and they were in the act when it took place, it suggests that she was on top. That would mean someone had to get in fairly close, unobserved, while they were at it. Come up at them from behind her. Since you said they didn't use their own car that night, they were obviously on their way somewhere. I think it's consistent with your theory that they were in some kind of vehicle when this took place. The killer in the front seat. So why not a limousine?" "That's all?" I shook my head and smiled at Claire. "Like I said, I only had a few minutes. Anyway, it was your theory. If it ends up proving out, all I did was connect the dots." We drove on a bit. I was still fumbling for the right words. Claire asked, "So how's the new partner?" I gave her an affirming nod. "Turns out he's okay. He's backed me up with Roth and Mercer." "And you were so sure he was only a watchdog from the mayor's office." "So I was wrong." "Wouldn't be the first time you ended up wrong about a guy," Claire said. I wrinkled my face in pretended offense and ignored her grin. "Anyway, watchdog or not," Claire continued, "he's a damn sight better to look at than Jacobi." "Smarter, too. When we drove up to Napa yesterday, I flipped on the stereo in his Explorer. A tape of The Shipping News came on." "So," Claire went on, with a look of inquisitiveness, "anything going on?" "You mean other than four innocent people being killed?" "I mean with Chris Raleigh, Lindsay. He's working out of the mayor's office, he's a hunk, and your social calendar isn't exactly Gwyneth Paltrow's. You can't tell me he's not your type." "We've been wrapped up in the case, Claire." "Yeah." She chortled. "He's not married, right?" "C'mon, Claire," I pleaded. "I'm just not ready." As Claire winked, I found myself imagining something going on with Raleigh. If I had driven back with him from Napa, instead of Cindy. If I had asked him up, it being nothing but a lonely Sunday, thrown together something out of the fridge. Shared a beer on the terrace as the sun melted into the bay. In my mind, I caught him checking me over again. You look nice, Boxer. He had noticed. Truth was, I had noticed things about him, too. Patient, sensitive eyes. Even finished The Shipping News. It wouldn't be so hard. Even as I sat there pretending I could fall in love with someone, the daydream crashed. Life was slowly leaking out of me. Something with Raleigh, or anyone, just wasn't a possibility now. I glanced over at Claire, who was pulling the car onto 101.1 took a deep breath. "You ever hear of something called Negli's aplastic anemia?" I asked.
Chapter40
IT CAME OUT OF THE BLUE--so unexpectedly -that it didn't really dawn on Claire what I had just said. She answered as if she were fielding a medical question in her lab. "Blood disorder. Pretty rare, serious. The body stops producing erythrocytes." "Red blood cells," I said. Claire glanced at me. "Why? It's not Cat?" referring to my sister. I shook my head. I sat rigid and stared straight ahead. My eyes were glassy. It was probably the long pause that caused it to slowly sink in. Claire whispered, "Not you?" An awful stillness took hold in the car. "Oh, Lindsay." Claire's jaw dropped. She pulled the Bronco onto the shoulder of the road and immediately reached out and hugged me. "What has your doctor told you?" "That it's serious. That it can be fatal." I saw the gravity of that wash over her face. The hurt, the pain. Claire was a doctor, a pathologist. She had taken in what was at stake before I even met her eyes. 1 told her that I was already undergoing packed-red cell transfusions twice a week. "That's why you wanted to get together the other day?" she declared. "Oh, Lindsay. Why couldn't you just tell me?" None of my past reasoning seemed clear now. "I wanted to so much. I was afraid. Maybe even more to admit it to myself. Then I allowed myself to get wrapped up in the case." "Does anyone know? Jacobi? Roth?" I shook my head. "Raleigh?" I took a breath. "Still think I'm ready for Mr. Right?" "You poor baby," Claire said softly. "Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay." Her body was shaking. I could feel it. I had hurt her. Suddenly, I let it all go- fear and shame and uncertainty rushing through me. I held on to Claire, and I realized she was all that kept me from hurtling out of control. I started to cry, and then we both did. It felt good, though. I wasn't alone anymore. "I'm here for you, sweetheart," Claire whispered. "I love you, girl."
Chapter41
THE MURDER IN NAPA changed everything. There were blistering attacks on the way the SFPD was trying to solve the case. We took heat from everywhere. Sensational headlines announced the handiwork of a sadistic, deranged, completely new kind of killer. Out-of town news crews buzzed around the Hall. Tragic wedding pictures and wrenching family scenes were the lead on every TV newscast. The task force that I was heading was meeting twice a day. Two other inspectors from SCU and a forensic psychologist were added on. We had to provide our files for the FBI. The investigation was no longer confined to some embittered figure lurking in David or Melanie Brandt's past. It had grown larger, deeper, more tragic and foreboding. Canvassing area wine shops, Jacobi's team had unearthed a few names, nothing more. The bloody jacket was leading us nowhere, too. The problem was, the tux style was from four or five years ago. Of the fifteen Bay Area stores, not one maintained records of manufacturers' styles, so it was virtually impossible to trace. We had to go over their records invoice by invoice. Mercer tripled our investigators. The killer was choosing his victims with careful precision. Both murders had taken place within a day of the victims' marriages; both reflected specific knowledge of the victims, their lodgings, their itineraries. Both couples still had most of their valuables: watches, wallets, jewelry. The only things missing were the wedding rings. He had dumped the De Georges in a seemingly isolated place, but one where they were sure to be found. He had left other blockbuster clues for us to follow up. It didn't make sense. The killer knows exactly what he's doing, Lindsay. He knows what you're doing. Link the crimes. 1 had to find the common denominator. How he knew his victims. How he knew so much about them. Raleigh and I divided up the possibilities. He took whoever had booked the Brandts' and the De Georges itineraries: travel agencies, limo services, hotels. I took planners. Ultimately, we would find some link between the crimes. "If we don't make progress soon," Raleigh grumbled, "there'll be a lot of priests and rabbis in this town with a shit load of dead time. What's this maniac after?" I didn't say, but I thought I knew. He was after happiness, dreams, expectations. He was trying to destroy the one thing that kept all of us going: hope.