I went up to him. “Pete, what the hell happened?”
Starcher had always had an edge for me. He was one of those cynical old-timers. - “You got business here, Lieutenant?”
“I knew Art Davidson. We went through school together.”
I didn't want to give him any inkling of why I was here.
Starcher sniffed, but he filled me in. The two patrolmen were responding to a 911 in the building. There was only this tape recorder there. It was all set up, orchestrated. “He was suckered. Some sonofabitch wanted to kill a cop.”
My body grew numb. I was sure it was him. “I'm going to look around.” Inside, it was just like Starcher had said. Spooky, weird, unreal. The living room was empty. Walls stripped of paint, and cracks in the plaster. As I wandered into the adjoining room, I froze. There was a pool of blood soaked into the floor; blood had splattered on the wall where the bullet had probably lodged. Poor Davidson. A portable tape deck sat on a folding chair in the center of the room.
I looked to the window, a hanging pane of splintered glass.
Suddenly everything was clear to me. There was a cold spot at the center of my chest.
I went to the open window. I leaned out, looked across the street. There was no sign of Chimera, or anybody But I knew... I knew because he had told me - the shot, the victim. He wanted us to know it was him.
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 33
“IT WAS HIM, LINDSAY, WASN'T IT?”
Cindy was on the phone. It was after eleven. I was trying to pull my wits together at the end of an insane, horrible night. I had just come in from taking Martha on a late walk.
All I wanted was to take a hot shower and wash the image of Art Davidson's body out of my mind.
“You have to tell me. It was the same guy. Chimera. Wasn't it?”
I threw myself onto my bed. “We don't know. There was nothing at the scene.”
“You know, Lindsay. I know you know. We both know it was him.”
I just wanted her to let me be and curl up in my bed. “I don't know,” I said wearily. “It could be.”
“What caliber was the gun? Did it match Catchings?”
“Please, Cindy, don't try to play detective on me. I knew the guy. His partner said it was his kid's seventh birthday. He had five children.”
“I'm sorry, Lindsay,” Cindy finally came back in a softer, gentler voice. “It's just that it's like the first murder, Lindsay. The shot that no one else could make.”
We sat awhile on the phone without talking. She was right. I knew she was right. Then Cindy said, “You've got another one, don't you, Lindsay?”
I didn't answer, but I knew what she meant.
“Another pattern killer. A cold-blooded marksman. And he's targeting blacks.”
“Not just blacks.” I sighed.
“Not just blacks...?” Cindy hesitated, then she came back in a rush. “The Oakland crime reporter got a rumor out of Homicide there. About the Chipman widow. Her husband was a cop. First Tasha's uncle. Then her. Now Davidson makes three. Oh, Jesus, Lindsay.”
“This stays with us,” I insisted. “Please, Cindy, I need to sleep now. You don't realize how hard this is for us.”
“Let us help, Lindsay. All of us. We want to help you.”
“I will, Cindy. I need your help. I need all of your help.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 34
I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING during the night. The killer had called 911.
I got right on it in the morning. Lila Mckendree ran Dispatch. She had been on the board when the Davidson call came in.
Lila was plump, rosy cheeked, and quick to smile, but no one was more professional, and she could coolly juggle serious situations like an air-traffic controller.
She set up the tape of the actual 911 call in the squad room. The entire detail huddled around. Cappy and Jacobi had come in before heading back out to Vallejo.
“It's on a three-loop reel,” Lila explained. She pressed the playback key.
In a few seconds, we were going to hear the killer's voice for the first time.
“San Francisco Police, nine one one hotline,” a dispatcher's voice said.
There wasn't another sound in the squad room.
An agitated male voice shot back, “I need to call in a disturbance... Some guy's doing an O.J. on his wife.”
“Okay... ” the operator replied. “I'll need to start with your location. Where is this disturbance taking place?”
There was an interfering background noise like a TV or traffic, making it difficult to hear. “Three oh three Seventh. Fourth floor. You better send someone out. It's starting to sound real bad.”
“You said the address was three oh three Seventh?”
“That's right,” the killer said.
“And who am I speaking with?” the operator asked.
“My name's Billy. Billy Reffon. I live down the hall. You better hurry.”
We all looked around, surprised. The killer gave a name?
Jesus.
“Listen, sir,” the dispatcher asked, “are you able to hear what's going on as I'm talking to you?” “What I can hear,” he said, “is some spook getting the living shit beat out of her.”
The dispatcher hesitated. “Yes, sir. Can you determine if there's been any physical injury so far?”
“I'm no doctor, lady I'm just trying to do the right thing. Just send someone!”
“Okay Mr. Reffon, I'm calling a patrol car now. What I want you to do is exit the building and wait for the officers. They're on the way.”
“You better move quick,” the killer said. “Sounds like someone's about to get hurt.”
After the transmission ended, there was the follow-up recording of the outgoing dispatch call.
“The call came from a mobile phone,” Lila said, shrugging her broad shoulders. “No doubt cloned. Here, it's starting up again on a three-cycle loop.” In a moment the tape came on a second time. This time, I listened closely for what the voice could tell me.
I need to call in a disturbance... It was a worried voice, panicked but cool.
“The guy's a good fucking actor,” Jacobi huffed.
My name's Billy Billy...... I clenched the edges of my wooden chair as I listened to the dispatcher's well-intended instructions. “Exit the building and wait for the officers. They're on the way.”
All the while, he was sitting behind a rifle scope, waiting for his prey to show up.
You better move quick, he said. Someone's about to get hurt.
We listened to the recording one more time.
This time, I heard the mocking indifference in his voice.
Not even the slightest tone of compunction for what he was about to do. In the last warning, I even detected a hint of a cold chuckle: Quick... Someone's about to get hurt.
“That's all I have,” Lila Mckendree said. “The killer's voice.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 35
THE DAVIDSON MURDER changed everything.
A bold headline in the Chronicle shouted, MURDERED COP THOUGHT TO BE THIRD IN TERROR SPREE." The front-page article, with Cindy's byline, cited the accurate, long-range rifle shots and also the symbol used by active hate groups that had been found at the scenes.
I headed down to the CSU lab and found Charlie Clapper curled up behind a metal desk, wearing a lab coat, munching on a breakfast of Doritos chips. His salt-and-pepper hair was oily and tousled, and his eyes sagged like heavy bags. “I've slept at this desk twice this week.” He scowled. “Doesn't anyone get killed during the day anymore?”
“In case you didn't notice, I haven't been getting my normal beauty rest the last week either.” I shrugged. "C'mon, Charlie, I need something on this Davidson thing. He's killing our own guys.