On the street, he glanced at his watch and headed toward home. On Cerritos, two stone pillars separated Ocean from the secure enclave of Ingleside Heights. The traffic disappeared behind him.
He passed the low stone house belonging to the Taylors.
A noise rustled out from a hedge. “Well, well, Chief?”
Mercer stopped. His heart was already pounding.
“Don't be shy. I haven't seen you in years,” the voice said again. “You probably don't remember.”
What the hell was going on?
A tall, muscular man stepped out from behind the hedge.
He was wearing a cocky smirk, a green windbreaker wrapped around him.
A vague recognition came over Mercer, a familiarity in the face he couldn't quite place. Then all at once it came back to him. Suddenly, everything made sense, and it took his breath away.
“This is such an honor,” the man said. “For you.”
He had a gun, heavy and silver. It was extended toward Mercer's chest. Mercer knew he had to do something. Ram him. Get to his own gun somehow. He needed to act like a cop on the street again.
“I wanted you to see my face. I wanted you to know why you were dying.”
“Don't do this. There are cops everywhere around here.”
“Good. That makes it even better for me. Don't be scared, Chief. Where you're going, you'll be running into a lot of your old friends.”
The first shot struck him in the chest, a burning, clothes-searing thud that buckled his knees. Mercer's first thought was to shout. Was it Parks or Vasquez stationed in front of his house? Only precious yards away. But his voice died inaudibly in his chest. Jesus God, please save me.
The second shot tore through his throat. He didn't know if he was up or down. He wanted to charge the killer. He wanted to take this bastard down. But his legs felt - paralyzed, inert.
The man with the gun was standing over him now. The bastard was still talking to him, but he couldn't hear a word.
His face kept melting in and out of focus. A name flashed in his mind. It seemed impossible. He said it twice just to be sure, his breath pounding in his ears.
“That's right,” the killer said, leveling the silvery gun.
“You've solved the case. You figured out Chimera. Congratulations.”
Mercer thought he should close his eyes - when the next bright orange flash exploded in his face.
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 44
I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER what I was doing when I heard the news. I was home, tending a pot of farfalle on the stove. “Adia” by Sarah Mclachlan was playing on the stereo.
Claire was coming over. I'd lured her for dinner with my famous pasta with asparagus and lemon sauce. Not lured her, actually... begged. I wanted to talk about something other than the case. Her kids, yoga, the California Senate race, why the Warriors sucked. Anything.
I will never forget... Martha sat toying with a headless San Francisco Giants mascot bear that she had appropriated to her side of the property list. I was chopping basil; I checked on the pasta. Tasha Catchings and Art Davidson had drifted out of my mind. Thank God.
The phone rang. A selfish thought knifed through me, hoping that it wasn't Claire bagging out of our date at the last minute.
I cradled the phone in the nape of my neck and answered.
It was Sam Ryan, the department's chief of detectives.
Ryan was my administrative superior in the chain of command. At the sound of his voice, I knew something had to be seriously wrong.
“Lindsay, something terrible has happened.”
My body went numb. It was like someone had reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart in their indifferent fist. I listened to Ryan speak. Three shots from point-blank range... Only a few yards from his house. Oh, my God... Mercer... “Where is he, Sam?”
“Moffitt. Emergency surgery. He's fighting.”
“I'll be right down. I'm on my way.”
“Lindsay, there's nothing you can do here. Get out to the scene.”
“Chin and Lorraine will cover it. I'll be right down.”
The doorbell buzzed. As if in a trance, I rushed over, opened it.
“Hey,” said Claire.
I didn't say a word. In an instant, she recognized the pallor on my face. “What's happened?”
My eyes were wet. “Claire... he shot Chief Mercer.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 45
WE RACED DOWN THE STEPS, climbed into Claire's Pathfinder, and made the dash from Potrero to the California Medical Center all the way over in Parnassus Heights. The entire ride, my heart pumped madly and hopefully The streets blurred by - Twenty-fourth, Guerrero, then across the Castro on Seventeenth to the hospital atop Mt. Sutro.
Barely ten minutes after I got the call, Claire spun the Pathfinder into a restricted parking space across from the hospital entrance.
Claire ID'd herself to a nurse at the front desk, asking for an up-to-date report. She looked worried as she charged inside the swinging doors. I ran up to Sam Ryan. “What's the word?”
He shook his head. “He's on the table now. If anyone can take three bullets and make it through, it's him.”
I flipped open my cell phone and patched into Lorraine Stafford at the scene. “Things are crazy here,” she said.
“There's people from Internal Affairs, and some goddamn city crisis agency And the fucking press. I haven't been able to get close to the radio cop who was first on the scene.”
“Don't let anyone other than you or Chin get close to that scene,” I told her. “I'll be out there as soon as I can.”
Claire came back out of the ER. Her face was drawn.
“They've got him open now, Lindsay. It doesn't look good. His cerebral cortex was penetrated. He's lost a ton of blood. It's a miracle he's hung on as long as he has.”
“Claire, I've got to get in there to see him.”
She shook her head. "He's barely alive, Lindsay.
Besides, he's under anesthesia."
I had this mounting sense that I owed it to Mercer, each unresolved death. That he knew, and if he died the truth would die with him. “I'm going in there.”
I pushed through the doors leading to the ER, but Claire held on to me. As I looked into her eyes, the last glimmer of hopefulness drained out of my body. I had always fought with Mercer, battled him. He was someone to whom I felt I always had something to prove, and prove again and again.
But in the end, he had believed in me. In the strangest of ways, I felt as if I were losing a father all over again.
Barely a minute later, a doctor in a green smock came out, peeling off latex gloves. He said a few words to one of the mayor's men, then to the assistant chief, Anthony Tracchio.
“The chief's dead,” Tracchio uttered.
Everyone stood staring blankly ahead. Claire put an arm around me and hugged.
“I don't know if I can do this,” I said, holding tightly on to her shoulder.
“Yes, you can,” she said.
I caught Mercer's doctor as he headed back to the ER. I introduced myself. “Did he say anything when he was brought in?”
The doctor shrugged. “He held on for a while, but whatever he said was incoherent. Just reflexive. He was on life support from the moment he came in.”
“His brain was still working, wasn't it, Doctor?” He had faced his killer head-on. Taken three shots. I could see Mercer holding on just long enough to say something. “Anything you remember?”
His tired eyes searched for something. "I'm sorry, Inspector. We were trying to save his life. You might try the EMS techs who brought him in.
He went back inside. Through the windows in the ER doors, I caught a glimpse of Eunice Mercer and one of their teenage daughters, tearfully hugging in the corridor.