With that cocky tape. Billy Reffon.
Finally I said, Fuck it. I called the girls. I couldn't hold back any longer. They were three of the sharpest law-enforcement minds in the city And this bastard had told me there were going to be more killings. We set up a meeting at Susie's.
“I need your help,” I said, panning their faces in our usual booth at the restaurant.
“That's why we're here,” Claire said. “You call, we come running.”
“Finally.” Cindy chuckled. “She admits she's nothing without us.”
“This Kiss” by Faith Hill was drowning out a basketball game on the TV but in the corner booth, the four of us were huddled in our own purposeful world. God, it was good to have everybody back together again.
“Everything's screwed up with Mercer gone. The FBI's come in. I don't even know who's in control. All I know is that the longer we wait, the more people are going to be killed.”
“This time there have to be some rules,” Jill said, tugging on a Buckler nonalcoholic beer. “This isn't a game. That last case, I think I broke every rule I took an oath to uphold. Withholding evidence, using the D. A.'s office for personal use. If anything had gotten out, I'd be doing my cases from the tenth floor.”
We laughed. The tenth floor of the Hall was where the holding cells were located.
“Okay.” I agreed. It was the same for me. “Anything we find we take to the task force.”
“Let's not go overboard,” said Cindy with a mischievous laugh. “We're here to help you, not to make the careers of some uptight, bureaucratic men.”
“The Margarita Posse lives,” joked Jill. “Jesus, I'm glad we're back.” “Don't you ever doubt it,” said Claire.
I looked around at the girls. The Women's Murder Club.
Part of me bristled with apprehension. Four people were dead, including the highest-ranking police officer in the city. The killer had proved he could strike anywhere he wanted to.
“Each murder has become more high profile, and daring,” I said, filling them in on the latest, including the book stuffed in Mercer's jacket. “He no longer needs the subterfuge of the racial MO. It's racial, all right. I just don't know why.”
Claire took us through the chief's autopsy, which she had finished up that afternoon. He was hit three times at close range with a.38 gun. “My impression is that the three shots were spaced at measured intervals. I could tell by the pattern that the wounds bled out. The last one was to the head. Mercer was already on the ground. It makes me think they may have confronted each other. That he was trying to kill him slowly Or that they were even talking. I guess where I'm headed is that it's likely Mercer knew his killer.”
“You checked into the possibility that all these officers were somehow connected?” Jill cut in. “of course you have. You're Lindsay Boxer.”
“Of course I have. There's no record any of them had even met. Their careers don't seem to have crossed. Tasha Catchings's uncle is younger than the others by twenty years. We can't find anything that puts them together.”
“Somebody hates cops. Well, actually, a lot of people do,” Cindy said.
“I just can't find the link. This started out in the guise of a hate crime. The killer wanted us to view the murders in a certain way. He wanted us to find his clues. And he wanted us to find the chimera. His fucked-up symbol.”
“But if this is a personal vendetta,” Jill said, “it doesn't make sense that it would lead back to some organized group.”
“Unless he was setting someone up,” I said.
“Or unless,” Cindy said, chewing her lip, “the chimera doesn't lead back to a hate group at all. Maybe this book is his way of telling us it's something else.”
I stared at her. We all did. “We're waiting, Einstein.”
She blinked remotely, then shook her head. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Jill said she would dig into any grievance cases against a black officer who had wronged or injured a white. Any act of vengeance that might explain the killer's mind-set. Cindy would do the same at the Chronicle.
It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. I had a task force meeting at seven-thirty the next morning. I looked each of my friends in the eye. “Thank you, thank you.” “We're gonna solve this sucker with you,” Jill said. “We're going to get Chimera.” “We've got to,” Claire said. “We need you to keep picking up the bar bill.”
For a few more minutes, we chatted about what we all had going on the next day, when we could get together again.
We were starting to cook now. Jill and Claire had their cars parked in the lot. I asked Cindy, who lived in the Castro section, near me, if she needed a ride.
“Actually,” she said with a smile, “I have a date.”
“Good for you. Who is your next victim?” Claire exclaimed. "When do we get to check him out?
“If you supposedly mature, talented women want to ogle like a bunch of schoolkids, I guess now He's picking me up.”
“I'm always up for a good ogle,” Claire said.
I snorted out a laugh. “You could be meeting Mel Gibson and Russell Crowe, and it wouldn't rock my boat tonight.”
As we pushed through the front door, Cindy tugged my arm. “Hold on to your oars, honey.”
We all saw him at once. We all ogled, and my boat was rocked.
Waiting outside, looking altogether sexy and handsome, dressed entirely in black, was Aaron Winslow.
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 50
I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. I stood there gawking. I looked at Cindy, then back at Winslow, my surprise slowly giving way to a blushing smile.
“Lieutenant.” Winslow nodded, cutting through the awkward murk. “When Cindy said she was meeting friends, I wasn't expecting to find you here.”
“Yeah, me too,” I babbled back.
“We're headed to the Blue Door,” Cindy said to the crowd, going through the introductions. “Pinetop Perkins is in town.”
“Terrific.” Claire nodded.
“Beatific,” snipped Jill.
“Anybody care to join?” Aaron Winslow asked. “If you haven't heard it, there's nothing like Memphis blues.”
“I'm in the office at six tomorrow,” said Claire. “You two go along.”
I leaned over to Cindy and whispered, “You know, when we were talking foxholes the other day, I was only joking.”
“I know you were,” Cindy said, looping her arm around mine. “But I wasn't.”
Claire, Jill, and I stood with our jaws open and watched the two of them disappear around the corner. Actually, they looked kind of cute together, and it was only a date to hear some music.
“Okay,” Jill said, “tell me I wasn't dreaming.”
“You weren't dreaming, girl,” Claire replied. “I just hope that Cindy realizes what she's getting herself into.”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “I hope he does.”
Getting into my car, I entertained myself with the notion of Cindy and Aaron Winslow. It almost pushed out of my head the reason we had gotten together in the first place.
I turned my Explorer onto Brannan and waved good-bye to Claire, who was heading over to 280. As I made the turn, I caught a glimpse of a white Toyota pulling out down the block behind me.
My mind was wrapped up with what I had just done, getting the girls involved in this horrible case. I had just countermanded a direct order from the mayor and my commanding officer. This time, there was no one backing me up.
No Roth, or Mercer.
A Mazda with two teenage girls in it pulled up behind me.
We had stopped at a light on Seventh. The driver was talking a mile a minute on her cell phone, while her companion obliviously sung along to the stereo.
As we started up, I kept my eye on them for a block, until they veered onto Ninth. A blue minivan took the Mazda's place.