“You remember that shoe print we pulled off of the tar at the shooter's position of Art Davidson's killing?” “Of course,” I said.
He placed a second rendering beside the first. “This is one we were able to take from a patch of wet soil at the Mercer scene.”
The imprints were identical.
A hush filled the room. I looked at Agent Ruddy first, then Agent Hull.
“Course, they're just a standard pair of Reebok cross trainers,” Charlie explained.
From a pocket in his white lab coat, he removed a slide.
On it were tiny grains of powder. "We picked this up at the chief's crime scene.
I leaned over and stared at traces of the same white chalk.
“One killer,” I said. “One shooter.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 55
I CALLED THE GIRLS `=/+' TOGETHER for a quick lunch. I couldn't wait to see them.
We met at Yerba Buena Gardens, and sat in the courtyard outside the new IMAX, watching the kids play in the fountains, munching on take-out salads and wraps. I went through everything, from the moment I left them at Susie's, to the suspicion someone was following me, to taking down my father outside my apartment.
“My God,” uttered Claire. “The prodigal father.”
For a moment, it was as if a dome of silence had shut us off from the rest of the world. Everybody fixed on me with incredulous faces.
“When was the last time you'd seen him?” Jill asked.
“He was at my graduation from the academy. I didn't invite him, but he knew somehow.”
“He followed you?” Jill gasped. “From our meeting? Like some kind of creepy perp? Yick,” she said, cringing.
“Typical Marty Boxer.” I exhaled. “That's my dad.”
Claire put her hand on my arm. “So, what did he want?”
“I'm still not sure. It's like he wanted to make amends. He said my sister Cat told him I was sick. He followed the bride and groom case. He said he wanted to tell me how proud he was of me.”
“That was months ago.” Jill snorted, taking a bite of a chicken-and-avocado wrap. “He sure took his time.” “That's what I said.” I nodded.
Cindy shook her head. “He just decided after twenty years to show up at your door?”
“I think it's a good thing, Lindsay,” injected Claire. “You know me - positive.”
“A good thing that after twenty years he marches back in with a guilty conscience.”
“No, a good thing because he needs you, Lindsay. He's alone, right?” “He told me he got married again for two years, but he's divorced. Imagine, Claire, finding out years after the fact that your father got married again.”
“That's not the point, Lindsay,” Claire replied. “He's reaching out. You shouldn't be too proud to accept it.”
“How do you feel?” inquired Jill.
I wiped my mouth, took a sip of iced tea and then a long breath. “The truth? I don't even know. He's like some ghost from the past who brings back a lot of bad memories. Everything he's touched has only hurt people.” “He's your father, honey,” Claire said. “You've carried this hurt around since I've known you. You should let him in, Lindsay. You could have something you never had before.”
“He could also kick her in the shins again,” said Jill.
“Gee.” Cindy looked over at Jill. “The prospect of motherhood hasn't exactly made you all soft and gooey, has it?”
“One date with the reverend,” Jill chuffed back, “and suddenly you're the conscience of the group? I'm impressed.”
We looked at Cindy, all of us suppressing smiles.
“That's true.” Claire nodded. “You don't think you're going to get off the hook, do you?”
Cindy began to blush. Never since I'd known her had I seen Cindy Thomas blush.
“You guys do make quite the couple.” I sighed.
“I like him,” Cindy blurted. “We talked for hours. At a bar. Then he took me home. The end.”
“Sure.” Jill grinned. “He's cute, he's got a steady job, and if you're ever tragically killed, you don't have to worry about who will preside over your service.” “I hadn't thought of that one.” Cindy finally smiled.
“Look, it was one date. I'm doing a piece on him and the neighborhood. I'm sure he won't ask me out again.”
“But will you ask him out again?” said Jill.
“We're friends. No, we're friendly. It was a great couple of hours. I guarantee, all of you would have enjoyed yourselves. It's research,” Cindy said, and she folded her arms.
We all smiled. But Cindy was right; none of us would have turned down a couple of hours with Aaron Winslow. I still got chills when I remembered his talk at Tasha Catchings's funeral.
As we crumpled our trash, I turned to Jill. “So, how're you feeling? You okay?” She smiled. “Pretty good, actually.” Then she linked her hands around her barely swollen belly and puffed out her cheeks as if to say Fat... “I've just got this last case to finish up on. Then, who knows, I might even take some time off.”
“I'll believe that when I see it.” Cindy chortled. Claire and I mooned our eyes in support.
“Well, you just might be surprised,” Jill said.
“So what're you gonna do?” Claire turned to me as we got up to leave.
“Keep trying to link the victims. They'll connect.”
She kept her eyes on me. “I meant about your dad.”
“I don't know. It's a bad time, Claire. Now Marty comes barging in. If he wants a dispensation, he can wait in line.”
Claire stood up. She shot me one of her wise smirks.
“You obviously have a suggestion,” I said.
“Naturally. Why not do what you normally do in situations of doubt and stress?”
“And that is... ”
“Cook the man a meal.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 56
THAT AFTERNOON, Cindy hunched in front of her computer at the Chronicle, sipping a Stewart's Orange n' Cream, as she scrolled down another futile query.
Somewhere, in the deepest bin of her memory there was something she had filed away: a nagging recollection she couldn't place. Chimera... the word used in another context, some other form that would help the case.
She'd gone through CAL, the Chronicle's on-line archives, and come back with zilch. She had browsed through the usual search engines: Yahoo, Jeeves, Google. Her antennae were buzzing on high mode. She felt, as did Lindsay, that this fantastical monster led somewhere other than hate groups. It led to one very twisted and clever individual.
C'mon. She exhaled, jabbing the enter key in frustration. I know you're in here somewhere.
The day was nearly gone, and she'd come up with nothing. Not even a lead for tomorrow morning's edition. Her editor would be pissed. We have readers, he would grumble.
Readers want continuity. She'd have to promise him something. But what? The investigation was stalled.
When she found it, she was in Google, wearily eyeing down the eighth page of responses. It hit her like a slap.
Chimera... Hellhole, an expose of prison life in Pelican Bay, by Antoine James. Posthumous publication of prison hardships, cruelties, life of crime.
Pelican Bay. Pelican Bay was where they threw the worst of the worst troublemakers in the California prison system. Violent offenders who couldn't be controlled anywhere else.
She remembered now that she had read about Pelican Bay in the Chronicle, maybe two years before. That was where she'd heard of Chimera. It was how it fit. That was what had been needling her.
She spun her chair over to the CAL terminal on a nearby shelf. She pushed her glasses up on her forehead and typed in the query Antoine James.
Five seconds later, a response came up. One article, August 10, 1998. Two years before. Written by Deb Meyer, a Sunday section feature writer. Headlined: “POSTHUMOUS JOURNAL DETAILS NIGHTMARE WORLD OF VIOLENCE BEHIND BARS.”