Cindy had rushed down, and the three of us hung there waiting to see Jill. About two hours later, her husband, Steve, hurried in. We exchanged some awkward hugs, and part of me wanted to tell him, Don't you fucking realize this baby was for you? When the doctor came out, we let them be alone.
Jill was right. She had lost the baby. They called it a placental abruption, made worse from the stress of the job. The only good news was that the fetus had been removed surgically. Jill hadn't had to deliver it.
Afterward, Claire, Cindy and I filed out of the hospital onto California Street. No one wanted to go home. There was this Japanese place nearby that Cindy knew. We went there and sat around drinking beer and sake.
It was hard to accept that Jill, who worked tirelessly at the office, who rock-climbed at Moab and biked the rough terrain in Sedona, had twice been denied a child.
“The poor girl's just too damn hard on herself.” Claire sighed, warming her hands with her sake cup. “We all told her she had to ratchet it down.”
“Jill doesn't have that gear,” said Cindy -.
I picked up a California roll and turned it over an dover in the sauce. “She did it to please Steve. You could see it on her face. She keeps that impossible schedule. She doesn't give anything up. And he's running around the country willing investment bankers.”
“She loves him,” protested Cindy. “They're a team.”
"They're not a team, Cindy. Claire and Edmund are a team. The two of them, they're in a race.
“It's true,” Claire agreed. “That girl always has to be number one. The girl can't fail.”
“So which one of us is any different?” Cindy asked. She looked around. Waited.
There was a moment of protracted silence. Our gazes met with contrite smiles.
“But it's deeper than that,” I said. “Jill's different. She's tough as nails, but in her heart she feels alone. Any of us could be where she is now. We're not invincible. Except you, Claire. You have this mechanism that just keeps it together, you and Edmund and your kids, like that fucking battery rabbit, on and on and on.” Claire smiled. “Someone has to provide the balance around here. You saw your dad last night, didn't you?”
I nodded. “It went pretty well. I guess. We talked, we got some things out.” “No fisticuffs?” Cindy asked.
“No fisticuffs.” I smiled. “When I opened the door, he had on a catcher's mask. I'm serious.”
Claire and Cindy laughed out loud.
“He brought me this bottle of wine. Fancy French first-growth. Nineteen sixty-five. He bought it the year I was born. Kept it all these years. How do you figure that? He never even knew if he'd ever see me again.” “He knew he'd see you again,” Claire said with a smile.
She sipped her sake. “You're his beautiful daughter. He loves you.” “So how'd you leave it, Lindsay?” Cindy asked.
“I guess you could say we agreed to a second date. Actually, I told him he could stay with me for a while.”
Cindy and Claire both blinked.
“We told you to loosen up and see him, Lindsay.”
Cindy snorted. “Not ask him to share the rent.”
“What can I tell you? He was camped out on someone's couch. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“It is, honey.” Claire smiled. "Here's to you.
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “Here's to Jill.” “Yeah, here's to Jill,” Cindy said, lifting her beer.
We all clinked. Then it was quiet for a moment or two.
“I don't mean to change the subject,” Cindy said, “but you want to share where you are on the case?”
I nodded. “We're looking into the Chimera names Warden Estes gave us. But today I came up with a new theory.”
“New theory?” Cindy wrinkled her brow.
I nodded. "Look, this guy's a trained shooter.
He's made no mistakes. He's been one step ahead of us on every move. He knows how we work."
Cindy and Claire were listening. Not a word. I told them what Weiscz had said to me. An inside job.
“What if Chimera isn't a crazy racist killer from one of these radical groups?” I leaned forward. “What if he's a cop?”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 66
IN A DARK BAR, Chimera sipped his Guinness. The best for the best, he thought.
Next to him, a white-haired man with a blotchy red, dry-as-parchment face was downing Tom Collinses, glancing up at the TV. The news was on. An insipid reporter was giving the latest on the Chimera case, getting it all wrong, insulting the public, insulting him.
He kept his eyes peeled across the street through the bar's large window. He had followed the next victim here. This one he would relish. All those cops, chasing down the wrong leads. This kill would really set them on their heels.
“It's not over,” he muttered under his breath. And don't ever get the idea that I'm predictable. I'm not.
The drunk old-timer next to him gave him a nudge. “I think the bastard's one of them,” he said.
“One of them?” Chimera asked. “Watch your elbows. And what the hell are you talking about?”
“Black as the ace of spades,” the old man said. “They're combing through those hate groups. Ha, what a laugh. This is some sick jungle bunny minus one jar on the shelf. Probably plays in the NFL. Hey Ray.” he called to the bartender.
“Probably plays in the NFL... ” “What makes you say that?” Chimera asked, his eyes flicking across the street. He was curious about what his public was thinking. Maybe he ought to do more man-on-the-street interviews like this one.
“You think any motherfucker with a set of brains would leave clues like that?” the old man whispered conspiratorially.
“I think you're jumping a little fast, old-timer.”
Chimera finally grinned. “I think this killer's pretty smart.”
“How smart can you be to be a fucking murderer?” “Smart enough not to get caught,” Chimera said.
The man scowled at the screen. “Yeah, well, when it comes out, you watch. They're looking under the wrong rug. There's gonna be one big surprise. Maybe it's O.J. Hey, Ray, someone should check if O. J.'s in town.”
He had taken just about as much as he could of the drunk. But the guy was right about one thing. The San Francisco cops were lost in space. Man, they didn't have a clue.
Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer was nowhere on this. Not even close to him.
“I'll bet you something.” Chimera grinned at the old man.
He put his face close to him, his eyes wide. "If they catch him, I'll bet you he has green eyes.
Suddenly across the street, he spotted his target on the street. Well, maybe this will help Lieutenant Boxer focus. A hit real close to home. A little sidebar that he just couldn't resist. He tossed a few dollars on the bar.
“Hey, what's the rush?” The old man turned to him. “Let me buy you another brew. Hey what the hell, you got green eyes, buddy.”
Chimera spun out of his seat. “Gotta go. There's my date.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 67
ON THE LONG DRIVE HOME, Claire Washburn kept coming back to what had happened to poor Jill. The whole ride down 101 to her home in Burlingame, she couldn't put the terrible thought away.
She exited the highway at Burlingame and wound her way up into the hills. Her head pounded with weariness. It had been such a long day. These terrible murders, pulling the city apart. Then Jill losing her baby.
The digital clock on the dashboard said twenty past ten. Edmund was playing tonight. He wouldn't be back until sometime after eleven. She wished he would be home.
Tonight of all nights.
Claire swung onto Skytop and, a few yards later, into the driveway of her modern Georgian home. The house was dark; that's how it was these days now that Reggie was away at college. Willie, her high school sophomore, was no doubt in his room playing video games.