“Coombs is Chimera, Jill,” I said. “I know I don't have it buttoned up yet, but I've got a motive and links that tie him to three victims. As well as outside testimony that corroborates his intentions.”
“Jailhouse testimony,” said Jill. Juries laugh at it these days."
She got up, came over, and put a hand on both Claire's and mine. “Look, I know how badly you want to close this. I'm your friend, but I'm still the law. Bring me anything, someone who saw him at a scene, a print he left on a door. Give me anything, Lindsay, and I'll be bashing down his door to get at him same as you. Turn him upside down, rattle him until his spare change falls out.”
I stood there, teeming with frustration and anger but knowing that Jill was right. I shook my head and made my way toward the door.
“What are you going to do?” asked Claire.
“Rattle the fucker. Turn his life upside down.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 84
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Jacobi and I picked up Cappy outside the William Simon and headed into the run-down lobby of the hotel. A sleepy- eyed Sikh was leafing through a newspaper in his native tongue behind the front desk. Jacobi thrust Coombs's photo and his badge in front of the man's startled eyes.
“What room?”
It took about three seconds for the turbaned clerk to squint at the photo, flip through a bound black register, and in a tight accent say, “Tree-oh-seven. He is registered with the name Burns.” He pointed. “Elevator to the right.”
Moments later, we stood in the dingy, paint-chipped hallway on the third floor outside Coombs's room, flicking our automatics off safety.
“Remember, we're only talking,” I cautioned. “Keep your eyes open for anything we can use.”
Jacobi and Cappy nodded, then each took a position on either side of the door. Cappy knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked again. “Mr. Frank Burns?”
Finally, a heavy, grumbling voice. “Go the fuck away. Get lost, huh. I'm paid up through Friday.” Jacobi shouted, “San Francisco Police, Mr. Burns. We got you your morning coffee.”
There was a long pause. I heard some commotion, the sound of a chair being dragged and a drawer closed. Finally, the sound of footsteps coming closer and a voice barking, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Just to ask a few questions. You mind opening the door?”
It took about a minute of waiting with our fingers tensed on the triggers for the door to finally unlatch.
It swung open, revealing an angry Coombs.
Chimera.
His face was round and heavy, with eyes that sagged into deep-set craters. Short, graying hair, a large, flat nose, mottled skin. He had on a white short-sleeved undershirt pulled over rumpled gray trousers. And his eyes burned with hatred and disdain.
“Here... ” exclaimed Jacobi, swatting him in the chest with a rolled-up Chronicle. “Your morning paper. Mind if we come in?”
“Yeah, I mind.” Coombs scowled.
Cappy smiled. “Anyone ever tell you you're a dead ringer for this cat who used to be on the force? What the hell was the cat's name? Oh yeah, Coombs. Frank Coombs. You ever hear that from anybody before?”
Coombs blinked impassively, then his mouth curled into a half smile. “Wouldn't you know I get boarded on planes for him all the time.”
If he recognized Jacobi or Cappy from years ago on the force, he didn't register it, but he squinted a look of familiarity as his gaze fell on me. “Don't tell me, after all this time, you bozos are the department's welcome-home committee?”
“How ' you let us in?” Jacobi asked.
“You come with a warrant?” Coombs leered.
“I told you nicely, we're just delivering your morning paper.”
“Then make a fucking scene. C'mon,” Coombs said between gritted teeth. His eyes were something else; they burned a hole right into the back of your skull.
Cappy pressed the door firmly in Coombs's face, then he and Jacobi pushed their way into the room. “As long as we're here, we might as well run a couple of questions by you.”
Coombs rubbed his unshaven chin, glaring vicious darts at us. He finally pulled out a wooden chair from a small table and took a seat with his arms wrapped around its back.
“Fuckers,” he muttered. “Useless shitbirds.”
The tiny room was littered with newspapers, Budweiser bottles lined up on the sill, cigarette butts in Coke cans. I had the sense that if I could only poke around, something was there.
“This is Lieutenant Boxer of the Homicide Detail,” Jacobi said. “We're Inspectors Jacobi and Mcneil.”
“Congratulations.” Coombs grinned. "I feel safer already.
What do you Three Stooges want?"
“Like I said,” Jacobi replied, "you should read the papers.
Keep abreast of what's going on. You follow what's in the news much?“ ”You got something to say, say it," Coombs said.
“Why don't you start by telling us where you were four nights ago,” I started in. “Friday? Around eleven o'clock.”
“Why don't you kiss my ass.” Coombs sneered. “You want to play games, let's play I was either at the ballet or the opening of that new art exhibition. I can't recall. My schedule's too full these days.”
“Simplify it for us,” Cappy snapped.
“Sure. Yeah. Actually, I was with friends.”
“These friends,” Jacobi cut in. “They have names, phone numbers? I'm sure they'd be happy to vouch for you.”
“Why?” Coombs's mouth puckered into a slight grin. “You got someone who says I was somewhere else?”
“I guess what I was thinking” - I met his eyes - “was when was the last time you made it out to Bay View? Your old stomping grounds? Maybe I should say your choking grounds.”
Coombs glared. I could tell he wanted to wrap his hands around my neck.
“So he does read the papers,” Cappy chortled.
The ex-con continued to glare. “What the fuck, Inspector, you think I'm some rookie whose knees start to shake when you wag your dick at him? Sure, I read the papers. You assholes can't solve your case so you come up here and shake my bush for old times. You've got zip on me, otherwise you wouldn't be lap dancing in my face and we'd be having this talk down at the Hall. You think I killed all those dingo bastards, then lock me up. Otherwise, oh, look at the time. My Town Car's waiting. Are we done?”
I wanted to take him by the throat and smack his smug face against the wall. But Coombs was right. We couldn't take him in. Not with what we had. “There are a few questions you're going to have to answer, Mr. Coombs. You'll have to answer why three people are dead who had a connection to your murder charge twenty years ago. You'll have to answer what you were doing on the nights they were killed.”
The veins on Coombs's forehead started to bulge. Then he calmed, and curled his lips into a smile. “You must be up here, Lieutenant, ' you've got some eyewitness that can place me at one of the murder scenes.”
I stared at his face without answering.
“Or my prints all over some weapon? Or fibers from this rug, right, or my clothing? You just came up here to let me turn myself in with dignity?”
I stood there inches from Chimera, watching his arrogant grin. “You think, just because you affirmative action flunkies come up here and look tough at me, I'm gonna shove up my ass and say, ', stick it here...' It gives me a real kick seeing those assholes drop one by one. You took my life away. You want to make me sweat, Lieutenant, then pretend you're real cops. Find something that will stick.”
I stood there staring into those cold, haughty eyes. I wanted to take him down so bad. I was tempted. “Consider yourself a murder suspect, Mr. Coombs. You know the routine. Don't leave town. We'll be back to see you soon.”