Chapter 73
THE FOLLOWING DAY we met after work for a drink at Susie's; it was Jill's introduction to our group. All day, I couldn't fix on anything other than the thought of confronting Jenks with what we knew and bringing him in. I wanted to accelerate everything- a face-to-face confrontation. I wanted to let him know we had him. Goddamn Red Beard. As we waited for drinks, I threw out a couple of new developments. A search of Kathy Kogut's home in Seattle had uncovered Jenks's name and phone number in the dead bride's phone book. A trace by Northwest Bell had turned up three calls to him in the past month- including one three days before the Cleveland wedding. It confirmed what Merrill Shortley had told us. "Right up to the very end," said Claire. "Creepy. Both of them, actually." We had run Jenks's photo by Maryanne Perkins of Saks as part of a photo spread with five others. We desperately needed something that pinned him to the first crime. She paused over his likeness for a few seconds. "It's him," she declared. Then she paused. "But then, it's hard to tell. It was so quick. And far away." The thought of a defense attorney cross-examining her didn't sit well with me. It didn't surprise me that Jill agreed. It took no longer than a single margarita for her to make a seamless entry into our group. Claire had met her a few times when she testified at trials. They had developed a mutual respect for each other's rise through their male-dominated departments. We asked Jill about herself, and she told us she was Stanford Law and her father was a corporate attorney back in Dallas. No interest in the corporate thing. That was for her husband, Steve, who was running a venture fund for Bank America. They lived in Burlingame -affluent, exclusive- took rock-climbing treks in the desert at Moab. No kids. "It just doesn't fit right now," she said. Jill seemed to live the epitome of the fast, successful life. At the same time, there seemed to be something missing. Maybe she was tired from the grind, the pace of her accomplishments. When our drinks arrived, Claire and I toasted Cindy's ingenuity in coming up with Jenks's name in such short time. And beating two police departments to the punch. Claire raised a glass to her. "You're pretty good for a rookie, of course. But you're still not the king." She smiled at me. "So I'm thinking," Jill said, looking around the table. "I know I can hold my own at dinner parties and all… but that's not why you asked me in, is it? Seems like we have all the angles covered here: the press, the force, medical examiner. Just what kind of a group is this?" I answered, since it was I who had invited her in. "Women. Climbing the ladder in their careers. Law enforcement." "Yeah, with soft, pushover types for bosses," put in Cindy. "Well, I qualify there," said Jill. "And it doesn't hurt that each of you seems to have some connection with the bride and groom case." I held my breath. Jill could blow this whole thing if she wanted to, but she was here. "We have been sort of working together," I admitted. "Outside the investigation." Over margaritas, I explained how we had originally gotten together. How we had come upon this case, trying to solve it, sharing what we knew, freelance. How it had become a sort of bond. How things had just gotten a bit deeper. Jill arched her eyebrows. "I assume you're sharing all this with the investigation?" "Of course," I insisted. "Well, sort of." I told her how we were giving Cindy only what the department was about to release to the press at large. How there was a thrill in cutting through the departments, advancing the case. "I know it's a different game when everything starts to get legal," I said. "If any of this makes you uncomfortable…" We were all sort of hanging there, awaiting her response. Loretta came, and we ordered another round. We were still hanging- waiting on Jill. "How about I let you know when things start to get uncomfortable," Jill said. She widened her blue eyes. "In the meantime, you're gonna need a lot stronger corroboration if we want to take this thing to court." The three of us breathed a sigh of relief. We tilted our near-empty glasses toward our new member. "So, this outfit have a name?" Jill inquired. We looked around, shrugged, shook our heads. "We're sort of a murder club," I said. "Lindsay's deputized us." Claire grinned. "The Margarita Posse," Jill threw out. "That has possibilities." "Bad-ass Bitches." Claire giggled. "One day, we're all gonna be running things," Cindy said. "Homicide Chicks," she came back with a satisfied grin. "That's who we are. That's what we do." "Just shut me up if I start to roar," said Jill. We looked around the table. We were bright, attractive, take-no-shit women. We were going to run things- some day. The waitress brought our drinks. We raised four glasses toward one another. "To us."
Chapter 74
I WAS DRIVING HOME, really pleased at having brought Jill into the group, but it didn't take long for the thought to worm its way in that I was still withholding from my friends. My beeper sounded. "What're you doin'?" Raleigh asked when I buzzed him back. "I was headed home. Beat." "You up for talking just a little? I'm at Mahoney's." Ma honey's was a dark, crowded bar near the Hall that was usually thick with off-duty cops. "Already ate," I told him. "Meet me anyway," Raleigh said. "It's about the case." I was only a few minutes away. Mahoney's was on Bran nan. To get to Potrero, I had to go right by it. I found myself a little nervous again. I was scared we were no longer playing things by the book. The book was, part255 ners didn't get involved. Nor people with their lives ebbing away. I knew that if I let things go, anything could happen. This wasn't some casual fling we could go at for a night and try to rationalize away the next day. As much as I wanted him, I was holding back. Scared to let it all come out. Of letting myself go. Of dragging him in. I was relieved when I saw Raleigh waiting for me outside the bar. He came up to my car. I couldn't help noticing that he looked good, as usual. "Thanks for not making me go in," I said. He leaned on the edge of my open window. "I looked into Nicholas Jenks," he said. "And?" "The guy's forty-eight. Went to law school but never finished. Started writing novels his first year. Wrote two books that didn't go anywhere. Then this twisted thriller, Crossed Wire, hit. "There's something you should know. Maybe seven years ago, give or take a few, cops were called out to his home in a domestic dispute." "Who made the call?" "His wife. His first wife." Raleigh leaned in closer. "I pulled up the report. First-on-the-scene described her as pretty beat-up. Bruises up and down her arms. Large bruise on her face." A thought flashed in my head- Merrill Shortley, on Kathy's boyfriend: He was into intense sex games. "Did the wife file?" I asked. Chris shook his head. "That's as far as it went. Never pressed charges. Since then, he's cashed in big-time. Six huge bestsellers. Movies, screenplays. New wife, too." "That means there's an old one out there who might be willing to talk." He had a satisfied expression on his face. "So, can I buy you a meal, Lindsay?" A hot bead of sweat burned a slow path down my neck. I didn't know whether to get out or stay in. I thought, If I got out… "Chris, I already ate. Had a commitment." "Jacobi." He grinned. He could always get me with that smile of his. "Sort of a women's thing, a group of us. We meet once a month. Go over our lives. You know, nanny problems, personal trainers, country homes. Affairs, things like that." "Anyone I know?" Raleigh raised his eyebrows. "Maybe one day I'll introduce you." We sort of hung there, my blood slowly throbbing in my chest. The hair on Raleigh's forearm gently grazed against mine. This was driving me insane. I had to say something. "Why'd you call me out here, Chris?" "Jenks," he replied. "I didn't tell you everything. We ran a firearms check on him with Sacramento." He looked at me with a glint in his eye. "He's got several registered. A Browning twenty-two-caliber hunting rifle, a Renfield thirty-thirty. A Remington forty-point-five." He was leading me on. I knew he had struck pay dirt. "There's also a Glock Special, Lindsay. Nineteen-ninety issue. Nine millimeter." A rush of validation shot through my veins. Chris frowned. "He has the weapon of choice, Lindsay. We we got to find that gun." I made a fist and brought it down against Raleigh's in triumph. My mind was racing. Sparrow Ridge, the phone calls,