2nd Chance Part 1

Womans Murder Club.

Second Chance.

by James Patterson.

Prologue

THE CHOIR KIDSAARON WINSLOW WOULD NEVER FORGET the next few minutes. He recognized the terrifying sounds the instant they cracked cracked through the night. His body went cold all over. He couldn't believe that someone was shooting a high-powered rifle in this neighborhood. through the night. His body went cold all over. He couldn't believe that someone was shooting a high-powered rifle in this neighborhood.K-pow, k-pow, k-pow...k-pow, k-pow, k-powHis choir was just leaving the La Salle Heights Church.Forty-eight young kids were streaming past him toward the sidewalk. They had just finished their final rehearsal before the San Francisco Sing-Off, and they had been excellent.Then came the gunfire. Lots of it. Not just a single shot. A strafing. An attack. An attack.K-pow, k-pow, k-pow...k-pow, k-pow, k-pow"Get down..." he screamed at the top of his voice. "Everybody down on the ground! Cover your heads. Cover up!" He almost couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth.At first, no one seemed to hear him. To the kids, in their dress white blouses and shirts, the shots must have sounded like firecrackers. Then a volley of shots rained through the church's beautiful stained-gla.s.s window. The depiction of Christ's blessing over a child at Capernaum shattered, gla.s.s splintering everywhere, some of it falling on the heads of the children."Someone's shooting!" Winslow screamed. Maybe more than one person. How could that be? How could that be? He ran wildly through the kids, shouting, waving his arms, pushing as many as he could down to the gra.s.s. He ran wildly through the kids, shouting, waving his arms, pushing as many as he could down to the gra.s.s.As the kids finally crouched low or dove for the ground, Winslow spotted two of his choir girls, Chantal and Tamara, frozen on the lawn as bullets streaked past them. "Get down, Chantal, Tamara!" he yelled, but they remained there, hugging each other, emitting frantic walls. They were best friends. He had known them since they were little kids, playing four-square on blacktop.There was never any doubt in his mind. He sprinted toward the two girls, grasped their arms firmly, and tumbled them to the ground. Then he lay on top of them, pressing their bodies tightly. Bullets whined over his head, just inches away. His eardrums hurt. His body was trembling and so were the girls shielded beneath him. He was almost sure he was about to die. "It's all right, babies," he whispered. Bullets whined over his head, just inches away. His eardrums hurt. His body was trembling and so were the girls shielded beneath him. He was almost sure he was about to die. "It's all right, babies," he whispered.Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing stopped. A hush of silence hung in the air. So strange and eerie, as if the whole world had stopped to listen.As he raised himself, his eyes fell on an incredible sight.Slowly, everywhere, the children struggled to their feet.There was some crying, but he didn't see any blood, no one seemed to be hurt."Everyone okay?" Winslow called out. He made his way through the crowd. "Is anyone hurt?" "I'm okay ... I'm okay," came back to him. He looked around in disbelief. This was a miracle. "I'm okay ... I'm okay," came back to him. He looked around in disbelief. This was a miracle.Then he heard the sound of a single child whimpering.He turned and spotted Maria Parker, only twelve years old. Maria was standing on the whitewashed wooden steps of the church entrance. She seemed lost. Choking sobs poured from her open mouth.Then Aaron Winslow's eyes came to rest on what had made the girl hysterical. He felt his heart sink. Even in war, even growing up on the streets of Oakland, he had never felt anything so horrible, so sad and senseless."Oh, G.o.d. Oh, no. How could you let this happen?"Tasha Catchings, just eleven years old, lay in a heap in a flower-bed near the foundation of the church. Her white school blouse was soaked with blood.Finally, Reverend Aaron Winslow began to cry himself.

Part I.

THE WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB-AGAIN

Chapter 1.

ON A TUESDAY NIGHT, I found myself playing a game of crazy eights with three residents of the Hope Street Teen House. I was loving it. On the beat-up couch across from me sat Hector, a barrio kid two days out of Juvenile; Alysha, quiet and pretty, but with a family history you wouldn't want to know; and Mich.e.l.le, who at fourteen had already spent a year selling herself on the streets of San Francisco. On the beat-up couch across from me sat Hector, a barrio kid two days out of Juvenile; Alysha, quiet and pretty, but with a family history you wouldn't want to know; and Mich.e.l.le, who at fourteen had already spent a year selling herself on the streets of San Francisco."Hearts," I declared, flipping down an eight and changing the suit just as Hector was about to lay out."d.a.m.n, badge lady," he whined. "How come each time I'm 'bout to go down, you stick your knife in me?""Teach you you to ever trust a cop, fool." Mich.e.l.le laughed, tossing a conspiratorial smile my way. to ever trust a cop, fool." Mich.e.l.le laughed, tossing a conspiratorial smile my way.For the past month, I'd been spending a night or two a week at the Hope Street House. For so long after the terrible bride and groom case that summer, I'd felt completely lost. I took a month off from Homicide, ran down by the marina, gazed out at the bay from the safety of my Potrero Hill flat.Nothing helped. Not counseling, not the total support of my girls - Claire, Cindy, Jill. Not even going back to the job.I had watched, unable to help, as the life leaked out of the person I loved. I still felt responsible for my partner's death in the line of duty. Nothing seemed to fill the void.So I came here...to Hope Street.And the good news was, it was working a little.I peered up from my cards at Angela, a new arrival who sat in a metal chair across the room cuddling her three-month-old daughter. The poor kid, maybe sixteen, hadn't said much all night. I would try to talk to Angela before I left.The door opened and Dee Collins, one of the house's head counselors, came in. She was followed by a stiff-looking black woman in a conservative gray suit. She had Department of Children and Families written all over her."Angela, your social worker's here." Dee knelt down beside her."I ain't blind," the teenager said."We're going to have to take the baby now," the social worker interrupted, as if completing this a.s.signment was all that kept her from catching the next Caltrain."No!" Angela pulled the infant even closer. "You can keep me in this hole, you can send me back to Claymore, but you're not taking my baby.""Please, honey, only for a few days," Dee Collins tried to a.s.sure her.The teenage girl drew her arms protectively around her baby, who, sensing some harm, began to cry."Don't you make a scene, Angela," the social worker warned. "You know how this is done."As she came toward her, I watched as Angela jumped out of the chair. She was clutching the baby in one arm and a gla.s.s of juice she'd been drinking in the opposite hand.In one swift motion, she cracked the gla.s.s against a table. It created a jagged shard."Angela." I jumped up from the card table. "Put that down. No one's going to take your baby anywhere unless you let her go.""This b.i.t.c.h is trying to ruin my life." She glared at the DFG agent, gripping the broken gla.s.s so tightly it cut into her hand. "First she lets me sit in Claymore three days past my date, then she won't let me go home to my mom. Now she's trying to take my baby girl." is trying to ruin my life." She glared at the DFG agent, gripping the broken gla.s.s so tightly it cut into her hand. "First she lets me sit in Claymore three days past my date, then she won't let me go home to my mom. Now she's trying to take my baby girl."I nodded, peering into the teenager's eyes. "First, you gotta lay down the gla.s.s," I said. "You know know that, Angela." that, Angela."The DCF worker took a step, but I held her back. I moved slowly toward Angela. I took hold of the gla.s.s, then I gently eased the child out of her arms."She's all I have," the girl whispered, and then she started to sob."I know know,"I said gently. "That's why you'll change some things in your life and get her back."Dee Collins had her arms around Angela, a cloth wrapped around the girl's bleeding hand. The DCF worker was trying unsuccessfully to hush the crying infant.I went up and said to her, "That baby gets placed somewhere nearby with daily visitation rights. And by the way, I didn't see anything going on here that was worth putting on file... You? You?" The caseworker gave me a disgruntled look and turned away.Suddenly, my beeper sounded, three dissonant beeps punctuating the tense air. I pulled it out and read the number. Jacobi, my ex-partner in Homicide. What did he want? Jacobi, my ex-partner in Homicide. What did he want?I excused myself and moved into the staff office. I was able to reach him in his car."Something bad's happened, Lindsay," he said glumly. "I thought you'd want to know."He clued me in about a horrible drive-by shooting at the La Salle Heights Church. An eleven-year-old girl had been killed."Jesus... " I sighed as my heart sank."I thought you might want in on it," Jacobi said.I took in a breath. It had been over three months since I'd been on the scene at a homicide. Not since the day the bride and groom case ended."So, I didn't hear," Jacobi pressed. "You want in, Lieutenant? Lieutenant?" It was the first time he had called me by my new rank.I realized my honeymoon had come to an end. "Yeah," I muttered. "I want in."

Chapter 2.

A COLD RAIN STARTED TO FALL as I pulled my Explorer up to the La Salle Heights Church on Harrow Street, in the predominantly black section of Bay View. An angry, anxious crowd had formed - a combination of saddened neighborhood mothers and the usual sullen homeboys huddled in their bright Tommys all pushing against a handful of uniformed cops. -"This ain't G.o.dd.a.m.n Mississippi," someone shouted as I forced my way through the throng."How many more?" an older woman wailed. "How many more?"I badged my way past a couple of nervous patrolmen to the front. What I saw next absolutely took my breath away.The facade of the white clapboard church was slashed with a grotesque pattern of bullet holes and lead-colored c.h.i.n.ks. A huge hole gaped in a wall where a large stained-gla.s.s window had been shot out. Jagged edges of colored gla.s.s teetered like hanging ice. Kids were still scattered all over the lawn, obviously in shock, some being attended to by EMS teams."Oh, Jesus," I whispered under my breath.I spotted medical techs in black windbreakers huddled over the body of a young girl by the front steps. A couple of plainclothesmen were nearby. One of them was my ex-partner, Warren Jacobi.I found myself hesitating. I had done this a hundred times. Only months ago I had solved the biggest murder case in the city since Harvey Milk, but so much had happened since then. I felt weird, like I was new at this. Balling my fists, I took a deep breath and went over to Jacobi."Welcome back to the world, Lieutenant," Jacobi said with a roll of the tongue on my new rank.The sound of that word still sent electricity surging through me. Heading Homicide had been the goal I had pursued throughout my career: the first female homicide detective in San Francisco, now the department's first female lieutenant. After my old L. T., Sam Roth, opted for a cushy stint up in Bodega Bay, Chief Mercer had called me in. I can do one of two things, he'd said to me. I can keep you on long-term administrative leave and you can see if you find the heart to do this job again. Or I can give you these, Lindsay." He pushed a gold shield with two bars on it across the table. Until that moment, I don't think I had ever seen Mercer smile."The lieutenant's shield doesn't make it any easier, does it, Lindsay?" Jacobi said, emphasizing that our three-year relationship as partners had now changed."What do we have?" I asked him."Looks like a single gunman, from out in those bushes."He pointed to a dense thicket beside the church, maybe fifty yards away. "a.s.shole caught the kids just as they came out. Opened fire with everything he had."I took a breath, staring at the weeping, sh.e.l.l-shocked kids scattered all over the lawn. "Anybody see the guy? Somebody did, right?"He shook his head. "Everyone hit the deck."Near the fallen child, a distraught black woman sobbed into the shoulder of a comforting friend. Jacobi saw my eyes fix on the dead girl."Name's Tasha Catchings," he muttered. "In the fifth grade, over at St. Anne's. Good girl. Youngest kid in the choir."I moved in closer and knelt over the blood-soaked body. No matter how many times you do this, it's a wrenching sight. Tasha's school blouse was soaked with blood, mixed with falling rain. Just a few feet away, a rainbow-colored knapsack lay on the gra.s.s."She's it?" I asked incredulously. I surveyed the scene."She's the only one who got hit?"Bullet holes were everywhere, splintered gla.s.s and wood.Dozens of kids had been streaming out to the street... All those shots, and only one victim."Our lucky day, huh?" Jacobi snorted.

Chapter 3.

PAUL CHIN, one of my Homicide crew, was interviewing a tall, handsome black man dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans on the steps of the church. I'd seen him before, on the news. I even knew his name, Aaron Winslow.Even in shock and dismay, Winslow carried himself with a graceful bearing - a smooth face, jet-black hair cut flat on top, and a football running back's build. Everyone in San Francisco knew what he was doing for this neighborhood.He was supposed to be a real-life hero, and I must say he looked the part.I walked over."This is Reverend Aaron Winslow;" Chin said, introducing us."Lindsay Boxer," I said, extending my hand."Lieutenant Boxer," said Chin. "She'll be overseeing the case." "I'm familiar with your work," I said. "You've given a lot to this neighborhood. I'm so sorry for this. I don't have any words for it."His eyes shifted toward the murdered girl. He spoke in the softest voice imaginable. "I've known her since she was a child. These are good, responsible people. Her mother... she brought up Tasha and her brother on her own. These were all young kids. Choir practice, Lieutenant."I didn't want to intrude, but I had to. "Can I ask a few questions? Please."He nodded blankly. "Of course."You see anyone? Someone fleeing? A shape, a glimpse?""I saw where the shots came from," Winslow said, and he pointed to the same thicket of bushes where Jacobi had gone."I saw the trailer fire. I was busy trying to get everyone down. It was madness.""Has anyone made any threats recently against you or your church?" I asked."Threats?" Winslow screwed up his face. "Maybe years ago, when we first got funding to rebuild some of these houses."A short distance away, a haunting wail came from Tasha Catchings's mother as the girl's body was lifted onto a gurney.This was so sad. The surrounding crowd was growing edgy.Taunts and accusations began to ring out. "Why are you all standing around? Go find her killer!" "I better get over there," Winslow said, "before this thing goes the wrong way." He started to move, then turned with tight-lipped resignation on his face. "I could have saved that poor baby. I heard the shots.""You couldn't save them all," I said. "You did what you could."He finally nodded. Then he said something that totally shocked me. "It was an M Sixteen, Lieutenant. Thirty-round clip. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d reloaded twice." "How would you know that?" I asked, surprised."Desert Storm," he answered. "I was a field chaplain.No way I would ever forget that awful sound. No one ever does."

Chapter 4.

I HEARD MY NAME CALLED OUT over the din of the crowd. It was Jacobi. He was in the woods behind the church. "Hey Lieutenant, come check this out."Heading over, I wondered what kind of person could do such a terrible thing. I had worked on a hundred homicides; usually drugs, money or s.e.x was at the heart of them. But this... this was meant to shock. -"Check it out," Jacobi said, bending down over a spot.He'd found a bullet casing."M Sixteen, I bet," I replied.Jacobi nodded. "Little lady's been brushing up during her time off? Sh.e.l.l's a Remington two twenty-three.""Lieutenant Little Lady to you." I smirked. Then I told him how I knew.Dozens of empty sh.e.l.ls were scattered all around. We were deep in the brush and trees, hidden from the church.Casings were strewn in two distinct cl.u.s.ters about five yards apart."You can see where he started firing," Jacobi said. "I figure here. He must've moved around."From the first cl.u.s.ter of sh.e.l.ls, there was a clear line of sight to the side of the church. That stained-gla.s.s window in full view... all those kids streaming toward the street... I could see why no one had spotted him. His hiding place was totally protected."When he reloaded, he must've moved over there." Jacobi pointed.I made my way over and crouched near the second cl.u.s.ter of sh.e.l.ls. Something wasn't making sense. The facade of the church was in view; the front steps where Tasha Catchings had lain. But only barely.I squinted through an imaginary sight, leveling my gaze at where Tasha must've been when she was. .h.i.t. You could barely even fix it into sight. There was no way he could've intentionally been aiming for her. She had been struck from a totally improbable angle."Lucky shot," Jacobi muttered. "What do you think, a ricochet?""What's back here?" I asked. I looked around, pushing my way through the thick bushes leading away from the church.No one had seen the shooter escape, so he obviously hadn't made his way along Harrow Street. The brush was about twenty feet deep.At the end was a five-foot-high chain-link fence dividing the church grounds from the surrounding neighborhood. The fence wasn't high. I planted my flats and hoisted myself over.I found myself facing penned-in backyards and tiny row houses. A few people had gathered, watching the show. To the right, the playgrounds of the Whitney Young projects.Jacobi finally caught up with me. "Take it easy, Loo," he huffed. "There's an audience. You're making me look bad.""This is how he must've made his way out, Warren." We looked in both directions. One way led toward an alley, the other toward a row of homes.I shouted to a group of onlookers who had gathered on a back porch, "Anyone see anything?" No one responded."Someone was shooting at the church," I shouted. "A little girl's been killed. Help us out. We need your help."Everyone stood around with the unconfiding silence of people who don't talk to the police.Then slowly a woman of about thirty came forward. She was nudging a young boy ahead of her. "Bernard saw something," she said in a m.u.f.fled voice.Bernard appeared to be about six, with cautious, round eyes, wearing a gold-and-purple Kobe Bryant sweatshirt."It was a van," Bernard blurted. "Like Uncle Reggie's." He pointed to the dirt road leading to the alley. "It was parked down there."I knelt down, gently smiling into the scared boy's eyes."What color van, Bernard?"The kid replied, "White.""My brother's got a white Dodge minivan," Bernard's mother said."Was it like your uncle's, Bernard?" I asked."Sorta. Not really though.""Did you see the man who was driving it?"He shook his head. "I was bringing out the garbage. I only saw it drive away.""Do you think you would recognize it again if you saw it?" I asked.Bernard nodded."Because it looked like your uncle's?"He hesitated. "No, because it had a picture on the back.""A picture? You mean like an insignia? Or some kind of advertising?""Uh-uh." He shook his head; his moon-like eyes were searching around. Then they lit up. "I mean like that." He pointed toward a pickup truck in a neighbor's driveway.There was a sticker of a Cal Golden Bear on the rear b.u.mper."You mean a decal?" I confirmed."On the door."I held the boy softly by the shoulders. "What did this decal look like, Bernard?" "Like Mufasa," the boy said, "from The Lion King.""A lion?" My mind raced through anything that seemed likely. Sports teams, college logos, corporations... "Yeah, like Mufasa," Bernard repeated. "Except it had two heads."

Chapter 5.

LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, I was pushing through a surging crowd that had built up on the steps of the Hall of Justice. I felt hollowed out and terribly sad, but knew I couldn't show it here.The lobby of the tomb-like granite building where I worked was packed with reporters and news crews, shoving their microphones at anyone who came in wearing a badge.Most of the crime reporters knew me but I waved them off until I could get upstairs.Then a set of hands grasped my shoulders and a familiar voice chimed, "Linds, we need to talk.I spun to face Cindy Thomas, one of my closest friends, though it also happened she was the lead crime reporter at the Chronicle. "I won't bother you now," she said above the din. "But it's important. How about Susie's, at ten?"It had been Cindy who, as a stringer buried on the paper's Metro desk, had sneaked into the heart of the bride and groom case and helped blow it wide open. Cindy who, as much as any of us, was responsible for the gold on my shield today.I managed a smile. "I'll see you there."Upstairs on three, I strode into the cramped fluorescent-lit room that the twelve inspectors who managed Homicide for the city called home. Lorraine Stafford was waiting for me there. She had been my first appointment, after six successful years in s.e.x Crimes. And Cappy Mcneil had come in, too.Lorraine asked, "What can I do?""You can check with Sacramento for any stolen white vans. Any model. In-state plates. And put out an APB along with it for a b.u.mper sticker of some sort of lion on the rear."She nodded and started away."Lorraine." I stopped her. "Make that a two-headed lion."Cappy walked with me while I made myself a cup of tea.He'd been in Homicide for fifteen years, and I knew he had supported me when Chief Mercer consulted him about offering me the lieutenant job. He looked sad, thoroughly depressed. "I know Aaron Winslow. I played ball with him in Oakland. He's devoted his life to those kids. He really is one of the good guys, Lieutenant."All of a sudden Frank Barnes from Auto Theft stuck his head into our office. "Heads up, Lieutenant. Weight's on the floor.""Weight, in the lexicon of the SFPD, meant Chief of Police Earl Mercer.

Chapter 6.

MERCER STRODE IN, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, trailed by Gabe Carr, a mean little weasel who was the department's press liaison, and Fred Dix, who managed community relations.The chief was still dressed in his trademark dark gray suit, blue shirt, and shiny gold cuff links. I'd watched Mercer manage a number of tense scenes - transit bombings, Internal Affairs stings, serial killers - but I'd never seen his face so tight. He motioned me into my office and, with barely a word, pulled the door shut. Fred Dix and Gabe Carr were already inside."I just got off the phone with Winston Gray and Vernon Jones" - two of the city's most outspoken leaders. "They've a.s.sured me they'll plead for restraint, give us some time to find out just what the f.u.c.k is going on. Just so I'm clear: By restraint, what they mean is, deliver the person or group who's responsible for this or they'll have two thousand outraged citizens at City Hall."He barely relaxed his face when he stared at me. "So I'm hoping, Lieutenant, you got something you want to share... ?"I took him through what I had found at the church, along with Bernard Smith's sighting of the white getaway van."Van or not," the mayor's man, Fred Dix, cut in, "you know where you have to start on this. Mayor Fernandez is going to come down hard on anyone operating in the area espousing a racist or antidiversity message. We need some heat to fall their way.""You seem pretty sure that's what we're looking at," I said with a noncommittal glance. "Your garden-variety hate crime?""Shooting up a church, murdering an eleven-year-old child? Where would you start, Lieutenant?""That girl's face is going to be on every news report in the country," Carr, the press liaison, pitched in. "The effort in the Bay View neighborhood is one of the mayor's proudest accomplishments."I nodded. "Does the mayor mind if I finish my eyewitness interviews first?""Don't worry yourself with the mayor," Mercer cut in."Right now, all you have to be concerned with is me. I grew up on these streets. My folks still live in West Portal. I don't need a TV sound bite to see that kid's face in my mind. You run the investigation wherever it leads. Just run it fast. And Lindsay... nothing gets in the way, you understand?"He was about to get up. "And most importantly, I want total containment on this. I don't want to see this investigation being run on the front page.Everyone nodded, and Mercer, followed by Dix and Carr, stood up. He let out a deep blast of air. "Right now, we have one h.e.l.l of a press conference to muck our way through."The others filed out of the room, but Mercer stayed behind. He leaned his thick hands on the edge of my desk, his hulking shape towering over me."Lindsay, I know you left a lot on the table after that last case. But all that's done. It's history now. I need everything you have on this case. One of the things you left behind when you took that shield was the freedom to let personal pain interfere with the job.""You don't have to worry about me." I gave him a solid stare. I'd had my differences with the man over the years, but now I was ready to give him everything I had. I had seen the dead little girl. I had seen the church torn up. My blood was on fire. I hadn't felt this way since I left the job.Chief Mercer flashed me a smile of understanding. "It's good to have you back, Lieutenant."

Chapter 7.

AFTER A HIGHLY CHARGED NEWS CONFERENCE conducted on the steps of the Hall, I met Cindy at Susie's as we had arranged. After the frenzied scene at the Hall, the relaxed, laid-back atmosphere at our favorite meeting place was a relief. She was already sipping a Corona as I arrived.A lot had happened here at this very table. Cindy; Jill Bernhardt, the a.s.sistant district attorney; and Claire Washburn, the chief medical examiner, my closest friend. We had started to meet last summer, when it seemed that fate had pulled us together with links to the bride and groom case. In the process, we had evolved into the closest of friends.I signaled our waitress, Loretta, for a beer, then planted myself across from Cindy with a worn-out smile. "Hey... " "Hey yourself." She smiled back. "Good to see you.""Good to be seen."A TV blared above the bar, a broadcast of Chief Mercer's news conference. "We believe it was a single gunman," Mercer announced to a flash of photographers' bulbs."You stay for that?" I asked Cindy, taking a welcome swig of my ice-cold beer."I was there," she replied. "Stone and Fitzpatrick were there, too. They filed the report."I gave her a startled look. Tom Stone and Suzie Fitzpatrick were her compet.i.tion on the crime desk. "You losing your touch? Six months ago, I would've found you coming out of the church as soon as we arrived.""I'm going at it from another angle." She shrugged.A handful of people crowded around the bar, trying to catch the breaking news. I took another chug of beer. "You should've seen this poor little girl, Cindy. All of eleven years old. She sang in the choir. There was this rainbow-colored knapsack with all her books on the ground nearby.""You know this stuff, Lindsay." She gave me a bolstering smile. "You know how it is. It sucks.""Yeah." I nodded. "But just once, it'd be nice to pick one of them up... you know, brush them off, send them home. Just once, I'd like to hand one back their book bag."Cindy tapped her fist affectionately on the back of my hand. Then she brightened. "I saw Jill today. She's got some news for us. She's excited. Maybe Bennett's retiring and she's getting the big chair. We should get together and see what's up with her.""For sure." I nodded. "That what you wanted to tell me tonight, Cindy... ?"She shook her head. In the background, all h.e.l.l was breaking loose; in the news conference on the screen Mercer was promising a swift and effective response. "You've got a problem, Linds... "I shook my head. "I can't give you anything, Cindy.Mercer's handling everything. I've never seen him so worked up. I'm sorry.""I didn't ask you here to get something, Lindsay... ""Cindy, if you know something, tell me.""I know that boss of yours better be careful what he's committing to."I glanced at the screen. "Mercer... In the background, I heard his voice a.s.serting that the shooting was an isolated incident, that we already had tangible leads, that every available cop would be on the case until we tracked the killer down."He's telling the world you're gonna nail this guy before it happens again... ?""So... ?"Our eyes met solidly. "I think it already has."

Chapter 8.

THE KILLER WAS PLAYING DESERT COMMANDO and he was a master.Phffft, phffft, phffft... phffft, phffft.Impa.s.sively he squinted through the illuminated infrared sight as hooded figures darted into view. As if by an extension of his finger, the darkened, maze-like chambers of the terrorist bunker exploded in b.a.l.l.s of orange flame. Shadowy figures burst into narrow halls, phffft, phffft, phffft.He was a champion at this. Great hand-eye coordination.No one could touch him.His finger twitched on the trigger. Ghouls, sand mites, towel-heads. Come at me, baby... Phffft, phffft... Up through the dark corridors... He smashed through an iron door, came upon a whole nest of them, sucking on tabbouleh, "laying cards. His weapon spit a steady orange death.Blessed are the peacemakers. He smirked.He squinted one more time through the sight, replaying the scene at the church in his mind, imagining her face. That little Jemima, with her braided hair, the rainbow-colored knapsack on her back.Phfft, phfft. An on screen figure's chest exploded. This next kill was for the record. Got it! His eye flashed toward the score. Two hundred seventy-six enemy dead.He took a tug on his Corona and grinned. A new personal record. This score was worth keeping. He punched in his initials: FC.He stood at the machine in the Playtime arcade in West Oakland, flicking the trigger long after the game had ended.He was the only white guy in the room. The only one. In fact, that was why he chose to be here.Suddenly, the four large television sets overhead were blaring the same face. It sent a chill down his back and made him furious.It was Mercer, the pompous a.s.s who ran the San Francisco cops. He was acting like he had everything figured out."We believe this was the act of a single gunman...," he was saying. "An isolated crime... " If you only knew. He laughed.Wait until tomorrow... You'll see. Just you wait, Chief a.s.s hole."What I want to stress," the chief of police declared, "is that under no circ.u.mstance will we permit this city to be terrorized by racial attack... "This city. He spat. What do you know about this city? You don't belong here.He clutched at a C-l grenade in his jacket pocket. If he wanted to, he could blow everything open right here.Right now.But there was work to do.Tomorrow.He was going for another personal record.

Chapter 9.

THE NEXT MORNING Jacobi and I were back examining the grounds of the La Salle Heights Church.All night long, I had fretted over what Cindy had told me about a case that had come across her desk. It involved an elderly black woman who lived alone in the Gustave White projects in West Oakland. Three days ago, the Oakland police had found her hanging from a pipe in the bas.e.m.e.nt laundry room, an electrical cord tightly wound around her neck.At first, the police a.s.sumed it was a suicide. No abrasions or defensive wounds were found on her body. But the next day, during the autopsy, a flaky residue was found packed under her nails. It turned out to be human skin with microscopic specks of dried blood. The poor woman had been desperately digging in to someone.She hadn't hung herself after all, Cindy said.The woman had been lynched.As I went back over the crime scene at the church, I felt uneasy. Cindy could be right. This might not be the first, but the second in an onset of racially driven murders.Jacobi walked up. He was holding a curled-up Chronicle."You see this, boss?"The front page rocked with the blaring headline, "POLICE STUMPED AS GIRL, 11, Is KILLED IN CHURCH a.s.sAULT." The article was written by Tom Stone and Suzie Fitzpatrick, whose careers had been nudged aside by Cindy's work on the bride and groom case. With the newspapers stoking the fire, and the activists Gray and Jones railing on the air, soon the public would be accusing us of sitting on our hands while the terror suspect was running free."Your buddies... " Jacobi huffed. "They always make it about us.""Uh-uh, Warren." I shook my head. "My buddies don't take cheap shots."Behind us in the woods, Charlie Clapper's Crime Scene Unit team was going over the ground around the sniper's position. They'd turned up a couple of foot imprints, but nothing identifiable. They would fingerprint the sh.e.l.l casings, grid-search the ground, pick up every piece of lint or dust where the supposed getaway vehicle had been parked."Any more sightings on that white van?" I asked Jacobi.In a strange way it was good to be working with him again.He grumbled and shook his head. "Got a lead on a couple of winos who hold a coffee klatch on that corner at night. So far, all we have is this." He unfolded an artist's rendering of Bernard Smith's description: a two-headed lion, the sticker on the rear door of the van.Jacobi sucked in his cheeks. "Who are we after, Lieutenant, the Pokemon killer?"Across the gra.s.s, I spotted Aaron Winslow coming out of the church. A knot of protestors approached him from a police barrier some fifty yards away. As he saw me, his face tensed."People want to help any way they can. Paint over the bullet holes, build a new facade," he said. "They don't like to look at this." "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm afraid there's still an active investigation going on.He took in a breath. "I keep playing it over in my mind. Whoever did this had a clear shot. I was standing right there, Lieutenant. More in the line of fire than Tasha. If someone was trying to hurt someone, why didn't they hurt me?"Winslow knelt down and picked up a pink b.u.t.terfly hair clip from the ground. "I read somewhere, Lieutenant, that ' abounds where guilt and rage run free." Winslow was taking this hard. I felt sorry for him; I liked him. He managed a tight smile. "It'll take more than this b.a.s.t.a.r.d to ruin our work. We won't fold. We'll have Tasha's service here, in this church.""We were headed to pay our respects," I said."They live over there. Building A." He pointed toward the projects. "I guess you'll find a warm reception, given that there's some of your own.I looked at him, puzzled. "I'm sorry? What was that?""Didn't you know, Lieutenant? Tasha Catchings's uncle is a city cop."

Chapter 10.

I VISITED THE CATCHINGS'S apartment, paid my respects, then I headed back to the Hall. This whole thing was incredibly depressing."Mercer's looking for you," hollered Karen, our longtime civilian secretary, as I got into the office. "He sounds mad. Of course, he always sounds mad."I could imagine the folds under the chief's jaw getting even deeper with the afternoon headline. In fact, the entire Hall was buzzing with the news that the La Salle Heights murder victim had been related to one of our own.There were several other messages waiting for me on my desk. At the bottom of the pile I came across Claire's name.Tasha Catchings's autopsy should be finished by now. I wanted to hold off on Mercer until I had something concrete to report, so I called Claire.Claire Washburn was the sharpest, brightest, most thorough M.E. the city ever had, notwithstanding the fact that she also happened to be my closest friend. Everyone a.s.sociated with law enforcement knew it, and that she ran the department without a hitch while Chief Coroner Righetti, the mayor's stiff-suited appointee, traveled around the country to forensic conferences working on his political resume.You wanted something done in the M. E.'s office, you called Claire.And when I needed someone to set me straight, make me laugh, or just be there to listen, that's where I went, too."Where you been hiding, baby?" Claire greeted me with her always upbeat voice, which had the ring of polished bra.s.s."Normal routine." I shrugged. "Staff appraisals, case write-ups... city-dividing, racially motivated homicides... ""Just my region of expertise." She chuckled. "I knew I'd be hearing from you. My spies tell me you've got yourself a b.i.t.c.h of a case out there.""Any of those spies maybe work for the Chronicle and drive a beat-up silver Mazda?""Or the D. A.'s office, and a BMW five-thirty-five. How the h.e.l.l do you think information ever gets down here, anyway?""Well, here's one, Claire. Turns out the dead little girl's uncle is in uniform. He's at Northern. And the poor kid ends up being a poster child for the La Salle Heights project in action. Top-of-the-line student, never once in trouble. Some justice, huh? This b.a.s.t.a.r.d leaves a hundred slugs in the church and the one that hits finds its way into her.""Uh-uh, honey." Claire cut me off. "There were two of them in there.""Two...? She was. .h.i.t twice?" EMS had been all over the body. How could we have failed to catch that?"If I'm hearing you right, my guess is you think this shot was some kind of accident.""What are you saying?" "Honey," Claire said soberly "I think you better come on down for a visit."

Chapter 11.

THE MORGUE was on the ground floor of the Hall, out a back entrance and accessible from an asphalt path that led from the lobby. It took me no more than three minutes to rush down two flights of stairs.Claire met me in the reception area outside her office. Her bright and usually cheery face bore a look of professional concern, but as soon as she saw me, she eased into a smile and gave me a hug."How you been, stranger?" she asked, as if the case were a million miles away.Claire always had a way of defusing the tension in even the most critical of situations. I'd always admired how she could relax my single-minded focus with just a smile."I've been good, Claire. Just swamped since I got the job.""I don't get to see you much now that you're Mercer's pet b.u.t.t-boy.""Very funny." She smiled that coy wide-eyed smirk of hers that was partly Hey, I know what you mean, but maybe a lot more, You gotta make the time, girl, for those who love you. But without as much as a reproving word, she led me down an antiseptic-linoleum-tiled hallway toward the morgue's operating room, called the Vault.She glanced behind and said, "You made it sound like you were sure Tasha Catchings was killed by a stray bullet." "That's what I thought. The gunman fired three clips at the church and she was the only one hit. I even went and cased the area where the shots came from. There was no way he had anything even close to a clean shot. But you said two... ""Uh-huh." She nodded. We burst through a closed compression door into the dry cold air of the Vault. The icy chill and chemical smell always made my skin crawl.And it was no different now. A single inhabited gurney was visible from its refrigerated vault. A small mound was on it, covered by a white sheet. It barely filled half the length of the gurney."Hold on," Claire warned. Naked post-op victims, rigid and terrifyingly pale, were never an easy sight.She pulled down the sheet. The child's face shot into my view. G.o.d, she was young.I looked at her soft ebony skin, so innocent, so out of place against the cold, clinical surroundings. Part of me wanted to just reach out and lay a hand against her cheek.She had such a lovable face.A large puncture wound, freshly cleaned of blood, tore up the flesh around the child's right chest. "Two bullets," Claire explained, "basically right on top of each other, in rapid succession. I could see why EMS might've missed it. They almost tore through the same hole."I sucked in a horrific double take. A fit of nausea gripped at my gut."The first one exited right through her scapula," Claire went on, easing the tiny body over on its side. "The second bounced off the fourth vertebra and lodged in her spine."Claire reached over and picked up a gla.s.s petri dish resting on a nearby counter. With a tweezer, she held up a flattened lead disk about the size of a quarter. "Two shots, Linds... The first tore through the right ventricle, doing the trick. She was probably dead before this one even struck."Two shots... two one-in-a-million ricochets? I replayed the likely position of Tasha as she exited the church and the killer's line of fire in the woods. One seemed plausible, but two... "Did Charlie Clapper's crew find any bullet nicks in the church above where the girl was positioned?" Claire inquired."I don't know." It was standard procedure in all homicides to painstakingly match up all bullets with their marks. "I'll check.""What was the church constructed of where she was. .h.i.t? Wood or stone?" "Wood," I said, realizing where she was heading. No way wood on its own would deflect a bullet from an M16.Claire pushed her operating gla.s.ses high on her forehead.She had a cheery, amiable face, but when she was certain, as she was now, it had a glow of conviction that admitted no doubt. "Lindsay, the angle of entry is frontal and clean for both shots. A ricocheting sh.e.l.l would likely have come in from a different trajectory.""I went over every inch of the shooter's position, Claire. The way he was firing, he'd have to be a G.o.dd.a.m.n sharp-shooter to set up that shot.""You say the fire was sprayed irregularly across the side of the church.""In a steady pattern, right to left. And Claire, no one else was struck. A hundred shots, she was the only one hit.""So you a.s.sumed this was a tragic accident, right?" Claire peeled off her plastic medical gloves and tossed them deftly into a waste receptacle. "Well, these two were no accident at all. They didn't ricochet off of anything. They were straight and perfectly placed. Killed her instantly. You willing to consider the possibility that maybe your gunman hit exactly what he was aiming at?"I brought back the scene in my mind. "He would have only had an instant to line up such a shot, Claire. And only a foot or two of clearance from the wall to squeeze it in.""Then either G.o.d didn't smile on that poor girl last night," Claire said with a sympathetic sigh, "or you better start looking for one h.e.l.l of a shooter."

Chapter 12.

THE SHOCKING POSSIBILITY that Tasha Catchings might not have been a random victim after all dogged me all the way back to the office. Upstairs, I ran into a wall of detectives anxiously awaiting me. Lorraine Stafford informed me there was a positive from the auto search, a '94 Dodge Caravan reported stolen three days ago down the peninsula in Mountain View. I told her to see if any of the characteristics matched.I grabbed Jacobi and told him to wrap up his bagel and come with me."Where we headed?" he groaned."Across the bay. Oakland.""Mercer's still looking for you," Karen shouted as we hit the hall. "Whaddaya want me to say?""Tell him I'm investigating a murder."Twenty minutes later, we had crossed the Bay Bridge, woven through the drab, antiquated skyline that was downtown Oakland, and pulled up in front of the Police Administration Building on Seventh. Oakland's police headquarters was a short gray panel-and-gla.s.s building in the impersonal style of the early sixties. On the second floor was Homicide, a cramped, dreary office no larger than our own. Over the years, I'd been here a few times.Lieutenant Ron Vandervellen stood up to greet us as we were led into his office. "Hey I hear congratulations are in order, Boxer. Welcome to the world of sedentary life.""I wish, Ron," I replied."What brings you here? You looking to check out how the real world works?"For years, the San Francisco and Oakland homicide departments had maintained a kind of friendly rivalry, they believing all we dealt with across the bay was the occasional computer parts salesman found naked and dead in his hotel room."I saw you on the news last night." Vandervellen cackled."Very photogenic. I mean her." He grinned at Jacobi."What brings you celebrities out here?""A little bird named Chipman,""I replied. Estelle Chipman was the elderly black woman Cindy told me had been found hung in her bas.e.m.e.nt.He shrugged. "I got a hundred unsolved murders if you guys don't have enough to keep you busy."I was used to the Vandervellen barbs, but this time he sounded particularly edgy. "No agenda, Ron. I just want to look at the crime scene, if that's okay.""Sure, but I think it's gonna be tough to tie it into your church shooting.""What's that?" I asked.The Oakland lieutenant got up, went out into the outer office, and came back with a case file. "I guess I'm having a hard time putting together how a homicide as obviously racially motivated as yours could be committed by one of their own." "What are you saying?" I asked. "Estelle Chipman's killer was black?"He donned a pair of reading gla.s.ses, leafed through the file until he came to an official doc.u.ment marked "Alameda County Coroner's Report.""Read it and weep," he muttered. "If you'd called, I could've saved you the toll... ' specimens found under the victim's fingernails suggest a hyperpigmented dermis consistent with a non-Caucasian.' Slides are out being tested as we speak.""You still want to check out the site?" Vandervellen asked, seemingly enjoying the moment."You mind? We're already here.""Sure, yeah, be my guest. It's Krimpman's case, but he's out. I can take you through. I don't get out to the Gus White projects much anymore. Who knows? Riding with you two super cops, I might pick something up along the way."

Chapter 13.

THE GUSTAVE WHITE PROJECTS were six identical redbrick high-rises on Redmond Street in West Oakland. As we pulled up, Vandervellen said, "Didn't make much sense... The poor woman wasn't ill, seemed to have okay finances, even went to church twice a week. But sometimes people just give up. Until the autopsy. it looked legit."I recalled the case file: There were no witnesses, no one had heard any screams, no one saw anybody running away.Only an elderly woman who kept to herself, found hanging from a steam pipe in the bas.e.m.e.nt, her neck at a right angle and her tongue protruding.At the projects, we walked right into Building C."Elevator's on the fritz," Vandervellen said. We took the stairs down. In the graffiti-marked bas.e.m.e.nt, we came upon a hand-painted sign that read, "Laundry Room - Boiler Room.""Found her in here."The bas.e.m.e.nt room was still criss-crossed with yellow crime scene tape. A pungent, rancid odor filled the air. Graffiti was everywhere. Anything that had been here - the body, the electrical wire she was hung with - had already been taken to the morgue or entered into evidence."I don't know what you're looking to find," Vandervellen said with a shrug."I don't know either." I swallowed. "It happened late last Sat.u.r.day night?""Coroner figures around ten. We thought maybe the old lady came down to do her laundry, that someone surprised her. Janitor found her the next morning.""What about security cameras?" Jacobi asked. "They were all over the lobby and the halls.""Same as the elevator--broken." Vandervellen shrugged again.It was clear Vandervellen and Jacobi wanted to head out as quickly as possible, but something pulled at me to stay.For what? I had no idea. But my senses were buzzing. Find me... over here."The race thing aside," Vandervellen said, "if you're looking for a connection, I'm sure you know how unusual it is for a killer to switch methods in the midst of a spree.""Thanks," I snapped back. I had scanned the room; nothing jumped at me. Just the feeling. "Guess we'll have to solve this one on our own. Who knows? By now maybe something's popped up on our side of the pond."As Vandervellen was about to flick off the light, something caught my eye. "Hold it," I said.As if pulled by gravity, I was drawn to the far side of the room, to the wall behind the spot where Chipman had been found hanging. I knelt, tracing my fingers over the concrete wall. If I hadn't seen it before it would've pa.s.sed right by my sight.A primitive drawing, like a child's, in bright orange chalk.It was a lion. Like Bernard Smith's drawing but more fierce.The lion's body led into a coiled tail, but it was the tail of something else... a reptile? A serpent?And that wasn't all.The lion had two heads: one a lion, the other possibly a goat.I felt a knot in my chest, a tremor of revulsion, and recognition, too.Jacobi came up behind me. "Find something, Lieutenant?"I drew a long breath. "Pokemon."

Chapter 14.

SO NOW I KNEW... These cases were probably related. Bernard Smith's sighting of the fleeing van had been on the mark. We had our get-away car. We might have a double killer.It didn't surprise me that when I finally got back to the Hall, an angry Chief Mercer insisted he be buzzed the minute I walked in.I closed the door to my office, dialed his extension, and waited for the barrage."You know what's going on here," he said, the sting of authority rippling through his voice. "You think you can stay out in the field all day and ignore my calls? You're Lieutenant Boxer now. Your job is to manage your squad. And keep me informed.""I'm sorry, Chief, it's just that--""A child has been killed. A neighborhood terrorized.We've got some psycho a brick short out there who's trying to turn this place into an inferno. By tomorrow, every African American leader in this town will be demanding to know what we're going to do.""It's gotten deeper than that, Chief."Mercer stopped short. "Deeper than what?"I told him what I had found in the bas.e.m.e.nt in Oakland.The lion-like symbol that had been at both crimes.I heard him suck in a deep breath. "You're saying these two killings are related?""I'm saying that before we jump to any fast conclusions, that possibility exists."The air seemed to seep right out of Mercer's lungs. "You get a photo of what you found on that wall over to the lab. And the sketch of what that kid in Bay View saw. I want to know what those drawings mean.""It's already in the works," I replied."And the getaway van? Anything back on it yet?""Negative."A troubling possibility seemed to be forming in Mercer's mind. "If there's some kind of conspiracy taking place here, we're not going to sit back while this" city is held hostage to a terror campaign.""We're running the van. Let me have some time on that symbol." I didn't want to tell him my worst fear. If Vandervellen was right, that Estelle Chipman's killer was black, and Claire was right, that Tasha Catchings was an intended target, this might not be a racial-terror campaign at all.Even on the phone, I could sense the creases underneath Mercer's jaw deepening. I was asking him to take a risk, a big one. Finally I heard him exhale. "Don't let me down, Lieutenant. Solve your case."As I hung up the phone, I could feel the pressure intensifying. The world was going to expect me to bust down the door of every hate group operating west of Montana, and already I had real doubts.On my desk, I spotted a message from Jill. "How about a drink? Six o'clock," it read. "All of us."One full day into the case... If there was anything that would calm my fears, it was Jill, and Claire and Cindy, and a pitcher of margaritas at Susie's.I left a message on Jill's voice mail that I'd be there.I glanced at a faded blue baseball cap hanging on a wooden coatrack in the corner of my office, with the words "It's Heavenly" embroidered on the brim. The cap had belonged to Chris Raleigh. He'd given it to me during a beautiful weekend up at Heavenly Valley, where the outside world had seemed to disappear for a while and both of us had opened up to what was starting to take place between us."Don't let me mess up," I whispered. I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears. G.o.d, I wished he was here."You sonofab.i.t.c.h." I shook my head at the hat. "I miss you."

Chapter 15.

IT TOOK NO MORE THAN A MINUTE of settling back in our old booth at Susie's to feel the magic begin to spark, and to realize it was happening all over again.A troublesome case that was getting worse. A pitcher full of high-octane margaritas. My three best friends all at the top of law enforcement. I was afraid that our murder club was back in business."just like old times?" Claire smiled, scooting her large frame over to make room for me."In more ways than you know." I sighed. Then, pouring myself a frothy drink, "Jesus, do I need one of these."Tough day?" Jill inquired."No," I shook my head. "Routine. Piece of cake.""That paperwork, it'll drive anyone to drink." Claire shrugged, taking a sip of her margarita. "Cheers. Great to see you wenches."There was an obvious level of antic.i.p.ation buzzing through the group. As I took a sip myself, I scanned around.All eyes were focused on me."Uh-uh." I almost spit into my drink. "I can't get into it. Don't even start." "I told you," Jill croaked with a confirming smile. "Things have changed. Lindsay's management now.""That's not it, Jill. There's a gag order. Mercer's got this thing shut down. Besides, I thought we were here for you."Jill's sharp blue eyes twinkled. "The representative from the district attorney's office is willing to cede the floor to her esteemed colleague from the third floor.""Jesus, guys, I've been on this case for two days.""What the h.e.l.l else is anybody in the city talking about?" said Claire. "You want to hear about my day? I did a full frontal at ten, then a talk at SFU on the pathology of --""We could talk about global warming," Cindy said, "or this book I'm reading, The Death of Vishnu.""It's not that I don't want to talk about it," I protested. "It's just that it's sealed, confidential.""Confidential, like what I turned you on to in Oakland?" Cindy asked."We have to talk about that," I said. "After." "I'll make you a deal," Jill said. "You share it with us"Like always. Then I'll share something. You judge which is juicier. Winner pays the check."I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in. How could I keep secrets from my girls? It was all over the news - at least part of it. And there weren't three sharper minds anywhere in the Hall.I let out an expectant sigh. "This all stays here.""Of course," Jill and Claire said. "Duh."I turned to Cindy. "And that means you don't go to press. With any of it. Until I say so.""Why do I get the sense I'm always being blackmailed by you?" She shook her head, then acquiesced. "Fine. Deal."Jill filled up my gla.s.s. "I knew we'd eventually break you down."I took a sip. "Nah. I decided to tell you when you said, "Tough day?"Piece by piece, I took them through the case so far"The decal Bernard Smith had seen on the getaway van. The identical drawing I had found in Oakland. The possibility that Estelle Chipman might have been murdered. Claire's thought that Tasha Catchings may not have been an accidental target after all."I knew it," Cindy shouted with a triumphant beam."You've got to find out what that lion image represents," insisted Claire.I nodded. "I'm on it. Big-time."Jill, the A. D.A., inquired, "Anything out there that actually ties these two victims together?" -"Nothing so far." "What about motive?" she."Everyone's reading them as hate crimes, Jill."She nodded cautiously. "And you?""I'm starting to read them differently. I think we have to consider the possibility that someone's using the hate crime scenario as a smoke screen."There was a long silence at the table."A racial serial killer," Claire said.

Chapter 16.

I HAD SHARED MY NEWS, all of it bad. Everyone ran it over glumly.I nodded to Jill. "Now you."Cindy jumped the gun. "Bennett's not going to run again, is he?" In her eight years in the prosecutor's office, Jill had shot up to be his number two in command. If the old man decided to step down, she was the logical choice to be appointed San Francisco's next D.A.Jill laughed and shook her head. "He'll be propped up at that oak desk the day he dies. That's the truth.""Well, you've got something to tell us," pressed Claire. "You're right," she admitted. "I do... "One by one, Jill met each one of our gazes as if to ratchet up the suspense. Those normally piercing cobalt eyes had never looked so serene. At last, a crooked little smile crept across her face. She let out a sigh, then said, "I'm pregnant."We sat there, waiting for her to admit that she was just putting us on. But she didn't. She just kept those sharp eyes blinking right in our faces, until thirty seconds must have gone by."Y-you're joking," I stammered. Jill was the most driven woman I knew. You could catch her at her desk most any night until after eight. Her husband, Steve, ran a venture fund for Bank America. They were fast-track achievers: They mountain-biked in Moab, windsurfed on the Columbia River in Oregon. A baby... "People do it," she exclaimed at our amazement."I knew it," Claire exclaimed, slapping the table. "I just knew it. I saw the look in your eyes. I saw that sheen on your face. I said, something's toasting in that oven. You're talking to an expert, you know. How long?""Eight weeks. I'm due the end of May." Jill's eyes sparkled like a young girl's. "Other than our families, you're the first people I've told. Of course.""Bennett's gonna s.h.i.t graham crackers." Cindy cackled."He's got three of his own And it's not like I'm trading it in to go off and grow grapes in Petaluma. I'm just having a baby."I found myself smiling. Part of me was so pleased for her, I almost wanted to cry. Part of me was even a little jealous.Most of me still couldn't believe it. "This kid better know what he's in for." I grinned. "He'll be rocked to sleep by tapes of California case law.""No way," Jill laughed defiantly. "I won't do it. I promise I won't do it. I'm gonna be a really good mom."I stood up and leaned across the table to her. "This is so great, Jill." For a moment, we just stared at each other, our eyes glistening. I was so d.a.m.ned happy for her. I remembered when I was scared s.h.i.tless because of a blood disease I had, and Jill had bared her arms to us and showed us her terrible scars; she explained how she had cut herself in high school and college, how the challenge to always go to the top had so deeply ruled her life that she could only take it out on herself.We threw our arms around each other, and I squeezed her."Was this something you've been thinking about?" Claire asked."We'd been trying for a couple of months," Jill answered, sitting back down. "I'm not sure it was any conscious decision, other than the timing seemed right." She looked at Claire. "The first time I met you, when Lindsay asked me into your group and you talked about your kids... it just sort of set off a spark in me. I remember thinking, She runs the M. E.'s office. She's one of the most capable women I know, at the top of her profession, yet this is what she talks about.""When you start out working," Claire explained, "you have all this drive and focus. As a woman, you feel you have to prove everything. But when you have kids, it's different, natural. You realize it's no longer about you at all. You realize... you no longer have to prove anything. You already have." "So, hey... " Jill said with glistening eyes, "I want a little of that, too."I never told this to you guys," she went on, "but I was pregnant once before. Five years ago." She took a sip of water and shook the dark hair off the back of her neck. "My career was in overdrive you remember, there was that La Frade hearing - and Steve had just started running his own fund.""It just wasn't the right time for you then, honey." Claire said."That wasn't it," Jill answered quickly. "I wanted it. It was just that everything was so intense. I was pulling stints at the office until ten. It seemed like Steve was always away." She paused, a remote cloudiness in her eyes. I had some bleeding. The doctor warned me to cut back. I tried, but everyone was pushing on this case, and I was always alone."One day I just felt my insides explode. I lost it... in the fourth month.""Oh, Jesus." Claire gasped. "Oh, Jill."Jill sucked in a breath, and a hushed silence fell over the table."So how are you feeling?" I asked."Ecstatic... " she replied. "Physically strong as ever... "Then she blinked remotely for a moment and faced us again."Truth is, I'm a total wreck."I reached for her hand. "What does your doctor say?" "He says we'll keep a close watch and keep the sensationalist cases down to a minimum. Run it in low gear." "Do you have that gear?" I asked."I do now." She sniffed."Wow." Cindy chuckled. "Jill's suddenly got drag," referring to the dot-com term for anything that could keep you from your job 24/7.In Jill's eyes, I saw a glorious transformation taking place, something I had never seen before. Jill was always successful.She had that beautiful face, that hard-charging drive. Now I could see at last that she was happy.Beautiful tears welled up in her eyes. I had seen this woman stand up in court against some of the toughest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the city; I had seen her go after murderers with an undeterred conviction. I had even seen the scars of self-doubt on the insides of her arms.But until that moment, I had never seen Jill cry."Dammit... " I smiled. I reached for the check. "I guess I pay."

Chapter 17.

AFTER A FEW MORE GIDDY HUGS with Jill, I made my way home to my apartment on Potrero Hill.It was the second floor of a renovated blue Victorian.Cozy and bright, with an alcove of wide windows overlooking the bay. Martha, my affectionate Border collie, met me at the door."Hey, sweetie," I said. She wagged up to greet me and threw her paws against my leg."So, how was your day?" I nuzzled close, smooching her happy face.I went into the bedroom and peeled off my work clothes, pulled up my hair, putting on the oversize Giants sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants I lived in when the weather turned cool. I fed Martha, made myself a cup of Orange Zinger, and sat in the cushioned alcove.I took a sip of tea, Martha perched in my lap. Out in the distance, a grid of blinking airplane lights descending into SF1 came into view. I found myself thinking about the unbelievable image of Jill as a mom... Her thin, fit figure with a bulging belly... a shower with just us girls. It made me chuckle. I smiled at Martha. "Jilly-bean's gonna be a mommy."I had never seen Jill look so complete. It was only a few months ago when my own thoughts had run to how much I would have loved to have a baby. As Jill said, I wanted some of that, too. It just wasn't meant to be.Parenting just didn't seem like the natural occupation in my family.My mother had died eleven years before, when I was twenty-four and just entering the Police Academy. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and my last two years of college, I helped take care of her, rushing back from cla.s.s to pick her up at the Emporium, where she worked, preparing her meals, watching over my younger sister, Cat.My father, a San Francisco cop, disappeared on us when I was thirteen. To this day, I didn't know why I had grown up hearing all the stories - that he handed his paycheck over to the bookies, that he had a secret life away from Mom, that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d could charm the pants off of anyone, that one day he lost heart and just couldn't put the uniform back on.Last I heard from Cat, he was down in Redondo Beach, doing his own thing, private security. Old-timers down in the Central district still asked me how Marty Boxer was. They still told stories about him, and maybe it was good someone could think about him with a laugh. Marty who once nabbed three perps with the same set of handcuffs... Marty Boxer, who stopped off to lay a bet with the suspect still in the car.All I could think about was that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d let me tend and nurse my mother while she was dying and never came back.I hadn't seen my father for almost ten years. Since the day I became a cop. I'd spotted him in the audience when I graduated from the police academy but we hadn't spoken. I didn't even miss him anymore.G.o.d, it had been ages since I had examined these old scars. Mom had been gone for eleven years. I'd been married, divorced. I had made it into Homicide. Now I was running it. Somewhere along the way, I had met the man of my dreams... I was right when I told Mercer the old fire was back.But I was lying when I told myself I had put Chris Raleigh in the past.