2nd Chance Part 2

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Jacobi and Cappy entered the squad room. They were pushing a large redheaded biker type, his hands cuffed behind his back."Look who decided to drop in." Jacobi smirked.Red jerked his arms defiantly out of Cappy's grip as the policeman shoved him into Interrogation Room 1, where he tripped over a wooden chair and crashed to the floor."Sorry, big fella." Cappy shrugged. "Thought I warned you about that first step.""Richard Earl Evans," Jacobi announced. "AKA Red, Boomer, Duke. Don't feel insulted if he doesn't stand up and shake hands." "This is what you thought I meant by no contact?" I said, looking cross but inside delighted that they had brought him in."The guy's got a CCI sheet so long it begins with ' me Ishmael.'" Jacobi grinned. "Theft, aggravated mischief, attempted murder, two weapons charges.""Behold," exclaimed Cappy, producing a dime bag of marijuana, a five-inch hunter's blade, and a palm-sized Beretta.22-caliber pistol out of a Nordstrom's shopping bag."He know why he's here?" I asked."Nah," Cappy grunted. "We busted him on the gun charge. Let him cool his jets in the backseat."The three of us crowded into the small interrogation room facing Richard Earl Evans. The creep leered up at us with a smug grin, sleeves of tattoos covering both arms. He wore a black T-shirt with block letters on the back: "If You Can Read This... the b.i.t.c.h Must've Fallen Off!"I nodded, and Cappy freed him from the cuffs. "You know why you're here, Mr. Evans?""I know you guys are in deep s.h.i.t if you think I'm talking to you." Evans sniffed a mixture of mucus and blood. "You got no teeth in Vallejo."I raised the bag of dope. "Santa seems to have brought you a lot of naughty toys. Two felonies... still on parole for a weapons charge. Time at Folsom, Quentin. My sense is you must like it there, ' next time up, you qualify for the thirty-year lease.""One thing I do know," - Evans rolled his eyes - "is you didn't drag me all this way for some two-bit weapons rap. The sign on the door says Homicide.""No, big fella, you're right," Cappy injected. "Tossing your sorry a.s.s in jail on a gun charge is only a hobby for us. But depending on how you answer a few questions, that weapons rap could determine where you spend the next thirty years.""Pups.h.i.t," the biker grunted, leveling his cold, hard eyes in his face. "That's all you a.s.sholes got on me.Cappy shrugged, then brought the flat end of an unopened soda can down hard on the biker's hand.Evans yelped in pain."d.a.m.n, I thought you said you were thirsty," Cappy said contritely.Red leered at Cappy, no doubt imagining running over the cop's face with his bike."But you're right, Mr. Evans," I said. "We didn't ask you down here to go over your current possessions, though it wouldn't take much to hand your sorry a.s.s right over to the Vallejo police. But today could work out lucky for you. Cappy, ask Mr. Evans if he'd like another drink."Cappy feinted, and Evans jerked his hand off the table.Then the big cop opened the can and placed it in front of him, grinning widely. "This all right, or would you prefer a gla.s.s?""See," I a.s.sured him, "we can be nice. Truth is, we don't give a s.h.i.t about you. All you have to do is answer a few questions and you'll be headed home, compliments of the SFPD. You never have to see us again. Or we can lock your three-time-loser a.s.s on the tenth floor for a few days until we remember we got you here and notify the Vallejo police. And, when it comes to a third felony offense, we'll see about just how much teeth we really have."Evans ran his hand across the bridge of his nose, dabbing at the blood. "Maybe I will take a swig of that soda, if you're still offering." "Congratulations, son," Jacobi said. "That's the first thing you've done that makes sense since we set eyes on you."

Chapter 38.

I LAID OUT A BLACK-AND-WHITE surveillance photo of the Templars in front of Red's startled face. "First thing we need to know is where can we find your buddies?"Evans looked up grinning. "So that's what this is all about?""C'mon, sharp-as-nails," pressed Jacobi," the lieutenant asked a question."One by one, I spread on the table three more photos showing various members.Evans shook his head. "Never ran with those guys."The last photo I put down was a surveillance shot of him.Cappy reached out, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, and raised the biker by the shirt, lifting him out of his seat."Listen, cods.h.i.t, you're only lucky we're not concerned here with what you sorry bunch of losers got off doing. So act smart and you'll be outta here, and we can go on to what we do give a s.h.i.t about."Evans shrugged. "Maybe I did run a bit with them. But no more. Club's disbanded. Too much heat. I ain't seen these guys around here in months. They split. You wanna find them, start with Five South."I looked at the two inspectors. As much as I doubted whether Evans would actually turn over on his buddies, I believed him."One more question," I said. "A big one." I laid down the photo of the biker with the chimera jacket. "What does this mean to you?"Evans sniffed. "The dude's got bogus taste in attire?"Cappy leaned forward.Evans recoiled. "It's a symbol, man. Means he's in the movement. A patriot." "A patriot?" I asked him. "What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?""An advocate of the white race, the self-determination of a free and orderly society." He smiled at Cappy "Present company excluded, of course. Course, none of this s.h.i.t necessarily reflects my personal views.""Did this guy head off to the Sun belt, too?" Jacobi asked."Him? Why? What do you think he's done?""There he goes" - Cappy stood over him - "answering questions with questions again.""Look." Evans swallowed. "The brother only hung with us a short while. I don't even know his real name. Mac. Mcmillan, Mcarthur? What'd he do?"I figured there was no reason not to tell him what we thought. "What's the word about what happened in La Salle Heights?"Red finally flinched. His pupils widened. All of a sudden, it was falling into place. "You think my old dudes lit up that church? This guy... Mac?""You know how we could talk to him?" I said.Evans grinned. "That's a tough order. Even for you." "Try us," I said. "We're resourceful.""I'm sure you are, but this f.u.c.ker's dead. Back in June. He and a partner blew themselves up, in Oregon. Sonofab.i.t.c.h must've read somewhere you could turn cows.h.i.t into a bomb."

Chapter 39.

IN THE SMALL BLACKTOP PARKING LOT adjacent to the La Salle Heights Church, Cindy Thomas climbed out of her Mazda. Her stomach growled, telling her that it didn't quite know what she was doing here.She took a breath and opened the large oak door into the main chapel. Just yesterday it had been filled with the choir's resonating sound. Now it was eerily quiet, the pews empty. She walked through the chapel and into a connecting building.A carpeted hallway led to a row of offices. A black woman, glancing up from a copy machine, asked, "Can I help you? What do you want?""I'm here to see Reverend Winslow.""He's not seeing visitors now" the woman said.Winslow's voice rang out from one of the offices."It's all right" Carol."Cindy was led to his office. It was small, crowded with books. He was wearing a black T-shirt and khakis, and didn't look like any minister she'd ever known."we managed to get you back after all," he said. Then finally, he smiled.He had her take a seat on a small couch and he sat in a well-worn red leather chair. A pair of gla.s.ses was resting on a book nearby, and she instinctively sneaked a peek. A Heart-breaking Work of Staggering Genius. Not what she would have expected."You mending?" she asked."Trying to. I read your story today It was terrible about that policeman. It's true? Tasha's murder might be tied up with two others?""The police think so," Cindy answered. "The M.E. believes she was deliberately shot."Winslow grimaced and then shook his head. "I don't understand. Tasha was just a little girl. What possible connection could there be?""It wasn't so much Tasha" - Cindy held eye contact with Aaron Winslow - "as what she represented. All the victims apparently have a link to San Francisco cops.Winslow's eyes narrowed. "So tell me, what brings you back so soon? Your soul aching? Why are you here?"Cindy lowered her eyes. "The service yesterday It was moving. I felt chills. It's been a long time for me. Actually, I think my soul has been aching. I just haven't bothered to notice."Winslow's look softened. She'd told him a small truth, and it had touched him. "Well, good. I'm glad to hear you were moved."Cindy smiled. Incredibly, he made her feel at ease. He seemed centered, genuine, and she'd heard nothing but good things about him. She wanted to do a story on him, and she knew it would be a good one, maybe a great story."I bet I know what you're thinking," Aaron Winslow said."Okay." she said, "shoot.""You're wondering... the man seems together enough, not completely weirded out. He doesn't seem like a minister. So what is he doing making his living working like this?"Cindy flashed an embarra.s.sed smile. "I admit, something like that did cross my mind. I'd like to do a story about you and the Bay View neighborhood."He seemed to be thinking it over. But then he changed the subject on her."What is it you like to do, Cindy?""Do?""In the big, bad world of San Francisco you cover out there. After you call in your story. What moves you besides your job at the Chronicle? What are your pa.s.sions?"She found herself smiling. "Hey, I ask the questions. I want to do a story on you. Not the other way around," she said. "All right. I like yoga. I take a cla.s.s twice a week on Chestnut Street. You ever do yoga?""No, but I meditate every day." Cindy smiled some more. She wasn't even sure why."I'm in a women's book club. Two women's clubs, actually. I like jazz."Winslow's eyes lit. "What kind of jazz? I like jazz myself."Cindy laughed. "Okay, now we're getting somewhere. What kind of jazz do you like?""Progressive. Interpretive. Anything from Pine-top Perkins to Coltrane.""You know the Blue Door? On Geary?" she asked."Of course I know the Blue Door. I go there Sat.u.r.day nights, whenever Carlos Reyes is in town. Maybe we could go sometime. As part of your story. You don't have to answer right now." "Then you agree to let me do a piece on you?" Cindy said."I agree... to let you do a piece on the neighborhood. I'll help you with it."A half hour later, in her car, Cindy sat letting the engine run, almost too astonished to put it in gear. I don't believe what I just did... Lindsay would rap her in the head. Question whether her gadgets were properly working.But they were working. They were humming a little, actually. The tiny hairs on her arms were standing straight up.She had the beginnings of what she thought might be a good story, maybe a prizewinner.She'd also just accepted a date from Tasha Catchings's pastor, and she couldn't wait to see him again.Maybe my soul has been aching, Cindy thought as she finally drove away from the church.

Chapter 40.

IT WAS CLOSE TO SEVEN on Sat.u.r.day. The end of a long, insane, incredibly stressful week. Three people had died. My only good leads had come and gone.I needed to talk to somebody, so I went up to eight, where the D. A.'s staff was located. Two doors down from the big man himself was Jill's corner office.The executive corner was dark, offices empty, staff scattered for the weekend. In a way, though I needed to vent, I was sort of hoping Jill - the new Jill - would be at home, maybe picking through swatch books for her baby's room.But as I approached, I heard the sound of cla.s.sical music coming from within. Jill's door was cracked half open.I knocked gently and pushed it in. There was Jill, in her favorite easy chair, knees tucked to her chest and a yellow legal pad resting on them. Her desk was piled high with briefs."Why are you here?" I asked."Snagged." She sighed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "It's just this G.o.dd.a.m.n Perrone thing. Closing arguments Monday morning." Jill was at the end of a high-profile case in which a derelict landlord was being charged with manslaughter after a faulty ceiling caved in on an eight-year-old child."You're pregnant, Jill. It's after seven o'clock.""So is Connie Sperling, for the defense. They're calling it the Battle of the Bulge.""Whatever they're calling it, so much for the shift of gears."Jill turned down the CD player and extended her long legs. "Anyway, Steve's out of town. What else is new? I'd only be doing the same thing if I were at home." She c.o.c.ked her head and smiled. "You're checking up on me.""No, but maybe someone should.""Good lord, Lindsay, I'm just preparing notes, not running a ten-k. I'm doing fine. Anyway." - she glanced at her watch - "since when did you turn into the poster girl for keeping everything in perspective?""I'm not pregnant, Jill. All right, all right - I'll stop lecturing."I stepped inside her office - eyed her women's final four soccer photo from Stanford, framed diplomas, and pictures of her and Steve rock climbing and running with their black Lab, Snake Eyes."I still have a beer in the fridge if you want to sit," she said, tossing her legal pad on the desk. "Pull a Buckler out for me."I did just that. Then I shifted the black Max Mara suit jacket hastily thrown over a cushion and sank back in the leather couch. We tilted our bottles, and both of us blurted in the same breath, "So... how's your case?""You first." Jill laughed.I spread my thumb and index finger barely a half inch apart to indicate basically zip. I took her through the maze of dead ends: the van, the chimera sketch, the surveillance photo of the Templars, that CSU had come up with nothing on, the Davidson ambush.Jill came over and sat beside me on the couch. "You want to talk, Linds? Like you said, you didn't come up here to make sure I was behaving myself."I smiled guiltily then placed my beer on the coffee table."I need to shift the investigation, Jill." "Okay," she said. "I'm listening This is just between us."Piece by piece, I laid out my theory that the killer was not some reckless, hate-mongering maniac but a bold, plotting pattern killer acting out a vendetta."Maybe you're overreaching," Jill replied. "What you do have is three terror crimes aimed at African Americans.""So why these victims, Jill? An eleven-year-old girl? A decorated cop? Estelle Chipman, whose husband has been dead for five years?""I don't know, honey. I just nail ' to the wall when you turn them over." I smiled. Then I leaned forward. "Jill, I need you to help me. I need to find some connection between these victims. I know it's there. I need to check out past cases in which a white plaintiff was victimized by a black police officer. That's where my gut leads me. It's where I think these killings might start. It has something to do with revenge.""What happens when the next victim never had anything to do with a police officer? What are you gonna do then?"I looked at her imploringly. "Are you going to help me?""Of course I'm going to help you." She shook her head at me. "Duh... Anything you can give me that will help me narrow it down?"I nodded. "Male, white. Maybe a tattoo or three.""That oughtta do it." She rolled her eyes.I reached out and squeezed her hand. I knew I could count on her. I looked at my watch. Seven-thirty. "I better let you finish up while you're still in your first trimester.""Don't go, Lindsay." Jill held my arm. "Stick around."I could see something on her face. That clear, professional intensity suddenly weakened into a thousand-yard stare."Something wrong, Jill? Did the doctor tell you something?"In her sleeveless vest, with her dark hair curled around her ears, she looked every bit the power lawyer, number two in the city's legal department. But there was a tremor in her breath. "I'm fine. Really physically, I'm fine. I should be happy, right? I'm gonna have a baby. I should be riding the air.""You should be feeling whatever you're feeling, Jill." I took her hand.She nodded gla.s.sily. Then she curled her knees up to her chest. "When I was a kid, I would sometimes wake up in the night. I always had this little terror, this feeling that the whole world was asleep, that around this whole, huge planet, I was the only one left awake in the world. Sometimes my father would come in and try to rock me to sleep. He'd be downstairs in his study, preparing his cases, and he'd always check on me before he turned in. He called me his second chair. But even with him there, I still felt so alone."She shook her head at me, tears glistening in her eyes."Look at me. Steve's away for two nights and I turn into a f.u.c.king idiot," she said."I don't think you're an idiot," I said, stroking her pretty face."I can't lose this baby, Lindsay. I know it seems stupid.I'm carrying a life. It's here, always in me, right next to me. How is it I feel so alone?"I held her tightly by the shoulders. My father had never been there to rock me to sleep. Even before he left us, he worked the third shift and would always head to Mcgoey's for a beer afterward. Sometimes I felt like the heartbeat that was closest to me was the pulse of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds I had to track down."I know what you mean," I heard myself whisper. I held Jill. "Sometimes I feel that way, too."

Chapter 41.

ON THE CORNER of Ocean and Victoria, a man in a green fatigue windbreaker hunched chewing a burrito as the black Lincoln slowly made its way down the block. He had waited here dozens of nights, stalked his next prey for weeks.The person he had watched for so long lived in a pleasant stucco house inside Ingleside Heights, just a short walk away.He had a family, two girls in Catholic school; his wife was a registered nurse. He had a black Lab; sometimes it bounded out to greet him as his car pulled up. The Lab was named Bullitt, like the old movie.Usually the car drove by around seven-thirty. A couple of times a week, the man got out to walk. It was always at the same spot, on Victoria. He liked to stop at the Korean market, chat with the owner as he picked out a melon or a cabbage. Playing the big man walking among his people.Then he might mosey into Tiny's News, stuff his arms with a few magazines: Car and Driver, PC World, Sports Ill.u.s.trated. Once, he had even stood behind him in the line as he waited to pay for his reading material.He could have taken him out. Many times. One dazzling shot from a distance.But no, this one had to be up close. Eye to eye. This murder would blow the lid off everything, the entire city of San Francisco. This would take the case international, and not many got that big.His heart sprung alive as he huddled in the damp drizzle, but this time the black Lincoln merely pa.s.sed by.So it won't be tonight. He exhaled. Go home to your little wife and dog... But soon... You've grown forgetful, he thought, balling his burrito in the wrapper and tossing it in a trash bin. Forgetful of the past. But it always finds you.I live with the past every day.He watched as the black Lincoln, its windows dark, made its customary left turn onto Cerritos and disappeared into Ingleside Heights.You stole my life. Now I'm going to take yours.

Chapter 42.

I TOOK SUNDAY MORNING OFF to run Martha by the bay and do my tai chi on the Marina Green. By noon I was in jeans and a sweatshirt, back at my desk. By Monday, the investigation was listing toward the dead zone, no new angles to work. We were putting out releases just to keep the press off our tail. Each stalled line of questioning, each frustrating dead end only narrowed the time to when Chimera would strike again.I was returning some case files to Jill when the elevator door opened and Chief Mercer ambled in. He looked surprised when he saw me but not displeased."Come take a ride with me," he said.Mercer's car was waiting along the side entrance on Eighth Street. As the police driver leaned back, Mercer told him, "West Portal, Sam."West Portal was a diverse middle-cla.s.s neighborhood out of the center of the city. I didn't know why Mercer would be dragging me out there in the middle of the day.As we rode, Mercer asked a few questions but stayed mostly silent. A tremor shot through me: He's gonna take me off the case.The driver pulled onto a residential street I had never been on before. He parked in front of a small blue Victorian across from a high school playground. A pickup basketball game was going on.I blinked first. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Chief?"Mercer turned to me. "You have any personal heroes, Lindsay?""You mean like Amelia Earhart or Margaret Thatcher?" I shook my head. I had never grown up with those. "Maybe Claire Washburn." I grinned.Mercer nodded. "Arthur Ashe was always one of mine. Someone asked him if it was hard to cope with AIDS, and he answered, ' nearly as hard as it was to deal with growing up black in the United States.'"His expression deepened. "Vernon Jones tells the mayor that I've lost sight of what's really at stake in this case." He pointed toward the blue Victorian across the street. "You see that house? My parents' house. I was raised there."My father was a mechanic in the transit yards, and my mother did the books for an electrical contractor. They worked their whole lives to send me and my sister to school. She's a trial litigator now, in Atlanta. But this is where we're from.""My father worked for the city, too." I nodded."I know. I never told you, Lindsay, but I knew your father.""You knew him?""Yeah, we started out together. Radio cops, out of Central. Even shifted together a few times. Marty Boxer... Your father was a bit of a legend, Lindsay, and not necessarily for exemplary duty.""Tell me something I don't know." "All right." He paused. "He was a good cop then. A d.a.m.ned good cop. A lot of us looked up to him.""Before he bagged out."Mercer looked at me. "You must know by now, things happen in a cop's life that don't always break down so easily into choices the rest of us can understand."I shook my head. "I haven't spoken to him in twenty-two years."Mercer nodded. "I can't speak for him as a father, or as a husband, but is there a chance that as a man, or at least a cop, you've judged him without knowing all the facts?""He never stuck around long enough to present the facts," I said."I'm sorry," Mercer said. "I'll tell you some things about Marty Boxer, but another time.""Tell me what? When?"He drew down the privacy barrier and instructed his driver that it was time to head back to the Hall. "When you find Chimera."

Chapter 43.

LATER THAT NIGHT, as his Town Car slowed in the evening traffic near his home, Chief Mercer spoke up from the backseat. "Why don't I get out here, Sam."His driver, Sam Mendez, glanced back. The mandate from the Hall was no unnecessary risks.Mercer was firm on the matter. "Sam, there's more cops on patrol in a five-block radius here than there are back at the Hall." There was usually a patrol car or two cruising on Ocean and one stationed across from his home.The car eased to a stop. Mercer opened the door and thrust his heavy shape onto the street. "Pick me up tomorrow, Sam. Have a good night."As his car pulled away, Mercer lugged his thick briefcase in one hand and threw his tan raincoat over his shoulder with the other. He experienced a surge of freedom and relief. These little after-work excursions were the only times he felt free.He stopped at Kim's Market and picked out the sweetest-looking basket of strawberries, and some choice plums, too. Then he wandered across the street to the Ingleside Wine Shop. He decided on a Beaujolais that would go with the lamb stew Eunice was making.On the street, he glanced at his watch and headed toward home. On Cerritos, two stone pillars separated Ocean from the secure enclave of Ingleside Heights. The traffic disappeared behind him.He pa.s.sed the low stone house belonging to the Taylors.A noise rustled out from a hedge. "Well, well, Chief?"Mercer stopped. His heart was already pounding."Don't be shy. I haven't seen you in years," the voice said again. "You probably don't remember."What the h.e.l.l was going on?A tall, muscular man stepped out from behind the hedge.He was wearing a c.o.c.ky smirk, a green windbreaker wrapped around him.A vague recognition came over Mercer, a familiarity in the face he couldn't quite place. Then all at once it came back to him. Suddenly, everything made sense, and it took his breath away."This is such an honor," the man said. "For you."He had a gun, heavy and silver. It was extended toward Mercer's chest. Mercer knew he had to do something. Ram him. Get to his own gun somehow. He needed to act like a cop on the street again."I wanted you to see my face. I wanted you to know why you were dying.""Don't do this. There are cops everywhere around here.""Good. That makes it even better for me. Don't be scared, Chief. Where you're going, you'll be running into a lot of your old friends."The first shot struck him in the chest, a burning, clothes-searing thud that buckled his knees. Mercer's first thought was to shout. Was it Parks or Vasquez stationed in front of his house? Only precious yards away. But his voice died inaudibly in his chest. Jesus G.o.d, please save me.The second shot tore through his throat. He didn't know if he was up or down. He wanted to charge the killer. He wanted to take this b.a.s.t.a.r.d down. But his legs felt - paralyzed, inert.The man with the gun was standing over him now. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was still talking to him, but he couldn't hear a word.His face kept melting in and out of focus. A name flashed in his mind. It seemed impossible. He said it twice just to be sure, his breath pounding in his ears."That's right," the killer said, leveling the silvery gun."You've solved the case. You figured out Chimera. Congratulations."Mercer thought he should close his eyes - when the next bright orange flash exploded in his face.

Chapter 44.

I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER what I was doing when I heard the news. I was home, tending a pot of farfalle on the stove. "Adia" by Sarah Mclachlan was playing on the stereo.Claire was coming over. I'd lured her for dinner with my famous pasta with asparagus and lemon sauce. Not lured her, actually... begged. I wanted to talk about something other than the case. Her kids, yoga, the California Senate race, why the Warriors sucked. Anything.I will never forget... Martha sat toying with a headless San Francisco Giants mascot bear that she had appropriated to her side of the property list. I was chopping basil; I checked on the pasta. Tasha Catchings and Art Davidson had drifted out of my mind. Thank G.o.d.The phone rang. A selfish thought knifed through me, hoping that it wasn't Claire bagging out of our date at the last minute.I cradled the phone in the nape of my neck and answered.It was Sam Ryan, the department's chief of detectives.Ryan was my administrative superior in the chain of command. At the sound of his voice, I knew something had to be seriously wrong."Lindsay, something terrible has happened."My body went numb. It was like someone had reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart in their indifferent fist. I listened to Ryan speak. Three shots from point-blank range... Only a few yards from his house. Oh, my G.o.d... Mercer... "Where is he, Sam?""Moffitt. Emergency surgery. He's fighting.""I'll be right down. I'm on my way.""Lindsay, there's nothing you can do here. Get out to the scene.""Chin and Lorraine will cover it. I'll be right down."The doorbell buzzed. As if in a trance, I rushed over, opened it."Hey," said Claire.I didn't say a word. In an instant, she recognized the pallor on my face. "What's happened?"My eyes were wet. "Claire... he shot Chief Mercer."

Chapter 45.

WE RACED DOWN THE STEPS, climbed into Claire's Pathfinder, and made the dash from Potrero to the California Medical Center all the way over in Parna.s.sus Heights. The entire ride, my heart pumped madly and hopefully The streets blurred by - Twenty-fourth, Guerrero, then across the Castro on Seventeenth to the hospital atop Mt. Sutro.Barely ten minutes after I got the call, Claire spun the Pathfinder into a restricted parking s.p.a.ce across from the hospital entrance.Claire ID'd herself to a nurse at the front desk, asking for an up-to-date report. She looked worried as she charged inside the swinging doors. I ran up to Sam Ryan. "What's the word?"He shook his head. "He's on the table now. If anyone can take three bullets and make it through, it's him."I flipped open my cell phone and patched into Lorraine Stafford at the scene. "Things are crazy here," she said."There's people from Internal Affairs, and some G.o.dd.a.m.n city crisis agency And the f.u.c.king press. I haven't been able to get close to the radio cop who was first on the scene.""Don't let anyone other than you or Chin get close to that scene," I told her. "I'll be out there as soon as I can."Claire came back out of the ER. Her face was drawn."They've got him open now, Lindsay. It doesn't look good. His cerebral cortex was penetrated. He's lost a ton of blood. It's a miracle he's hung on as long as he has.""Claire, I've got to get in there to see him."She shook her head. "He's barely alive, Lindsay.Besides, he's under anesthesia."I had this mounting sense that I owed it to Mercer, each unresolved death. That he knew, and if he died the truth would die with him. "I'm going in there."I pushed through the doors leading to the ER, but Claire held on to me. As I looked into her eyes, the last glimmer of hopefulness drained out of my body. I had always fought with Mercer, battled him. He was someone to whom I felt I always had something to prove, and prove again and again.But in the end, he had believed in me. In the strangest of ways, I felt as if I were losing a father all over again.Barely a minute later, a doctor in a green smock came out, peeling off latex gloves. He said a few words to one of the mayor's men, then to the a.s.sistant chief, Anthony Tracchio."The chief's dead," Tracchio uttered.Everyone stood staring blankly ahead. Claire put an arm around me and hugged."I don't know if I can do this," I said, holding tightly on to her shoulder."Yes, you can," she said.I caught Mercer's doctor as he headed back to the ER. I introduced myself. "Did he say anything when he was brought in?"The doctor shrugged. "He held on for a while, but whatever he said was incoherent. Just reflexive. He was on life support from the moment he came in.""His brain was still working, wasn't it, Doctor?" He had faced his killer head-on. Taken three shots. I could see Mercer holding on just long enough to say something. "Anything you remember?"His tired eyes searched for something. "I'm sorry, Inspector. We were trying to save his life. You might try the EMS techs who brought him in.He went back inside. Through the windows in the ER doors, I caught a glimpse of Eunice Mercer and one of their teenage daughters, tearfully hugging in the corridor.My insides felt as if they were ripping apart, a knot of nausea building.I ran into the ladies' room. I bent over the sink and splashed cold water all over my face. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it! G.o.dd.a.m.nit!"When my body calmed, I looked up in the mirror. My eyes were dark, hollow and blank; voices drummed loudly in my head.Four murders, they tolled... Four black cops.

Chapter 46.

STAFFORD walked me down from the stone gate on Cerntos"The chief was on his way home." She bit her bottom lip. "He lived a couple of houses down that way. No witnesses, but his driver's over there."I went to the spot where Mercer's body had been found.Charlie Clapper's team was already combing all around it. It was a quiet, residential street, the sidewalk guarded by a high hedge that would've blocked anyone from seeing the killer.The spot had already been chalked off. Blotches of blood soaked the pavement inside the outline of the body. The remains of his last moments, some plastic bags containing magazines, fruit, and a bottle of wine, were scattered around."Didn't he have a car stationed in front of his house?" I asked.Lorraine nodded toward a young uniformed officer leaning against the hood of a blue-and-white. "By the time he got down here, the perp had fled and the chief was bleeding out."It became clear the killer had been lying in wait: He must've hidden in the bushes until Mercer came by. He must've known. Just like he knew with Davidson.From up on Ocean, I saw Jacobi and Cappy coming toward us. The sight of them made me exhale with relief."Thanks for coming down," I whispered.Then Jacobi did something totally uncharacteristic. He grasped my shoulder and looked firmly into my eyes. "This is gonna get big, Lindsay; Feds are gonna come in. Anything we can do, anything you need, anytime you need to talk about it. You know I'm here for you."I turned to Lorraine and Chin. "What do you need to finish up here?""I want to check along the escape route," Chin said. "If he had a car parked, someone must've seen it. Otherwise, maybe someone saw him come out on Ocean." "f.u.c.king chief." Jacobi sighed. "I always thought the guy would hold a news conference at his own funeral.""We still cla.s.sifying this as a hate crime, Lieutenant?"Cappy sniffed."I don't know about you," I said, "but I hate this b.a.s.t.a.r.d pretty bad."

Chapter 47.

JACOBI WAS RIGHT about one thing. The next morning, everything had changed. A feeding frenzy of every news organization in the country was ma.s.sing on the outside steps of the Hall of justice, setting up their camera crews, clawing for interviews. Anthony Tracchio was named acting chief. He had been the chief's administrative right hand, but had never come up through the ranks. On the Chimera case, I was now reporting to him. "No leaks," Tracchio brusquely warned. "No contact with the press. All interviews go through me."A joint task force was set up to handle Mercer's homicide.It wasn't until I got upstairs that I found out precisely what '' meant.When I got back to my office, two tan-suited FBI agents were waiting in the outer room. A polished, preppy black man named Ruddy in an oxford shirt and yellow tie, who seemed to be in charge, and the typical hard-nosed field agent named Hull.The first thing out of Ruddy's mouth was how nice it was to be working with the inspector who had solved the bride and groom case. The second thing was a request for the Chimera files. All of them. Tasha. Davidson. Whatever we had on Mercer.Ten seconds after they left, I was on the phone to my new boss. "Guess I know what you meant by ','" I said."Crimes against public officials are a federal offense, Lieutenant. There's not much I can do," said Tracchio."Mercer said this was a city crime, Chief. He said city personnel ought to see it through."Tracchio sent my heart into a tailspin. "I'm sorry. Not anymore.

Chapter 48.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I drove out to Ingleside Heights to talk with Chief Mercer's wife. I felt I needed to do it myself. A line of cars was already stretched along the street around the chief's home. A relative answered the door and told me Mrs. Mercer was upstairs with family.I stood around, checking out faces I recognized gathered in the living room. After a few minutes, Eunice Mercer came down the stairs. She was accompanied by a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman who turned out to be her sister. She recognized me and walked my way."I'm so sorry. I can't believe it," I said, squeezing her hand first, then hugging her."I know," she whispered. "I know you've just gone through this yourself.""I promise you, I know how tough this is. But I need to ask you a few questions," I finally said to her.She nodded, and her sister floated back among the guests.Eunice Mercer took me into a private den.I asked her many of the same questions I had put forth to the relatives of other victims. Had anyone recently threatened her husband? Calls to the house? Anyone suspicious lately watching the house?She shook her head no. "Earl said this was the only place where he actually felt like he lived in the city, not just ran the police force."I changed tack. "You ever come across the name Art Davidson before this week?"Eunice Mercer's face went blank. "You think Earl was killed by the same man who did these other horrible things?"I took her hand. "I think these murders were all committed by the same man."She ma.s.saged her brow. "Lindsay, nothing makes sense to me right now. Earl's murder. That book." "Book...?" I asked."Yes. Earl always read car magazines. He had this dream, when he retired... this old GTO he kept in a cousin's garage. He always said he was gonna tear it down and build it up from scratch. But that book he had stuffed in his jacket... ""What book?" I was squinting at her hard."A young doctor at the hospital returned it to me, along with his wallet and keys. I never knew he had such an interest in that sort of thing. Those old myths--"Suddenly my pulse was racing. "Can you show me what you're talking about?" "Of course," Eunice Mercer said. "It's over here." She left the den and in a minute came back. She handed me a paperback copy of a book every school kid reads. Mythology; by Edith Hamilton.It was an old dog-eared copy, looked as if it had been leafed through a thousand times. I rifled through the pages and spotted nothing.I ran down the table of contents. Then I saw it. Halfway down, page 141. It was underlined. Bellerophon Kills the Chimera.Bellerophon... Billy Reffon.My heart clenched. It was the name he'd used on the 911 call about Art Davidson. He had called himself Billy Reffon.I flipped to page 141. It was there. With an ill.u.s.tration.The lion rearing. The goat's body. The serpent's tail.Chimera.The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was telling us he had killed Chief Mercer.A surge rippled through me. There was something else on the page. A sharp, edgy script, a few words, scrawled above the ill.u.s.tration in ink:More to come... justice will be served.

Chapter 49.

LEAVING MERCER's HOME, I drove around in a sweat, terror-filled at what I knew to be the truth.All my instincts had been right. This was no random, racist murder spree. This was a cold, calculating killer. He was taunting us, the same way he had with the white van.With that c.o.c.ky tape. Billy Reffon.Finally I said, f.u.c.k it. I called the girls. I couldn't hold back any longer. They were three of the sharpest law-enforcement minds in the city And this b.a.s.t.a.r.d had told me there were going to be more killings. We set up a meeting at Susie's."I need your help," I said, panning their faces in our usual booth at the restaurant."That's why we're here," Claire said. "You call, we come running.""Finally." Cindy chuckled. "She admits she's nothing without us.""This Kiss" by Faith Hill was drowning out a basketball game on the TV but in the corner booth, the four of us were huddled in our own purposeful world. G.o.d, it was good to have everybody back together again."Everything's screwed up with Mercer gone. The FBI's come in. I don't even know who's in control. All I know is that the longer we wait, the more people are going to be killed.""This time there have to be some rules," Jill said, tugging on a Buckler nonalcoholic beer. "This isn't a game. That last case, I think I broke every rule I took an oath to uphold. Withholding evidence, using the D. A.'s office for personal use. If anything had gotten out, I'd be doing my cases from the tenth floor."We laughed. The tenth floor of the Hall was where the holding cells were located."Okay." I agreed. It was the same for me. "Anything we find we take to the task force.""Let's not go overboard," said Cindy with a mischievous laugh. "We're here to help you, not to make the careers of some uptight, bureaucratic men.""The Margarita Posse lives," joked Jill. "Jesus, I'm glad we're back." "Don't you ever doubt it," said Claire.I looked around at the girls. The Women's Murder Club.Part of me bristled with apprehension. Four people were dead, including the highest-ranking police officer in the city. The killer had proved he could strike anywhere he wanted to."Each murder has become more high profile, and daring," I said, filling them in on the latest, including the book stuffed in Mercer's jacket. "He no longer needs the subterfuge of the racial MO. It's racial, all right. I just don't know why."Claire took us through the chief's autopsy, which she had finished up that afternoon. He was. .h.i.t three times at close range with a.38 gun. "My impression is that the three shots were s.p.a.ced at measured intervals. I could tell by the pattern that the wounds bled out. The last one was to the head. Mercer was already on the ground. It makes me think they may have confronted each other. That he was trying to kill him slowly Or that they were even talking. I guess where I'm headed is that it's likely Mercer knew his killer.""You checked into the possibility that all these officers were somehow connected?" Jill cut in. "of course you have. You're Lindsay Boxer.""Of course I have. There's no record any of them had even met. Their careers don't seem to have crossed. Tasha Catchings's uncle is younger than the others by twenty years. We can't find anything that puts them together.""Somebody hates cops. Well, actually, a lot of people do," Cindy said."I just can't find the link. This started out in the guise of a hate crime. The killer wanted us to view the murders in a certain way. He wanted us to find his clues. And he wanted us to find the chimera. His f.u.c.ked-up symbol.""But if this is a personal vendetta," Jill said, "it doesn't make sense that it would lead back to some organized group.""Unless he was setting someone up," I said."Or unless," Cindy said, chewing her lip, "the chimera doesn't lead back to a hate group at all. Maybe this book is his way of telling us it's something else."I stared at her. We all did. "We're waiting, Einstein."She blinked remotely, then shook her head. "I was just thinking out loud."Jill said she would dig into any grievance cases against a black officer who had wronged or injured a white. Any act of vengeance that might explain the killer's mind-set. Cindy would do the same at the Chronicle.It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. I had a task force meeting at seven-thirty the next morning. I looked each of my friends in the eye. "Thank you, thank you." "We're gonna solve this sucker with you," Jill said. "We're going to get Chimera." "We've got to," Claire said. "We need you to keep picking up the bar bill."For a few more minutes, we chatted about what we all had going on the next day, when we could get together again.We were starting to cook now. Jill and Claire had their cars parked in the lot. I asked Cindy, who lived in the Castro section, near me, if she needed a ride."Actually," she said with a smile, "I have a date.""Good for you. Who is your next victim?" Claire exclaimed. "When do we get to check him out?"If you supposedly mature, talented women want to ogle like a bunch of schoolkids, I guess now He's picking me up.""I'm always up for a good ogle," Claire said.I snorted out a laugh. "You could be meeting Mel Gibson and Russell Crowe, and it wouldn't rock my boat tonight."As we pushed through the front door, Cindy tugged my arm. "Hold on to your oars, honey."We all saw him at once. We all ogled, and my boat was rocked.Waiting outside, looking altogether s.e.xy and handsome, dressed entirely in black, was Aaron Winslow.

Chapter 50.

I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. I stood there gawking. I looked at Cindy, then back at Winslow, my surprise slowly giving way to a blushing smile."Lieutenant." Winslow nodded, cutting through the awkward murk. "When Cindy said she was meeting friends, I wasn't expecting to find you here.""Yeah, me too," I babbled back."We're headed to the Blue Door," Cindy said to the crowd, going through the introductions. "Pinetop Perkins is in town.""Terrific." Claire nodded."Beatific," snipped Jill."Anybody care to join?" Aaron Winslow asked. "If you haven't heard it, there's nothing like Memphis blues.""I'm in the office at six tomorrow," said Claire. "You two go along."I leaned over to Cindy and whispered, "You know, when we were talking foxholes the other day, I was only joking.""I know you were," Cindy said, looping her arm around mine. "But I wasn't."Claire, Jill, and I stood with our jaws open and watched the two of them disappear around the corner. Actually, they looked kind of cute together, and it was only a date to hear some music."Okay," Jill said, "tell me I wasn't dreaming.""You weren't dreaming, girl," Claire replied. "I just hope that Cindy realizes what she's getting herself into.""Uh-uh." I shook my head. "I hope he does."Getting into my car, I entertained myself with the notion of Cindy and Aaron Winslow. It almost pushed out of my head the reason we had gotten together in the first place.I turned my Explorer onto Brannan and waved good-bye to Claire, who was heading over to 280. As I made the turn, I caught a glimpse of a white Toyota pulling out down the block behind me.My mind was wrapped up with what I had just done, getting the girls involved in this horrible case. I had just countermanded a direct order from the mayor and my commanding officer. This time, there was no one backing me up.No Roth, or Mercer.A Mazda with two teenage girls in it pulled up behind me.We had stopped at a light on Seventh. The driver was talking a mile a minute on her cell phone, while her companion obliviously sung along to the stereo.As we started up, I kept my eye on them for a block, until they veered onto Ninth. A blue minivan took the Mazda's place.I got onto Potrero under the underpa.s.s to 101, heading south. The blue van turned.To my surprise, I saw that same white Toyota lurking thirty yards behind.I continued on. A silver BMW sped up in the left lane and pulled up behind me. Behind it, a city bus. It looked as if the mystery car was gone.who could blame you for getting a little jumpy, with what's going on? I said to myself. My picture had been in the paper and on the TV news.I made my usual right on Connecticut and started the climb up the Potrero hill. I was hoping Mrs. Taylor next door had come by to walk Martha. And I was thinking of stopping in the market on Twentieth for some Edy's vanilla twirl.Two blocks up, I glanced a last time in my rearview mirror. The white Toyota crept into view.Either the sonofab.i.t.c.h lived on the same block I did, or the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was following me.It had to be Chimera.

Chapter 51.

MY HEART WAS POUNDING; the hairs on the back of my neck stood erect. I squinted in the rearview mirror and ran the plate numbers over in my head: California... PCV 182. I couldn't make out the person driving. This was insane... But I sure wasn't imagining it.I pulled into an open parking spot in front of my apartment. I waited in the car until I saw the hood of the Toyota rise over the lip of Twentieth Street, then pause at the base of the last hill. My blood ran cold.I had let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d trail me right to my house.I reached in the glove compartment and took out my Glock. I checked the clip. Stay calm. You're gonna take this a.s.shole down. You're going to nail Chimera right now.I hunched in my car, scrolling through my options. I could call it in. A patrol car could be here in a matter of minutes. But I had to find out who it was. The appearance of a police car would scare him away.My heart beat madly. I palmed my gun and opened the car door. I slipped out into the night. Now what?On the first floor of my house, there was a back door that led to an alley underneath my terrace. From there, I could wrap around the block near the park at the top of the hill. If the b.a.s.t.a.r.d stayed outside, I could double back and maybe surprise him.I hesitated in the doorway, just long enough to see the Toyota creeping slowly up the street. My hands fumbled in my bag for the key. I jammed it in the lock.I was inside. Out a small window, I watched the Toyota. I strained to catch a glimpse of the driver, but his interior lights were off.I undid the bolt to the back door and crept out into the alley behind my building.I ran behind the cover of the houses to the cul de sac at the top of the hill. From there, I reversed back, hugging the shadows of the buildings along the opposite side of the street.Behind him.The Toyota had parked across from my building, its lights off.The driver in the front seat was smoking a cigarette.I crouched behind a parked Honda Accord, clasping my gun. This is what it's all about, Lindsay.Could I take Chimera in the car? what if the doors were locked?Suddenly I saw the car door open, the interior light flash on. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's back was turned to me as he climbed out of his car.He was wearing a dark weatherproof jacket, a floppy cap pulled over his eyes. He was glancing up at my house. My apartment.Then he headed across the street. No fears.Take him down. Now. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had come for me. He'd threatened me in Mercer's book. I moved out from the cover of the line of parked cars.My heart was racing so fast and loud, I was afraid he would suddenly spin around. Now. Do it! You've got him!I stepped up, the Glock firm in one hand. I wrapped the other around his neck, pulled, kicked his legs out from under him.He toppled to the ground, landing hard on his front. I pinned him there. I pressed the barrel of my gun to the back of his head."Police, a.s.shole! Hands out wide."A painful groan came from him. He spread his arms. Was it Chimera?"You wanted me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, well, you got me. Now, turn around."I relaxed my knee just enough for him to maneuver around. As he did, my heart almost stopped.I was staring into the face of my father.

Chapter 52.

MARTY BOXER rolled onto his back and groaned, the air squeezed out of his lungs. He still had a glimmer of the rugged handsomeness I remembered, but it was different - older, leaner, worn. His hair had thinned and the once-lively blue eyes seemed washed out.I hadn't seen him in ten years. I hadn't spoken to him in twenty-two years."What are you doing here?" I wanted to know."Right now," he gasped, rolling onto his side, "having the s.h.i.t beat out of me by my daughter."I felt a hard slab jutting out of his jacket pocket. I pulled out an old department-issued Smith & Wesson.40 caliber."What the h.e.l.l is this? How you say h.e.l.lo?""It's a dangerous world out there." He groaned again.I rolled off him. The sight of him was an affront, a sudden illumination of memories I'd shut off years ago. I didn't offer to help him up. "What were you doing? Following me?"Slowly, he edged himself into a sitting position. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't know it was your old man dropping in, b.u.t.tercup.""Please don't call me that," I shot back at him.b.u.t.tercup was his pet name for me when I was about seven and he was still at home. My sister, Cat, was Horsefly; I was b.u.t.tercup. Hearing that name brought a surge of bitter memories. "You think you can drop in here after all these years, scare the s.h.i.t out of me, and get away with it by calling me b.u.t.tercup? I'm not your little girl. I'm a homicide lieutenant.""I know that. And you deliver a h.e.l.l of a takedown, baby." "Consider yourself lucky," I said, clicking my Glock onto safety."Who the h.e.l.l were you expecting, anyway?" he said as he ma.s.saged his ribs. "The Rock?""That doesn't matter. What does matter is just what you're doing here."He sniffed guiltily. "I'm definitely starting to pick up, b.u.t.tercup, that you might not be entirely thrilled to see me?""I don't know that I am. Are you sick?"His blue eyes sparkled. "Can't a guy check up on his firstborn without his motives being called into account?"I studied the lines on his face. "I haven't seen you in ten years, and you act like it's been a week. You want an update? I was married, now I'm divorced. I got into Homicide. Now I'm lieutenant. I know that's a bit sketchy but it brings you up to date, Dad.""You think so much time has pa.s.sed that I can't look at you as a father?""I don't know how you look at me," I said.My father's eyes suddenly warmed, and he smiled. "G.o.d, you do look beautiful... Lindsay."His expression was that same twinkling, guiltless mug I had seen a thousand times as a kid. I shook my head in frustration. "Marty, just answer my question.""Look." He swallowed. "I know sneaking up on you didn't win me any style points, but do you think I could at least talk my way into a cup of coffee?"I stared incredulously at the man who had left our family when I was thirteen. Who had stayed away all the time my mother was sick. Whom I had thought of as a coward or a cad or even worse for most of my adult life. I hadn't seen my father since he'd sat in the back row on the day I was sworn in as a cop. I didn't know if I wanted to slug him or take him in my arms and give him a hug."just one... " I said, holding out a hand and hoisting him up. I brushed some loose gravel from his lapel. You talked yourself into one cup of coffee, b.u.t.tercup."

Chapter 53.

I MADE A POT OF COFFEE for my father and a cup of Red Zinger for me. I gave him a quick tour, introducing him to Martha, who almost against my silent instructions took a liking to dear old Dad.We sat on my white canvas couch, Martha curled up at my father's feet. I gave him a damp cloth, and he dabbed at a scratch on his cheek."Sorry about the bruise," I said, cradling the hot mug on my knees. Kind of sorry."I've earned worse." He shrugged with a smile."Yeah, you have."We sat facing each other. Neither of us knew quite where to begin. "So, I guess this is where you bring me up to date on what you've been up to for the last twenty-two years?"He swallowed and put down his mug. "Sure. I can do that." He took me through his life, which seemed more like a sputtering spiral of bad luck. He had been an a.s.sistant chief, which I guess I knew down in Redondo Beach. Then he left to go into private security Celebrities. Kevin Costner. Whoopi Goldberg. "Even went to the Oscars." He chuckled.He'd gotten married again, this time for only two years."Found out I was underqualified for the job," he quipped with a self-effacing wave. Now he was back in security - no celebrities, doing odd jobs."Still gambling?" I asked."Only mind bets. In my head," he replied. "Had to give it up when I ran out of funds.""Still root for the Giants?" When I was a kid, he used to take me after his shift to this bar called the Alibi on Sunset.He'd prop me up on the counter where he and his buddies would watch the afternoon games from Candlestick. I loved being with him back then.He shook his head. "Nah, gave them up when they traded away Will Clark. I'm a Dodger fan now. I would like to go to the new park, though." Then he looked at me for a long time.It was my turn now. How to relate the past twenty-two years of my life to my father?I took him through as much as I could handle, leaving out anything related to Mom. I told him about my ex, Tom, how it hadn't worked out. ("Chip off the old block." He snickered."Yeah, but at least I stayed," I replied.) How I pushed for Homicide and finally got it.He nodded glumly. "I read about that big case you worked on. Even down south, it was all over the news.""A real resume launcher." I told him how a month after, I'd been offered the job as lieutenant.My father leaned forward and placed a hand on my knee."I wanted to see you, Lindsay. A hundred times... I don't know why I didn't. I'm proud of you. Homicide's top of the line. When I look at you... you're so... strong, in control. So beautiful. I only wish I could take a little of the credit.""You can. You taught me I had no one to rely on but myself."I got up, refilled his cup, and sat down again facing him."Look, I'm sorry things haven't worked out for you. I really am. But it's been twenty-two years. Why are you here?". I sat across from the Hall in my car for three hours, trying to figure out the way to approach you. I didn't know if you'd want to see me.""I don't know if I do, Daddy." I tried to find the right words, and I felt the edge of tears welling in my eyes. "You were never there. You ran out on us. I can't just change the way I've felt for all these years.""I don't expect you to, Lindsay." he said. "I'm becoming an old man. An old man who knows he's made a million mistakes. All I can do now is try and reverse some of them."I looked at him, half shaking my head in disbelief, half smiling, and dabbing at my eyes. "Things are crazy here now. You heard about Mercer?""Of course." My father exhaled. I waited for him to say something, but he simply shrugged. "I saw you on the news. You are stunning. Do you know that, Lindsay?""Dad, please. Don't." This case needed everything I had right now. It was madness. Here I was facing my father again."I don't know if I can handle this now."I don't know either," he said, tentatively reaching out for my hand. "What about we try?"

Chapter 54.

NINE THE NEXT MORNING, Morris Ruddy the FBI senior agent, scribbled a point on a yellow legal pad. "Okay, Lieutenant, when did you first determine the chimera symbol pointed toward the white supremacist movement?"My head was still whirring from the events of the night before. The last place I wanted to he was cooped up in a task force meeting, talking to the Feebies."Your office clued us in," I replied, "in Quantico."It was a bit of a lie, of course. Stu Kirkwood had only confirmed what I had already learned from Cindy."Subsequently since you had that knowledge," the FBI man bored in, "how many of these groups have you checked out?"I gave him a frustrated look that read, We might actually start making some progress if we could get out of this G.o.dd.a.m.n room."You read the files I gave you. We looked into two or three.""You looked into one." He raised an eyebrow."Look," I explained, "we don't have a history of these groups operating in this area. The method used in these killings seemed consistent with other cases I had worked. I made a determination that we were dealing with a serial killer. I'll admit, it's a gut call." "From these four distinct acts," Ruddy said, "you narrowed it down that this was the act of a single UNSUB, right?""Yeah. From that and seven years working Homicide." I didn't like his tone."Look, Agent Ruddy this isn't a hearing," Sam Ryan, my chief of detectives, finally said."I'm merely trying to determine how much of an effort we still have to coordinate in this area," the FBI man replied."Look," I insisted, "these chimera clues weren't exactly popping out at us in press releases. The white van was sighted by a six-year-old kid. The second was on a wall of graffiti at the crime scene. Our M.E. suggested that the Catchings shooting might not have been a random bullet." "But even now," Ruddy said, "after your own chief of police has been murdered, you still believe these killings aren't politically motivated?""The killings might be politically motivated. I don't know the killer's total agenda. But it's one guy and he's a nutcase. Where the h.e.l.l is this going?""Where it's going is murder number three," the other agent, Hull, cut in. "The Davidson shooting." He hoisted his solid frame out of his seat and stepped over to a flip chart on which each separate murder and the pertinent details were listed in neat columns."Murders one, two, and four," he explained, "all had ties to this Chimera. Davidson's murder doesn't tie in at all. We want to know what makes you so sure we're dealing with the same guy." "You didn't see the shot," I said."According to what I have" Hull leafed through his notes - "Davidson was killed with a bullet from a totally different weapon.""I didn't say ballistics, Hull, I said the shot. It was precision, marksman caliber. Just like the one that killed Tasha Catchings.""I guess my point," Hull continued, "is that we have no tangible evidence linking the Davidson murder with the other three. If we stick to simply the facts, not Inspector Boxer's hunch, there's nothing to suggest we're not dealing with a politically motivated series of events. Nothing."At that moment, there was a knock at the conference room door, and Charlie Clapper stuck his head in. Sort of like a shy groundhog peeking out of his burrow.Clapper nodded toward the FBI guys, then winked at me."I thought you'd be able to use this."He put on the table a black-and-white rendering of a large sneaker tread."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."

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 G.o.d," 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, h