2nd Chance Part 4

"THIS IS BULLs.h.i.t," I said. "It's total c.r.a.p. What is this - some kind of a men's club?"Tracchio, Ruddy and Hull from the FBI, Carr, Ryan. Five boys seated around the table - minus me, the woman.The acting chief stood up. His face was red. "Lindsay we were about to call you up."I knew what this meant. What was going on. Tracchio was going to shift control on the case. My case. He and Ryan were going to hand it over to the FBI."We're at a critical moment in this case," Tracchio said."You're d.a.m.n right," I cut him off. I swept my gaze over the group. "I know who it is."Suddenly, all eyes turned my way. The boys were silent.It was as if the lights had been cranked up, and my skin p.r.i.c.kled as if it had been cauterized.I leveled my eyes back on Tracchio. "You want me to lay it out for you? Or do you want me to leave?"Seemingly dumbfounded, he pulled out a chair for me.I didn't sit. I stood. Then I took them through everything, and I enjoyed it. How I had been skeptical at first, but then it began to fit. Chimera, Pelican Bay... Coombs's grudge against the police force. At the sound of Coombs's name, the departmental people's eyes grew wide. I linked the victims, Coombs's qualification as a marksman, how only a marksman could have made those shots.When I finished, there was silence again. They just stared.I wanted to pump my arm in victory.Agent Ruddy cleared his throat. "So far, I haven't heard a thing that links Coombs directly to any of the crime scenes."Give me another day or two and you will," I said."Coombs is the killer."Hull, Ruddy's broad-shouldered partner, shrugged optimistically toward the chief. "You want us to follow this up?"I couldn't believe it. This was my case. My breakthrough. Homicide's. Our people had been murdered.Tracchio seemed to mull it over. He pursed his thick lips as if he were sucking a last drop through a straw. Then he shook his head at the FBI man."That won't be necessary, Special Agent. This has always been a city case. We'll see it through with city personnel."

Chapter 77.

ONLY ONE THING was standing in the way now. We had to find Frank Coombs.Coombs's prison file mentioned a wife, Ingrid, who had divorced him while he was in prison and remarried. It was a long shot. The PO said he hadn't been in touch. But long shots were coming in right now."C'mon, Warren." I nudged Jacobi. "You're coming with me. It'll be like old times.""Aww ain't that sweet."Ingrid Thia.s.son lived on a pleasant middle-cla.s.s street off of Laguna.We parked across the street, went up, and rang the bell.No one answered. We didn't know if Coombs's wife worked, and there was no car in the driveway.Just as we were about to head back, an old-model Volvo station wagon pulled into the driveway.Ingrid Thia.s.son looked about fifty with stringy brown hair; she wore a plain, shapeless blue dress under a heavy gray sweater. She climbed out of the car and opened the rear hatch to unload groceries.An old cop's wife, she ID'd us the minute we walked up."What do you people want with me?" she asked."A few minutes. We're trying to locate your ex-husband.""You got nerve coming around here." She scowled, hoisting two bags in her arms."We're just checking all the possibilities," Jacobi said.She snapped back, "Like I told his parole officer, I haven't heard a word from him since he got out.""He hasn't been to see you?""Once, when he got out. He came by to pick up some personal stuff he thought I had held for him. I told him I threw it all out." "What kind of stuff?" I asked."Useless letters, newspaper articles on the trial. Probably the old guns he kept around. Frank was always into guns. Stuff only a man with nothing to show for his life would find value in."Jacobi nodded. "So what'd he do then?""What'd he do?" Ingrid Thia.s.son snorted. "He left without a word about what life had been like for us for the past twenty years. Without a word about me or his son. You believe that?""And you have no idea where we could contact him?""None. That man was poison. I found someone who's treated me with respect. Who's been a father to my boy. I don't want to see Frank Coombs again." I asked, "You have any idea if he might be in touch with your son?""No way. I always kept them apart. My son doesn't have any links to his father. And don't go buzzing around him. He's in college at Stanford."I stepped forward. "Anyone who might know where he is, Ms. Thia.s.son, it would be a help to us. This is a murder case."I saw the slightest sign of hesitation. "I've lived a good life for twenty years. We're a family now. I don't want anyone knowing this came from me."I nodded. I felt the blood rushing to my head."Frank kept up with Tom Keating. Even when he was locked away. Anyone knows where he is, it'd be him."Tom Keating. I knew the name.He was a retired cop.

Chapter 78.

LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, Jacobi and I pulled up in front of condo 3A at the Blakesly Residential Community down the coast in Half Moon Bay.Keating's name had stuck in my mind from when I was a kid. He'd been a regular at the Alibi after the nine-to-four shift, where many afternoons I'd been hoisted up on a bar stool by my father. In my mind, Keating had a ruddy complexion and a shock of prematurely white hair. G.o.d, I thought, that was almost thirty years ago.We knocked on the door of Keating's modest slatted-wood condo. A trim, pleasant-looking woman with gray hair answered."Mrs. Keating? I'm Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer of the San Francisco Homicide detail. This is Inspector Jacobi. Is your husband at home?" "Homicide...?" she said, surprised."Just an old case," I said with a smile.A voice called from inside, "Helen, I can't find the d.a.m.ned clicker anywhere." "just a minute, Tom. He's in the back," she said as she motioned us into the house.We walked through the spa.r.s.ely decorated house and into a sun room overlooking a small patio. There were several framed police photos on the wall. Keating was as I remembered him, just thirty years older. Gaunt, white hair thinning, but with that same ruddy complexion.He sat watching an afternoon news show with the stock market tape streaming by. I realized he was sitting in a wheelchair.Helen Keating introduced us, then, finding the clicker, put the TV volume down. Keating seemed pleased to have visitors from the force."I don't get to many functions since my legs went. Arthritis, they tell me. Brought on by a bullet to lumbar four. Can't play golf anymore." He chuckled. "But I can still watch the old pension grow."I saw him studying my face. "You're Marty Boxer's little girl, aren't you?" I smiled. "The Alibi... A couple of five-oh-ones, right, Tom?" A 5-0-1 was the call for backup, and how they used to call a favorite drink, an Irish whiskey with a beer chaser."I heard you were quite the big shot these days." Keating nodded with a toothy smile. "So, what brings you two honchos down to talk to an old street cop?""Frank Coombs," I said.Keating's features suddenly turned hard. "What about Frank?" "We're trying to find him, Tom. I was told you might know where he is.""Why don't you call his parole officer? That wouldn't be me.""He's split, Tom. Four weeks now. Quit his job.""So they got Homicide following up on parole offenders now?"I held Keating's eyes. "What do you say Tom?""What makes you think I'd have any idea?" He glanced toward his legs. "Old times are old times.""I heard you guys kept in touch. It's important.""Well, you're wasting your time here, Lieutenant," he said, suddenly turning formal.I knew he was lying. "When was the last time you spoke with Coombs?""Maybe just after he got out. Could be once or twice since then. He needed some help to get on his feet. I may have lent him a hand.""And where was he staying," Jacobi cut in, "while you were lending him this hand?"Keating shook his head. "Some hotel down on Eddy or O'Farrell. Wasn't the St. Francis," he said."And you haven't spoken with him since?" My eyes flicked toward Helen Keating."What do you want with the man, anyway?" Keating snapped. "He's paid his time. Why don't you just leave him alone?" "It would be easier this way, Tom," I said. "If you'd just talk to us."Keating pursed his dry lips, trying to size up where his loyalties fell."You put in thirty years, didn't you?" Jacobi said."Twenty-four." He patted his leg. "Got it cut short at the end.""Twenty-four good years. It'd be a shame to dishonor it in any way by not cooperating now."He shot back, "You want to know who was a G.o.dd.a.m.n expert in lack of cooperation? Frank Coombs. Man was only doing his job and all those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, supposedly his friends, looked the other way. Maybe that's the way you do things now with your community action meetings and your sensitivity training. But then we had to get the bad guys off the streets. With the means that we had.""Tom." His wife raised her voice. "Frank Coombs killed a boy. These people, they're your friends. They want to speak with him. I don't know how far you have to take this duty-and-loyalty thing. Your duty's here."Keating glared at her harshly. "Yeah, sure, my duty's here."He picked up the TV clicker and turned back to me. "Stay here all day if you like; I don't have the slightest idea where Frank Coombs is."He turned up the volume on his TV.

Chapter 79.

"f.u.c.k HIM," Jacobi said as we left the house. "Old-school a.s.shole.""We're halfway down the peninsula already." I said to him. "You want to drive down to Stanford? See Frankie's kid?""What the h.e.l.l." He shrugged. "I can use the education."We hooked back onto 280 and made it to Palo Alto in half an hour.As we pulled onto the campus drive - the tall palms lining the road, the stately ocher buildings with their red roofs, the Hoover Tower majestically rising over the Main Quad - I felt the spell of being part of campus life. Every one of these kids was special and talented. I even felt some pride that Coombs's son, despite his rough beginnings, had made it here.We checked in at the administrative office on the Main Quad. A dean's a.s.sistant told us Rusty Coombs was probably at football practice down at the field house. Said Rusty was a good student, and a great tight end. We drove there, where a student manager in a red Stanford cap took us upstairs and asked us to wait outside the weight room.Moments later, a solidly built, orange-haired kid in a sweaty Cardinals T-shirt wandered out. Rusty Coombs had an affable face spotted with a few freckles. He had none of the dark, brooding belligerence I had seen in photos of his father."I guess I know why you guys are here," he said, coming up to us. "My mom called, told me."The heavy sound of weight irons and lifting machines clanged in the background. I smiled affably. "We're looking for your father, Rusty. We were wondering if you have any idea where he might be?" "He's not my father," the boy said, and shook his head. "My father's name is Theodore Bell. He's the one who brought me up with Mom. Teddy taught me how to catch a football. He's the one who told me I could make it to Stanford.""When was the last time you heard from Frank Coombs?""What's he done, anyway? My mother said you guys are from Homicide. We know what's in the news. Everyone knows what's going on up there. Whatever he did before, he paid his time, didn't he? You can't believe just because he made some mistakes twenty years ago he's responsible for these terrible crimes?""We wouldn't have driven all the way down unless it was important," Jacobi said.The football player shifted back and forth on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. He seemed to be a likable kid, cooperative. He rubbed his hands together. "He came here once. When he first got out. I had written him a couple of times in jail. I met with him in town. I didn't want anybody to see him.""What did he say to you?" I asked."I think all he wanted was to clear his own conscience. And know what my mother thought of him. Never once did he say ' great job, Rusty Look at you. You did good.' Or, "Hey I follow your games...' He was more interested in knowing if my mom had thrown out some of his old things.""What sort of things?" I asked. What would be so important that he would drive all the way here and confront his son?"Police things," Rusty Coombs said and shook his head. "Maybe his guns.I smiled sympathetically. I knew what it was like to look at your father with something less than admiration. "He give you any idea where he might go?"Rusty Coombs shook his head. He looked like he might tear up. "I'm not Frank Coombs, Inspectors. I may have his name, I may even have to live with what he did, but I'm not him. Please leave our family alone. Please."

Chapter 80.

WELL, THAT SUCKED. Stirring up bad memories for Rusty Coombs made me feel terrible. Even Jacobi agreed.We made it back to the office about four. We'd driven all the way down to Palo Alto just to run into another dead end.What fun.There was a phone message waiting for me. I called Cindy back immediately. "There's a rumor floating around that you've narrowed on a suspect," she said. "Truth or dare?""We have a name, Cindy, but I can't tell you anything. We just want to bring him in for questioning.""So there's no warrant?""Cindy... not just yet.""I'm not talking about a story, Lindsay. He went after our friend. Remember? If I can help... ""I got a hundred cops working on it, Cindy. Some of us have even handled an investigation or two before. Please, trust me.""But if you haven't brought him in, then you haven't found him, right?""Or maybe we haven't made the case yet. And Cindy, that's not for print.""This is me talking, Linds. Claire, too. And Jill. We're in this case, Lindsay. All of us."She was right. Unlike any other homicide case I had worked, this one seemed to be growing more and more personal. why was that? I didn't have Coombs and I could use the help. As long as he stayed free, anything could happen."I do need your help. Go through your old files, Cindy.You just didn't go back far enough." She paused, then sucked in a breath. "You were right, weren't you? The guy's a cop.""You can't go with that, sweetie. And if you did, you'd be wrong. But it's d.a.m.ned close."I felt her a.n.a.lyzing, and also biting her tongue. "We're still going to meet, aren't we?"I smiled. "Yeah, we're going to meet. We're a team. More than ever."I was about to pack it in for the night when a call buzzed through to my line. I was sitting around thinking that Tom Keating had been lying. That he'd spoken to Coombs. But until we put out a warrant, Keating could hold back all he wanted.To my utter surprise, it was his wife on the line. I almost dropped the phone."My husband's a stubborn man, Lieutenant," she began, clearly nervous. "But he wore the uniform with pride. I've never asked him to account for anything. And I won't start -now. But I can't sit back. Frank Coombs killed that boy And if he's done something else, I refuse to wake up every morning for the rest of my life knowing I abetted a murderer.""It would be better for everybody, Mrs. Keating, if your husband told us what he knows." "I don't know what he knows," she said, "and I believe him when he says he hasn't spoken to Coombs in some time. But he wasn't telling the whole truth, Lieutenant.""Then why don't you start."She hesitated. "Coombs did come by here. Once. Maybe two months ago.""Do you know where he is?" My blood started to rush."No," she answered. "But I did take a message from him. For Tom. I still have the number."I fumbled for a pen.She read me the number. 434-9117. "I'm pretty sure it was some kind of boarding house or hotel.""Thank you, Helen." I was about to hang up when she said, "There's one more thing... When my husband said he lent Coombs a hand, he wasn't telling the whole story. Tom did give him some money.He also let him rummage through some old things in our storage locker." "What sort of things?" I asked."His old department things. Maybe an old uniform, and a badge."That's what Coombs had been looking for in his ex-wife's house. His old police uniforms. My mind clicked. Maybe that's how he got so close to Chipman and Mercer."That's all?" I asked."No," Helen Keating said. "Tom kept guns down there.Coombs took those, too."

Chapter 81.

WITHIN MINUTES I traced the number Helen Keating had given me to a boarding house on Larkin and Mcallister.The Hotel William Simon. My pulse was jumping.I called Jacobi, catching him as he was about to sit down to dinner. "Meet me at Larkin and Mcallister. The Hotel William Simon.""You want me to meet you at a hotel? Cool. I'm on my way.""I think we found Coombs."We couldn't arrest Frank Coombs. We didn't have a single piece of evidence that could tie him directly to a crime. I might be able to get a search warrant and bust into his room, though. Right now the most important thing was to make certain he was still there.Twenty minutes later, I had driven down to the seedy area between the Civic Center and Union Square. The William Simon was a shabby one-elevator dive under a large billboard with a slinky model wearing Calvin Klein underwear. As Jill would say, yick.I didn't want to go up to the desk, flashing my badge and his photo, until we were ready to make a move. Finally, I said what the h.e.l.l, and placed a call to the number Helen Keating had given me. After three rings, a male voice answered, "William Simon.""Frank Coombs...?" I inquired."Coombs... " I listened as the desk clerk leafed through a list of names. "Nope." s.h.i.t. I asked him to double-check. He came back negative.Just then, the pa.s.senger door of my Explorer opened. My nerves were tw.a.n.ging like a ba.s.s guitar.Jacobi climbed in. He was wearing a striped golf shirt and some sort of short, hideous Members Only jacket. His belly bulged. He grinned like a John. "Hey, lady, what does an Andrew Jackson get me?""Dinner, maybe, if you're treating.""We got an ID?" he asked.I shook my head. I told him what I had found out."Maybe he's moved on," Jacobi offered. "How ' I go in and flash the badge? With Coombs's photo?"I shook my head. "How ' we sit here and wait."We waited for over two hours. Stakeouts are incredibly dull. They would drive the average person nuts. We kept our eyes peeled on the William Simon, going over everything from Helen Keating, to what Jacobi's wife was serving for dinner, to the 49ers, to who was sleeping with who at the Hall. Jacobi even sprung for a couple of sandwiches from a Subway.At ten o'clock, Jacobi grumbled, "This could go on forever! Why don't you let me go inside, Lindsay?"He was probably right. We didn't even know if Helen Keating's number was current. She had taken it weeks ago.I was about to give in when a man turned the corner on Larkin headed toward the hotel. I gripped Jacobi's arm. "Look over there."It was Coombs. I recognized the b.a.s.t.a.r.d instantly. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets, a floppy hat pulled over his eyes."Son of a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h," Jacobi muttered.Watching the b.a.s.t.a.r.d slink up to the hotel, it took everything I had not to jump out of the car and slam him up against a wall. I wished I could slap him in cuffs. But we had Chimera now. We knew where he was."I want someone stuck to him, twenty-four hours," I told Jacobi. "If he makes the tail, I want him picked up. We'll figure out the charges later."Jacobi nodded."I hope you brought a toothbrush." I winked. "You've got first watch."

Chapter 82.

AS THEY WALKED hand in hand toward her Castro apartment, Cindy admitted to herself that she was scared s.h.i.tless.This was the fifth time she and Aaron Winslow had been out together. They had seen Cyrus Chestnut and Freddie Hubbard at the Blue Door; been to Traviata at the opera; taken the ferry across the bay to a tiny Jamaican cafe that Aaron knew. Tonight, they had seen this dreamy film, Chocolat. o matter where this went tonight, she enjoyed being with him. He was deeper than most men she'd dated, and he was definitely more sensitive. Not only did he read unexpected books like Dave Eggers's A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter, he lived the life that he preached. He worked twelve-to-sixteen-hour days and was loved in his neighborhood, but he still managed to keep his ego in check. She'd heard it over an dover again interviewing people for her story: Aaron Winslow was one of the good guys.All the while, though, Cindy had felt this moment looming in the distance. Hurtling closer and closer. Ticking. This was the natural step, she told herself. As Lindsay would say, their foxhole was about to explode."You seem a little quiet tonight," Aaron said. "You okay, Cindy?""I'm great," she fibbed. She thought he was just about the sweetest man she had ever gone out with, but, Jesus, Cindy, he's a pastor. Why didn't you think of this then? Is this a good idea? Think it through. Don't hurt him. Don't get hurt yourself.They stopped walking in front of the entrance to Cindy's building and stood in the lighted arch. He sung a line from an old R&B tune, "I've Pa.s.sed This Way Before." He even had a good singing voice.There was no use postponing it any longer. "Look, Aaron, someone has to say this. You want to come up? I'd like it if you did, hate it if you didn't." He exhaled and smiled. "I don't exactly know where to take this, Cindy. I'm a little out of my range. I, uh, I've never dated a blonde before. I wasn't expecting any of this." "I can relate to that." She smiled. "But it's only two floors up. We can talk about it there."His lip was quivering slightly, and when he touched her arm it sent a shiver down her spine. G.o.d, she did like him.And she trusted him."I feel like I'm about to cross this line," he said. "And it's not a line I can cross casually. So I have to know. Are we there together? In the same place?"Cindy elevated on her toes and pressed her lips lightly against his mouth. Aaron seemed surprised and at first he stiffened, but slowly he placed his arms around her and gave himself over to the kiss.It was just as she had hoped, that first real kiss. Tender and breathtaking. Through his jacket, she could feel the rhythm of his heart pounding. She liked it that he was afraid, too. It made her feel even closer to him.When they parted, she looked in his eyes and said, "We're there. We're in the same place."She took out her key and led him up the two floors to her place. Her heart was pounding."It's great," he said. "I'm not just saying that." A two-story wall of bookshelves and an informal open kitchen."It's you... Cindy, it seems silly that I haven't been up here before.""It wasn't for lack of trying." Cindy grinned. G.o.d, she was so nervous.He took hold of her again, this time giving her a longer kiss. He certainly knew how to kiss. Every cell in her body felt alive. The small hairs on her arms, the warmth in her thighs; she pressed herself against him. She wanted, needed, to be close to him now. His body was slender, but he was definitely strong.Cindy started to smile. "So what were you waiting for?""I don't know. Maybe some kind of sign." She herself into the grooves of his body, felt him come alive. "There's a sign," she said, close to his face."I guess my secret's out now. Yes, I do like you, Cindy."Suddenly, the phone rang, almost blasting in their ears."Oh, G.o.d," she groaned. "Go away; leave us alone.""I hope that's not another sign." He laughed.Each ring seemed more annoying than the last. Mercifully the answering machine finally kicked on."Cindy, it's Lindsay," the voice shot. "I've got something important. Please. Pick. Up.""Go ahead," Aaron said."Now that you're finally up here, don't use the time I'm on the phone to change your mind."She reached behind the couch, fumbled for the receiver, put it to her ear. "I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, she said."Funny; that's just what I was about to say Listen to this."Lindsay shared her news, and Cindy felt a rush of triumph surge through her. This was what she had wanted. It had been her angle that put Lindsay onto him. Yes!"Mana'na," she said, "and thanks for the phone call." She placed the receiver down, squeezed back with Aaron, and looked into his eyes."You wanted a sign. I think I've got the best one in the world." A glimmer lit her face."They found him, Aaron."

Chapter 83.

WE KEPT WATCH all night at the William Simon. Unofficially So far, Coombs hadn't come out again. I knew where he was. Now all I had to do was make the case.That was the morning Jill came back to work. I headed to her office to bring her up to date. Coming off the elevator on the eighth floor, I ran into Claire, who must've had the same idea."Great minds and all that," she said."I've got big news," I told her, beaming with antic.i.p.ation."C'mon... "We knocked on her door and found Jill at her desk, looking a little peaked. Stacks of doc.u.ments and legal files gave the impression she hadn't missed a single day. At the sight of us, her blue eyes sprang alive, but as she stood, her arms outstretched for a hug, Jilly seemed to be moving at half her usual speed."Don't," I said. I went over and gave her a hug. "You've got to take it easy.""I'm fine," she answered quickly "Abdomen's a little stiff, heart's a little broken. But I'm here. And this is the best thing for me.""You sure this is the smartest thing?" Claire asked her. "you sure this is the smartest thing?" Claire asked her."It is for me," Jill shot back. "I promise, Doc, I'm fine. So please, don't start trying to convince me otherwise. You want to help me start to heal, just bring me up to date on what's going on."We looked at her a little skeptically But then I had to share the news. "I think we found him.""Who?" Jill asked.I beamed. "Chimera."Claire gave me a stare. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in prayer, then opened them with a sigh.Jill looked impressed. "Jesus, you sonofab.i.t.c.hes have been busy while I've been away."right questions, and I laid it all out for them. When I told them the name, Jill muttered, "Coombs... I remember the case from law school." A spark lit in her sharp eyes. "Frank Coombs. He killed a teenage boy." "You're sure it's him?" Claire asked. She was still wearing a bandage on her neck."I hope so," I said. Then, without any doubt, "Yes, I'm sure it's him.""You arrest him yet?" Claire asked. "Can I visit him in his cell? Hmm? I've got this ball bat I've been meaning to try out.""Not yet. He's holed up at some dive in the Tenderloin. We've got him under twenty-four-hour watch."I turned to Jill. "What do you say, Counselor? I want to bring him in."She came over, a little gingerly, and leaned on the corner of her desk. "Okay, tell me exactly what you have."I went through each link: the loose connections to three of the victims, Coombs's history as a marksman, his doc.u.mented grudge against blacks, how the OFJ had sealed his fate. But with each strand of evidence, I saw her conviction dim."Jill, listen." I held up my hand. "He took a department-issued thirty-eight from a retired cop, and Mercer was killed with a thirty-eight. Three of the targets tie directly to his own history. I've got a guy in San Quentin who says he boasted he was out for revenge.""Thirty-eights are a dime a dozen, Lindsay. Do you have a match on the gun?""No, but Jill, Tasha Catchings's murder took place in the same neighborhood where Coombs went down twenty years before."She cut me off. "What about a witness who can place him at the scene? One witness, Lindsay?"I shook my head."A print, then, or a piece of clothing. Something that ties him to one of the murders?"With an exasperated breath, I reacted. "No.""Circ.u.mstantial evidence can convict, Jill," Claire cut in. "Coombs is a monster. We can't just let him stay out on the streets."Jill looked sharply at both of us. Jeez, she was almost the Jill of old. "You don't think I want him as much as you? You don't think I look at you, Claire, and think just how close we came...? But there's no weapon, barely a motive. You haven't even placed him within sight of a murder scene. If you bust in and don't find anything, you've lost him for good.""Coombs is Chimera, Jill," I said. "I know I don't have it b.u.t.toned up yet, but I've got a motive and links that tie him to three victims. As well as outside testimony that corroborates his intentions.""Jailhouse testimony," said Jill. Juries laugh at it these days."She got up, came over, and put a hand on both Claire's and mine. "Look, I know how badly you want to close this. I'm your friend, but I'm still the law. Bring me anything, someone who saw him at a scene, a print he left on a door. Give me anything, Lindsay, and I'll be bashing down his door to get at him same as you. Turn him upside down, rattle him until his spare change falls out."I stood there, teeming with frustration and anger but knowing that Jill was right. I shook my head and made my way toward the door."What are you going to do?" asked Claire."Rattle the f.u.c.ker. Turn his life upside down."

Chapter 84.

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

Chapter 85.

I WAS TOTALLY WIRED after work. There was just no way I could go home and unwind.I headed down Brannan toward Potrero, my mind replaying the gut-stabbing interview with Coombs. He was taunting us, laughing in our faces, knowing we couldn't bring I knew who Chimera was... but I couldn't touch him.I stopped at a light, not wanting to go home but not knowing where else to go. Cindy had a date; Jill and Claire were home with their husbands; I probably could have had a date if I made myself the least bit available.I thought about calling Claire, but my cell phone was down - I needed to recharge the d.a.m.n battery. I wanted to do something - the urgency was ripping through me.If I could only get into Coombs's hotel room... I felt torn between heading home and possibly making the biggest mistake of my career. My rational voice said, Lindsay, go home, get him tomorrow... He's going to mess up soon.The pounding in my heart said, Uh-uh, baby... stay on him. Rattle the f.u.c.ker.I swung my Explorer onto Seventh and headed for the Tenderloin district. It was almost nine o'clock.My car seemed to drive itself to the William Simon. My chest felt tight and pressurized. Pete Worth and Ted Morelli had night watch, and as I pulled up, I spotted them in a blue Acura. They had orders, if Coombs left, to follow and radio in. Earlier that day, Coombs had sauntered out, strolled conspicuously around the block, and finally settled in a coffee shop to read the paper. He knew he was being watched.I climbed out of my Explorer and went over to Worth and Morelli. "Any sign?"Morelli leaned out the driver's-side window. "Nada, Lieutenant. He's probably up there watching the Kings game. The sc.u.mbag. He knows we're stuck down here. Why don't you go home? We've got him covered for the night."Much as I hated to admit it, he was probably right. There was nothing much I could do here. -I started the engine again and flashed a wave to the boys as I pa.s.sed by But at the corner, on Eddy, some controlling impulse restrained me from leaving. It was as if something were saying, What you want is here.He knows he's being watched... And?... He wants to show up the SFPD.I drove down Polk, back toward the William Simon. I pa.s.sed p.a.w.nshops, an all-night liquor store, a storefront Chinese take-out. A parked patrol car sat at the end of the block.I drove past the rear of the hotel. Several garbage cans outside. Not much else. The street was deserted. I turned off my lights and sat there. I don't know what I was expecting to happen, but I was driving myself crazy.I finally climbed out of the Explorer and went inside the back door of the hotel. Rattle the f.u.c.ker. I was thinking about going back upstairs to talk to Coombs again. Yeah, maybe we could watch the Kings game together.There was a narrow, dingy bar just off the lobby. I took a peek inside, saw a couple of real skulls, but not Frank Coombs. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, a murderer was here in this hotel, a cop murderer, and we couldn't do a thing about it.A movement near the back stairs caught my eye. I ducked back inside the shadowy bar. A real oldie was playing on the juke, Sam and Dave's "Soul Man." I watched a person coming down the stairs, casting glances around like The Fugitive.What the h.e.l.l was this?I recognized the camouflage jacket, the floppy hat pulled over his face. I stared hard to be sure.It was Frank Coombs.Chimera was on the move.

Chapter 86.

COOMBS DUCKED into the kitchen of a greasy spoon attached to the hotel. I waited a few seconds, then I followed him.Now I was the one keeping my head down, casting furtive looks. I saw Coombs, but he'd changed. He'd put on a white kitchen jacket and a greasy chef's hat. I remembered my cell phone and then that it was dead. I wasn't on duty; I hadn't really needed it.Coombs walked right out the back door of the hotel.Before I had a chance to signal the patrol car, discreetly, he ducked into an alleyway.I looked down the alley and saw that it angled toward the street where I was parked. I ran for my car.Thank G.o.d I could still see him. Coombs hurried across the street, not twenty feet in front of my car. I hoped I'd have a chance to signal the patrol car, but I didn't.Coombs ducked into an empty lot, heading toward Van Ness. I was angry at our people - they had let him out. They had blown it.I waited until he disappeared into the lot, then I spun the Explorer around and headed toward the intersection. At the light, I made a right, throwing on the car lights. The busy street was crowded. A Kinko's, a Circuit City, people pa.s.sing by.I watched where I thought the empty lot might come out.I sat there, scanning up and down the block. Could he have beaten me out here? Could he have slipped into the crowd?s.h.i.t!Suddenly, up ahead, I spotted the camouflage jacket slinking out of an alley between the Kinko's and a Favor shoe store.He'd dumped the cook's jacket and hat.I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me. He looked around in both directions, then, hands in pockets, started south toward Market. I wanted to run him down with my car.At the next intersection, I spun the Explorer around and headed back on the other side of the street, about twenty yards behind Coombs.He was pretty good at this. He moved well. Obviously, he was in shape. Finally, he seemed satisfied he'd made a clean escape. He nearly had.At Market Street, Coombs jogged into the middle of the street at a BART station. He hopped an electric bus heading south.I followed as the bus continued south on Mission. Each time it stopped I slowed on the brakes, craning to see if Coombs had jumped off. He never did. He was taking it out of the city center.Out near La Salle Heights, at the Glen Park station, the bus hung at the stop for a few seconds. Just as it was starting up again, Coombs hopped off.It was too late for me to stop. I had no choice but to pa.s.s.right by. I hunched low; every nerve in my body on edge. I'd been on lots of stakeouts, tailed dozens of cars, but never with so much at risk.Coombs hung on the platform, scanning in both directions. I had no choice but to continue on. In the rearview mirror, I watched him. He seemed to be following my car as it faded out of sight.d.a.m.n... All I could do was drive. I was incredibly angry, so p.i.s.sed. When I was sure I was out of sight, I accelerated, climbing a residential hill, cutting a three-point U-turn out of a driveway, and prayed Coombs would still be there.I sped across the street and spun around to the Glen Park station from the other side.The sonofab.i.t.c.h was gone! I frantically scanned every direction, but there was no sign of him. I pounded the wheel in anger. "f.u.c.ker!" I yelled.Then, about thirty yards ahead, I spotted a mustard-colored Pontiac B6nneville pulling out of a side street, then stopping at the side of the road. The only reason I fixed on it was that it was the only thing moving.Suddenly, there was Coombs. He ducked out of a storefront and jumped into the Bonneville's pa.s.senger's-side door.Back at ya, I said to myself.Then the Bonneville sped away.So did I.

Chapter 87.

I FOLLOWED, ten car lengths or so behind. The Bonneville spun onto the entrance ramp for 280 and headed south. I hung at a distance, my pulse racing. I was pretty much running on adrenaline now. I had no choice except to follow Coombs as best I could.After a few miles, the Bonneville signaled and veered onto the exit for South San Francisco. It wound through the working-cla.s.s part of town, then up a steep street that I knew to be South Hill. The streets grew dark, and I shut off my lights.The Bonneville turned down a dark, isolated street.Middle-cla.s.s row houses badly in need of repair. At the end of the street, it pulled into the driveway of a white clapboard house perched on a hill overlooking the valley. The location was pretty enough, but the house was a shambles.Coombs and his partner got out of their car, talking. They went into the house. I turned into a dark driveway three houses down. I'd never had such a chilling feeling of being alone. It was just that I couldn't let Coombs go, couldn't let him run on us.I pulled the Glock out of my glove compartment and checked the clip. Full load. Jesus Christ, Lindsay. No vest, no backup, no cell phone that works.I crept along the shadowy sidewalk toward the white house, the automatic at my side. I was good with the gun, but this good?Several beat-up cars and pickups were parked in a random pattern at the top of the driveway. The downstairs lights were on. I could hear voices. Well, I'd come this far I made my way up the narrow driveway toward the garage. It was a two-car stand-alone, separated from the main house by a blacktop walkway. The voices grew louder. I tried to listen, but they were too far away. I took a breath and moved closer. Hugging the house, I looked inside a window.If Coombs looked as if he was going to stay for a while, then I could get backup here.Six outlaw types, beer bottles, smokes, huddled around a table. Coombs was one of them. On the arm of one man I spotted a tattoo that made it all so clear.The head of a lion, the head of a goat, the tail of a reptile.This was a meeting of Chimera.I inched closer, trying to hear. Suddenly came the rumble of another car climbing South Hill. I froze. I clung to the house, hugging the s.p.a.ce between the main house and the garage. I heard the car door slam, then voices and footsteps coming my way.

Chapter 88.

I SAW TWO MEN coming, one with a blond beard and long ponytail, the other in a sleeveless denim vest with ma.s.sive tattooed arms. I had absolutely nowhere to go.They fixed on me. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"Two possibilities: back away with my gun aimed at them, or make a stand and take Coombs in right now. The latter seemed the better idea to me."Police," I shouted, freezing the two new arrivals. My automatic was extended with both hands. "San Francisco Homicide. Get your hands up."The two men had measured, unpanicked reactions. They glanced at each other calculatingly then back at me. I was sure they were armed, and so were the others inside. A terrifying thought flashed through me: I could die here.Noise erupted from all over. Two other men arrived from the street. I spun around, jerking my gun at them.Suddenly the lights inside the house went out. The driveway got dark, too. Where was Coombs? What was he doing now?I jerked into a shooting crouch. This wasn't about Coombs anymore.I heard a noise behind me. Someone coming fast. I spun in that direction - and then I was blindsided by somebody else. I was grabbed, taken down. I hit the ground hard under a couple of hundred pounds.Then I was looking at a face I didn't want to see. A face I hated."Look what the tide rolled in." Frank Coombs grinned.He wagged a.38 at my eyes. "Marty Boxer's little girl."

Chapter 89.

COOMBS CROUCHED down close and leered at me with that haughty smirking grin I'd come to hate already. Chimera was right here. "Seems you're the one who's leaning to the left a little now," he said.I had just enough clear-headedness to realize what incredible trouble I was in. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had."This is a murder investigation," I said to the men around me. "Frank Coombs is wanted in connection with four killings, including two cops. You don't want a piece of that." Coombs continued to grin. "You're wasting your breath if you think that bulls.h.i.t carries any weight here. I heard you talked to Weiscz. Neat guy, huh? Friend of mine."I forced myself into a sitting position. How the h.e.l.l did he know I'd been to Pelican Bay? "People know I'm here."Suddenly Coombs's fist flashed out. He caught me flush on the jaw. I felt a warm ooze fill my mouth, my own blood.My mind flickered for some way to escape.Coombs continued to smile down at me. "I'm gonna do what you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds did to me. Take something precious from you. Take something you can never have back. You don't understand anything yet.""I understand enough. You killed four innocent people."Coombs laughed again. His coa.r.s.e hand stroked my cheek. The venom in his stare, the coldness of his touch nearly made me retch.I heard the gunshot, loud and close by, only it was Coombs who howled and grabbed his shoulder.The others scattered. There was chaos in the darkness, and I was as confused as anyone. Another bullet whined through the air.A skinny thug with tattoos yelped and grabbed his thigh.Two more shots thudded into the garage wall."What the f.u.c.k is going on?" Coombs yelled. "Who's shooting?"More shots rang out. They were coming from the shadows at the end of the driveway. I got up and ran in a crouch away from the house. No one stopped me."Here," I heard someone shout up ahead. I churned my legs toward the sound. The shooter was crouched behind the mustard-colored Bonneville."Let's go," he hollered.Then all at once I saw; but I couldn't believe my eyes.I reached out and fell into the arms of my father.

Chapter 90.

WE SPED AWAY from the house, getting most of the way to San Francis...o...b..fore we could even speak. Finally my father pulled his car into the busy parking lot of a 7-Eleven. I faced him, still breathing, my heart pounding."Are you okay?" he asked in the softest voice I could imagine.I nodded, not quite sure, taking an inventory of where it hurt. My jaw... the back of my head... my pride.Slowly the questions that needed to be answered crept through the daze."What were you doing there?" I asked."I've been worried about you. Especially after somebody came after your friend Claire." The next thought hit me hard. "You've been following?"He dabbed the corner of my mouth with his thumb to wipe away a trickle of blood. "I was a cop for twenty years. I followed you after you left work tonight. Okay?"My head rung in disbelief, but somehow it didn't matter.Then, as I stared at my father, something else flashed in my mind. Something that wasn't adding up. I remembered Coombs leering over me. "He knew who I was.""Of course he knew. You met him face-to-face. You're in charge of his case.""I don't mean from the case," I said. "He knew about you."My father's eyes looked confused. "What do you mean?""That I was your daughter. He knew. He called me Marty Boxer's little girl."A light was blinking from a beer sign in the 7-Eleven window. It illuminated my father's face."I already told you," he said, "Coombs and I were familiar. Everybody knew me back then.""That wasn't what he meant." I shook my head. "He called me Marty Boxer's little girl. It was about you."I had a flash of my face-to-face with Coombs that morning at the hotel. I'd had the same fleeting sensation then.That he knew me. That there was something between him and me.I pulled away, my voice straining. "Why were you following me? I need to hear everything.""To protect you. I swear. To do the right thing for once.""I'm a cop, Dad, not your little b.u.t.tercup. You're holding something back. You're involved in this somehow. You want to do the right thing for once, this is the time to start."My father leaned his head back, eyes fixed straight ahead.He sucked in a sharp breath. "Coombs called me when he got out of fuel. He managed to trace me down south." "Coombs called you?" I said, wide-eyed, completely in shock. "Why would he call you?""He asked how I'd enjoyed the last twenty years of my life, while he was away. If I'd made something of myself. He said it was time to pay me back.""Pay you back? Pay you back for what?" As soon as I asked the question, the answer shot through me. I stared hard into my father's lying eyes."You were there that night, weren't you? You were in this twenty years ago.

Chapter 91.

MY FATHER AVERTED HIS EYES. I'd seen the shamed and guilty look before - too many times - when I was just a little girl.He started to explain. Here we go again, huh, Daddy?"Six of us got to the crime scene, Lindsay. I was only there by chance. I was subbing for this guy, Ed Dooley. We were last on the scene. I didn't see s.h.i.t. We got there after everything had been played out. But he's been badgering us, all of us, ever since."I never knew he was Chimera, Lindsay," my father said."That you have to believe. I never heard of this cop Chipman until you told me the other day. I thought he was just threatening me.""Threatening you, Dad?" I blinked in disbelief. My heart was breaking a little. "Threatening you with what? Please make me understand. I really want to understand." "He said he was going to make me feel the way he did all these years. Watching himself lose everything. He said he was going after you.""That's why you came back," I said with a sigh, "wasn't it?"All that stuff about wanting to set things right. Make amends with me. That wasn't it at all.""No." He shook his head. "I'd already p.i.s.sed away so much. I couldn't let him take the rest, the part that was good. That's why I'm here, Lindsay I swear it. I'm not lying this time."My head was ringing. I had a murder suspect loose. Shots had been fired. I didn't know what to make of this. What to do about my father? How much did he really know? How to deal with Coombs now? With Chimera?"You're telling me the truth? For once? This is my case, my big, important case. I have to know the truth. Please don't lie to me, Dad." "I swear," he said, his eyes hooded with shame. "What're you going to do?"I glared at him. "About what? About Coombs, or us...?""About this whole mess. What happened tonight.""I don't know." I swallowed. "But I do know one thing... If I can, I'm bringing Coombs in."

Chapter 92.

BY TEN THE NEXT MORNING, I had a search warrant in my hands. It granted access to Coombs's room at the William Simon. Half a dozen of us rushed over there in two cars.Coombs was out in the open. There were things we could nail him for: like attempted murder of a police officer and resisting arrest. I had put out an APB on him and sent a team to go over the meet house where everyone had scattered the night before.I asked Jill to meet Jacobi and me at the William Simon.I was hoping against hope that we'd find something in Coombs's room that would tie him to one of the murders. If we did, I wanted a warrant in motion immediately.The same Indian desk clerk let us in the room. It was unkempt, a row of crushed beer bottles and soda cans lining the windowsill. The only furniture was a metal-frame bed with a thin mattress, and a chest of drawers with his toiletries on top, a desk, a table, and two chairs."What'd ya expect" - Jacobi smirked - "... a Holiday Inn?"Several newspapers were littered about, Chronicles and Examiners. Nothing out of the ordinary. On a ledge to the side of the bed, my eyes fell on a small marksmanship trophy - a p.r.o.ne sharpshooter aiming a rifle with the inscription Regional 50 Meter Straight Target Champion and Frank Coombs's name.It made my stomach turn.I went over to the desk. Stuck under the phone were crumpled receipts and a few numbers I didn't recognize. I found a map of San Francisco and the surrounding areas. I yanked out the drawers of the desk. An old Yellow Pages, some take-out menus to local restaurants, an out-of-date city guide.Nothing... Jill looked at me. She shook her head, grimaced.I kept searching the room. Something had to be here.Coombs was Chimera.I kicked a desk drawer in, sending a lamp toppling to the floor. In the same frustrated fit, I grabbed hold of the mattress and angrily ripped it off the bed."It's here, Jill. Something has to be."To my surprise, a manila envelope that had been between the mattress and the box spring fell to the floor. I picked it up and spilled the contents onto Coombs's bed.It wasn't a gun or something taken from the victims, but it was a virtual history of the Chimera case. Newspaper and magazine articles, some of them going back twenty-two years to the trial, one from Time magazine, detailing the case. One, headlined "POLICE LOBBY DEMANDS COOMBS ARREST," had a picture of an Officers for Justice rally at City Hall Square. Scanning through it, my eye was drawn by a slashing red circle Coombs had made, highlighting a quote ascribed to a group spokesman, patrol Sergeant Edward Chipman."Bing-o." Jacobi whistled.Continuing on, we came upon articles on the trial and copies of letters from Coombs to the POA demanding a new trial. A faded copy of the original Police Commission's report on the incident in Bay View. There were lots of angry comments penned in the margins by Coombs. "Liar," boldly underlined, and "f.u.c.king coward." A bold red bracket highlighted the testimony of Field Lieutenant Earl Mercer.Then a series of current articles, tracing the most recent murders: Tasha Catchings, Davidson, Mercer... a blurb in the Oakland Times about Estelle Chipman with a scrawled-in comment, "A man without honor dishonors everything."I looked at Jill. It wasn't perfect; it wasn't something we could tie directly to a murder case. But it was enough to remove all doubt that we had found our man. "It's all here," I said. "At least we can make this stick for Chipman and Mercer." She thought awhile, then finally bunched her lips together and gave me a satisfied nod.As I rebundled the file, perfunctorily leafing through the last few items, something hit my eye. My jaw stiffened.It was a newspaper clipping from the first press conference after the Tasha Catchings murder. The photo showed Chief Mercer standing behind several microphones.Jill noticed my changed expression. She took the clipping out of my hand. "Oh G.o.d, Lindsay... "In the photo's background, behind Mercer, were several people connected to the investigation. The mayor, Chief of Detectives Ryan, Gabe Carr.Coombs had drawn a bold red circle around one face.My face.

Chapter 93.

BY THE END OF THE DAY, Frank Coombs's description was in the hands of every cop in the city. This was personal.We all wanted to bring him down.Coombs had no belongings, no real money, no network that we knew of. By all reckoning, we should have him soon.I asked the girls to get together in Jill's office after everyone else had left. When I arrived, they were cheerful and smiling, probably thinking about congratulating me. The newspapers had Coombs's picture on the front page. He looked like a killer.I sank down on the leather couch next to Claire."Something's wrong," she said. "I don't think we want to hear this."I nodded. "I need to talk about something."As they listened, I described my experience of the night before. The real version. How tailing Coombs had been risky and impulsive, though I hadn't had any real choice. How I had gotten trapped. How when I was sure there was no hope, my father had rescued me."Jesus, Lindsay." Jill's jaw hung incredulously. "Will you please try to be more careful...?""I know." I said.Claire shook her head. "You said to me the other day, I don't know what I would do without you, and you go off taking a risk like that. Don't you think it works the same for us? You're like a sister. Please stop trying to be a hero.""A cowboy," Jill said."Cowgirl," Cindy chimed."A couple of seconds either way" I smiled "and you guys would be out on a membership drive about now."They sat staring at me, somber and serious. Then a ripple of laughter snaked its way around the room. The thought of losing my girls, or them losing me, made what I had done seem all the more insane. Now it was funny."Thank G.o.d for Marty!" Jill exclaimed."Yeah, good old Marty." I sighed. "My dad."ambivalence, Jill leaned forward. "He didn't hit anyone, did he?"I took a breath. "Coombs. Maybe someone else." "Was there blood at the scene?" asked Claire."We've been over the house. It was rented to this small-time punk who's disappeared. There was evidence of blood in the driveway."They stared back in silence. Then Jill said, "So how'd you leave it, Lindsay? With the department?"I shook my head. "I didn't. I kept my father out of it.""Jesus, Lindsay," Jill shot back, "your dad may have shot one. He stuck his nose into a police situation and fired his gun."I looked at her."Jill, he saved my life. I can't just turn him in.""But you're taking a huge risk. For what? His gun is properly licensed. He was your father, and he was following you. He saved you. There's no crime in that.""Truth is" - I swallowed - "I'm not sure he was following me."Jill shot me a hard look. She wheeled her chair closer."You want to run that by me again?""I'm not sure he was following me," I said."Then why the h.e.l.l was he there?" Cindy shook her head.All their eyes fell on me.Piece by piece, I laid out the exchange with my father in the car after the shooting. How after I confronted him, my father had admitted to being a material witness twenty years ago in Bay View. "He was there with Coombs." "Oh, s.h.i.t," Jill said with blank eyes. "Oh Jesus, Lindsay.""That's why he came back," I said. "All those uplifting conversations about reconnecting with his little girl. His little b.u.t.tercup. Coombs was threatening him. He came back to face him down." "That may be," said Claire, reaching out for my hand, "but he was threatening him with you. He came back to protect you, too."Jill leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "Lindsay this may not be about protecting your dad from getting involved. He may have known Coombs was killing people and not come forward."I met her eyes. "These past weeks, having him back in my life, it was like, all of a sudden I could put aside the things he had done, the hurt he caused, and he was just a person, who made some mistakes but who was funny and needing, and who seemed happy to be with me. When I was little, I dreamed of something like this happening, my dad coming back." "Don't give up on him yet," Claire said.Cindy asked, "So if you don't think your father came back for you, Lindsay, what is he protecting?""I don't know." I looked around the room, my eyes stopping at every face. "That's the big question."Jill got up, went over to the credenza behind her desk, and hoisted up a large cardboard box file. On the front was marked, "Case File 237654A. State of California vs. Francis C. Coombs." "I don't know either," she said, patting it. "But I'll bet the answer's somewhere in here."

Chapter 94.

AS SOON AS SHE GOT TO WORK the next morning, Jill opened the case file and waded in. She told her secretary to hold all calls and canceled what only yesterday had seemed an urgent meeting on another murder case she'd been working on.With a mug of coffee on her desk and her DKNY suit jacket slung over her chair, Jill lifted out the first heavy folder. The ma.s.sive trial record - pages and pages of testimony, motions, and judicial rulings. In the end, it would be better that she didn't find anything. That Marty Boxer ended up being a father who had come back to protect his kid. But the prosecutor in her wasn't convinced.She groaned and started reading the file.The trial had taken nine days. It took the rest of the morning for her to go through it. She sifted through the pretrial hearings, jury selection, the opening statements. Coombs's precious record was brought out. Numerous citations for mishandling situations on the street where blacks were involved. Coombs was known for off-color jokes and pejorative remarks. Then came a painstaking re-creation of the night in question. Coombs and his partner, Stan Dragula, on patrol in Bay View. They encounter a schoolyard basketball game. Coombs spots Gerald Sikes. Sikes is basically a good kid, the prosecution conveys. Stays in school, is in the band; one blemish when he had been rounded up two months before in a sweep of the projects looking for pushers.Jill read on.As Coombs busts up the game, he starts taunting Sikes. The scene gets ugly Two more patrol cars arrive. Sikes shouts something at Coombs, then he takes off. Coombs follows. Jill studied several hand-drawn diagrams ill.u.s.trating the scene.After the crowd is subdued, two other cops give chase. Patrol Officer Tom Fallone is the first to arrive. Gerald Sikes is already dead.The trial and notes ran over three hundred pages - thirty-seven witnesses. A real mess. It made Jill wish she'd been the prosecuting attorney. But nowhere was there anything implicating Marty Boxer.If he was there that night, he was never called.By noon, Jill had made her way through the depositions of witnesses. The murder of Sikes had taken place in a service alley between Buildings A and B in the projects. Residents claimed to have heard the scuffle and the boy's cries for help. Just reading the depositions turned Jill's stomach.Coombs was Chimera; he had to be.She was tired and discouraged. She'd spent half a day plowing through the file. She had almost gotten to the end when she found something odd.A man who claimed he'd witnessed the murder from a fourth-story window. Kenneth Charles.Charles was a teenager himself. He had a juvie record. Reckless mischief, possession. He had every reason, the police said, to create trouble.And no one else backed up what Charles said he saw.As she read through the deposition, a throbbing built in Jill's head. Finally, it was sharp, stabbing. She buzzed her secretary. "April, I need you to get me a police personnel file. An old one. From twenty years ago.""Give me the name. I'm on it.""Marty Boxer," Jill replied.

Chapter 95.

A CHILLY BAY BREEZE sliced through the night as Jill huddled on the wharf outside the BART terminal station.It was after six. Men in blue uniforms, still wearing their Short-billed caps, came out of the yard, their shift over. Jill searched the exiting group for a face. He may have been a juvie with a police record twenty years before, but he had straightened his life out. He'd been decorated in the service, married, and for the past twelve years worked as a motorman with B