3rd Degree Part 1

3rd Degree.

by James Patterson.

Chapter 1.

IT WAS A CLEAR, calm, lazy April morning, the day the worst week of my life began.I was jogging down by the bay with my border collie, Martha. It's my thing Sunday mornings - get up early and cram my meaningful other into the front seat of the Explorer. I try to huff out three miles, from Fort Mason down to the bridge and back. Just enough to convince myself I'm border-ing on something called in shape at thirty-six.That morning, my buddy Jill came along. To give her baby Lab, Otis, a run, or so she claimed. More likely, to warm her-self up for a bike sprint up Mount Tamalpais or whatever Jill would do for real exercise later in the day.It was hard to believe that it had been only five months since Jill lost her baby. Now here she was, her body toned and lean again."So, how did it go last night?" she asked, shuffling side-ways beside me. "Word on the street is, Lindsay had a date.""You could call it a date... ," I said, focusing on the heights of Fort Mason, which weren't getting closer fast enough for me. "You could call Baghdad a vacation spot, too."She winced. "Sorry I brought it up."All run long, my head had been filled with the annoying recollection of Franklin Fratelli, "a.s.set remarketing" mogul (which was a fancy way of saying he sent goons after the dot-com busts who could no longer make the payments on their Beemers and Franck Mullers). For two months Fratelli had stuck his face in my office every time he was in the Hall, until he wore me down enough to ask him up for a meal on Sat.u.r.day night (the short ribs braised in port wine I had to pack back into the fridge after he bailed on me at the last minute)."I got stood up," I said, mid-stride. "Don't ask, I won't tell the details."We pulled up at the end of Marina Green, a lung-clearing bray from me while Mary Decker over there bobbed on her toes as if she could go another loop."I don't know how you do it," I said, hands on hips, trying to catch my breath."My grandmother," she said, shrugging and stretching out a hamstring. "She started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety now. We have no idea where she is."We both started to laugh. It was good to see the old Jill trying to peek through. It was good to hear the laughter back in her voice."You up for a mochachino?" I asked. "Martha's buying.""Can't. Steve's flying in from Chicago. He wants to bike up to see the Dean Friedlich exhibit at the Legion of Honor as soon as he can get in and change. You know what the puppy's like when he doesn't get his exercise."I frowned. "Somehow it's hard for me to think of Steve as a puppy."Jill nodded and pulled off her sweatshirt, lifting her arms."Jill," I gasped, "what the h.e.l.l is that?"Peeking out through the strap of her exercise bra were a couple of small, dark bruises, like finger marks.She tossed her sweatshirt over her shoulder, seemingly caught off guard. "Mashed myself getting out of the shower," she said. "You should get a load of how it looks." She winked.I nodded, but something about the bruise didn't sit well with me. "You sure you don't want that coffee?" I asked."Sorry...You know El Exigente, if I'm five minutes late, he starts to see it as a pattern." She whistled for Otis and began to jog back to her car. She waved. "See you at work.""So how about you?" I knelt down to Martha. "You look like a mochachino would do the trick." I snapped on her leash and started to trot off toward the Starbucks on Chestnut.The Marina has always been one of my favorite neighbor-hoods. Curling streets of colorful, restored town houses. Families, the sound of gulls, the sea air off the bay.I crossed Alhambra, my eye drifting to a beautiful three-story town house I always pa.s.sed and admired. Hand-carved wooden shutters and a terra-cotta tile roof like on the Grand Ca.n.a.l. I held Martha as a car pa.s.sed by.That's what I remembered about the moment. The neigh-borhood just waking up. A redheaded kid in a FUBU sweatshirt practicing tricks on his Razor. A woman in overalls hurrying around the corner, carrying a bundle of clothes."C'mon, Martha." I tugged on her leash. "I can taste that mochachino."Then the town house with the terra-cotta roof exploded into flames. I mean, it was as if San Francisco were suddenly Beirut.

Chapter 2.

"OH, MY G.o.d!" I gasped as a flash of heat and debris nearly knocked me to the ground.I turned away and crouched down to shield Martha as the oven like shock waves from the explosion pa.s.sed over us. A few seconds later, I turned to pull myself up. Mother of G.o.d...I couldn't believe my eyes. The town house I had just admired was now a sh.e.l.l. Fire ripped through the second floor.In that instant I realized that people could still be inside.I tied Martha to a lamppost. Flames gusted just fifty feet away. I ran across the street to the blazing home. The second floor was gone. Anyone up there didn't have a chance.I fumbled through my f.a.n.n.y pack for the cell phone. Frantically, I punched in 911. "This is Lieutenant Lindsay Boxer, San Francisco Police Department, Shield two-seven-two-one. There's been an explosion at the corner of Alhambra and Pierce. A residence. Casualties likely. Need full medical and fire support. Get them moving!"I cut off the dispatcher. Procedure told me to wait, but if anyone was in there, there was no time. I ripped off my sweatshirt and wrapped it loosely around my face. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Lindsay," I said, and held my breath.Then I pushed my way into the burning house."Is anyone there?" I shouted, choking immediately on the gray, raspy smoke. The intense heat bit at my eyes and face, and it hurt just to peek out from the protective cloth. A wall of burning Sheetrock and plaster hung above me."Police!" I shouted again. "Is anyone there?"The smoke felt like sharp razors slicing into my lungs. It was impossible to hear above the roar of the flames. I suddenly understood how people trapped in fires on high floors would leap to their death rather than bear the intolerable heat.I shielded my eyes, pushing my way through the billow-ing smoke. I hollered a last time, "Is anyone alive in here?"I couldn't go any farther. My eyebrows were singed. I real-ized I could die in there.I turned and headed for the light and cool that I knew were behind me. Suddenly, I spotted two shapes, the bodies of a woman and a man. Clearly dead, their clothes on fire.I stopped, feeling my stomach turn. But there was noth-ing I could do for them.Then I heard a m.u.f.fled noise. I didn't know if it was real. I stopped, tried to listen above the rumble of the fire. I could hardly bear the pain of the blistering heat on my face.There it was again. It was real, all right.Someone was crying.

Chapter 3.

I GULPED AIR and headed deeper into the collapsing house. "Where are you?" I called. I stumbled over flaming rubble. I was scared now, not only for whoever had cried but for myself.I heard it again. A low whimpering from somewhere in the back of the house. I made straight for it. "I'm coming!" I shouted. To my left, a wooden beam crashed. The farther I went, the more trouble I was in. I spotted a hallway where I thought the sounds came from, the ceiling teetering where the second story used to be."Police!" I yelled. "Where are you?"Nothing.Then I heard the crying again. Closer this time. I stumbled down the hallway, blanketing my face. C'mon, Lindsay... Just a few more feet.I pushed through a smoking doorway. Jesus, it's a kid's bed-room. What was left of it.A bed was overturned on its side up against a wall. It was smothered in thick dust. I shouted, then heard the noise again. A m.u.f.fled, coughing sound.The frame of the bed was hot to the touch, but I managed to budge it a little bit from the wall. Oh, my G.o.d... I saw the shadowy outline of a child's face.It was a small boy. Maybe ten years old.The child was coughing and crying. He could barely speak. His room was buried under an avalanche of debris. I couldn't wait. Any longer and the fumes alone would kill us."I'm gonna get you out of here," I promised. Then I wedged myself between the wall and the bed and, with all my strength, pried it away from the wall. I took the boy by the shoulders, praying I wasn't doing him harm.I stumbled through the flames, carrying the boy. Smoke was everywhere, searing and noxious. I saw a light where I thought I had come in, but I didn't know for sure.I was coughing, the boy clinging to me with his petrified grip. "Mommy, mommy," he was crying. I squeezed him back, to let him know I wasn't going to let him die.I screamed ahead, praying that someone would answer. "Please, is anyone there?""Here," I heard a voice through the blackness.I stumbled over debris, avoiding new hot spots flaming up. Now I saw the entrance. Sirens, voices. The shape of a man. A fireman. He gently took the boy out of my arms. Another fireman wrapped his arms around me. We headed outside.Then I was out, dropping to my knees, sucking in mouth-fuls of precious air. An EMT carefully put a blanket around me. Everyone was being so good, so professional. I collapsed against a fire truck up on the sidewalk. I almost threw up, then I did.Someone put an oxygen mask over my mouth and I took several deep gulps. A fireman bent over me. "Were you inside when it went?""No." I shook my head. "I went in to help." I could barely talk, or think. I opened my f.a.n.n.y pack and showed him my badge. "Lieutenant Boxer," I said, coughing. "Homicide."

Chapter 4.

"I'M ALL RIGHT," I said, forcing myself out of the EMT's grasp. I made my way over to the boy, who was already strapped onto a gurney. He was being wheeled into a van. The only motion in his face was a slight flickering in his eyes. But he was alive. My G.o.d, I had saved his life.Out on the street, onlookers were being ringed back by the police. I saw the redheaded kid who'd been riding his Razor. Other horrified faces crowded around.All of a sudden I became aware of barking. Jesus, it was Martha, still tied to the post. I ran over to her and hugged her tightly as she licked my face.A fireman made his way to me, a division captain's crest on his helmet. "I'm Captain Ed Noroski. You okay?""I think so," I said, not sure."You guys in the Hall can't be heroes enough on your own shift, Lieutenant?" Captain Noroski said."I was jogging by. I saw it blow. Looked like a gas explo-sion. I just did what I thought was right.""Well, you did good, Lieutenant." The fire captain looked at the wreckage. "But this was no gas explosion.""I saw two bodies inside.""Yeah," Noroski said, nodding. "Man and a woman. Another adult in a back room on the first floor. That kid's lucky you got him out.""Yeah," I said. My chest was filling with dread. If this was no gas explosion...Then I spotted Warren Jacobi, my number one inspector, coming out of the crowd, badging his way over to me. War-ren had the "front nine," what we call the Sunday morning shift when the weather gets warm.Jacobi had a paunchy ham hock of a face that never seemed to smile even when he told a joke, and deep, hooded eyes impossible to light up with surprise. But when he fixed on the hole where 210 Alhambra used to be and saw me, sooty, smeared, and sitting down, trying to catch my breath - Jacobi did a double take."Lieutenant? You okay?""I think so." I tried to pull myself up.He looked at the house, then at me again. "Seems a bit run-down, even for your normal fixer-upper, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'll do wonders with it." He held in his grin. "We have a Palestinian delegation in town I know nothing about?"I told him what I had seen. No smoke or fire, the second floor suddenly blowing out."My twenty-seven years on the job gives me the premoni-tion we're not talking busted boiler here," said Jacobi."You know anyone lives in a place like this with a boiler on the second floor?""No one I know lives in a place like this. You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Jacobi bent down over me. Ever since I'd taken a shot in the Coombs case, Jacobi'd become like a protective uncle with me. He had even cut down on his stupid s.e.xist jokes."No, Warren, I'm all right."I don't even know what made me notice it. It was just sit-ting there on the sidewalk, leaning up against a parked car, and I thought, s.h.i.t, Lindsay, that shouldn't be there.Not with everything that had just gone on.A red school knapsack. A million students carry them. Just sitting there.I started to panic again.I'd heard of secondary explosions in the Middle East. If it was a bomb that had gone off in the house, who the h.e.l.l knew? My eyes went wide. My gaze was fixed on the red bag.I grabbed Jacobi. "Warren, I want everyone moved back away from here, now. Move everybody back, now!"

Chapter 5.

FROM THE BACK of a bas.e.m.e.nt closet, Claire Washburn pulled out an old, familiar case she hadn't seen in years. "Oh, my G.o.d..."She had woken up early that morning, and after a cup of coffee on the deck, hearing the jays back for the first time that season, she threw on a denim shirt and jeans and set out on the dreaded task of cleaning out the bas.e.m.e.nt closet.First to go were the stacks of old board games they hadn't played in years. Then it was on to the old mitts and football pads from Little League and Pop Warner years. A quilt folded up that was now just a dust convention.Then she came upon the old aluminum case buried under a musty blanket. My G.o.d.Her old cello. Claire smiled at the memory. Good Lord, it had been ten years since she'd held it in her hands.She yanked it from the bottom of the closet. Just seeing it brought back a swell of memories: hours and hours of learning the scales, practicing. "A house without music," her mother used to say, "is a house without life." Her husband Edmund's fortieth birthday, when she had struggled through the first movement of Haydn's Concerto in D - the last time she had played.Claire unsnapped the clips and stared at the wood grain on the cello. It was still beautiful, a scholarship gift from the music department at Hampton. Before she realized she would never be a Yo-Yo Ma and headed to med school, it had been her most cherished possession.A melody popped into her head. That same, difficult pa.s.sage that had always eluded her. The first movement of Haydn's Concerto in D. Claire looked around, as if embar-ra.s.sed. What the h.e.l.l, Edmund was still sleeping. No one would hear.Claire lifted her cello out of the felt mold. She took out the bow, held it in her hands. Wow...A long minute of tuning, the old strings stretching back into their accustomed notes. A single pa.s.s, just running the bow along the strings, brought back a zillion sensations. Goose b.u.mps. She played the first bars of the concerto. Sounded a little off, but the feel came back to her. "Ha, the old girl's still got it," she said with a laugh. She closed her eyes and played a little more.Then she noticed Edmund, still in his pajamas, watching her, standing at the bottom of the stairs. "I know I'm out of bed" - he scratched his head - "I remember putting on my gla.s.ses, even brushing my teeth. But it can't be, 'cause I must be dreaming."Edmund hummed the opening bars that Claire had just played. "So, you think you can finish off the next pa.s.sage? That's the tricky part.""Is that a dare, Maestro Washburn?"Edmund smiled mischievously.It was then that the phone rang. Edmund picked up a cord-less on the handset. "Saved by the bell," he groaned. "It's the office. On Sunday, Claire. Can't they ever give you a break?"Claire took the phone. It was Freddie Rodriguez, a staffer at the ME's office. Claire listened, then she set down the phone."My G.o.d, Edmund...there's been an explosion down-town! Lindsay's been hurt."

CHAPTER 6.

I DON'T KNOW what took hold of me. Maybe it was the thought of the three dead people in the house, or all the cops and firemen charging around the accident scene. I stared at that knapsack, and my brain was shouting out that it was wrong - dead wrong. "Everyone get back!" I yelled again.I started toward the knapsack. I didn't know what I was going to do yet, but the area had to be cleared."No way, LT." Jacobi reached for my arm. "You don't get to do this, Lindsay."I pulled away from him. "Get everyone out of here, Warren.""I may not outrank you, LT," Jacobi said, more impas-sioned this time, "but I've got fourteen more years on the force. I'm telling you, don't go near that bag."The fire captain rushed up, shouting into his handheld, "Possible explosive device. Move everybody back. Get Magi-takos from the Bomb Squad up here."Less than a minute later, Niko Magitakos, head of the city's bomb squad, and two professionals covered in heavy protective gear pushed past me, heading toward the red bag. Niko wheeled out a boxlike instrument, an X-ray scanner. A square armored truck, like a huge refrigerator, backed up ominously toward the spot.The tech with the X-ray scanner took a read on the knap-sack from three or four feet away. I was sure the bag was hot - or at least a leave-behind. I was praying, Don't let this blow."Get the truck in here." Niko turned with a frown. "It looks hot."In the next minutes, reinforced steel curtains were pulled out of the truck and set up in a protective barrier. A tech wheeled in a claw and crept closer to the bag. If it was a bomb, it could go off any second.I found myself in no-man's-land, not wanting to move. A bead of sweat trickled down my cheek.The man with the claw lifted the backpack to transport it to the truck.Nothing happened."I don't get any reading," the tech holding the electro-sensor said. "We're gonna go for a hand entry."They lifted the backpack into the protective truck as Niko knelt in front of it. With practiced hands, he opened the zip-pered back."There's no charge," Niko said. "It's a f.u.c.king battery radio."There was a collective sigh. I pulled out of the crowd and ran to the bag. There was an ID tag on the strap, one of those plastic labels. I lifted the strap and read.BOOM! f.u.c.kERS.I was right. It was a G.o.dd.a.m.n leave-behind. Inside the backpack, next to the standard clock radio, was a photo in a frame. A computer photo, printed on paper, from a digital camera. The face of a good-looking man, maybe forty.One of the charred bodies inside, I was pretty sure.MORTON LIGHTOWER, read the inscription, AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE."LET THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE BE HEARD."A name was printed at the bottom. AUGUST SPIES.Jesus, this was an execution!My stomach turned.

Chapter 7.

WE GOT THE TOWN HOUSE ID'd pretty quickly. It did belong to the guy in the picture, Morton Lightower, and his family. The name rang a bell with Jacobi. "Isn't that the guy who owned that X/L Systems?""No idea." I shook my head."You know. The Internet honcho. Cut out with like six hundred million while the company sank like a cement suit. Stock used to sell for sixty bucks, now it's something like sixty cents."Suddenly I remembered seeing it on the news. "The Creed of Greed guy." He was trying to buy ball teams, gobbling up lavish homes, installing a $50,000 security gate on his place in Aspen, at the same time he was dumping his own stock and laying off half his staff."I've heard of investor backlash," Jacobi said, shaking his head, "but this is a little much."Behind me, I heard a woman yelling to let her through the crowd. Inspector Paul Chin ushered her forward, through the web of news vans and camera crews. She stood in front of the bombed-out home."Oh, my G.o.d," she gasped, a hand clasped over her mouth.Chin led her my way. "Lightower's sister," he said.She had her hair pulled back tightly, a cashmere sweater over jeans, and a pair of Manolo Blahnik flats I had once mooned over for about ten minutes in the window of Neiman's."Please," I said, leading the unsteady woman over to an open black-and-white. "I'm Lieutenant Boxer, Homicide.""Dianne Aronoff," she muttered vacantly. "I heard it on the news. Mort? Charlotte? The kids...Did anyone make it out?""We pulled out a boy, about eleven.""Eric," she said. "He's okay?""He's at the Burn Unit at Cal Pacific. I think he's going to be all right.""Thank G.o.d!" she exclaimed. Then she covered her face again. "How can this be happening?"I knelt down in front of Dianne Aronoff and took her hand. I squeezed it gently. "Ms. Aronoff, I have to ask you some questions. This was no accident. Do you have any idea who could've targeted your brother?""No accident," she repeated. "Mortie was saying, 'The media treats me like bin Laden. No one understands. What I do is supposed to be about making money.' "Jacobi switched gears. "Ms. Aronoff, it looks like the explo-sion originated from the second floor. You have any idea who might've had access to the home?""There was a housekeeper," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "Viola."Jacobi exhaled. "Unfortunately, that's probably the third body we found. Buried under the rubble.""Oh..." Dianne Aronoff choked a sob.I pressed her hand. "Look, Ms. Aronoff, I saw the explo-sion. That bomb was planted from inside. Someone was either let in or had access. I need you to think.""There was an au pair," she muttered. "I think she some-times spent the night.""Lucky for her." Jacobi rolled his eyes. "If she'd been in there with your nephew...""Not for Eric." Dianne Aronoff shook her head. "For Caitlin."Jacobi and I looked at each other. "Who?""Caitlin, Lieutenant. My niece."When she saw our blank faces, she froze."When you said Eric was the only one brought out, I just a.s.sumed..."We continued to stare at each other. No one else had been found in the house."Oh, my G.o.d, Detectives, she is only six months old."

Chapter 8.

THIS WASN'T OVER.I ran up to Captain Noroski, the fire chief, who was bark-ing commands to his men searching through the house. "Lightower's sister says there was a six-month-old baby inside.""No one's inside, Lieutenant. My men are just finishing the upper floor. Unless you wanna go inside and look around again yourself."Suddenly the layout of the burning building came back to me. I could see it now. Down that same hallway where I'd found the boy. My heart jumped. "Not the upper floors, Captain, the first." There could've been a nursery down there, too.Noroski radioed someone still inside the site. He directed him down the front hall.We stood in front of the smoking house, and a sickening feeling churned in my stomach. The idea of a baby still in there. Someone I could've saved. We waited while Captain Noroski's men picked through the rubble.Finally, a fireman climbed out from the debris on the ground floor. "Nothing," he called out. "We found the nurs-ery. Crib and a ba.s.sinet buried under a lot of rubble. But no baby."Dianne Aronoff uttered a cry of joy. Her niece wasn't in there. Then a look of panic set in, her face registering a com-pletely new horror. If Caitlin wasn't there, where was she?

Chapter 9.

CHARLES DANKO STOOD at the edge of the crowd, watch-ing. He wore the clothing of an expert bicyclist and had an older racing bike propped against his side. If nothing else, the biking helmet and goggles covered his face in case the police were filming the crowd, as they sometimes did.This couldn't have gone much better, Danko was thinking as he observed the homicide scene. The Lightowers were dead, blown to pieces. He hoped they had suffered greatly as they burned, even the children. This had been a dream of his, or perhaps a nightmare, but now it was reality - and this par-ticular reality was going to terrify the good people of San Francisco. This fiery action had taken nerve on his part, but finally he'd done something. Look at the firemen, EMS, the local police. They were all here, in honor of his work, or rather, its humble beginnings.One of them had caught his eye, a blond woman, obvi-ously a cop with some clout. She seemed to have some guts, too. He watched her and wondered if she would become his adversary, and would she be worthy?He inquired about her from a patrolman at the barricades. "The woman who went into the house, that's Inspector Murphy, isn't it? I think I know her."The cop didn't even bother to make eye contact, typical police insolence. "No," he said, "that's Lieutenant Boxer. She's Homicide. A real b.i.t.c.h on wheels, I hear."

Chapter 10.

THE CRAMPED THIRD-FLOOR OFFICE that housed the Homicide detail was buzzing, unlike any Sunday morning I could remember.I got a clean bill of health at the hospital, then arrived at the office to find that the whole team had showed up. We had a couple of leads to follow, even before the results of the examination of the blast scene came back. Bombings usually don't involve kidnappings. Find that baby, everything told me, and we'll find whoever did this horrible thing.A TV was on. Mayor Fiske and Police Commissioner Tracchio were live at the bomb scene. "This is a horrible, vin-dictive tragedy," the mayor was saying, having come straight off the first tee at Olympic. "Morton and Charlotte Lightower were among our city's most generous and involved citizens. They were also friends.""Don't forget contributors," Cappy Thomas, Jacobi's part-ner, said."I want everyone to know that our police department is already vigorously pursuing concrete leads," the mayor con-tinued. "I want to a.s.sure the people of this city that this is an isolated event.""X/L..." Warren Jacobi scratched his head. "Think I own a few shares in that piece of s.h.i.t they call my retirement fund.""Me too," said Cappy. "Which fund you in?""I think it's called Long-Term Growth, but whoever named it sure has a twisted sense of humor. Two years ago I had -""If you moguls have a moment," I called. "It's Sunday and the markets are closed. We have three dead, a missing baby, and an entire town house burned to the ground in a possible bombing.""Definite bombing," Steve Fiori, the department's press liaison, chimed in. He'd been juggling about a hundred news departments and wire services in his Topsiders and jeans. "Chief just got it confirmed from the Bomb Squad. The remains of a timing device and C-4 explosive were sc.r.a.ped off the walls."The news didn't exactly surprise us. But the realization that a bomb had gone off in our city, that we had murderers out there with C-4, that a six-month-old baby was still miss-ing, sent a numb quiet around the room."s.h.i.t," Jacobi sighed theatrically, "there goes the after-noon."

Chapter 11.

"LIEUTENANT," someone called from across the room,"Chief Tracchio on the phone.""Told ya," Cappy said, grinning.I picked up, waiting to be reamed out for leaving the crime scene early. Tracchio was a glorified bean counter. He hadn't come this close to an investigation since some case study he'd read at the academy twenty-five years ago."Lindsay, it's Cindy." I'd been expecting to hear the Chief; her voice surprised me. "Don't get cranky. It was the only way I could get through.""Not exactly a good time," I said. "I thought you were that a.s.shole Tracchio, about to nail me to the wall.""Most people think I am some a.s.shole who's always trying to nail them to the wall.""This one signs my checks," I said, taking a semi relaxed breath for the first time all day.Cindy Thomas was part of my inner circle, along with Claire and Jill. She also happened to work for the Chronicle and was one of the top crime reporters in the city."Jesus, Linds, I just heard. I'm in an all-day yoga clinic. In the middle of a 'downward dog' when my phone rings. What, I sneak out for a couple of hours and you decide now's the time to be a hero? You all right?""Other than my lungs feeling like they've been lit with lighter fluid... No, I'm okay," I said. "There's not much I can tell you on this now.""I'm not calling about the crime scene, Lindsay. I was call-ing about you.""I'm okay," I said again. I didn't know if I was telling the truth. I noticed that my hands were still trembling. And my mouth tasted the bitter smoke of the blast."You want me to meet you?""You wouldn't get within two blocks. Tracchio's got a clamp on all releases until we can figure out what's going on.""Is that a challenge?" Cindy snickered.That made me laugh. When I first met her, Cindy had sneaked her way into a Grand Hyatt penthouse suite, the most guarded murder scene in memory. Her whole career sprang from that scoop."No, it's not a challenge, Cindy. But I'm okay. I swear.""Okay, so if all this tender concern is being wasted, what about the crime scene? We are talking a crime scene, aren't we, Lindsay?""If you mean, did the backyard grill flare up at nine on a Sunday morning? Yeah, I guess you could quote me on that. I thought you were out of touch on this, Cindy." It always amazed me how quickly she got herself up to speed."I'm on it now," she said. "And while I'm at it, word is that you saved a kid today. You should go home. You've done enough for one day.""Can't. We got a few leads. Wish I could talk about them, but I can't.""I heard there was a baby stolen out of the house. Some sort of twisted kidnapping?""If it is," I said with a shrug, "they have a new way of handling the potential ransom payers."Cappy Thomas stuck his head in. "Lieutenant, M.E. wants to see you. In the morgue. Now."

Chapter 12.

LEAVE IT TO CLAIRE, San Francisco's chief medical officer, my best friend of a dozen years, to say the one thing in the midst of this madness that would make me cry. "Charlotte Lightower was pregnant."Claire was looking drawn and helpless in her orange sur-gical scrubs. "Two months. Poor woman probably didn't even know herself."I don't know why I found that so sad, but I did. Maybe it made the Lightowers seem like more of a family to me, humanized them."I was hoping to catch up with you sometime today." Claire gave me a halfhearted smile. "Just didn't envision it like this.""Yeah." I smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye."I heard what you did," Claire said. She came over and gave me a hug. "That took a lot of guts, honey. Also, you are a dumb bunny, do you know that?""There was a moment when I wasn't sure I was going to make it out, Claire. There was all this smoke. It was every-where. In my eyes, my lungs. I couldn't see for s.h.i.t. I just took hold of that little boy and prayed.""You saw the light. It led you out?" Claire smiled."No. Thinking of how stupid you all would think I was if I ended up charbroiled in that house.""Woulda put a bit of a damper on our margarita nights," she said, nodding."Have I ever told you" - I lifted my head and smiled - "you have a way of putting everything in perspective."The Lightowers' remains were side by side on two gur-neys. Even at Christmas the morgue is a lonely place, but on that Sunday afternoon, with the techs gone home, graphic autopsy photos and medical alerts pinned to the antiseptic walls, and a grisly smell in the air, it was as grim as I could remember.I moved over to the bodies."So, you called me down here," I said. "What did you want me to see?""I called you down here," she said, " 'cause it occurred to me that you needed a good hug.""I did," I said, "but a killer medical revelation wouldn't hurt."Claire moved over to a table and started to take off her surgical gloves. "Killer medical revelation?" She rolled her eyes. "What could I possibly have for you, Lindsay. These three people, they were blown up."

Chapter 13.

AN HOUR LATER Tracchio and I held a tense, very emo-tional news briefing on the steps of the Hall. Cindy was there, along with about half the city's news force.Back in the office, Jacobi had run the name on the photo, August Spies, through the CCI database and the FBI. It came back zilch. No match on any name or group. Cappy was dig-ging up whatever he could on the missing au pair. We had a description from Lightower's sister, but no idea how to find her. She didn't even know the girl's last name.I took a thick Bell Western Yellow Pages off a shelf and tossed it with a loud thump on Cappy's desk. "Here, start with N, for nannies."It was almost six o'clock on Sunday. We had a team down at X/L's offices, but the best we could get was a corporate public relations flack who said we could meet with them tomorrow at 8 A.M. Sundays were s.h.i.t crime-solving days.Jacobi and Cappy knocked on my door. "Why don't you go on home?" Cappy said. "We'll handle it from here.""I was just gonna buzz Charlie Clapper." His CSU team was still picking through the scene."I mean it, Lindsay. We got you covered. You look like s.h.i.t, anyway," Jacobi said.Suddenly I realized just how exhausted I was. It had been nine hours since the town house had blown. I was still in a sweatshirt and running gear. The grime of the blast was all over me."Hey, LT." Cappy turned back. "Just one more thing. How did it go last night with Franklin Fratelli? Your big date?"They were standing there, chewing on their grin like two oversize teenagers. "It didn't," I said. "Would you be asking me if your G.o.dd.a.m.n superior officer happened to be a man?""d.a.m.n right, I'd be asking'," Cappy said. "And might I add, for my G.o.dd.a.m.n superior officer" - the big detective threw his bald head back - "you're looking mighty fine here in those tights. That Fratelli brother, he must be quite a fool.""Noted." I smiled. It had taken me a long time to feel in charge of these guys. Both of them had double my time on the force. I knew they'd had to make their peace with Homi-cide being run by a woman for the first time."Something you want to add to that, Warren?" I asked."Nope." He rocked on his heels. "Only, we doin' suits and ties tomorrow, or can I wear my tennis shorts and Nikes?"I brushed past him, shaking my head. Then I heard my name one more time. "Lieutenant?"I turned, piqued. "Warren?""You did good today." He nodded. "The ones who matter know."

Chapter 14.

IT WAS ONLY a ten-minute drive out to Potrero, where I live in a two-bedroom walk-up. As I went through my door, Martha wagged up to me. One of the patrolmen at the scene had taken her home for me.The message light was flashing. Jill's voice: "Lindsay, I tried to call you at the office. I just heard...." Fratelli: "Listen, Lindsay, if you're free today..." I deleted it without even hearing what he had to say for himself.I went into the bedroom and peeled off my tights and sweats. I didn't want to talk to anyone tonight. I flicked on a CD. The Reverend Al Green. I stepped into the shower and took a swig of a beer I'd brought with me. I leaned back under the warming spray, the grit and soot and smell of ash chipping off my body, swirling at my feet. Something made me feel like crying.I felt so alone.I could've died today.I wished I had someone's arms to slide into.Claire had Edmund to soothe her on a night like tonight, after she pieced three charred bodies together. Jill had Steve, whatever... Even Martha had someone - me!I felt my thoughts drift to Chris for the first time in a while. It would be nice if he were here tonight. It had been eighteen months since he died. I was ready to put it behind me, to open myself to someone, if someone happened to be on the scene. No drum roll. No "Ladies and gentlemen, the envelope, please...." Just this little voice in my heart, my voice, telling me it was time.Then I drifted back to the scene at the Marina. I saw myself on the street, holding Martha. The beautiful, calm morning; the stucco town house. The redheaded kid spin-ning his Razor. The flash of orange light.Over and over I ran the reel, and it kept ending at the same point.There's something you're not seeing. Something I had edited out.The woman turning the corner just before the flash. I had seen only a glimpse of her back. Blond, ponytail. Something in her arms. But that wasn't what was bothering me.It was that she never came back.I hadn't thought about it until now. After the blast...The kid with the Razor was there. Lots of others. But the blond woman wasn't among them. No one interviewed her. She never came back...Why?Because the son of a b.i.t.c.h was running away.That moment flashed over and over in my mind. Some-thing in her arms. She was running away. It was the au pair. And the bundle in her arms? That was the Lightowers' baby!

Chapter 15.

HER HAIR FELL in thick, blond clumps onto the bathroom floor. She took the scissors and cut again. Everything had to start over now. Wendy was gone forever. A new face began to emerge in the mirror. She said good-bye to the au pair she had been for the past five months.Cut away the past. Wendy was a name for Peter Pan, not the real world.The baby was screaming in the bedroom. "Hush, Caitlin. Please, honey."She had to figure it out - what to do with her. All she knew was that she couldn't let the baby die. She had listened to the news reports all afternoon. The whole world was look-ing for her. They were calling her a cold-blooded killer. A monster. But she couldn't be such a monster, could she? Not if she had saved the baby."You don't think I'm such a monster, do you, Caitlin?" she called to the bawling child.Mich.e.l.le lowered her head into the sink and dumped a bottle of L'Oral Red Sunset dye all over her, ma.s.saging it into her cropped hair.Wendy, the au pair, disappeared.Any moment now, Malcolm would come by. They had agreed not to meet until they were sure she hadn't been followed. But she needed him. Now that she'd proved what she was made of.She heard the sound of the front door being rattled. Mich.e.l.le's heart jumped.What if she'd been careless? What if someone had seen her coming back with the kid? What if they were kicking the door down now!Then Malcolm stepped into the room. "You were expect-ing cops, weren't you? I told you they're stupid!" he said. Mich.e.l.le ran over to him and jumped into his arms."Oh, Mal, we did it. We did it." She kissed his face about a hundred times. "I did the right thing, didn't I?" Mich.e.l.le asked. "I mean, the TV is saying that whoever did this was a monster.""I told you, you have to be strong, Mich.e.l.le." Mal stroked her hair. "The TV, they're bought and paid for, just like the rest. But look at you.... You look so different."Suddenly, there was a cry from the bedroom. Mal took a gun from his belt. "What the f.u.c.k was that?"She was behind him as he ran into the bedroom. He stared, horrified, at Caitlin."Mal, we can keep her, just for a little while. I'll care for her. She's done nothing wrong.""You dumb twit," he said, pushing her onto the bed. "Every cop in the city will be looking for this kid."She felt herself wheezing now. The way she always did when Mal's voice got hard. She fumbled around her purse for her inhaler. It was always there. She never went anywhere without it. She'd had it just last night. Where the h.e.l.l was it now?"I cared for her, Malcolm," Mich.e.l.le said again. "I thought you'd understand...."Malcolm pushed her face in front of the child. "Yeah, well understand this.... That kid is gone, tomorrow. You make it stop crying. Stick your t.i.ts in its mouth, put a f.u.c.king pillow over its head. In the morning, the baby's gone."

Chapter 16.

CHARLES DANKO didn't believe in taking unnecessary chances; he also resolutely believed that all soldiers were expendable, even himself. He had always preached the gospel:there's always another soldier.So he made the call from a pay phone in the Mission Dis-trict. If the call was interrupted, if the call was discovered, well, so be it.The phone rang several times before someone picked up at the apartment. He recognized the voice of Mich.e.l.le, the wonderfully coldhearted au pair. What a performance she'd put on."I'm proud of you, Mich.e.l.le. Please don't say anything. Just put Malcolm on. You are a hero, though."Mich.e.l.le put the phone down, and Danko had to choke back a laugh at how they obeyed his orders.It was priceless and it said so much about the human con-dition. h.e.l.l, it might even explain Hitler at Munich. These were very smart people, most of them with graduate degrees, but they rarely questioned anything he told them."Yeah. It's me."He heard Malcolm's cheerless voice. This boy was brilliant, but he was truly a killer, probably a psychopath; he even scared Danko sometimes."Listen to me. I don't want to stay on too long. I just wanted to give you an update - everything is working beau-tifully. It couldn't be better."Danko paused for a couple of seconds. "Do it again," he finally said.

Chapter 17.

A MAMMOTH LOGO in the shape of an interlocking X and L stood atop the brick-and-gla.s.s building on a promontory jutting into the bay. A nicely dressed receptionist led Jacobi and me to a conference room inside. On the paneled walls, articles and magazine covers featuring Morton Lightower's glowing face ran the length of the room. One Forbes cover asked, CAN ANYONE IN SILICON VALLEY STOP THIS MAN?"Just what does this company do?" I asked Jacobi."High-speed switches or something. They move data over the Internet. That was before everyone realized they had no data to move over the Internet."The door to the conference room opened and two men stepped in. One had salt-and-pepper hair and a ruddy com-plexion, a well-cut suit. Lawyer. The other, heavy and bald-ing, with an open plaid shirt. Tech."Chuck Zinn," the suit introduced himself, offering a card to Jacobi. "I'm X/L's CLO. You're Lieutenant Boxer?""I'm Lieutenant Boxer." I stared at the card and sniffed. "What's a CLO?""Chief legal officer." He bowed apologetically. "This is Gerry Cates, who helped found the company with Mort."Needless to say, we're horrified around here." The two men took seats, as we did, around the conference table. "Most of us have known Mort since the beginning. Gerry went to Berkeley with him. I want to start by promising the full coop-eration of the company.""Are there any leads?" Cates inquired. "We've heard Caitlin is missing.""We're doing everything we can to follow up on the baby. We were told the family had an au pair - who's missing. Any help you could give in finding her?""Maybe Helene could help you out. Mort's secretary." Cates looked at the lawyer."I think that's doable." Zinn scratched a note.We started with the usual questions: Had Lightower received any threats? Were they aware of anyone who'd want to do him harm?"No." Gerry Cates shook his head and glanced at the lawyer. "Of course, Mort's financial affairs were paraded all over the media," he continued. "People are always popping off at shareholder meetings. Financial watchdogs. h.e.l.l, you want to redo your kitchen, they're crying you're bleeding the company."Jacobi sniffed. "You think it might p.i.s.s someone off if he's selling six hundred million dollars of stock while going around the country telling everyone else it's a buy at ten?""We can't control our share price, Inspector," Cates replied, clearly upset by the question.A tense silence settled over the room."You'll provide us a list of all your clients," I said."Doable." The lawyer jotted down a note again."And we'll need access to his private computers, e-mail, and correspondence." I lobbed a grenade at the CLO.The lawyer's pen never touched the page. "Those files are private, Lieutenant. I think I'd better check our legal footing before I can agree to that.""I thought you were the legal footing," Jacobi said with a grin."Your boss has been murdered, Mr. Zinn. I'm afraid they're our matters now. There was a note at the bomb scene," I said. I pushed across a copy of the photo. "It referred to Morton Lightower as an 'enemy of the people.' There's a name at the bottom, August Spies. Mean anything to either of you?"Zinn blinked. Cates took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly blank."I don't need to remind you that this is a murder investi-gation," I said. "If anyone's holding something back, now would be the time...""No one's holding anything back," Gerry Cates said stiffly."You probably want to talk to Helene now." The CLO straightened his pad, as if the meeting was over."What I want is Lightower's office sealed, now. And I want access to all correspondence. Computer files as well. And e-mail.""I'm not sure that's doable, Lieutenant." Chuck Zinn arched back in his chair."Let me tell you what's doable, Mr. Zinn." I fastened on his phony, compliant grin. "What's doable is that we're back here in two hours with a subpoena, and anything deleted from those files in the past twenty-four hours goes under the heading of impeding a murder investigation. What's also doable is that anything we find in there that might not be flat-tering to X/L gets pa.s.sed along to those hungry legal sharks in the D.A.'s office. Any of that sound doable, Mr. Zinn?"Gerry Cates leaned toward his lawyer. "Chuck, maybe we could work something out.""Of course we can work something out." Zinn nodded. "But I'm afraid that's all we have time for today. And you must be busy as well. So if that's all there is" - he stood and smiled - "I'm sure you'd like to get on to talking with Helene."

Chapter 18.

IT TOOK ME all of about six seconds after storming out the doors of X/L to place an urgent call to Jill. I took her through the frustrating meeting I'd just come out of."You're looking for a subpoena," Jill cut me off, "to get into Lightower's files?""Duh, Jill, and fast, before they send in the Arthur Ander-sen boys to do a little office tidying.""Any evidence there's anything in Lightower's computer to back that up?""Call me suspicious, Jill, but when a guy I'm interviewing starts to twist around like a cod on a fishing line, those little police antennae behind my ears always go tw.a.n.g.""How do they go, Lindsay?" Jill chuckled back."Tw.a.n.g," I said, more firmly. "C'mon, Jill, I'm not screw-ing around.""Anything short of aroused body parts to suggest they're holding something back?" The blood began to roil in my chest. "You're not gonna do this for me, are you?""I can't do this for you, Lindsay. And if I did, whatever you found wouldn't make it through arraignment. Look, I could try to cut a deal with them.""Jill. I've got a multiple-murder investigation.""Then if I were you, I'd try to apply some nonlegal pressure." "You want to spell that out for me?" Jill snorted. "Last I checked, you still had a few friends inthe news media...." "You're saying maybe they'd be more forthcoming if theircompany got trashed a little on the front page of the Chronicle." "Duh, Linds..." I heard Jill giggle. All of a sudden a beep sounded on my cell phone. Cappy Thomas at the office. "Lieutenant, I need you backat home base, posthaste. We got a line on the au pair."

Chapter 19.

TWO WOMEN WERE SITTING in Interrogation Room 1 when I got back. They owned a small placement service for nannies and au pairs, Cappy informed me. "A Nanny Is Love!""We called in when we heard about what happened," Linda Cliborne, in a pink cashmere sweater, explained to me. "We placed Wendy Raymore in that job.""She seemed perfect for it," her partner, Judith Hertan, jumped in. Judith took out a yellow file and pushed it across the table. Inside was a filled-out A Nanny Is Love! application form, a couple of letters of recommendation, a Cal-Berkeley student ID with a photo on it."The Lightowers adored her," Linda said.I stared at the small laminated photo of Wendy Raymore's face. She was blond with high cheekbones, a wide, blossoming smile. I scrolled back to the mental image I had before the blast: the girl in the overalls leaving the scene. This could be her."We carefully screen all of our girls. Wendy seemed like a gem. She was cheerful and attractive, a totally likable kid.""And the Lightowers said their little baby had taken to her like honey," her partner added. "We always check.""These recommendations... you checked them, too?"Judith Hertan hesitated. "We may not have followed up on all of them. I did check with the school, made sure she was in good standing. We had her college ID, of course."I fixed on the address: 17 Pelican Drive. Across the bay in Berkeley."I think she said she lived off-campus," Linda Cliborne said. "We mailed her confirmation to a post office box."I took Cappy and Jacobi outside the room. "I'll alert the Berkeley PD. And Tracchio.""How do you want to handle it?" Cappy looked at me. What he meant was, What kind of force should we use to pick her up?I stared at the photo."Use everything," I said.

Chapter 20.