“You think I give a shit about your dead niggers?” he had seethed. “Long live Chimera,” he had hollered as they put him under.
Then, slowly, my mind settled on it.
“Maybe one of your own assholes has come to his senses. Maybe that's what it was, an inside job.” -
I didn't know if I had gone off the deep end or what. Was I reaching for something that wasn't there? Was Weiscz actually telling me something he could never be held accountable for?
An inside job... I dialed Estes at Pelican Bay. “Any of your inmates up there ever been an ex-cop?” I asked.
“A cop.” The warden paused.
“Yeah.” I explained why I wanted to know.
“Excuse my French,” Estes shot back, “but Weiscz was fucking with you. He was trying to get inside your head. The bastard hates cops.”
“You didn't answer my question, Warden.”
“A cop...?” Estes grunted a derisive snort.
'We had a bad narcotics inspector out of LA., Bellacora.
Shot three of his informants. But he was transferred out. To my knowledge, he's still in Fresno.' I remembered reading about the Bellacora case. It was as dirty and low as law enforcement got.
“We had a customs inspector, Benes, who on the side was running a dope ring at San Diego Airport.”
“Anyone else?”
“No, not in my six years.”
“What about before that, Estes?”
He grunted impatiently. “How far back do you want me to go, Lieutenant?”
“How long has Weiscz been there?”
“Twelve years.”
“Then that's how far.”
It was clear the warden thought I was crazy. He hung up saying he would have to get back to me.
I put down the phone. This was wild - trusting Weiscz for anything. He hated cops. I was a cop. He probably hated women, too.
Suddenly, Karen, my secretary, burst in. She looked stunned. “Jill Bernhardt's assistant just called in. Ms. Bernhardt's collapsed.”
“Collapsed...?”
Karen nodded blankly. “She's bleeding. Upstairs. She needs you up there, now.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 64
I RACED DOWN THE HALL to the elevator and then to Jill's office.
As I charged in, she was on the couch, reclined.
An EMS team, which had fortunately been at the morgue, was already there. There were towels, bloody towels, stuffed under her dark blue skirt. Her face was averted, but she looked as gray and listless and afraid as I had ever seen her.
In an instant, it was clear what had happened.
“Oh, Jill,” I said, kneeling beside her. “Oh, sweetie. I'm here.”
She smiled when she saw me, slightly wary and afraid.
Her normally sharp blue eyes reflected the color of dismal skies. “I lost it, Lindsay,” she said. “I should've quit work. I should've listened to them. To you. I thought I wanted the baby more than anything, but maybe I didn't. I lost it.”
“Oh, Jill.” I grasped her hand. “It wasn't you. Don't say that. This was medical. There was a chance of this. You knew that going in. There was always this risk.”
“It was me, Lindsay.” Her eyes suddenly welled with tears.
“I think I didn't want it badly enough.”
A female EMS tech asked me to step away, and they hooked Jill up to an IV line and a monitor. My heart went out to her. She was usually so strong and independent. But I had seen a transformation in her; she had looked forward to this baby so much. How did she deserve this?
“Where's Steve, Jill?” I leaned down to her.
She sucked in a breath. “Denver. April reached him. He's on his way back.”
