Chapter 7
AFTER A HIGHLY CHARGED NEWS CONFERENCE conducted on the steps of the Hall, I met Cindy at Susie's as we had arranged. After the frenzied scene at the Hall, the relaxed, laid-back atmosphere at our favorite meeting place was a relief. She was already sipping a Corona as I arrived.
A lot had happened here at this very table. Cindy; Jill Bernhardt, the assistant district attorney; and Claire Washburn, the chief medical examiner, my closest friend. We had started to meet last summer, when it seemed that fate had pulled us together with links to the bride and groom case. In the process, we had evolved into the closest of friends.
I signaled our waitress, Loretta, for a beer, then planted myself across from Cindy with a worn-out smile. “Hey... ” “Hey yourself.” She smiled back. “Good to see you.”
“Good to be seen.”
A TV blared above the bar, a broadcast of Chief Mercer's news conference. “We believe it was a single gunman,” Mercer announced to a flash of photographers' bulbs.
“You stay for that?” I asked Cindy, taking a welcome swig of my ice-cold beer.
“I was there,” she replied. “Stone and Fitzpatrick were there, too. They filed the report.”
I gave her a startled look. Tom Stone and Suzie Fitzpatrick were her competition on the crime desk. “You losing your touch? Six months ago, I would've found you coming out of the church as soon as we arrived.”
“I'm going at it from another angle.” She shrugged.
A handful of people crowded around the bar, trying to catch the breaking news. I took another chug of beer. “You should've seen this poor little girl, Cindy. All of eleven years old. She sang in the choir. There was this rainbow-colored knapsack with all her books on the ground nearby.”
“You know this stuff, Lindsay.” She gave me a bolstering smile. “You know how it is. It sucks.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “But just once, it'd be nice to pick one of them up... you know, brush them off, send them home. Just once, I'd like to hand one back their book bag.”
Cindy tapped her fist affectionately on the back of my hand. Then she brightened. “I saw Jill today. She's got some news for us. She's excited. Maybe Bennett's retiring and she's getting the big chair. We should get together and see what's up with her.”
“For sure.” I nodded. “That what you wanted to tell me tonight, Cindy... ?”
She shook her head. In the background, all hell was breaking loose; in the news conference on the screen Mercer was promising a swift and effective response. “You've got a problem, Linds... ”
I shook my head. 'I can't give you anything, Cindy.
Mercer's handling everything. I've never seen him so worked up. I'm sorry.'
“I didn't ask you here to get something, Lindsay... ”
“Cindy, if you know something, tell me.”
“I know that boss of yours better be careful what he's committing to.”
I glanced at the screen. 'Mercer... In the background, I heard his voice asserting that the shooting was an isolated incident, that we already had tangible leads, that every available cop would be on the case until we tracked the killer down.
“He's telling the world you're gonna nail this guy before it happens again... ?”
“So... ?”
Our eyes met solidly. “I think it already has.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 8
THE KILLER WAS PLAYING DESERT COMMANDO and he was a master.
Phffft, phffft, phffft... phffft, phffft.
Impassively he squinted through the illuminated infrared sight as hooded figures darted into view. As if by an extension of his finger, the darkened, maze-like chambers of the terrorist bunker exploded in balls of orange flame. Shadowy figures burst into narrow halls, phffft, phffft, phffft.
He was a champion at this. Great hand-eye coordination.
No one could touch him.
His finger twitched on the trigger. Ghouls, sand mites, towel-heads. Come at me, baby... Phffft, phffft... Up through the dark corridors... He smashed through an iron door, came upon a whole nest of them, sucking on tabbouleh, 'laying cards. His weapon spit a steady orange death.
Blessed are the peacemakers. He smirked.
He squinted one more time through the sight, replaying the scene at the church in his mind, imagining her face. That little Jemima, with her braided hair, the rainbow-colored knapsack on her back.
Phfft, phfft. An on screen figure's chest exploded. This next kill was for the record. Got it! His eye flashed toward the score. Two hundred seventy-six enemy dead.
