Whatever it was, Chimera was gone. He couldn't hurt us anymore.
I hoped it didn't mean he had left' one last victim before he died.
“C'mon, Lieutenant,” Jacobi muttered. He gently pulled me up.
Suddenly, my legs buckled. I felt as if I had no control over the lower part of my body. I saw the look of alarm on Warren's face. “You're hit,” he uttered, wide-eyed.
I looked down at my side. Jacobi peeled back my jacket, and a wet red gash appeared on my right abdomen. All of a sudden my head began to spin. A current of nausea rose.
“We need help here,” Jacobi shouted to the EMS tech. He and Cappy eased me back to the ground.
I found myself staring over at Coombs, as the female tech who had peeled away the dead man's shirt rushed over to me.
God, this was so unreal. They took off my jacket, slapped a blood pressure monitor on my arm. It was as if it were happening to somebody else.
My gaze stayed fixed on the killer, the goddamn Chimera.
Something a little strange, something not tracking. What was it?
I pulled myself out of Jacobi's grip. “I have to see something... ”
He held me back. “You have to stay right here, Lindsay. There's an ambulance on the way.”
I pulled away from Jacobi. I got up and went over to the body. Coombs's police uniform had been peeled back off of his chest and arms. Raw wounds spotted his chest. But something was missing; something was all wrong. What was it?
“Oh, my God, Warren,” I whispered. “Look.”
“look at what?” Jacobi frowned. What the hell is wrong with you?'
“Warren... there's no tattoo.”
My mind flashed back. Claire had discovered pigment from the killer's tattoo under Estelle Chipman's fingernails.
I put my hands underneath Coombs's shoulders and rolled him slightly. There was nothing on his back. No tattoos anywhere.
My mind was whirling. This was unthinkable but Coombs couldn't be Chimera.
Then I passed out.
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 102
I OPENED MY EYES in a hospital room, feeling the constraining pull of the IV line stuck in my arm.
Claire was standing over me.
“You are a lucky girl,” she said. “I talked to the doctors. Bullet grazed your right abdomen but didn't lodge. What you've basically got is one of the nastiest floor burns you'll ever see.”
“I heard floor burns go well with powder blue, don't they?” I said softly my lips parting in a weak smile.
Claire nodded, tapping the taped bandage on her neck.
“So I'm told. Anyway, congratulations... You've earned yourself a cozy desk job for the next couple of weeks.” “I already have a desk job, Claire,” I said. I blinked a confused look around the hospital room, then I pulled myself up into a sitting position. My side ached as if it were on fire.
“You did good, girl.” Claire squeezed my arm. “Coombs is dead, and now safely ensconced in hell. There's a mob of people outside who want to talk with you. You're gonna have to get used to the accolades.”
I closed my eyes, thinking of the misplaced attention about to come my way. Then, through the haze, it hit me.
What I had discovered before I blacked out.
My fingers gripped Claire's arm. “Frank Coombs didn't have a tattoo.”
She shook her head and blinked back. “So...?”
It hurt to talk, so the words came out in a whisper. “The first murder, Claire. Estelle Chipman... She was killed by a man with a tattoo. You said it.”
“I could've been wrong.”
“You're never wrong.” I flashed my eyes.
She eased back on her stool, her brow creased. “I'm doing the autopsy on Frankie-boy Monday morning. There could be a highly pigmented section of skin, or a discoloration somewhere.”
I managed a smile. “Autopsy... ? My professional opinion is that he was shot.”
“Thanks.” Claire grinned. “But someone's got to take the bullets out of him and match them up. There'll be an inquiry.”
