10th Anniversary

Jacobi had called — four times, in fact — to offer me the lieutenant’s job he was leaving by moving up to captain. By the time I finally spoke with him, the job had been tentatively offered to Brady. I thought it was a sign that Brady should take the job.

That was okay with me. I liked the hands-on job of being a homicide cop. It was exhausting, and you could never put it down, not even for a night, but like for my father before me, working the street was my calling.

Jackson Brady, on the other hand, was ambitious. He had a history as a good cop, and I knew he was the future of the SFPD.

I’d done the right thing in stepping aside, but I was a little more careful these days to answer ringing phones.

The cordless on the kitchen counter was beginning its third ring. I peered at the caller ID. It was Cindy, so I snatched the receiver off its base.

“I’m getting married,” Cindy yelled into my ear.

“What? What did you say?”

“We’re getting married. Richie and me. He just proposed.”

“Oh my God. That’s fantastic,” I said, feeling some conflict between whoo-hooo and a fear of Cindy getting too much off-the-record information every night from my partner.

Plus, I had liked being number one on Richie’s speed dial.

That selfish thought faded as Cindy jabbered away into the phone about Richie’s bended-knee proposal at the Grace Cathedral, the diamond ring, and the happiness that was giving her heart flight.

“It’s wonderful, Cin. Let me congratulate Rich.”

“He’s on with his dad. I’ll tell him to call you. Oh, I’m getting incoming,” she said. “My mom is calling me back.”

“Go ahead, Cindy. I’m so happy for you both.”

I switched the channel to a ball game and watched the home team slaughter the visitors as I ate my dinner. Then the telephone rang again.

It was Yuki. What now?

“Linds, am I catching you at a bad time?”

Yuki had been stiff with me since I’d told her about my interview with Candace Martin two days ago. I was hoping that maybe this call would be a break in the cloud cover.

“It’s fine,” I said. “This is a good time.”

“I was going to tell you something the other day, but we got sidetracked. I don’t know how you’re going to take this, Linds.”

“Yuki, there’s nothing you can’t tell me,” I said.

“Okay. Uh. It’s about Brady.”

“What about him?”

“He asked me out. I went out to dinner with him. Twice. It went well. So, uh … we’re dating.”

I stopped breathing and just held the receiver hard to my ear, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

“Linds?”

“Jackson Brady? You’re kidding me. Say you’re joking.”

“I really like him, Linds. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”

I’d thought there was nothing Yuki couldn’t tell me, but I’d been wrong. This news had shaken me. And I didn’t know how to tell my good friend why I felt stricken to my bones.

“Lindsay, will you please say something?”

“There’s no good way to say this. I checked Brady out when he joined the squad,” I said. “He’s married, Yuki. Did Brady tell you that he’s married?”

Book Two. LIES, LIES, AND MORE LIES

Chapter 43

THAT SUNDAY was all mine.

I had ordered eggs and hash browns at Louis’, a greasy spoon on Point Lobos Avenue. It was a great barn of a place, built in 1937 on a cliff overlooking the ocean. True, Louis’ drew tourists, but it was still a local hangout, especially in the early morning.

The day was still too young for tourists, so Louis’ was full of regulars, mostly runners and walkers from the coastal trail at Lands End, now relaxing and reading papers at the counter. Nobody was bothering anyone.

I sighed with contentment.

From my seat in a booth, I had a view of the Sutro Baths at Lands End and I could also see my parking spot in front of Louis’ and Martha in the driver’s seat of my Explorer. Before coming here, we’d made a stop at Crissy Field so that Martha could run on a sandy beach and swim in the surf of the bay.

“Careful, the plate’s not,” the waitress said, setting down my breakfast. She refilled my chunky brown mug with fresh-brewed Colombian java.

“Thanks. It looks perfect,” I said.

My cell phone rang, just as I picked up my fork. Why was I so goddamned popular? I looked at my phone, but didn’t recognize the name on the caller ID. Who was W. Steihl?

Should I take the call? Or should I let it go to voice mail?

I flipped a quarter and smacked it on the back of my hand. I took a peek.

“Boxer,” I said with a sigh into the phone.

“Sergeant Boxer, this is Wilhelmina Steihl. Willy. I met you the other day at Brighton?”

Now, I remembered her. Willy Steihl was one of Avis Richardson’s school friends. She had shiny black hair to her shoulders and steel-rimmed glasses, and she wore bright red lipstick.

I also remembered how hesitant she was to talk to Rich and me a few days ago, but from the sound of her voice, she had something urgent to tell me now.

“I couldn’t say anything when you were here,” Willy Steihl said to me. “People would have figured out that I was the rat.”

“Let’s not worry about being a rat,” I said. “Rats can be heroes, too. Do you know where we can find Avis’s baby?”

“No, no, I don’t know that. I’m a friend of Larry Foster? He said I should call you. Are you near a computer?”

“No, but my phone is pretty slick. What should I look up?”

“I want to show you some pictures. On Facebook. But I don’t want to give you my password.”

The kid was worrying about a password — something she could change in a couple of keystrokes — but I didn’t want to go balls to the wall with her. Willy was a minor. She didn’t have to talk to me at all.

“What if I meet you at your dorm?” I said. I signaled to the waitress to bring me my check.

“Not there. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you,” Willy said.

I stifled a groan and told her I’d meet her at the entrance to 850 Bryant in an hour.

“I’ll be there,” Willy told me.

Was she going to help me find Avis’s baby? Or was this going to be another lead to nowhere?

I put a ten and a fiver on top of the check and left Louis’ still hungry.