7th Heaven Part 5
TWO HOURS after leaving the Hall of Justice, Yuki packed an overnight bag and headed out of town. She tried to shake the echo of Tw.i.l.l.y's voice as she drove over the Golden Gate Bridge toward Point Reyes.Could Tw.i.l.l.y really have killed Michael Campion? If so, why would he do it?And why would he tell her?She turned on the radio, found a cla.s.sical station, dialed it up loud, and the music filled the car and her mind. It was a beautiful afternoon. She was going to Rose Cottage, to walk in the surf and remember that she wasn't a quitter.That she wouldn't quit on this.As she got onto Highway 1, she let the incomparable beauty of the place take her over. She switched off the radio, buzzed down all the car windows so she could hear the thundering waves break over the huge rocks below her. Moist ocean air whipped her hair away from her eyes and brought blood into her cheeks. She looked out over the blue, blue sea that stretched out to the horizon - no, out to j.a.pan - and she breathed in the fresh air, consciously exhaled, letting the tension go.In the small town of Olema, she turned off Highway 1, pa.s.sed the little shops at the intersection, and from there negotiated the back roads by memory. She glanced down at her new wrist.w.a.tch. It was only two thirty in the afternoon, plenty of sunlight left in the day.The sign spelling out ROSE COTTAGE MILE was almost hidden by the roadside flora, but Yuki caught it and made the turn through a forested glen and up an unpaved road that climbed the hillside. The rutted road became a driveway that looped in front of the manager's cabin just ahead.The manager, a tall, blond-haired woman named Paula Vaughan, welcomed Yuki back to Rose Cottage. They exchanged pleasantries as Vaughan ran Yuki's credit card through the machine. And then the manager made the connection, saying, "I was just watching the news. Too bad you didn't win."Yuki looked up, said, "You've got takeout menus, right? The Farm House does takeout?"Minutes later, she opened the front door to Rose Cottage, dropped her bags in the larger of the two bedrooms, and opened the sliders to the deck. The Bear Valley hiking trail pa.s.sed to the right of the cottage, climbed upward four hundred feet through a wooded area, opening at the top of a ridge to a brilliant ocean view.She'd hiked this trail with Lindsay.Yuki changed into jeans and hiking shoes. Then she unsnapped the locks on her briefcase, took out her new Smith & Wesson .357 handgun, slipped it into one pocket of her Windbreaker, put her cell phone in the other. But before she could leave for her nature walk, there was an insistent knock on the door.And the booming in her chest started all over again.
Chapter 95.
JASON Tw.i.l.l.y WAS WEARING chinos and a navy blue sweater and had a leather bag hooked over his right shoulder. He looked handsome, urbane, as if he'd just stepped from the pages of Town & Country, and his crooked smile had lost its menace."What are you doing here, Jason?"Yuki kept the door open about four inches, just enough to see and hear him. And she clamped her hand around the gun in her pocket, felt the power of that little weapon, knowing what it could do."Hey, you know, Yuki, if I didn't like you so much, I'd be really hurt. I spend most of my life fending women off, and you keep slamming doors in my face.""How'd you find me?""I waited for you to leave your apartment and followed you. Wasn't that hard. Look, I'm sorry I got rough this morning." He sighed. "It's just that I'm in trouble. I took a huge advance on this book and the money's gone.""Oh, really?""Yeah. Sports betting. A little weakness of mine." Tw.i.l.l.y added a dash of boyish charm to his smile. "To be honest, it's more than a little weakness - and it's kind of s...o...b..lled lately. See, I'm telling you this so you understand. Really nasty people want their money back. And they don't care if my book crashes.""Not my problem, Jason.""Wait. Wait. Just listen, okay? I can't give back the advance, you understand, and I've got these debts. All I need is your feelings, your insight, your own true words - that's where we'll find a satisfying ending to the Michael Campion story.""Are you serious? After all the c.r.a.p you've dished out? I have nothing to say to you, Jason.""Yuki, this isn't personal. It's business. I'm not going to touch you, okay? I need one crummy hour of your time, and you're going to benefit. You're the devoted prosecutor whose conviction was s.n.a.t.c.hed from you by the little wh.o.r.e with a heart of stone. Yuki, you were robbed!""And if I don't want to be interviewed?""Then I'll have to write around you, and that'll really suck. Don't make me beg anymore, okay?"Yuki took the gun out of her pocket. "This is a .357," she said, showing it to him."So I see," Tw.i.l.l.y said, his smile becoming a grin, the grin turning into laughter. "This is priceless.""I'm glad you find me amusing.""Yuki, I'm a reporter, not a freaking mobster. No, this is good. Bring your gun. G.o.d knows I want you to feel safe with me. Okay if we go for a walk?""This way," Yuki said.She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 96.
YUKI KEPT HER HAND gripped around the gun in her pocket as she walked beside Tw.i.l.l.y up the path through the woods. He did most of the talking, asking her opinion of the jury, of the defense counsel, of the verdict. For a moment she saw the charming man she'd been attracted to a few weeks ago - then she remembered who he really was."I think the verdict was completely off the wall," Yuki said. "I don't know what I could have done differently.""Not your fault, Yuki. Junie is innocent," Tw.i.l.l.y said amiably."Really? And you know she's innocent how?"They'd reached the ridgeline, where a rocky outcropping overlooked the best view of Kelham Beach and the Pacific Ocean. Tw.i.l.l.y sat down on the rock, and Yuki sat a few feet away. Tw.i.l.l.y opened his bag, took out two bottles of water, twisted off the cap of the first and handed the bottle to Yuki."Don't you think it's strange that there was no trace evidence at the so-called crime scene?" he asked her."Strange, but not impossible," Yuki said, taking a deep chug-a-lug from the water bottle."That information that the police 'developed.' That was an anonymous caller, right?""How did you know that?""I was writing a book about Michael, Yuki. I followed him all the time. I followed Michael to Junie's house that night. After Michael went into Junie's house, I felt great. Michael Campion spent time with a hooker! Good meat for my story. I waited, and then I saw him leave - alive."Of course, I didn't know he'd never be seen again.""Hmmm?" Yuki said.She'd come here to hear Tw.i.l.l.y tell her who'd killed Michael or confess that he was the one who had done it - but suddenly she felt as though there was plastic foam inside her head.What was happening?Shapes shifted in front of her eyes, and Tw.i.l.l.y's voice ballooned out of his mouth, volume rising and falling. What was that? What was Tw.i.l.l.y saying?"Are you okay?" he asked her. "Because you don't look so good.""I'm fine," Yuki said. She was nearly overcome with dizziness and nausea. She gripped the rock she was sitting on with both hands, held on tight.She had a gun!What time was it?Wasn't she supposed to keep track of the time?
Chapter 97.
Tw.i.l.l.y LEERED, his face very big in front of hers. Big nose, teeth like a Halloween jack-o'lantern, his words so elastic, Yuki became fascinated with the sounds more than the sense of what he was saying.Get a grip, she told herself. Get a grip."Say that again?""When Michael went missing," Tw.i.l.l.y spoke patiently, "the cops came up with nothing. No clues. No suspects. I waited for months.""Uh-huh.""The Campion story was getting stale - so I did what I had to do. Good citizen thing, right? I called in a tip. I gave the cops a suspect. Completely legitimate. I'd seen Michael at the house of a little hooker named Junie Moon.""You . . . did that?""Yep, it was me. And like an answered prayer, Junie Moon confessed. Man, sometimes I even think she did it. But you didn't convict her, did you, Yuki? And now I have a s.h.i.tty ending for my book. And whoever killed Michael is free. And I'm up to my neck in knee-breakers, so I can only think of one way to get a big-bang ending and bring it on home."And that's where you come in, little girl," Tw.i.l.l.y said. "I think you're going to appreciate the drama and the poetry."There were flashes in the sky behind Tw.i.l.l.y, bright colors and images she couldn't make out. There was a whooshing in her ears, blood racing or animals running through the underbrush. What was going on?"What's . . . happening . . . to me?""You're having a mental breakdown, Yuki, because you're so depressed.""Me?""You. You . . . are . . . very . . . depressed.""Nooooo," Yuki said. She tried to stand, but her feet couldn't hold her. She looked at Tw.i.l.l.y, his eyes big and as dark as black holes.Where was her gun?"You're morbidly depressed, Yuki. That's what you told me in the parking lot this morning. You said that you have no love in your life. That your mother is dead because you didn't save her. And you said you can't get over blowing this trial -"He was bending her mind."Craaaazzzy," she said."Crazy. Yes you are! You were on camera, Yuki. Thousands of people saw you run from the courthouse," Tw.i.l.l.y said, each of his words distinct and powerful - yet senseless."That's the way I'll tell the story, how you ran to the parking lot and I ran after you, and you said that you wanted to kill yourself, you were so ashamed. One of those j.a.panese honor things. Hara-kiri, right?""Nooooo.""Yes, little girl. That's what you told me. And I was so worried about you, I followed you in my car.""You . . . ?""Meeeeee. And you showed me your gun that you'd gotten so that you could end your life and give me the freaking megawatt ending my book so richly deserves!"Gun! Gun! Her arm was made of rubber. She couldn't move her hand off the rock. Lights flashed in the dark."I didden . . . nooooo."She started to slip from her perch, but Tw.i.l.l.y hauled her up roughly by her arm."The prosecutor lost her case," he said, "and took her own freaking loser life. It's the money shot. Get it? Bang. Clean shot to the temple and another big chunk of dough goes into my bank account -thanks to your dramatic, tragic, movie ending."Plus, Yuki, it is personal. I've really come to hate you.""What time is it?" Yuki asked, blinking up at the starburst pattern that was somehow Tw.i.l.l.y's face.
Chapter 98.
I WAS FRANTIC.The audio had been coming in loud and clear from the transmitter in Yuki's wrist.w.a.tch, but now we'd lost her! We'd gone out of range! I grabbed Conklin's arm, stopped him in the path that had petered out onto a small clearing before snaking out in three directions."I've lost the transmission!""Hold it," Conklin said into his mic to the SWAT team that was moving through the woods in a grid formation.And then the static cleared. I couldn't hear Yuki, but Tw.i.l.l.y's voice was tinny and clear."See, when I was thinking about this earlier," Tw.i.l.l.y was saying, "I thought I could get you to spread your wings and fly off this cliff. But now I'm thinking, you're going to shoot yourself, Yuki."Yuki's scream was high-pitched. Wordless.Tw.i.l.l.y was threatening to kill her! Why didn't Yuki use her gun?"Up there. Top of the ridge," I shouted to Conklin.We were at least two hundred yards away from the summit. Two hundred yards! It no longer mattered if he heard us. I ran.Brambles grabbed out at me, branches snapped in my face. I stumbled on a root, grabbed out and hugged a tree. My lungs burned as I ran. I saw their forms between the tree trunks, silhouetted against the sky. But Tw.i.l.l.y was so close to Yuki, I couldn't get a clean shot.I yelled out, "Tw.i.l.l.y! Stand away from her now."There was the crack of gunshot.OH, G.o.d, NO! YUKI!Birds broke from the trees and flew up like scattershot as the report echoed over the hillside. Eight of us boiled out of the woods into the clearing at the ridgeline. That's where I found Yuki, on her knees, forehead touching the ground.The gun was still in her hand.I got down on the ground and shook her shoulders."Yuki! Yuki! Speak to me! Please."
Chapter 99.
Tw.i.l.l.y HELD HIS HANDS in the air. He said, "Thank G.o.d you showed up, Sergeant. I was trying to stop her, but your friend was determined to kill herself."I pulled Yuki into my arms. The smell of gunpowder was in the air, but there was no blood, no wound. Her shot had gone wild."Yuki. I'm here, honey, I'm here."She moaned, sounded and looked dopey. There was no liquor on her breath. Had she been drugged?"What's wrong with her?" I shouted at Tw.i.l.l.y. "What did you do to her?""Not a thing," Tw.i.l.l.y said. "This is how I found her.""You're under arrest, sc.u.mbag," Conklin said. "Hands behind your back.""What are the charges, if you don't mind me asking?""How do you like attempted murder for starters?""You've got to be kidding. I didn't touch her.""Yuki was wired, buddy. You teed her up for a dive off this cliff. We've got it all."Conklin squeezed the bracelets tight enough to make Tw.i.l.l.y yelp. I called for a medevac, sat with my arms around Yuki as we waited for the chopper to arrive."Lindsay?" Yuki asked me. "I got it . . . on my watch . . . didn't I?""You sure did, honey," I said, hugging my friend, so very grateful that she was alive.While I held her, another part of my mind was turning it all over. We had Tw.i.l.l.y in custody for the attempt on Yuki's life, but the reason we'd tailed him was because of what he'd hinted to Yuki this morning: that he'd killed Michael Campion.What he'd told Yuki in the last ten minutes contradicted that.Conklin stooped beside us, said, "So this was all a trap? He set Yuki up to create an ending for his book?""That's what that psycho said."And he'd almost done it. Now the ending was him. His arrest, his trial, and, we could always hope, his conviction.Yuki tried to speak, but ragged sounds came from her throat.She was struggling to breathe."What did he give you, Yuki? Do you know what drug?""Water," she said."The medics will give you water in a minute, honey."Yuki's head was in my lap when the chopper's arrival sounded overhead.I looked down to shield my eyes - and saw a glint in the path. I shouted over the racket."Tw.i.l.l.y drugged the water. Is that what you mean, Yuki? He put it in the water?"Yuki nodded. Moments later Conklin had bagged the evidence, two plastic water bottles, and Yuki was in a carry-lift up to the chopper's belly.
Part Five
BURNING DESIRE
Chapter 100.
HAWK AND PIDGE left the car around the corner from the huge Victorian house in Pacific Heights, the biggest in a neighborhood of impressive, multi-multimillion-dollar homes, all with stunning views of the bay.Their target house was imposing and yet inviting, so American it was iconic - and at the same time, completely out of reach for everyone but the very wealthy.The two young men looked up at the leaded windows, the cupolas, and the old trees banked around the house, separating it from the servant quarters over the garage and the neighbors on either side of the yard. They had studied the floor plans on the real estate brokers' Web site and knew every corner of every floor. They were prepared, high on antic.i.p.ation, and still cautious.This was going to be their best kill and their last. They would make some memories tonight, leave their calling card, and fade out, blend back into their lives. But this night would never be forgotten. There would be headlines for weeks, movies, several of them. In fact, they were sure people would still be talking about this crime of all crimes into the next century."Do I look okay?" Pidge asked.Hawk turned Pidge's collar up, surveyed his friend's outfit down to the shoes."You rock, buddy. You absolutely rock.""You too, man," Pidge said.They locked arms in the Roman forearm handshake, like Charlton Heston and Stephen Boyd in Ben-Hur."Ubi fumus," said Hawk."Ibi ignis," Pidge answered.Where there's smoke, there's fire.Pidge twisted the gold foil tight around the bottle of Cointreau, and then the two boys advanced side by side up the long stone walkway toward the front porch. There was a card taped to a gla.s.s panel on the front door. "To the members of the Press: Please, leave us alone."Hawk rang the bell.Bing-bong.He could see the gray-haired man through the small-paned living room windows, followed his silhouette as the famous figure walked through the house, turning on the lights in each room, making his way to the front door.And then the door opened."Are you the boys who called?" Connor Campion asked."Yes, sir," Pidge said."And what are your names?""Why don't you call me Pidge for now, and he's Hawk. We have to be careful. What we know could get us killed.""You've got to trust us," Hawk said. "We were friends of Michael's, and we have some information. Like I said on the phone. We can't keep quiet any longer."Connor Campion looked the two boys up and down, decided either they were full of c.r.a.p or maybe, just maybe, they'd tell him something he needed to know. They'd want money, of course.He swung the door open wide and invited them inside.
Chapter 101.
THE SIXTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD MAN led the two boys through the vestibule and living room, into his private library. He switched on some lights: the stained-gla.s.s Tiffany lamp on the desk he'd used in the governor's mansion, the down-lighting above the floor-to-ceiling bookcases of law books."Is your wife at home?" the one called Hawk asked him."She's had a very stressful day," Campion said. "She couldn't wait up. Can I get you boys something to drink?""Actually, we brought you this," Pidge said, handing over the bottle of Cointreau. Connor thanked the boy, slid down the foil bag, and looked at the label."Thanks for this. I'll open this for you if you like, or maybe you'd like something else. I'm having scotch.""We're good, sir," said Pidge.Campion put the bottle next to Michael's picture on the ornately carved mantelpiece, then bent to open the bowed gla.s.s doors of the vitrine he used as a liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of Chivas and a gla.s.s. When he turned, he saw the gun in Hawk's hand.Campion's muscles clenched as he stared at the revolver; then he looked up at the smirk on Pidge's face."Are you crazy? You're holding me up?"Behind Pidge, Hawk's eyes were bright, smiling with antic.i.p.ation, as he took a reel of fishing line out of his back pocket. Horror came over Campion as suspicion bloomed in his mind. He turned his back to the boys, said neutrally, "I guess I won't be having this." He made a show of putting the Chivas back inside the cabinet, while feeling around the shelf with the flat of his hand."We have to tie you up, sir, make it look like a robbery. It's for our own protection," Pidge said."And you need to get Mrs. Campion down here," Hawk added firmly. "She'll want to hear what we have to say."Campion whipped around, pointed his SIG at Hawk's chest, and squeezed the trigger. Bang.Hawk's face registered surprise as he looked down at his pink shirt, saw the blood."Hey," said Hawk.Didn't these punks know that a man like him would have guns stashed everywhere? Campion fired at Hawk again, and the boy dropped to his knees. He stared up at the older man and returned fire, his shot shattering the mirror over the fireplace. Then Hawk collapsed onto the rug facedown.Pidge had frozen at the sound of the shooting. Now he screamed, "You s.h.i.t! You crazy old s.h.i.t! Look what you did!"Pidge backed out of the room, and when he cleared the library's doorway, he turned and raced for the front door. Campion walked over to Hawk, kicked the gun out of his outstretched hand, lost his footing, and fell, hitting his chin against the edge of the desk. He pulled himself up using the desk leg, then stumbled out to the vestibule and pressed the intercom that connected to the caretaker's cottage."Glen," he yelled. "Call 911. I shot someone!"By the time Campion reached the front walk, Pidge was gone. The caretaker came running across the yard with a rifle, and Valentina stood in the front doorway, her eyes huge, asking him what in G.o.d's name had happened.Lights winked on in neighboring houses, and the wolfhound next door barked.But there was no sign of Pidge.Campion clamped his fist around the grip of his gun and shouted into the dark, "You killed my son, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, didn't you? You killed my son!"
Chapter 102.
I ARRIVED AT the Campions' home within fifteen minutes of getting Jacobi's call. A herd of patrol cars blocked the street, and paramedics b.u.mped down the stone steps with their loaded gurney, heading out to the ambulance.I went to the gurney, observed as much of the victim as I could. An oxygen mask half covered his face, and a sheet was pulled up to his chin. I judged that the young man was in his late teens or early twenties, white, with well-cut, dirty-blond hair, maybe five ten.Most important, he was alive."Is he going to make it?" I asked one of the paramedics.She shrugged, said, "He's got two slugs in him, Sergeant. Lost a lot of blood."Inside the house, Jacobi and Conklin were debriefing the former governor and Valentina Campion, who sat together on a sofa, shoulder to shoulder, their hands entwined. Conklin shot me a look: something he wanted me to understand. It took me a few minutes to get it.Jacobi filled me in on what had transpired, told me that there was no ID on the kid Campion had shot. Then he said to the former governor, "You say you can identify the second boy, sir? Help our sketch artist?"Campion nodded. "Absolutely. I'll never forget that kid's face."Campion looked to be in terrible pain. He'd shot someone only minutes before, and when he asked me to sit down in the chair near the sofa, I thought he wanted to tell me about that. But I was wrong.Campion said, "Michael wanted to be like his friends. Go out. Have fun. So I was always on his case, you know? When I caught him sneaking out at night, I reprimanded him, took away privileges, and he hated me for it.""No he didn't," Valentina Campion said sharply. "You did what I didn't have the courage to do, Connor.""Sir?" I said, wondering where he was going with this.Campion's face sagged with exhaustion."He was being irresponsible," Campion continued, "and I was trying to keep him safe. I was looking ahead to the future - a new medical procedure, a pharmaceutical breakthrough. Something."I told him, straight up, 'When you decide to act like an adult, let me know.' I wasn't angry, I was afraid," Campion said, his voice cracking. "So I lost him before I lost him."His wife tried to calm him, but Connor Campion wouldn't be soothed. "I was a tyrant," Campion said. "Mikey and I didn't speak for the whole last month of his life. If I'd known he had a month to live . . . Michael told me, 'Quality of life, Dad. That's what's important.' "Campion fixed me with his bloodshot eyes."You seem to be a caring person, Sergeant. I'm telling you this so you understand. I let those hooligans into my house because they said they had information about Michael - and I had to know what it was."Now I think they killed him, don't you? And tonight they were going to rob us. But why? Why?""I don't know, sir."I told Campion that as soon as we knew anything, we'd let him know. That was all I had for him. But I got it now, why Conklin had given me that look when I'd walked in the door. My mind was running with it.I signaled to my partner and we went outside.
Chapter 103.
CONKLIN AND I leaned against the side of my car, facing the Campion house, staring at the lights glowing softly through a million little windowpanes. Campion and his wife didn't know what kind of death Hawk and Pidge had planned for them tonight, but we knew - and thinking about that near miss was giving me the horrors.If Connor Campion hadn't fired his gun, Hawk and Pidge would have roasted him and his wife alive.Rich pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one - and this time I took him up on it."Might be some prints on that foil around the bottle of booze," he said.I nodded, thinking we'd be lucky if those kids had records, if their prints were in AFIS, but I wasn't counting on it."Hawk. Pidge. Crazy names," Conklin said."I got a pretty good look at Hawk," I said. "He matches Molly Chu's description of the so-called angel who carried her out of the fire."Conklin exhaled a long stream of smoke into the night. He said, "And the governor's description of Pidge sounds like the kid who p.a.w.ned Patty Malone's necklace.""And of course there's the fishing line. So . . . what are we thinking?" I said to Conklin. "That Hawk and Pidge also killed Michael Campion? Because I don't see two guys killing a kid when their MO is to tie up rich couples, leave a few words in Latin inside a book, and then burn the house down."Conklin said, "Nope. That doesn't work for me, either. So why do you think these birds targeted the Campions?""Because the Campions are in the news. Big house. Big fire. Big headlines. Big score."Conklin smiled, said, "Only they screwed up."I smiled back, said, "Yeah."We were both starting to feel it, the kind of incomparable exhilaration that comes when after nothing but dead ends, A leads to B leads to C. I was sure that Hawk and Pidge were the s.a.d.i.s.ts who did the arson killings, but not only couldn't we prove that, we didn't know who Hawk and Pidge were.I stamped out my cigarette on the street, said to Conklin, "That Hawk b.a.s.t.a.r.d had better live.""At least long enough to talk," said my partner.
Chapter 104.
HAWK'S SURGEON, Dr. Dave Hammond, was a compact man with rusty hair and the tight manner of a perfectionist who'd spent the night st.i.tching his patient's guts back together. Conklin and I had spent the same eight hours in a small, dull waiting room at St. Francis Hospital, waiting for Hammond's report.When the doctor entered the waiting room at 6:15 a.m., I shot to my feet, asked, "Is he awake?"Hammond said, "Right now, the patient's condition defines touch-and-go. He was bleeding like a son of a b.i.t.c.h when he came in. One slug punctured his lung and nicked his aorta. The other d.a.m.n near pulverized his liver."Conklin said, "So, Doctor, when can we talk to him?""Inspector, you understand what I just said? We had to inflate the kid's lungs, transfuse him, and remove a chunk of his liver. This is what we like to call major surgery."Conklin smiled winningly. "Okay. I hear you. Is he awake?""He just opened his eyes." Hammond sighed with disgust. "I'll give you one minute to get in and get out."One minute was all we'd need, enough time to wring two words from that b.a.s.t.a.r.d - his first name and his last. I pushed open the door marked RECOVERY and approached Hawk's bed. It was a shocking sight.Hawk's body was lashed down in four-point restraints so that he couldn't flail and undo the work his surgeons had just done. Even his head was restrained. IV bags dripped fluids into his body, a chest tube drained ooze out of his lungs, a catheter carried waste into a canister under the bed, and he was breathing oxygen through a cannula clipped to his nose.Hawk looked bad, but he was alive.Now I had to get him to talk.I touched his hand and said, "Hi there. My name is Lindsay."Hawk's eyes flickered open."Where . . . am I?" he asked me.I told him that he'd been shot, that he was in a hospital, and that he was doing fine."Why can't . . . I move?"I told him about the restraints and why he was tied down, and I asked for his help. "I need to call your family, but I don't know your name."Hawk scanned my face, then dropped his gaze to the badge on my lapel, the bulge of my gun under my jacket. He murmured something I had to strain to hear."My work here is finished," Hawk said."No," I shouted, gripping the kid's hand with both of mine. "You are not going to die. You've got a great doctor. We all want to help you, but I have to know your name. Please, Hawk, tell me your name."Hawk pursed his lips, starting to form a word - and then, as though an electric current had taken over his body, his back bowed and he went rigid against his restraints. Simultaneously, the rapid, high-pitched beeping of an alarm filled the room. I wanted to scream.I held on to Hawk's hand as his eyes rolled back and a noise came from his throat like soda water pouring into a gla.s.s. The monitor tracking his vital signs showed Hawk's heart rate spike to 170, drop to 60, and rocket again even as his blood pressure dropped through the floor."What's happening?" Conklin asked me."He's crashing," Hammond shouted, stiff-arming the door. The rapid beeping turned into one long squeal as the green lines on the monitor went flat.Hammond yelled, "Where's the G.o.dd.a.m.ned cart!"As the medics rolled it in, Conklin and I were pushed away from the bed. A nurse closed the curtain, blocking our view. I heard the frenzy of doctors working to shock Hawk's heart back into rhythm."Come on, come on," I heard Dr. Hammond say. Then, "c.r.a.p. Time of death, 6:34 a.m.""d.a.m.n it," I said to Conklin. "d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l."
Chapter 105.
AT 7:45 THAT MORNING, I took off my jacket, hung it over the back of my chair, opened my coffee container, and sat down at my desk across from Conklin."He died on purpose, that monster," I said to my partner."He's dead, but this is not a dead end," Conklin muttered."Is that a promise?""Yeah. Boy Scout's honor."I opened my desk drawer, took out two cello-wrapped pastries, not more than a week old. I lobbed one to Rich, who caught it on the fly."Oooh. I love a woman who bakes."I laughed, said, "Be glad for that coffee cake, mister. Who knows when we'll see food again."We were waiting for phone calls. A blurry photo of Hawk being wheeled out of the Campion house was running in the morning Chronicle. It was unlikely someone could ID him from that, but not impossible. At just after eight, my desk phone warbled. I grabbed the receiver and heard Charlie Clapper's voice."Lindsay," he said, "there were a dozen prints on that bottle and the foil it was wrapped in.""Tell me something good.""I'd love to, my friend," Clapper said. "But all we've got for sure is a match to Hawk's prints, and he's not in AFIS.""There's a shock. So he's still a John Doe and, I take it, so is Pidge.""Sorry, kiddo. The only other match I got was to Connor Campion."I sighed, said, "Thanks anyway, Charlie," and stabbed the blinking b.u.t.ton of my second line.Chuck Hanni's voice sounded wound-up, excited."Glad I got you," Hanni said. "There's been a fire."I pressed the speaker b.u.t.ton so Conklin could hear."It just happened a few hours ago in Santa Rosa," Chuck said. "Two fatalities. I'm on the way out there now.""It's arson? You think it's related to our case?""The sheriff told me that one of the vics was found with a book in his lap."I stared at Conklin, knowing he was thinking the same thing: that SOB Pidge hadn't wasted any time."We'll meet you there," I said to Hanni.I wrote down the address and hung up the phone.
Chapter 106.
THE HOUSE WAS TUDOR-STYLE, surrounded by tall firs and located in a development of million-dollar-and-up homes bordering on a golf course in Santa Rosa. We edged our car into the pack of sheriff's cruisers and fire rigs, all of which had been on the scene for hours. The firefighters were wrapping up as the ME and arson investigators came and went, ducking under the barrier tape that had been looped around the premises.I was furious that Pidge had killed again, and once again, he'd taken his h.e.l.lacious arson spree to a county where Rich, Chuck, and I had no official standing.Chuck called out to us, and we walked toward the house."The fire was contained in the garage," he said, ma.s.saging the old burn scar on his hand.Hanni held the garage door open, and Conklin and I stepped inside. It was a three-car garage, tools and lawn equipment against the walls, and in the center of the floor was a late-model minivan that had been seared by flames, the exterior scorched black, blue, and a powdery gray. Hanni introduced us around to Sheriff Paul Arcario, to the ME, Dr. Cecilia Roach, and to the arson investigator, Matt Hartnett, who said he was a friend of Chuck's."The homeowner is a Mr. Alan Beam," Hartnett told us. "He's still inside his vehicle. And there's a second victim, a female. She was found on the floor next to the van. She's in a body bag for safekeeping. Otherwise, everything is just as we found it."Hanni shined his light into the carca.s.s of the van so that Conklin and I could get a better look at the victim's incinerated body in the driver's seat. The seat was tilted back. A heavy chain lay across the victim's legs, and a small book rested on his lap, right above the pink and protruding coils of his large intestine.I went weak at the knees.The smells of burned flesh and gasoline were overpowering. I could almost hear the screaming, the pleading, the soft whick of a match, and the boom of the consuming fire. Rich asked me if I was okay, and I said that I was. But what I was thinking was that what had happened here in the small hours of the morning had been the ultimate in terror and agony.That it had been nothing less than the horror of h.e.l.l.
Chapter 107.
DR. ROACH ZIPPED the body bag closed and asked her a.s.sistants to carry the female victim out to the van. Roach was pet.i.te, in her forties, wore her thick graying hair in a ponytail and her gla.s.ses on a beaded chain."There was no ID on her," Dr. Roach told me. "All I can say is that she looks to be a juvenile, maybe a teenager.""Not Beam's wife?""The exMrs. Beam lives in Oakland," said the sheriff, closing his cell phone. "She'll be here in a few."Hanni began a run-through of the fire for our benefit."The fire started inside the pa.s.senger compartment," he said. "Paper and wood were piled up in the backseat directly behind the driver. And this is a tow chain," he said of the heavy links lying across the victim's lap.He pointed to a metal bar down in the driver-side foot well, explained that it was a steering wheel lock, like The Club, and that it had been pa.s.sed through the chain and locked around the steering column. Hanni theorized that first the chains and The Club were locked, then the newspapers and wood were doused with gasoline."Then, probably, the gas was poured over the victims and the can was wedged behind the seats -""Sorry, folks, but I've got to start processing this scene," Hartnett said, opening his kit. "I'm getting s.h.i.t from the chief.""Hang on just a minute, will you please?" I asked the arson investigator. I borrowed a pen from Hanni, reached into the van, and as Hanni aimed his light over my shoulder, I used the pen to open the book resting on Alan Beam's lap.What kind of message had Pidge left for us?The usual fortune cookie nonsense?Or was he mad now? Would he slip up and give us something that made sense? I stared at the t.i.tle page, but all I saw were the printed words The New Testament. That was all. No scribbling in Latin, not even a name. I was backing out of the van when Rich said, "Lindsay, check that out."I went back in for a second look and this time saw a bit of fire-blackened ribbon trailing out from the pages. Using the pen again, I opened the Bible to the bookmark. Matthew 3:11.A few lines of text had been underlined in ink.My cheek was nearly resting on the victim's parched and naked bones as I read the underlined words out loud."I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me will come one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not fit to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire."
Chapter 108.
CONKLIN GRUNTED, said, "Purification by fire. It's a major biblical theme."Just then the garage door opened behind us and I turned to see a chic forty-something woman wearing a business suit limned in the sunlight behind her. Her face was stretched in anger and fear."I'm Alicia Beam. Who's in charge here?""I'm Paul Arcario," the sheriff said to her, stretching out his hand. "We spoke earlier. Why don't we go outside and talk?"Mrs. Beam pushed past him to the van, and although Conklin put an arm out to stop her, it was too late. The woman stared, then shrank away, screaming, "Oh, my G.o.d! Alan! What happened to you?"Then she snapped her head around and locked her eyes on me."Where's Valerie? Where's my daughter?"I introduced myself, told Mrs. Beam that she had to leave the garage, and that I would come with her. She became compliant as soon as I put my hand on the small of her back, and we walked together out of the garage to the front of the house."It's my daughter's weekend with her father," she said.She opened the front door, and as she stepped over the threshold, she broke away from me, running through the rooms, calling her daughter's name."Valerie! Val. Where are you?"I followed behind her, and when she stopped she said to me, "Maybe Val spent the night with a friend."The look of sheer hope on her face pulled at my heart and my conscience. Was that her daughter in the body bag? I didn't know, and if it was, it was not my job to tell her. Right now I had to learn whatever I could about Alan Beam."Let's just talk for a few minutes," I said.We took seats at a pine farm table in the kitchen, and Alicia Beam told me that her marriage of twenty years to Alan had been dissolved a year before."Alan has been depressed for years," Alicia told me. "He felt that his whole life had been about money. That he'd neglected his family and G.o.d. He became very religious, very repentant, and he said that there wasn't enough time . . ."Alicia Beam stopped in midsentence. I followed her eyes to the counter, where an unfolded sheet of blue paper was lying beside an envelope."Maybe that's a note from Val."She stood and walked to the counter, picked up the letter, began to read."Dear Val, my dearest girl. Please forgive me. I just couldn't take it any longer . . ."She looked up, said to me, "This is from Alan."I turned as Hanni leaned through the doorway and asked me to step outside."Lindsay," he said. "A neighbor found a message from Alan Beam on her answering machine saying he was sorry and good-bye."It was all coming clear, why there were no Latin come-ons. No fishing-line ligatures. And the victims were not a married couple.Pidge hadn't done this.Pidge had nothing to do with these deaths. Any hope I had of tripping him up, finding a clue to his whereabouts, was dead - as dead as the man in the car."Alan Beam committed suicide," I said.Hanni nodded. "We'll treat it as a homicide until we're sure, but according to this neighbor, Beam had attempted suicide before. She said he was terminal. Lung cancer.""And so he chained himself to the steering wheel and set himself on fire?""I guess he wanted to make sure he didn't change his mind this time. But whatever his reason," said Hanni, "it looks to me now like his daughter tried to save him - but she never had a chance."The poisonous gas and the superheated air brought her down."
Chapter 109.
BY THE TIME I got home that evening, I had too much to tell Joe and hoped I could stay awake long enough to tell him. He was in the kitchen, wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, what he wore when he went for a run with Martha. He was holding a winegla.s.s, and from the scrumptious smell of garlic and oregano, it seemed he'd cooked dinner, too.But the look on Joe's face stopped me before I could reach him."Joe, I was at the hospital all night -""Jacobi told me. If I hadn't found wet footsteps on the bathmat this morning, I wouldn't have even known you'd been home.""You were sleeping, Joe, and I only had a few minutes. And is this a house rule? That I have to check in?" I said."You call it checking in. I call it being thoughtful. Thinking of me and that I might worry about you."I hadn't called him. Why hadn't I called?"I'm drinking merlot," he said.Joe and I rarely fought, and I got that sickening gut-feel that told me that I was in the wrong."I'm sorry," I said. "You're totally right, Joe. I should have let you know where I was." I walked over to him, put my arms around his waist - but he pulled away from me."No flirting, Blondie. I'm steamed."He handed me a gla.s.s of wine and I took it, saying, "Joe, I said I'm sorry, and I am!""You know what?" he said. Martha whimpered and trotted out of the room. "I saw more of you when I lived in DC.""Joe, that's not true.""So, I'm going to ask you flat out, Lindsay. One question. And I want the truth."I thought, No, please, please don't ask me if I really want to marry you, please don't. I'm not ready. I looked into the storm raging in Joe's deep blue eyes."I want to know about you and Conklin. What's going on?"I was flabbergasted."You think I'm - Joe, you can't think that!""Look. I spent an hour with the two of you. You've got a little something special going on between you, and please don't tell me you're partners."I worked with you once, Lindsay," Joe went on. "We were partners. And now, here we are."I opened my mouth, closed it without speaking. I felt so guilty I couldn't even act offended. Joe was right about everything. That Rich and I had a special feeling for each other, that I was neglecting Joe, that the time we spent together was more focused on each other when Joe lived a couple of time zones away than it was now.Once Joe had made the commitment to move to San Francisco, he'd been mine, mine, totally mine. And I'd taken him for granted. I was wrong. And I had to admit it. But my throat was backed up with tears. This was the very thing that broke up cop marriages.The Job. The obsession and commitment to the Job.That's what this was about - wasn't it?I felt sick with shame. I never wanted to make Joe feel bad, never wanted to hurt him at all. I set my gla.s.s down on the counter and took Joe's gla.s.s out of his hand, put that gla.s.s down, too."There's nothing going on, Joe. It's just the Job."He looked into my eyes, and it was as though he was patting down my brain. He knew me that well."Give the sauce a stir in a couple of minutes, okay, Linds? I'm going to take a shower."I stood up on my toes and wrapped my arms around Joe's neck, held on to the man I thought of as my future husband, pressed my cheek to his. I wanted him to hold me. And finally he did. He closed his arms around my waist and pulled me tight against him.I said, "I love you so much. I'm going to do a better job of showing you, Joe, I swear, I will."
Chapter 110.
RICH WAS ALREADY at the computer when I got to my desk. He looked like he was in fifth gear, his index fingers tapping a fast two-step over the keys. I thanked him for the Krispy Kreme he'd parked on a napkin next to my phone."It was my turn," Rich said, not looking up as I dragged out my chair and sat down. "Dr. Roach called," Rich continued. "Said there were fifty-five ccs of gasoline in Alan Beam's stomach.""What's that? Three ounces? Geez. Is she saying he drank gasoline?""Yeah. Probably directly out of the can. Beam really wanted to make sure he got it right this time. Doctor says the gas would've killed him if the fire hadn't. She's calling it a suicide. But look here, Lindsay.""Whatcha got?" I said."Come over here and see this."I walked around our two desks and peered over Conklin's shoulder. There was a Web site on his screen called Crime Web. Conklin pressed the enter key and an animation began. A spider dropped a line from the top of the page, made a web around the blood-red headline over the feature story, then skittered back to its corner of the page. I read the headline.Five Fatal Shootings This Week AloneWhen are the cops and the DA going to get it together?The text below was a sickening indictment of San Francisco's justice system - and it was all true. Homicides were up, prosecutions were down, the result of not enough people or money or time.Rich moved the cursor to the column listing the pages on the site."This one - here," Rich said, clicking on a link called Current Unsolved Murders.Thumbnail photos came up.There was a family portrait of the Malones. Another of the Meachams. Rich clicked on the thumbnail of the Malones and said, "Listen to this."And then he read the page to me:" 'Were the murders of Patricia and Bertram Malone committed by the same killers of Sandy and Steven Meacham?" 'We say yes." 'And there have been other killings just as heinous with the same signature. The Jablonskys of Palo Alto and George and Nancy Chu of Monterey were also killed in horrific house fires." 'Why can't SFPD solve these crimes?" 'If you have any information, write to us at CrimeWeb .com. Diem dulcem habes.' "My G.o.d, it was Latin!"We never told the press about the Latin," I said. "What does it mean?""Diem dulcem habes means 'Have a nice day.' ""Yeah, okay," I said. "Let's hope it's going to be even better than that."I called the DA's office, asked for Yuki, got Nick Gaines, told him we needed a warrant to get an Internet provider to give us the name of the Web site holder."I'll buck it up the line," Gaines said. "Just asking, Sergeant: You've got probable cause?""We're working on it," I said. I hung up, said, "Now what?" as Rich clicked on a box labeled Contact Us.He typed with two fingers: "Must speak with you about the Malone and the Meacham fires. Please contact me." Conklin's e-mail address showed that he was with the SFPD. If the Webmaster was Pidge, we could be scaring him off.On the other hand - there was no other hand.I needn't have worried. Only a couple of minutes after firing off his e-mail, Rich had a response in his inbox."How can I help you?" the e-mail read.It was signed Linc Weber, and it contained his phone number.
Chapter 111.
THE MEETING WITH WEBER was set for four that afternoon. Conklin and I briefed Jacobi, a.s.signed our team, and set out at two o'clock for a bookstore in Noe Valley called d.a.m.ned Spot. Inspectors Chi and McNeil were in the van parked on Twenty-fourth Street, and I was wired for sound. Inspectors Lemke and Samuels were undercover, loitering in front of and behind the store.My palms were damp as I waited with Conklin in the patrol car. The Kevlar vest I was wearing was hot, but it was my racing mind that was causing the heat.Could this be it? Was Linc Weber also known as Pidge?At three thirty Conklin and I got out of the car and walked around the corner to the bookstore.d.a.m.ned Spot was an old-fashioned bookstore, dark, filled with mystery books, secondhand paperbacks, a two-books-for-one section. It bore no resemblance to the air-conditioned chain stores with latte bars and smooth jazz coming over the speakers.The cashier was an androgynous twenty-something in black clothes, hair buzzed to a bristle, and multiple face piercings. I asked for Linc Weber, and the cashier told me in a sweet feminine voice that Linc worked upstairs.I could almost hear the scratching sound of mice nesting in the stacks as we crept along the narrow aisles and edged past customers who looked psychologically borderline. In the back of the store was a plain wooden staircase with a sign on a chain across the handrails reading NO ENTRY.Conklin unlatched the chain, and we started up the stairs, which opened into an attic room. The ceiling was cathedral-style, but low, only eight feet high under the peak, tapering to about three feet high at the side walls. In the back of the room was a desk where high piles of magazines, papers, and books surrounded a computer with two large screens.And behind the desk was a black kid, maybe fifteen, reed-thin, with black-rimmed gla.s.ses, no visible tattoos, and no jewelry, unless you counted the braces on his teeth, which I saw when he looked up and smiled.My high hopes fell.This wasn't Pidge. The governor's description of Pidge was of a stocky white kid, long brown hair."I'm Linc," the boy said. "Welcome to CrimeWeb dot com."
Chapter 112.
LINC WEBER SAID he was "honored" to meet us. He indicated two soft plastic-covered cubes as chairs, and he offered us bottled water from the cooler behind his desk.We sat on his cubes, turned down the water."We read your commentary on the Web site," said Conklin, casually. "We were wondering about your take on whoever set the Malone and Meacham fires."The kid said, "Why don't I start at the beginning?"Normally that was a good idea, but today my nerves were so close to the snapping point, I just wanted two questions answered, and as succinctly as possible: Why did you use a Latin phrase on your Web site? Do you know someone who goes by the name of Pidge?But Weber said he'd never had a visit from cops before, and meeting in his office had legitimized his purpose and his Web site beyond his expectations. In fifteen minutes, he told us that his father owned d.a.m.ned Spot, that he'd been a crime-story aficionado since he was old enough to read. He said that he wanted to publish crime fiction and true-crime books as soon as he got out of school."Linc, you said 'Have a nice day' in Latin on your Web site. Why did you do that?" I said, breaking into his life's story."Oh. The Latin. I got the idea from this."Linc shuffled the piles on his desk, at last finding a soft-cover book, about 8 by 11, with an elegant font spelling out the words 7th Heaven. He handed the book to me. I held my breath as I flipped through the pages. Although it resembled a big, fat comic book, it was a graphic novel."It was published first as a blog," Weber told us. "Then my dad staked the first edition.""And the Latin?" I asked again, my throat tightening from the strain and the possibilities I could almost see."It's all in there," Weber told me. "The characters in this novel use Latin catchphrases. Listen, can I say on my Web site that you used me as a consultant? You have no idea what that would mean to me."I was looking at the t.i.tle page of the book I held in my hands. Under the t.i.tle were the names of the ill.u.s.trator and the writer.Hans Vetter and Brett Atkinson.There was an icon under each of their names.Hans Vetter was the pigeon and Brett Atkinson, a hawk.
Chapter 113.