James Patterson: The 6th Target

"But you planned this shooting, didn't you?" I asked, keeping my voice level, even giving Brinkley an encouraging smile. "Isn't it true that you were carrying a loaded gun?"

"I always carry Bucky," Brinkley said. "But I didn't want to hurt those people. I didn't know them. I didn't even think they were real until I saw the video on TV."

"Is that right? So why'd you shoot them?" Jacobi asked.

Brinkley stared over my head into the glass of the two-way mirror. "The voices told me to do it."

Was that the truth? Or was Brinkley staging his insanity defense right now?

Jacobi asked him what kind of voices he was talking about, but Brinkley had stopped answering. He dropped his chin toward his chest, mumbling, "I want you to lock me up. Will you do that? I really need some sleep."

"I'm pretty sure we can find you an empty cell on the tenth floor," I said.

I knocked on the door, and Sergeant Steve Hall came into the interrogation room. He stood behind the prisoner.

"Mr. Brinkley," I said as we all came to our feet, "you've been charged with the murders of four people, attempted murder of another, and about fourteen lesser crimes. Make sure you get a good lawyer."

"Thank you," Brinkley said, looking me in the eyes for the first time. "You're an honorable person. I really appreciate all you've done."

THE NEWSPAPER WAS WAITING outside my front door the next morning, the headline huge over Cindy's byline: FERRY SHOOTER IN DRY DOCK.

When I arrived at the Hall of Justice, a knot of reporters was waiting for me.

"How do you feel, Lieutenant?"

"Fantastic," I said, grinning. "Doesn't get any better than this."

I answered questions, praised my team, and smiled for a few pictures before going into the building, taking the elevator to the third floor.

When I walked through the gate to the squad room, Brenda struck a little gong she kept at her station and then stood up and hugged me. I could see the flowers on my desk from across the room.

I gathered everyone together and thanked them for all they'd done, and when Inspector Lemke asked if I could give lessons in how to conjure up murderers, we all cracked up.

"I've got the nose-twitching part down pat," he said, "but nothing happens."

"You gotta twitch your nose, cross your arms, and blink at the same time !" Rodriguez shouted.

I was pouring coffee for myself in the lunchroom before diving into the thick pile of paperwork taking up half my desktop when Brenda peeked around the doorway, saying, "The chief is on line one."

I went to my office, moved a huge basket of flowers from my desk. Glanced at the small card sticking up between the roses. There were a whole lot of X's and O's on the note from Joe, my wonderful guy.

I was still smiling when I pressed the blinking button on my phone, the chief's voice all mellow, asking me to come upstairs to his office.

"Let me get the team," I said, but he told me, "No, just come by yourself."

I let Brenda know I'd be back in a few minutes and took the stairs to Tracchio's walnut-paneled office on the fifth floor.

The chief stood up when I entered, reached his meaty hand across his desk, grasping mine, saying, "Boxer, bringing down that wackjob makes this a good day for the SFPD. I want to thank you again for your excellent work."

I said, "Thanks, Chief. And thanks for backing me up." I was readying to leave – but an embarrassed look came over the chief's face, a look I hadn't seen him wear before.

He gestured for me to sit down and he did the same, rolling his chair back and forth on the acrylic rug-protector a couple of times before locking his hands across his midsection.

"Lindsay, I've come to a conclusion that I've been fighting tooth and nail."

He was going to give me more manpower?

A bigger overtime budget?

"I've watched firsthand how you worked this case, and I'm impressed at how much tenacity and determination you showed in the investigation."

"Thanks -"

"And so I have to admit that you were right and I was wrong."

Right about what?

My mind raced ahead of his words, trying to gain a half second on him – and failing.

"As you've told me," Tracchio continued, "you belong on the street, not chained to a desk. And I get it now. I finally understand. Simply put, administrative work is a waste of your talent."

I stared at the chief as he put a badge down on the desktop in front of me.

"Congratulations, Boxer, on your well-earned demotion to sergeant."

SUDDENLY I WAS DIZZY with disbelief.

I heard Tracchio speaking, but it was as if his desk had shot back through the wall and he was talking to me from somewhere over the freeway.

"You'll have a dotted-line reporting relationship to me. Keep your current pay grade, of course…"

Inside my head, I was screaming, Demotion? You're demoting me? Today ?

I made a grab for the edge of his desk, needing to hold on. I saw Tracchio fall back into his chair, the expression on his face telling me that he was as stunned by my reaction as I was by his announcement.

"What is it, Boxer? Isn't this what you wanted? You've been nagging me for months -"

"No, I mean, yes . I have . But I wasn't expecting -"

"Come on, Boxer. What are you telling me? I spent all night clearing this up and down the line because you said it's what you wanted."

I opened my mouth, closed it again. "Give me some time to get my head around this, okay, Tony?" I sputtered.

"I give up," Tracchio said, picking up his stapler and banging it down on his desk. "I don't understand you. I never will. I give up, Boxer!"

I don't remember leaving the chief's office, but I do remember a long walk to the stairway, a strained smile on my face as people called out their congratulations when I passed their desks.

My mind was cycling on a short loop.

What the hell had I been thinking?

And what did I want?

I found the stairwell and was leaning heavily on the banister, making my way down to the squad room, when I saw Jacobi coming up the other way.

" Warren , you're not going to believe this."

"Let's get out of here," he said.

We took the stairs to the ground floor and out onto Bryant, heading toward the Flower Mart.

"Tracchio called me last night," Jacobi said as we walked. I looked up at him. Jacobi and I have never had any secrets from each other, but I read pain on his face, and that jolted me.

"He offered me the job, Lindsay. Your job. But I told him I wouldn't take it unless it was okay with you."

The rumble under my feet was surely the Caltrain coming into the station, but it felt like an earthquake.

I knew what I was supposed to say: Congratulations. Brilliant choice. You'll be great, Jacobi .

But I couldn't get out the words.

"I need some time to think, Jacobi. I'm taking the day off," I sputtered.

"Sure, Lindsay. Nobody's going to do anything unless -"

"Maybe two days."

"Lindsay, stop! Talk to me."

But I was gone.

I jaywalked across the street. Got my car out of the lot and drove down Bryant to Sixth, and from there got onto 280 South, heading toward Potrero Hill.

I jerked my phone off my belt and autodialed Joe's cell phone as I drove, listened to the ring tone as I floored my Explorer and took it into the fast lane.

It was one p.m. in Washington.

Pick up, Joe!

The ring went into his voice mail, so I left a message: " Call me. Please ."

Then I phoned San Francisco General.

I asked the operator to put me through to Claire.