Patterson, James: Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance

“We believe this was the act of a single gunman...,” he was saying. “An isolated crime... ” If you only knew. He laughed.

Wait until tomorrow... You'll see. Just you wait, Chief Ass hole.

“What I want to stress,” the chief of police declared, “is that under no circumstance will we permit this city to be terrorized by racial attack... ”

This city. He spat. What do you know about this city? You don't belong here.

He clutched at a C-l grenade in his jacket pocket. If he wanted to, he could blow everything open right here.

Right now.

But there was work to do.

Tomorrow.

He was going for another personal record.

Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance

Chapter 9

THE NEXT MORNING Jacobi and I were back examining the grounds of the La Salle Heights Church.

All night long, I had fretted over what Cindy had told me about a case that had come across her desk. It involved an elderly black woman who lived alone in the Gustave White projects in West Oakland. Three days ago, the Oakland police had found her hanging from a pipe in the basement laundry room, an electrical cord tightly wound around her neck.

At first, the police assumed it was a suicide. No abrasions or defensive wounds were found on her body. But the next day, during the autopsy, a flaky residue was found packed under her nails. It turned out to be human skin with microscopic specks of dried blood. The poor woman had been desperately digging in to someone.

She hadn't hung herself after all, Cindy said.

The woman had been lynched.

As I went back over the crime scene at the church, I felt uneasy. Cindy could be right. This might not be the first, but the second in an onset of racially driven murders.

Jacobi walked up. He was holding a curled-up Chronicle.

“You see this, boss?”

The front page rocked with the blaring headline, “POLICE STUMPED AS GIRL, 11, Is KILLED IN CHURCH ASSAULT.” The article was written by Tom Stone and Suzie Fitzpatrick, whose careers had been nudged aside by Cindy's work on the bride and groom case. With the newspapers stoking the fire, and the activists Gray and Jones railing on the air, soon the public would be accusing us of sitting on our hands while the terror suspect was running free.

“Your buddies... ” Jacobi huffed. “They always make it about us.”

“Uh-uh, Warren.” I shook my head. “My buddies don't take cheap shots.”

Behind us in the woods, Charlie Clapper's Crime Scene Unit team was going over the ground around the sniper's position. They'd turned up a couple of foot imprints, but nothing identifiable. They would fingerprint the shell casings, grid-search the ground, pick up every piece of lint or dust where the supposed getaway vehicle had been parked.

“Any more sightings on that white van?” I asked Jacobi.

In a strange way it was good to be working with him again.

He grumbled and shook his head. “Got a lead on a couple of winos who hold a coffee klatch on that corner at night. So far, all we have is this.” He unfolded an artist's rendering of Bernard Smith's description: a two-headed lion, the sticker on the rear door of the van.

Jacobi sucked in his cheeks. “Who are we after, Lieutenant, the Pokemon killer?”

Across the grass, I spotted Aaron Winslow coming out of the church. A knot of protestors approached him from a police barrier some fifty yards away. As he saw me, his face tensed.

“People want to help any way they can. Paint over the bullet holes, build a new facade,” he said. “They don't like to look at this.” “I'm sorry,” I said. "I'm afraid there's still an active investigation going on.

He took in a breath. “I keep playing it over in my mind. Whoever did this had a clear shot. I was standing right there, Lieutenant. More in the line of fire than Tasha. If someone was trying to hurt someone, why didn't they hurt me?”

Winslow knelt down and picked up a pink butterfly hair clip from the ground. “I read somewhere, Lieutenant, that ' abounds where guilt and rage run free.” Winslow was taking this hard. I felt sorry for him; I liked him. He managed a tight smile. “It'll take more than this bastard to ruin our work. We won't fold. We'll have Tasha's service here, in this church.”

“We were headed to pay our respects,” I said.

“They live over there. Building A.” He pointed toward the projects. "I guess you'll find a warm reception, given that there's some of your own.

I looked at him, puzzled. “I'm sorry? What was that?”

“Didn't you know, Lieutenant? Tasha Catchings's uncle is a city cop.”

Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance

Chapter 10

I VISITED THE CATCHINGS'S apartment, paid my respects, then I headed back to the Hall. This whole thing was incredibly depressing.

“Mercer's looking for you,” hollered Karen, our longtime civilian secretary, as I got into the office. “He sounds mad. Of course, he always sounds mad.”

I could imagine the folds under the chief's jaw getting even deeper with the afternoon headline. In fact, the entire Hall was buzzing with the news that the La Salle Heights murder victim had been related to one of our own.

There were several other messages waiting for me on my desk. At the bottom of the pile I came across Claire's name.

Tasha Catchings's autopsy should be finished by now. I wanted to hold off on Mercer until I had something concrete to report, so I called Claire.

Claire Washburn was the sharpest, brightest, most thorough M.E. the city ever had, notwithstanding the fact that she also happened to be my closest friend. Everyone associated with law enforcement knew it, and that she ran the department without a hitch while Chief Coroner Righetti, the mayor's stiff-suited appointee, traveled around the country to forensic conferences working on his political resume.

You wanted something done in the M. E.'s office, you called Claire.

And when I needed someone to set me straight, make me laugh, or just be there to listen, that's where I went, too.

“Where you been hiding, baby?” Claire greeted me with her always upbeat voice, which had the ring of polished brass.

“Normal routine.” I shrugged. “Staff appraisals, case write-ups... city-dividing, racially motivated homicides... ”

“Just my region of expertise.” She chuckled. “I knew I'd be hearing from you. My spies tell me you've got yourself a bitch of a case out there.”

“Any of those spies maybe work for the Chronicle and drive a beat-up silver Mazda?”

“Or the D. A.'s office, and a BMW five-thirty-five. How the hell do you think information ever gets down here, anyway?”

“Well, here's one, Claire. Turns out the dead little girl's uncle is in uniform. He's at Northern. And the poor kid ends up being a poster child for the La Salle Heights project in action. Top-of-the-line student, never once in trouble. Some justice, huh? This bastard leaves a hundred slugs in the church and the one that hits finds its way into her.”

“Uh-uh, honey.” Claire cut me off. “There were two of them in there.”

“Two...? She was hit twice?” EMS had been all over the body. How could we have failed to catch that?

“If I'm hearing you right, my guess is you think this shot was some kind of accident.”

“What are you saying?” “Honey,” Claire said soberly “I think you better come on down for a visit.”

Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance

Chapter 11

THE MORGUE was on the ground floor of the Hall, out a back entrance and accessible from an asphalt path that led from the lobby. It took me no more than three minutes to rush down two flights of stairs.