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But as soon as she unzipped her case, I saw the blue personnel folder. And then a name, Boxer, Martin C.

  “I must’ve told you,” Jill said, cracking her beer and sitting herself down across from me, “that my father was a defense lawyer back in Highland Park.”

  “Only a hundred times.” I flashed her a smile.

  “Actually, he was the best lawyer I ever saw. Totally prepared, unswayed by race or what a client could pay. My dad, the totally upright man. Once, I watched him work a case at night at home for six months to overturn the conviction of an itinerant lettuce farmer who was falsely convicted on a rape charge. A lot of people back then were pushing my dad to run for Congress. I loved my dad. Still do.”

  I sat there silently, watching her eyes grow moist. She took a swig of beer. “Took me until I was a senior in college to realize the bastard had cheated on my mother for twenty years. The big upstanding man, my hero.”

  I broke into a faint smile. “Marty’s been lying to me all along, hasn’t he?”

  Jill nodded, pushing my father’s dog-eared personnel file along with a deposition across my desk. The deposition had been folded open to a page highlighted in yellow. “You might as well read it, Lindsay.”

  I braced myself and, as dispassionately as I could, read through Kenneth Charles’s testimony. Then I read it over again. All the while, a sinking feeling of disappointment. And then fear. My first reaction was not to believe it; anger filled me. But at the same time, I knew it had to be true. My father had lied and covered up his whole life. He had conned and bullshitted and disappointed anyone who ever loved him.

  My eyes welled up. I felt so betrayed. A tear burned its way down my cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Lindsay. Believe me, I hated to show you this.” Jill reached out a hand and I took it, squeezed hard.

  For the first time since becoming a cop, I had no idea what to do. I felt a chasm widening; it couldn’t be filled with anything that resembled duty, or responsibility, or right.

  I shrugged, draining the last of my beer. I smiled at Jill. “So whatever happened to your father? Is he still with your mom?”

  “Fuck, no,” she said. “She was so tough sometimes, so cool. I just loved her. She threw him out when I was in law school. He’s been living in a two-bedroom condo in Las Colinas ever since.”

  I started to laugh, a painful laugh that mixed with the disappointment and the tears. When I stopped, I was left with this crushed feeling in my heart and all these questions that wouldn’t go away. How much had my father known? What had he kept silent about? And finally, what was his connection to Chimera?

  “Thanks,” I said. I squeezed Jill’s hand again. “I owe you, sweetie….”

  “What are you going to do, Lindsay?”

  I folded my jacket over my arm. “What I should’ve done a long time ago. I’m going to find out the truth.”

  Chapter 97

  MY FATHER WAS IN THE MIDDLE of a game of solitaire when I got home.

  I shook my head, slightly averting my eyes. I trudged into the kitchen, pulling a Black & Tan out of the fridge. I came over and sank into the chair across from him.

  My father looked up, maybe feeling the heat of my eyes. “Hey, Lindsay.”

  “I was thinking, Dad… about when you left….”

  He continued flipping through the deck of cards. “Why do you want to go through that now?”

  I kept my gaze on him. “You took me down to the wharf for some ices. Remember? I do. We watched the ferries coming in from Sausalito. You said something like, ‘I’m gonna get on one of those in the next few days, Buttercup, and I won’t be back for a while.’You said it was something between you and Mom. And for a while I waited. But for years I always wondered, Why did you have to leave?”

  My father’s lips moved as if he were trying to frame a response, then he stopped.

  “You were dirty, weren’t you? It was never about you and Mom. Or the gambling, or the booze. You helped Coombs murder that boy. That’s what it was all along. Why you left? Why you came back? None of it had anything to do with us. It was all about you.”

  My father blinked, trying to spit out a reply. “No…”

  “Did Mom even know? If she did, she always gave us the party line, that it was your gambling, and the alcohol.”

  He put down the deck of cards. His hands were trembling. “You may not believe it, Lindsay, but I always loved your mother.”

  I shook my head, and I wanted to get up and hit my father. “You couldn’t have. No one could hurt someone they love that much.”

  “Yes, they can.” He wet his lips. “I’ve hurt you.”

  We sat there, frozen in silence, for a few moments. The washed-over anger of so many years was hurtling back at me.

  “How did you find out?” he asked.

  “What does it matter? I was going to find out eventually.”

  He looked stunned, like a fighter hit with a solid upper-cut. “That trust, Lindsay… it’s been the best thing to happen to me in twenty years.”

  “Then why did you have to use me, Dad? You used me to get to Coombs. You and Coombs killed that boy.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” my father said, and shook his head back and forth, back and forth. “I just didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  A breath came out of him that seemed as if it had been held inside for twenty years. He told me how he had run after Coombs and found him in the alley. Coombs’s hands were wrapped around Gerald Sikes’s throat. “I told you things were different then. Coombs wanted to teach him a little respect for the uniform. But he kept squeezing. ‘He’s got something,’ he told me. I shouted at him, ‘Let go!’ When I realized it had gone too far, I went for him. Coombs laughed at me. ‘This is my territory, Marty-boy. If you’re scared, get the fuck out of here.’ I didn’t know the kid was going to die…. When Fallone came on the scene, Coombs let the kid drop and said, ‘Little bastard was trying to pull a knife on me.’ Tom was a vet; he sized it up fast. Told me to get lost. Coombs laughed and said, ‘Go…’ No one ever disclosed my name.”

  My eyes stung with tears. My heart felt as if it had a rip in it. “Oh, how could you? At least Coombs stood up. But you… you ran.”

  “I know I ran,” he said. “But I didn’t run the other night. I was there for you.”

  I closed my eyes, then opened them again. “It’s truth time. You weren’t there for me. You were following him. That’s why you’re back here. Not to protect me… to protect yourself. You came back to kill Frank Coombs.”

  My father’s face turned ashen. He ran his hand through his thick white hair. “Maybe at first.” He swallowed. “But not now… It changed, Lindsay.”

  I shook my head. Tears were running down my cheeks, and I angrily wiped them away.

  “I know you think that everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie. But it’s not. The other night, helping you escape, was the proudest moment of my life. You’re my daughter. I love you. I always have.”

  My eyes were still wet, and words came out I wished I could grab back. “I want you to go. I want you to pack up and go back to wherever you were for the past twenty years. I’m a cop, Dad, not your little Buttercup. Four people have been killed so far. You’re involved somehow. And I have no idea how much you know or what you’re hiding.”

  My father’s face went slack. I could see in the evaporating glow of his eyes how much this hurt.

  “I want you out,” I said again. “Right now.”

  I sat there, my arms folded around Martha, while he went into the guest room. A few moments later, he came out with his things packed. He looked small suddenly, and alone.

  Martha’s ears stood up. She sensed that something was wrong. She moseyed over to him, and he gently patted her head.

  “Lindsay, I know how much reason I’ve given you to hate me, but don’t do this now. You’ve got to watch out for Coombs. He’s going to come after you. Please, let me help….”

  My heart was breaking. I knew that the minute h
e walked out the door, I would never see him again.

  “I don’t need your help,” I said. Then I whispered, “Good-bye, Daddy.”

  Chapter 98

  FRANK COOMBS leaned stiffly against a pay phone on the corner of Ninth and Bryant. His eyes were riveted on the Hall of Justice. It had all been leading here.

  The pain in his shoulder cut through his body, as if someone were probing at the edges of the wound with a scalpel. For two days he had kept undercover, slipping down to San Bruno, hiding out. But his picture was on the front page of every paper. He had no money. He couldn’t even go back and get his things.

  It was almost two o’clock. The afternoon sun pierced his dark glasses. There was a crowd on the front steps of the Hall. Lawyers huddling in discussions.

  Coombs took in a calming breath. Hell, what do I have to be afraid of? He continued to stare toward the Hall of Justice. They should be afraid.

  The service revolver was holstered to his waist, thanks to old faithful, Tom Keating. The clip was filled with hollow points. He extended his shooting arm. Okay. He could do this.

  Coombs turned toward the pay phone. He placed a quarter in the slot and dialed. No more second chances. No more waiting. This was his time. Finally, after twenty-two years in hell.

  On the second ring, a voice answered, “Homicide Detail.”

  “Put me through to Lieutenant Boxer.”

  Chapter 99

  WE HAD A LINE on one of Coombs’s prison cronies who had fled to Redwood City. I was waiting for a call back.

  All morning, I had pushed the murder case forward—while in the back of my mind I replayed the devastating scene with my father. Was I right to judge him for things that had happened twenty years before? More important, what was my father’s involvement with Chimera?

  I was finishing a sandwich at my desk when Karen stuck her head in. “Call on line one, Lieutenant.”

  “Redwood City?” I asked as I reached for the phone.

  Karen shook her head. “This person said you would know him. Said he was an old friend of your father’s.”

  My body stiffened. “Put it on four,” I said. Four was the common line shared by the office. “Start a trace, Karen. Now…”

  I jumped out of my chair, urgently signaling to Jacobi in the outer room. I held up four fingers, pointing to the phone.

  In seconds, the office exploded into a state of alert. Everybody knew this had to be Chimera.

  We needed ninety seconds to get a solid read on the trace. Sixty to narrow it down to a sector of town. If he was even calling from town. Lorraine, Morelli, and Chin all ran in, their faces tight with anticipation.

  I picked up the phone. In the squad room, Jacobi picked up as well. “Boxer,” I said.

  “Sorry we missed out on all the real fun the other night, Lieutenant.” Coombs laughed. “I wanted to do you. In my own special way.”

  “Why are you calling?” I asked. “What do you want, Coombs?”

  “I have important things to tell you. Might help you make sense of the last twenty years.”

  “I’m fine with them, Coombs. You were put away for murder.”

  He chuckled grimly. “Not my twenty years… yours.”

  My heart jumped. I was talking to a man who had raised a pistol to my head. I had to engage him. Anger him… Anything to keep him on the goddamn line.

  I looked at my watch; thirty-five seconds had gone by. “Where are you, Coombs?”

  “Always the departmental small talk, huh, Lieutenant? I’m starting to lose some respect for you. You’re supposed to be a smart chick. Make your Marty-boy proud. So tell me, how come all these people are dead and you still don’t have it figured right?”

  I could feel him sneering at me. God, I hated this man. “What is it, Coombs? What haven’t I figured out?”

  “I heard your daddy ran out on you about the time I went to jail,” he said.

  I knew what he was building up to tell me. Still, I had to keep him on the line. In the outer room, Jacobi was listening, but he was also watching me.

  Coombs snickered. “You probably thought that the old man was jacking off some barmaid. Or that he left some bad markers out on the street.” Coombs put on a voice of mock sympathy. “God, it must’ve been tough when he took off and your mom died.”

  “I’m going to enjoy nailing you, Coombs. I’ll be there when they start the drip at San Quentin.”

  “Too bad you won’t have the chance, sweetheart. But I wanted to tell you something important. Listen. Your old man did leave markers. To me… I own them…. I took the fall. For him. For the whole police department. I own them all. I did the time. But guess what, little Lindsay? I wasn’t alone.”

  Every fiber in my body tightened. My chest nearly exploded with rage. I glanced at Jacobi. He nodded to me as if to say, A few more beats… Keep him on.

  “You want me, Coombs? I saw the photo in your room. I know what you want. I’ll meet you anywhere….”

  “You want the killer so bad, it’s almost touching. But sorry, I have to pass on your offer. I’ve got one more date.”

  “Coombs,” I said, glancing at the clock, “you want me, let’s go at it. Can you beat a woman, Frank? I don’t think you can.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. Thanks for the fun talk. But it seems like, everything that happens, you’re just a tad too late. I still don’t think broads belong in the department. Just an opinion.”

  I heard a click.

  I ran out into the squad room. Cappy had a line going with Dispatch. I was desperately hoping Coombs hadn’t used a cell phone. Cells were the hardest to trace. One more date… I didn’t know what the hell Coombs was threatening. What was next? What?

  “He’s still in the city,” Cappy shouted to me. He reached for a pen. “He’s in a phone booth. They’re trying to narrow it down.”

  The detective started to write, then he looked up. His face was screwed in disbelief. “He’s in a booth… at the corner of Ninth and Bryant.”

  All of our eyes met, and then everybody in the room was moving.

  Coombs was calling from a block away.

  Chapter 100

  I STRAPPED ON MY GLOCK and yelled a call for closest available unit. Then I charged out of the office. Cappy and Jacobi trailed on my heels.

  Just a block away… What was Coombs going to do?

  I didn’t wait for the elevator. I bounded down the back stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. In the lobby, I pushed through staffers and civilians standing around and burst through the glass doors leading to Bryant Street.

  There was the usual mass of people milling around on the front steps at lunchtime: lawyers, bondsmen, and detectives. I turned my gaze toward Ninth, craning my head to spot anyone who looked like Coombs.

  Nothing.

  Cappy and Jacobi caught up to me. “I’ll go ahead,” Cappy said.

  Then it hit me. One more date… Coombs was here, wasn’t he? He was at the Hall of Justice.

  “Police,” I shouted, signaling the unsuspecting crowd. “Everybody stand alert.”

  I scanned through the startled crowd for his face. My Glock was at the ready. Bystanders looked at me in wide-eyed surprise. Several crouched down or started to move away.

  This is what I remember about what happened next:

  A uniformed cop came up the stairs, walking toward me. I hardly noticed; I was scanning for Coombs’s face.

  The uniform came out of the crowd, the face obscured behind sunglasses and the visor of his hat. He was holding out his hand.

  I focused right past him, scanning down the street, searching for Coombs. Then I heard someone shout my name. “Hey! Boxer!”

  Everything exploded on the steps of the Hall. Jacobi, Cappy, yelling, “Gun…”

  My eyes flashed toward the cop. In that instant, the strangest thing came clear to me. His blues… He was wearing a patrolman’s uniform that I hadn’t seen in a while. I fixed on the face, and to my shock, it was Coombs. It was Chimera. I was the d
ate he was planning to keep.

  Someone spun me from behind as I raised my Glock. “Hey!” I yelled.

  I saw Coombs’s gun spurt orange. Twice. Nothing I could do to stop it.

  Then everything got incredibly crazy and confused. Chaos. Terror.

  I know that I got off a shot before my body went numb with pain.

  I saw Coombs lurch forward, his glasses flying off, his gun pointed my way. He staggered, but he was still coming for me. His dark eyes glared with hate.

  Then a scary shooting gallery erupted in front of the Hall. A cacophony of loud, echoing pops… five, six, seven in rapid succession, coming from all directions. People were screaming, running for cover.

  Coombs’s blue uniform erupted in bursts of bright red. Cappy and Jacobi were firing at him. His body hurtled backward, jerking with the hits. His face showed terrible pain. The air was laced with a burning cordite smell. The echo of each shot crashed in my ears.

  Then it was eerily quiet. The silence was startling to me.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I remembered saying, finding myself down on the concrete steps. I didn’t know for sure if I’d been shot.

  Jacobi was leaning over me. “Lindsay, stay right there. Be still.” His hands were on my shoulders, and his voice reverberated through my brain.

  I nodded, inventorying my body for a wound. Shouts and wails echoed all around, people rushing everywhere.

  I reached for Warren’s arm and slowly pulled myself up. He tried to give me an order: “Lindsay, stay down. I’m telling you now.”

  Coombs was on his back, ruptures of crimson oozing out of his blue shirt.

  I pushed by Jacobi. I had to see Coombs, had to look into his eyes. I hoped he was still alive, because when the monster took his last breath, I wanted him staring up at me.

  A few uniforms had formed a protective ring around Coombs, ordering everyone to stay clear.

  Coombs was still alive, labored sounds escaping from his heaving chest. An EMS team came running, two techs lugging equipment. One, a woman, began ripping at Coombs’s bloody shirt. The other was taking his pressure and setting up an IV.