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local guys and I swept a hundred yards into the woods." He shook his head in exasperation. "Not even a footprint. I looked around the car, too. It's locked. No blood, no sign of a struggle. But something happens to them out here. Someone accosts them. Twenty, thirty yards from the hotel." I took a frustrated 360-degree scan of the driveway and the nearby parking lot. A local police cruiser was set up outside the property gate. "Not accosts them. Too risky. It's in plain view. Maybe someone picked them up." "Reservations were only for two," he countered. "And the guy at the front door insists they were headed to their car." "Then they vanish?" Our attention was diverted by the swoosh of a long black limousine turning into the resort's pebbly driveway. It pulled up under the redwood overhang in front of the entrance. Raleigh and I watched the hotel door open and the doorman emerge rolling a trolley of bags out. The driver of the limo hopped out to open the trunk. It hit us both at the same time. "It's a long shot," said Raleigh, meeting my eyes. "Maybe," I agreed, "but it would explain how someone gained access without attracting anyone's attention. I think we should check if any limos have been reported stolen lately in the Bay Area." Another car turned into the driveway, a silver Mazda, and parked near the far end of the circle. To my dismay, a woman in cargo pants and a University of Michigan sweatshirt jumped out. "Raleigh, you said one of your particular skills was containment, didn't you?" He looked at me as if I had asked Dr. Kevorkian, You're sort of good at mixing chemicals, aren't you? "Okay," I said, eyeing the approaching figure, "contain this." Walking up to us was Cindy Thomas. :i
Chapter 31
"EITHER YOU'VE GOT the sharpest nose for a story I've ever seen," I said to Cindy Thomas angrily, "or I may start to think of you as a murder suspect." This was the second time she had intruded in the middle of a possible crime scene. "Don't tell me I'm stepping on some interoffice romance?" she quipped. That made me steaming mad. We had a developing situation here. If it got in the news prematurely, it would hurt any chance the department had to control this case. I could just imagine the nightmare headlines: bride and groom killer strikes again. And Roth would be livid. This would be the second time I had failed to control the crime scene with the same reporter. "Who's your friend?" Raleigh asked. "Cindy Thomas," she announced, extending her hand. "And you?" "Cindy's with the Chronicle," I alerted him. Raleigh did a startled double take, left in mid shake like a fired worker holding the hand of his replacement. "Listen very clearly, Ms. Thomas," I said firmly. "I don't know if you've been around long enough to develop a sense for how this is supposed to work. But if you're planning on doing anything besides telling me why you're here and then packing up your little reporter's kit and driving away, you're definitely gonna make the department's shit list in a hurry." "Cindy," she reminded me. "But first, the much more interesting question is, why am I bumping into you out here?" Raleigh and I both glared at her with deepening impatience. "Answer my question," I pressed. "All right." She pursed her lips. "You two shooting up here on a Sunday, Captain Raleigh kicking around the woods and the parking lot, your grilling the hotel staff, both of you looking stumped. I have to figure it all starts to add up. Like the fact that the place hasn't been cordoned off, so no crime's been committed yet. That someone could be missing. Since we all know what you two are working on, it's not a far reach to assume it might be a couple who just got married. Possibly, that our bride and groom killer found himself number two." My eyes were wide, worried. "Either that"-she smiled-"or I've grossly misjudged things and you guys are just here zin-tasting for the department's wine club." "You picked up all that from watching us?" I asked her. "Honestly, no." She nodded toward the hotel gate. "Most of it was from the big-mouth local cop I was yapping with out there." Without meaning to, I started to smile. "Seriously, you realize you can't run with anything here," Raleigh said. "Another dead bride and groom? Same M.O.?" She snorted with resolve. "Damn right I'm going to run with it." I was starting to see the situation going straight downhill. "One thing I'd strongly consider would be to get in your car and just drive back into town." "Would you say that to Fitzpatrick or Stone?" ""If you went back to town, then I really would owe you one." She smiled thinly. "You're kidding, aren't you? Just walk away?" "Yeah, just walk away." Cindy shook her head. "Sorry. One, I'd probably get fired, and two, there's just no way I can let this pass." "What if I drove back with you?" I said, spur of the moment. "What if you can have pretty much what you're looking for, be on the inside, and give me some consideration at the same time?" Raleigh's eyes almost bulged out of his head, but I gave him my best let-me-handle-this expression. "When this story does break," Cindy insisted, "it's gonna be larger than any of us can control." "And when it does, it'll be yours." Her eyes narrowed. She was rolling around in her head whether she could trust me. "You mean from you, exclusive?" I waited for Raleigh to object. To my amazement, he went along. "Chief Mercer handling all the releases?" Cindy asked. "He is. All the public ones." I looked at Raleigh with my nerves jumping around like Mexican jumping beans. If I couldn't trust him, then when we got back to town, I could be facing maximum rebuke. I would have Roth at my desk, or worse, Mercer. But I already felt I could trust him. "So I'm gonna catch a ride back to town with Ms. Thomas," I said, waiting for his response. "Cindy," the reporter said with renewed determination. Raleigh began to nod in a gradual, acquiescent way. "I'll finish up with Hartwig. I'll talk to you soon. Ms. Thomas, an unexpected pleasure." I shot him a grateful smile. Then I took the reporter by the arm and said, "C'mon, Cindy, I'm gonna explain the rules along the way."
Chapter32
I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID IT.
It was risky and rash, precisely the opposite of whatever had gotten me as far as I was. Maybe I just wanted to say screw it in the face of authority. To Roth, Mercer. To play things my own way. Maybe the case was widening, and I just wanted to keep the illusion that it was in my control. Or maybe all I wanted to do was let someone else in. "Before we go anywhere," I said, grasping Cindy's wrist as she started up the car, "I need to know something. How did you find out about what was going on down here?" She took a deep breath. "So far, all that's happened is you've pushed me away from the story of my career. Now I have to give up my sources, too?" "Anything we do from here on is dependent on it." "I'd kind of prefer it if I can keep you guessing," Cindy said. "If this is gonna work, it's gotta be based on trust." "Then trust goes two ways, doesn't it, Inspector?" We sat there, baking in the hot Mazda littered with empty fast-food drink cups, sort of squaring off. "Okay," I finally relented. I gave her what little we knew about why we were in Napa that afternoon. The De Georges missing in action. That they had been married Friday night. The possibility that they were couple number two. "None of this goes to print," I insisted, "until we have confirmation. I give you the okay." Her eyes beamed with her suppositions suddenly confirmed. "Now it's your turn. There was no press here. Even local. How did you get onto this?" Cindy put the Mazda in gear. "I told you I was from Metro," she said, as the car putted out onto the main road, "and I've been fighting to stay on this story. My boss gave me the weekend to come up with something solid on this biggie. You had already brushed me off, so I parked myself down your street since yesterday and waited for something to turn up." "You followed me?" "Pretty desperate, huh? But effective." I scrolled back over the past two days. "To the movies? To the marina this morning?" She blushed slightly. "I was about to call it quits when your partner came by. I just tagged along for the ride." I pressed myself back in my seat and started to laugh. "Not so desperate," I muttered. "Bad guys've been falling for it for years." I was both embarrassed and relieved. On the drive back to town, I fleshed out the rules of our agreement. I had done this before when a reporter got too close on a story and threatened an investigation. She couldn't go out with this story until we had confirmation. When we did, I'd make sure she had it first. I'd keep her ahead of the story, but just slightly ahead. "There's a catch," I said firmly. "What we have now is what
you call a prioritized relationship. It goes past anything you already have- with your boyfriend or someone at work. Even your boss. Anything I give you is totally between us, and it stays with us, until I give you the okay to run with it." Cindy nodded, but I wanted to make sure she understood. "Your boss asks you where any of this comes from, you just shrug. Some big shot in the department- I don't care if it's Chief Mercer himself- parks his limo outside your door and calls you in about some leak, you say, Thanks for the ride. The district attorney's office calls you down to a grand jury, asks you to give up your sources, and a judge slaps you into a cell- you just make sure you bring enough reading material to fill the time." "I understand," Cindy said. I could see in her eyes that she did. The rest of the trip we talked about ourselves, our jobs and hobbies, and an unexpected development began to take shape. I started to like Cindy. She asked me how long I'd been a cop, and I took her through more of the story than I had planned to. How my father was one, and how he'd left when I was thirteen. How I was sociology at S-F State. How I wanted to prove I could make a difference in a man's world. How a lot of who I was and what I did was simply trying to prove I belonged. She came back that she was sociology, too, at Michigan. And before we even hit Marin, we had discovered a few other startling things we had in common. Her younger brother was born on my birthday, October 5. She was also into yoga, and the woman who had first taught me, years before in South San Francisco, was now instructing her in Corte Madera. We both liked to read travel books and mysteries- Sue Grafton, Patricia Cornwell, Elizabeth George. We loved Gordon's House of Fine Eats. Cindy's father had died early- some seventeen years ago- eerily, when she was only thirteen, too. But the most chilling coincidence- the one that gave me an eerie feeling- was that he died of leukemia, cousin of the same degenerative disease that was coursing through me. I thought of telling her my secret, but I stopped short. That was Claire's to hear. But as we drew close to the Golden Gate, I had a premonition that I was riding with someone I was meant to be with, and definitely someone I liked to be with. Approaching the city, I called Claire. It was hours after we were supposed to meet, but she still seemed eager to get together -and I had a lot to share. We arranged to keep our date at Susie's, this time for an early dinner instead of a brunch. She pressed me for what I had found during the day. "I'll fill you in when I get there," I told her. Then I did the second thing that surprised me that day. I asked, "Do you mind if I bring a friend?"
Chapter33
C1NDY AND I were already into our second margarita by the time Claire walked in. From ten feet away, her smile seemed to brighten the entire room. I stood up and gave her a big hug. "Couldn't wait for the old mom?" she said, eyeing the array of empty glasses. "It's been a long day," I explained. "Say hey to Cindy." "Pleasure," said Claire brightly, grasping Cindy's hand. Though the date had been planned for just her and me, Claire was one of those people who rolled easily with whatever came up. "Lindsay's been telling me all about you," Cindy said over the din. "Most of it's true, unless she's been saying I'm some kind of crackerjack forensic pathologist," Claire said, grinning. "Actually, all she's been saying is that you're a real good friend." Susie's was a bright, festive cafe with faux-painted walls and pretty good Caribbean food. They played a little reggae, a little jazz. It was a place where you could kick back, talk, shout, even shoot a rack of pool. Our regular waitress, Loretta, came up, and we swayed Claire into a margarita for herself and ordered another round of spicy jerked wings. "Tell me about Reggie's graduation," I said. Claire stole a wing from our bowl and wistfully shook her head. "It's nice to know after all those years of school, they can actually say a few words that aren't 'phat' or 'it's the bomb." They looked like a bunch of street-struttin' kids auditioning for the Grammys, but the principal swears they'll come out of it eventually." "If they don't, there's always the Academy." I grinned, feeling light-headed. Claire smiled. "I'm glad to see you looking up. When we spoke the other day, it sounded like Cheery was pressing those big, ugly shoes of his all over your toes." "Cheery?" asked Cindy. "My boss. We call him Cheery 'cause he inspires us with his humanistic concern for those entrusted to his command." "Oh, I thought you were talking about my city editor." Cindy snickered. "The guy's only truly happy when he can threaten someone with their benefits. He has no due how demeaning and condescending he is." "Cindy's with the Chronicle," I said to Claire, seeing her react with surprise. There was an undeclared no-fly zone between the force and the press. To cross it, as a reporter, you had to earn your place. "Writing your memoirs, child?" Claire asked me with a guarded smile. . "Maybe." The short version. But with lots to tell. Claire's margarita arrived, and we raised our glasses. "To the powers that be," I toasted. Cindy laughed. "Powers that be full of shit, powers that be pompous jerks, powers that be trying to keep you down." Claire yelped in approval, and we all clinked glasses as if we were old friends. "Y'know, when I first came to the paper," Cindy said, nibbling a wing, "one of the senior guys told me it was this particular editor's birthday. So I e-mail him this happy birthday message. I figure, him being my boss and all, it's a way to break the ice, maybe get a smile out of him. Later that day, the jerk calls me in. He's all polite and smiley. He's got bushy eyebrows as big as squirrels' tails. He nods me into the seat across from him. I'm thinking, Hey… the guy's human like everybody else." Claire smiled. Enthusiastically, I drained the last of my second drink. "So then the bastard narrows his eyes and says, Thomas, in the next hour and a half, I have sixty reporters trying to take everything that doesn't make sense in this fucking world and somehow cram it into forty pages. But it's reassuring to know that while everyone else is madly rushing against the clock, you've got the time to paste a happy little smiley face on my day." He ended up assigning me a week of picking a winner from a fifth-grade "Why I Want to Be an Editor for a Day' contest." I laughed and coughed up a little of my drink. "Goes under the heading of "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished." What did you do?" Cindy had a great smile. "E-mail it was the boss's birthday to every guy in the department. Jerks were slumping out of his office with their faces white all day." Loretta came around again, and we ordered meals: chicken in a hot sauce, fajitas, and a large salad to share. Three Dos Equis to go with them. We poured this lethal Jamaican hot sauce, Toasty Lady, on our wings and watched Cindy's eyes glaze over from the first fiery blast. "Rite of initiation." I grinned. "Now you're one of the girls." "It's either the hot sauce or a tattoo," Claire announced, straight-faced. Cindy scrunched up her eyes in an evaluating sort of way, then turned around and rolled up a sleeve of her T-shirt. She exposed two small G clefs etched on the back of her shoulder. "The downside of a classical education," she said with a crooked smile. My eyes met Claire's -and both of us hooted with approval. Then Claire yanked up her own shirt with a blush. Just below her ample brown waist, she revealed the outline of a tiny butterfly. "Lindsay dared me one day," she admitted. "After you broke up with that prosecutor from San Jose. We went down to Big Sur overnight. Just the girls. To let off some steam. Ended up coming back with these." "So where's yours?" Cindy turned to me and asked. "Can't show you." I shook my head. "C'mon," she pressed. "Let's see it." With a sigh, I rolled onto my left buttock and patted my right. "It's a one-inch gecko. With this really cute little tail. When some suspect's giving me a hard time, I push him up
V
against a wall and I tell him I'll stick it in his face so tight it's gonna look as large as Godzilla." A warm silence fell over us. For a moment, the faces of David and Melanie Brandt, even Negli's, seemed a million miles away. We were just having fun. I felt something happening, something that hadn't happened in a long time, that I desperately needed. I felt connected.
Chapter34
"SO NOW THAT WE'RE ALL FRIENDS…," said Claire, after we had eaten, "how'd the two of you meet up, anyway? Last I heard, you were going out to Napa to check on some missing newlyweds." Michael and Becky De George who a moment ago had seemed so far away, came hurtling back with a crash. I had so much to tell her, but the day had changed
so subtly from what I had planned. I almost felt deceitful, withholding, filling her in on what had taken place in Napa yet leaving out the important development that was going on inside of me. Claire took it in, digesting it all with that sharp mind of hers. She had consulted on several serial-homicide cases, both as a lead examiner and an expert witness. An idea was rolling through my head. In my weakened condition, I didn't relish the responsibility of running a media -i.,.Ai. intensive investigation into multiple homicides alone. What I came back with surprised even me. "How'd you like to lend me some help?" "Help?" Claire blinked with surprise. "How?" "This thing is about to explode, Claire," I said. "If there's a bride and groom killer out there, the attention will be national. We all have an interest in this case. Maybe we could meet like this. The three of us… off the record." Claire looked at me warily. "You're suggesting we do this on our own?" "We've got the top guns of the MEs office, Homicide, even the press, eye-deep in margaritas at this table." The more I thought it out, the more I knew it could work. We could reassemble whatever clues came out of the official investigation, share what we had, cut through the political cover-your-ass and the bureaucracy. Three women, who would get a kick out of showing up the male orthodoxy. More important, we shared a heartfelt empathy for the victims. Suddenly, the idea seemed lit with brilliance. Claire shook her head in an incredulous way. "C'mon," I pressed, "you don't think it would work? You don't think we'd be good at this?" "That's not it at all," she replied. "It's that I've known you for ten years, and never once, on anything, have I ever heard you ask for help." "Then surprise," I said, looking straight into her eyes. ""Cause I'm asking now." I tried to let her see that something was troubling me, something maybe larger than the case. That I wasn't sure I could handle it. That I could use the help. That there was more to it. Claire gradually broke into the slimmest acquiescent grin. "In margaritas veritas. I'm in." I beamed back, grateful, then turned to Cindy. "How about you? You in?" She stammered, "I-I have no idea what Sid Glass would say- but fuck him. I'm in." We clinked glasses. The Women's Murder Club was born. %a 'll
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