Jacobi climbed in. He was wearing a striped golf shirt and some sort of short, hideous Members Only jacket. His belly bulged. He grinned like a John. “Hey, lady, what does an Andrew Jackson get me?”
“Dinner, maybe, if you're treating.”
“We got an ID?” he asked.
I shook my head. I told him what I had found out.
“Maybe he's moved on,” Jacobi offered. “How ' I go in and flash the badge? With Coombs's photo?”
I shook my head. “How ' we sit here and wait.”
We waited for over two hours. Stakeouts are incredibly dull. They would drive the average person nuts. We kept our eyes peeled on the William Simon, going over everything from Helen Keating, to what Jacobi's wife was serving for dinner, to the 49ers, to who was sleeping with who at the Hall. Jacobi even sprung for a couple of sandwiches from a Subway.
At ten o'clock, Jacobi grumbled, “This could go on forever! Why don't you let me go inside, Lindsay?”
He was probably right. We didn't even know if Helen Keating's number was current. She had taken it weeks ago.
I was about to give in when a man turned the corner on Larkin headed toward the hotel. I gripped Jacobi's arm. “Look over there.”
It was Coombs. I recognized the bastard instantly. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets, a floppy hat pulled over his eyes.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Jacobi muttered.
Watching the bastard slink up to the hotel, it took everything I had not to jump out of the car and slam him up against a wall. I wished I could slap him in cuffs. But we had Chimera now. We knew where he was.
“I want someone stuck to him, twenty-four hours,” I told Jacobi. “If he makes the tail, I want him picked up. We'll figure out the charges later.”
Jacobi nodded.
“I hope you brought a toothbrush.” I winked. “You've got first watch.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 82
AS THEY WALKED hand in hand toward her Castro apartment, Cindy admitted to herself that she was scared shitless.
This was the fifth time she and Aaron Winslow had been out together. They had seen Cyrus Chestnut and Freddie Hubbard at the Blue Door; been to Traviata at the opera; taken the ferry across the bay to a tiny Jamaican cafe that Aaron knew. Tonight, they had seen this dreamy film, Chocolat. o matter where this went tonight, she enjoyed being with him. He was deeper than most men she'd dated, and he was definitely more sensitive. Not only did he read unexpected books like Dave Eggers's A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter, he lived the life that he preached. He worked twelve-to-sixteen-hour days and was loved in his neighborhood, but he still managed to keep his ego in check. She'd heard it over an dover again interviewing people for her story: Aaron Winslow was one of the good guys.
All the while, though, Cindy had felt this moment looming in the distance. Hurtling closer and closer. Ticking. This was the natural step, she told herself. As Lindsay would say, their foxhole was about to explode.
“You seem a little quiet tonight,” Aaron said. “You okay, Cindy?”
“I'm great,” she fibbed. She thought he was just about the sweetest man she had ever gone out with, but, Jesus, Cindy, he's a pastor. Why didn't you think of this then? Is this a good idea? Think it through. Don't hurt him. Don't get hurt yourself.
They stopped walking in front of the entrance to Cindy's building and stood in the lighted arch. He sung a line from an old R&B tune, “I've Passed This Way Before.” He even had a good singing voice.
There was no use postponing it any longer. “Look, Aaron, someone has to say this. You want to come up? I'd like it if you did, hate it if you didn't.” He exhaled and smiled. “I don't exactly know where to take this, Cindy. I'm a little out of my range. I, uh, I've never dated a blonde before. I wasn't expecting any of this.” “I can relate to that.” She smiled. “But it's only two floors up. We can talk about it there.”
His lip was quivering slightly, and when he touched her arm it sent a shiver down her spine. God, she did like him.
And she trusted him.
“I feel like I'm about to cross this line,” he said. “And it's not a line I can cross casually. So I have to know. Are we there together? In the same place?”
Cindy elevated on her toes and pressed her lips lightly against his mouth. Aaron seemed surprised and at first he stiffened, but slowly he placed his arms around her and gave himself over to the kiss.
It was just as she had hoped, that first real kiss. Tender and breathtaking. Through his jacket, she could feel the rhythm of his heart pounding. She liked it that he was afraid, too. It made her feel even closer to him.
When they parted, she looked in his eyes and said, “We're there. We're in the same place.”
She took out her key and led him up the two floors to her place. Her heart was pounding.
“It's great,” he said. “I'm not just saying that.” A two-story wall of bookshelves and an informal open kitchen.
“It's you... Cindy, it seems silly that I haven't been up here before.”
“It wasn't for lack of trying.” Cindy grinned. God, she was so nervous.
He took hold of her again, this time giving her a longer kiss. He certainly knew how to kiss. Every cell in her body felt alive. The small hairs on her arms, the warmth in her thighs; she pressed herself against him. She wanted, needed, to be close to him now. His body was slender, but he was definitely strong.
Cindy started to smile. “So what were you waiting for?”
“I don't know. Maybe some kind of sign.” She herself into the grooves of his body, felt him come alive. “There's a sign,” she said, close to his face.
“I guess my secret's out now. Yes, I do like you, Cindy.”
Suddenly, the phone rang, almost blasting in their ears.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Go away; leave us alone.”
“I hope that's not another sign.” He laughed.
Each ring seemed more annoying than the last. Mercifully the answering machine finally kicked on.
“Cindy, it's Lindsay,” the voice shot. “I've got something important. Please. Pick. Up.”
“Go ahead,” Aaron said.
“Now that you're finally up here, don't use the time I'm on the phone to change your mind.”
She reached behind the couch, fumbled for the receiver, put it to her ear. "I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, she said.
“Funny; that's just what I was about to say Listen to this.”
Lindsay shared her news, and Cindy felt a rush of triumph surge through her. This was what she had wanted. It had been her angle that put Lindsay onto him. Yes!
“Mana`na,” she said, “and thanks for the phone call.” She placed the receiver down, squeezed back with Aaron, and looked into his eyes.
“You wanted a sign. I think I've got the best one in the world.” A glimmer lit her face.
“They found him, Aaron.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 83
WE KEPT WATCH all night at the William Simon. Unofficially So far, Coombs hadn't come out again. I knew where he was. Now all I had to do was make the case.
That was the morning Jill came back to work. I headed to her office to bring her up to date. Coming off the elevator on the eighth floor, I ran into Claire, who must've had the same idea.
“Great minds and all that,” she said.
“I've got big news,” I told her, beaming with anticipation.
“C'mon... ”
We knocked on her door and found Jill at her desk, looking a little peaked. Stacks of documents and legal files gave the impression she hadn't missed a single day. At the sight of us, her blue eyes sprang alive, but as she stood, her arms outstretched for a hug, Jilly seemed to be moving at half her usual speed.
“Don't,” I said. I went over and gave her a hug. “You've got to take it easy.”
“I
'm fine,” she answered quickly “Abdomen's a little stiff, heart's a little broken. But I'm here. And this is the best thing for me.”
“You sure this is the smartest thing?” Claire asked her. “you sure this is the smartest thing?” Claire asked her.
“It is for me,” Jill shot back. “I promise, Doc, I'm fine. So please, don't start trying to convince me otherwise. You want to help me start to heal, just bring me up to date on what's going on.”
We looked at her a little skeptically But then I had to share the news. “I think we found him.”
“Who?” Jill asked.
I beamed. “Chimera.”
Claire gave me a stare. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in prayer, then opened them with a sigh.
Jill looked impressed. “Jesus, you sonofabitches have been busy while I've been away.”
right questions, and I laid it all out for them. When I told them the name, Jill muttered, “Coombs... I remember the case from law school.” A spark lit in her sharp eyes. “Frank Coombs. He killed a teenage boy.” “You're sure it's him?” Claire asked. She was still wearing a bandage on her neck.
“I hope so,” I said. Then, without any doubt, “Yes, I'm sure it's him.”
“You arrest him yet?” Claire asked. “Can I visit him in his cell? Hmm? I've got this ball bat I've been meaning to try out.”
“Not yet. He's holed up at some dive in the Tenderloin. We've got him under twenty-four-hour watch.”
I turned to Jill. “What do you say, Counselor? I want to bring him in.”
She came over, a little gingerly, and leaned on the corner of her desk. “Okay, tell me exactly what you have.”
I went through each link: the loose connections to three of the victims, Coombs's history as a marksman, his documented grudge against blacks, how the OFJ had sealed his fate. But with each strand of evidence, I saw her conviction dim.
“Jill, listen.” I held up my hand. “He took a department-issued thirty-eight from a retired cop, and Mercer was killed with a thirty-eight. Three of the targets tie directly to his own history. I've got a guy in San Quentin who says he boasted he was out for revenge.”
“Thirty-eights are a dime a dozen, Lindsay. Do you have a match on the gun?”
“No, but Jill, Tasha Catchings's murder took place in the same neighborhood where Coombs went down twenty years before.”
She cut me off. “What about a witness who can place him at the scene? One witness, Lindsay?”
I shook my head.
“A print, then, or a piece of clothing. Something that ties him to one of the murders?”
With an exasperated breath, I reacted. “No.”
“Circumstantial evidence can convict, Jill,” Claire cut in. “Coombs is a monster. We can't just let him stay out on the streets.”
Jill looked sharply at both of us. Jeez, she was almost the Jill of old. “You don't think I want him as much as you? You don't think I look at you, Claire, and think just how close we came...? But there's no weapon, barely a motive. You haven't even placed him within sight of a murder scene. If you bust in and don't find anything, you've lost him for good.”
“Coombs is Chimera, Jill,” I said. “I know I don't have it buttoned up yet, but I've got a motive and links that tie him to three victims. As well as outside testimony that corroborates his intentions.”
“Jailhouse testimony,” said Jill. Juries laugh at it these days."
She got up, came over, and put a hand on both Claire's and mine. “Look, I know how badly you want to close this. I'm your friend, but I'm still the law. Bring me anything, someone who saw him at a scene, a print he left on a door. Give me anything, Lindsay, and I'll be bashing down his door to get at him same as you. Turn him upside down, rattle him until his spare change falls out.”
I stood there, teeming with frustration and anger but knowing that Jill was right. I shook my head and made my way toward the door.
“What are you going to do?” asked Claire.
“Rattle the fucker. Turn his life upside down.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 84
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Jacobi and I picked up Cappy outside the William Simon and headed into the run-down lobby of the hotel. A sleepy- eyed Sikh was leafing through a newspaper in his native tongue behind the front desk. Jacobi thrust Coombs's photo and his badge in front of the man's startled eyes.
“What room?”
It took about three seconds for the turbaned clerk to squint at the photo, flip through a bound black register, and in a tight accent say, “Tree-oh-seven. He is registered with the name Burns.” He pointed. “Elevator to the right.”
Moments later, we stood in the dingy, paint-chipped hallway on the third floor outside Coombs's room, flicking our automatics off safety.
“Remember, we're only talking,” I cautioned. “Keep your eyes open for anything we can use.”
Jacobi and Cappy nodded, then each took a position on either side of the door. Cappy knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked again. “Mr. Frank Burns?”
Finally, a heavy, grumbling voice. “Go the fuck away. Get lost, huh. I'm paid up through Friday.” Jacobi shouted, “San Francisco Police, Mr. Burns. We got you your morning coffee.”
There was a long pause. I heard some commotion, the sound of a chair being dragged and a drawer closed. Finally, the sound of footsteps coming closer and a voice barking, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Just to ask a few questions. You mind opening the door?”
It took about a minute of waiting with our fingers tensed on the triggers for the door to finally unlatch.
It swung open, revealing an angry Coombs.
Chimera.
His face was round and heavy, with eyes that sagged into deep-set craters. Short, graying hair, a large, flat nose, mottled skin. He had on a white short-sleeved undershirt pulled over rumpled gray trousers. And his eyes burned with hatred and disdain.
“Here... ” exclaimed Jacobi, swatting him in the chest with a rolled-up Chronicle. “Your morning paper. Mind if we come in?”
“Yeah, I mind.” Coombs scowled.
Cappy smiled. “Anyone ever tell you you're a dead ringer for this cat who used to be on the force? What the hell was the cat's name? Oh yeah, Coombs. Frank Coombs. You ever hear that from anybody before?”
Coombs blinked impassively, then his mouth curled into a half smile. “Wouldn't you know I get boarded on planes for him all the time.”
If he recognized Jacobi or Cappy from years ago on the force, he didn't register it, but he squinted a look of familiarity as his gaze fell on me. “Don't tell me, after all this time, you bozos are the department's welcome-home committee?”
“How ' you let us in?” Jacobi asked.
“You come with a warrant?” Coombs leered.
“I told you nicely, we're just delivering your morning paper.”
“Then make a fucking scene. C'mon,” Coombs said between gritted teeth. His eyes were something else; they burned a hole right into the back of your skull.
Cappy pressed the door firmly in Coombs's face, then he and Jacobi pushed their way into the room. “As long as we're here, we might as well run a couple of questions by you.”
Coombs rubbed his unshaven chin, glaring vicious darts at us. He finally pulled out a wooden chair from a small table and took a seat with his arms wrapped around its back.
“Fuckers,” he muttered. “Useless shitbirds.”
The tiny room was littered with newspapers, Budweiser bottles lined up on the sill, cigarette butts in Coke cans. I had the sense that if I could only poke around, something was there.
“This is Lieutenant Boxer of the Homicide Detail,” Jacobi said. “We're Inspectors Jacobi and Mcneil.”
“Congratulations.” Coombs grinned. "I feel safer already.
What do you Three Stooges want?"
“Like I said,” Jacobi replied, "you should read the papers.
>
Keep abreast of what's going on. You follow what's in the news much?“ ”You got something to say, say it," Coombs said.
“Why don't you start by telling us where you were four nights ago,” I started in. “Friday? Around eleven o'clock.”
“Why don't you kiss my ass.” Coombs sneered. “You want to play games, let's play I was either at the ballet or the opening of that new art exhibition. I can't recall. My schedule's too full these days.”
“Simplify it for us,” Cappy snapped.
“Sure. Yeah. Actually, I was with friends.”
“These friends,” Jacobi cut in. “They have names, phone numbers? I'm sure they'd be happy to vouch for you.”
“Why?” Coombs's mouth puckered into a slight grin. “You got someone who says I was somewhere else?”
“I guess what I was thinking” - I met his eyes - “was when was the last time you made it out to Bay View? Your old stomping grounds? Maybe I should say your choking grounds.”
Coombs glared. I could tell he wanted to wrap his hands around my neck.
“So he does read the papers,” Cappy chortled.
The ex-con continued to glare. “What the fuck, Inspector, you think I'm some rookie whose knees start to shake when you wag your dick at him? Sure, I read the papers. You assholes can't solve your case so you come up here and shake my bush for old times. You've got zip on me, otherwise you wouldn't be lap dancing in my face and we'd be having this talk down at the Hall. You think I killed all those dingo bastards, then lock me up. Otherwise, oh, look at the time. My Town Car's waiting. Are we done?”
I wanted to take him by the throat and smack his smug face against the wall. But Coombs was right. We couldn't take him in. Not with what we had. “There are a few questions you're going to have to answer, Mr. Coombs. You'll have to answer why three people are dead who had a connection to your murder charge twenty years ago. You'll have to answer what you were doing on the nights they were killed.”
The veins on Coombs's forehead started to bulge. Then he calmed, and curled his lips into a smile. “You must be up here, Lieutenant, ' you've got some eyewitness that can place me at one of the murder scenes.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance Page 17
