2nd Chance - James Patterson [13]
Jill’s sharp blue eyes twinkled. “The representative from the district attorney’s office is willing to cede the floor to her esteemed colleague from the third floor.”
“Jesus, guys, I’ve been on this case for two days.”
“What the hell else is anybody in the city talking about?” said Claire. “You want to hear about my day? I did a full frontal at ten, then a talk at SFU on the pathology of—”
“We could talk about global warming,” Cindy said, “or this book I’m reading, The Death of Vishnu.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” I protested. “It’s just that it’s sealed, confidential.”
“Confidential, like what I turned you on to in Oakland?” Cindy asked.
“We have to talk about that,” I said. “After.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jill said. “You share it with us. Like always. Then I’ll share something. You judge which is juicier. Winner pays the check.”
I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in. How could I keep secrets from my girls? It was all over the news—at least part of it. And there weren’t three sharper minds anywhere in the Hall.
I let out an expectant sigh. “This all stays here.”
“Of course,” Jill and Claire said. “Duh.”
I turned to Cindy. “And that means you don’t go to press. With any of it. Until I say so.”
“Why do I get the sense I’m always being blackmailed by you?” She shook her head, then acquiesced. “Fine. Deal.”
Jill filled up my glass. “I knew we’d eventually break you down.”
I took a sip. “Nah. I decided to tell you when you said, ‘Tough day?’ ”
Piece by piece, I took them through the case so far. The decal Bernard Smith had seen on the getaway van. The identical drawing I had found in Oakland. The possibility that Estelle Chipman might have been murdered. Claire’s thought that Tasha Catchings may not have been an accidental target after all.
“I knew it,” Cindy shouted with a triumphant beam.
“You’ve got to find out what that lion image represents,” insisted Claire.
I nodded. “I’m on it. Big-time.”
Jill, the A.D.A., inquired, “Anything out there that actually ties these two victims together?”
“Nothing so far.”
“What about motive?” she pressed.
“Everyone’s reading them as hate crimes, Jill.”
She nodded cautiously. “And you?”
“I’m starting to read them differently. I think we have to consider the possibility that someone’s using the hate crime scenario as a smoke screen.”
There was a long silence at the table.
“A racial serial killer,” Claire said.
Chapter 16
I HAD SHARED MY NEWS, all of it bad. Everyone ran it over glumly.
I nodded to Jill. “Now you…”
Cindy jumped the gun. “Bennett’s not going to run again, is he?” In her eight years in the prosecutor’s office, Jill had shot up to be his number two in command. If the old man decided to step down, she was the logical choice to be appointed San Francisco’s next D.A.
Jill laughed and shook her head. “He’ll be propped up at that oak desk the day he dies. That’s the truth.”
“Well, you’ve got something to tell us,” pressed Claire.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I do….”
One by one, Jill met each one of our gazes as if to ratchet up the suspense. Those normally piercing cobalt eyes had never looked so serene. At last, a crooked little smile crept across her face. She let out a sigh, then said, “I’m pregnant.”
We sat there, waiting for her to admit that she was just putting us on. But she didn’t. She just kept those sharp eyes blinking right in our faces, until thirty seconds must have gone by.
“Y-you’re joking,” I stammered. Jill was the most driven woman I knew. You could catch her at her desk most any night until after eight. Her husband, Steve, ran a venture fund for Bank America. They were fast-track achievers: They mountain-biked in Moab, windsurfed on the Columbia River in Oregon. A baby…
“People do it,” she exclaimed at our amazement.
“I knew it,” Claire exclaimed, slapping the table. “I just knew it. I saw the look in your eyes. I saw that sheen on your face. I said, something’s toasting in that oven. You’re talking