2nd Chance - James Patterson [75]
“Coombs called you?” I said, wide-eyed, completely in shock. “Why would he call you?”
“He asked how I’d enjoyed the last twenty years of my life, while he was away. If I’d made something of myself. He said it was time to pay me back.”
“Pay you back? Pay you back for what?” As soon as I asked the question, the answer shot through me. I stared hard into my father’s lying eyes.
“You were there that night, weren’t you? You were in this twenty years ago.”
Chapter 91
MY FATHER AVERTED HIS EYES. I’d seen the shamed and guilty look before—too many times—when I was just a little girl.
He started to explain. Here we go again, huh, Daddy?
“Six of us got to the crime scene, Lindsay. I was only there by chance. I was subbing for this guy, Ed Dooley. We were last on the scene. I didn’t see shit. We got there after everything had been played out. But he’s been badgering us, all of us, ever since.
“I never knew he was Chimera, Lindsay,” my father said. “That you have to believe. I never heard of this cop Chipman until you told me the other day. I thought he was just threatening me.”
“Threatening you, Dad?” I blinked in disbelief. My heart was breaking a little. “Threatening you with what? Please make me understand. I really want to understand.”
“He said he was going to make me feel the way he did all these years. Watching himself lose everything. He said he was going after you.”
“That’s why you came back,” I said with a sigh, “wasn’t it? All that stuff about wanting to set things right. Make amends with me. That wasn’t it at all.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’d already pissed away so much. I couldn’t let him take the rest, the part that was good. That’s why I’m here, Lindsay. I swear it. I’m not lying this time.”
My head was ringing. I had a murder suspect loose. Shots had been fired. I didn’t know what to make of this. What to do about my father? How much did he really know? How to deal with Coombs now? With Chimera?
“You’re telling me the truth? For once? This is my case, my big, important case. I have to know the truth. Please don’t lie to me, Dad.”
“I swear,” he said, his eyes hooded with shame. “What’re you going to do?”
I glared at him. “About what? About Coombs, or us…?”
“About this whole mess. What happened tonight.”
“I don’t know.” I swallowed. “But I do know one thing…. If I can, I’m bringing Coombs in.”
Chapter 92
BY TEN THE NEXT MORNING, I had a search warrant in my hands. It granted access to Coombs’s room at the William Simon. Half a dozen of us rushed over there in two cars.
Coombs was out in the open. There were things we could nail him for: like attempted murder of a police officer and resisting arrest. I had put out an APB on him and sent a team to go over the meet house where everyone had scattered the night before.
I asked Jill to meet Jacobi and me at the William Simon. I was hoping against hope that we’d find something in Coombs’s room that would tie him to one of the murders. If we did, I wanted a warrant in motion immediately.
The same Indian desk clerk let us in the room. It was unkempt, a row of crushed beer bottles and soda cans lining the windowsill. The only furniture was a metal-frame bed with a thin mattress, and a chest of drawers with his toiletries on top, a desk, a table, and two chairs.
“What’d ya expect”—Jacobi smirked—“… a Holiday Inn?”
Several newspapers were littered about, Chronicles and Examiners. Nothing out of the ordinary. On a ledge to the side of the bed, my eyes fell on a small marksmanship trophy—a prone sharpshooter aiming a rifle with the inscription Regional 50 Meter Straight Target Champion and Frank Coombs’s name.
It made my stomach turn.
I went over to the desk. Stuck under the phone were crumpled receipts and a few numbers I didn’t recognize. I found a map of San Francisco and the surrounding areas. I yanked out the drawers of the desk. An old Yellow Pages, some take-out menus to local restaurants, an out-of-date city guide.
Nothing…
Jill looked at me. She shook her head,