2nd Chance - James Patterson [76]
I kept searching the room. Something had to be here. Coombs was Chimera….
I kicked a desk drawer in, sending a lamp toppling to the floor. In the same frustrated fit, I grabbed hold of the mattress and angrily ripped it off the bed.
“It’s here, Jill. Something has to be.”
To my surprise, a manila envelope that had been between the mattress and the box spring fell to the floor. I picked it up and spilled the contents onto Coombs’s bed.
It wasn’t a gun or something taken from the victims… but it was a virtual history of the Chimera case. Newspaper and magazine articles, some of them going back twenty-two years to the trial, one from TIME magazine, detailing the case. One, headlined “POLICE LOBBY DEMANDS COOMBS ARREST,” had a picture of an Officers for Justice rally at City Hall Square. Scanning through it, my eye was drawn by a slashing red circle Coombs had made, highlighting a quote ascribed to a group spokesman, Patrol Sergeant Edward Chipman.
“Bing-o.” Jacobi whistled.
Continuing on, we came upon articles on the trial and copies of letters from Coombs to the POA demanding a new trial. A faded copy of the original Police Commission’s report on the incident in Bay View. There were lots of angry comments penned in the margins by Coombs. “Liar,” boldly underlined, and “Fucking coward.” A bold red bracket highlighted the testimony of Field Lieutenant Earl Mercer.
Then a series of current articles, tracing the most recent murders: Tasha Catchings, Davidson, Mercer… a blurb in the Oakland Times about Estelle Chipman with a scrawled-in comment, “A man without honor dishonors everything.”
I looked at Jill. It wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t something we could tie directly to a murder case. But it was enough to remove all doubt that we had found our man. “It’s all here,” I said. “At least we can make this stick for Chipman and Mercer.”
She thought awhile, then finally bunched her lips together and gave me a satisfied nod.
As I rebundled the file, perfunctorily leafing through the last few items, something hit my eye. My jaw stiffened.
It was a newspaper clipping from the first press conference after the Tasha Catchings murder. The photo showed Chief Mercer standing behind several microphones.
Jill noticed my changed expression. She took the clipping out of my hand. “Oh God, Lindsay…”
In the photo’s background, behind Mercer, were several people connected to the investigation. The mayor, Chief of Detectives Ryan, Gabe Carr.
Coombs had drawn a bold red circle around one face.
My face.
Chapter 93
BY THE END OF THE DAY, Frank Coombs’s description was in the hands of every cop in the city. This was personal. We all wanted to bring him down.
Coombs had no belongings, no real money, no network that we knew of. By all reckoning, we should have him soon.
I asked the girls to get together in Jill’s office after everyone else had left. When I arrived, they were cheerful and smiling, probably thinking about congratulating me. The newspapers had Coombs’s picture on the front page. He looked like a killer.
I sank down on the leather couch next to Claire.
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “I don’t think we want to hear this.”
I nodded. “I need to talk about something.”
As they listened, I described my experience of the night before. The real version. How tailing Coombs had been risky and impulsive, though I hadn’t had any real choice. How I had gotten trapped. How, when I was sure there was no hope, my father had rescued me.
“Jesus, Lindsay.” Jill’s jaw hung incredulously. “Will you please try to be more careful…?”
“I know,” I said.
Claire shook her head. “You said to me the other day, I don’t know what I would do without you, and you go off taking a risk like that. Don’t you think it works the same for us? You’re like a sister. Please stop trying to be a hero.”
“A cowboy,” Jill said.
“Cowgirl,” Cindy chimed.
“A couple of seconds either way”—I smiled—“and you guys would be out on a membership drive about now.”
They sat staring at me, somber and serious. Then a ripple of laughter snaked its way around the