2nd Chance - James Patterson [8]
“Any more sightings on that white van?” I asked Jacobi. In a strange way it was good to be working with him again.
He grumbled and shook his head. “Got a lead on a couple of winos who hold a coffee klatch on that corner at night. So far, all we have is this.” He unfolded an artist’s rendering of Bernard Smith’s description—a two-headed lion, the sticker on the rear door of the van.
Jacobi sucked in his cheeks. “Who are we after, Lieutenant, the Pokémon killer?”
Across the grass, I spotted Aaron Winslow coming out of the church. A knot of protestors approached him from a police barrier some fifty yards away. As he saw me, his face tensed.
“People want to help any way they can. Paint over the bullet holes, build a new facade,” he said. “They don’t like to look at this.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid there’s still an active investigation going on.”
He took in a breath. “I keep playing it over in my mind. Whoever did this had a clear shot. I was standing right there, Lieutenant. More in the line of fire than Tasha. If someone was trying to hurt someone, why didn’t they hurt me?”
Winslow knelt down and picked up a pink butterfly hair clip from the ground. “I read somewhere, Lieutenant, that ‘courage abounds where guilt and rage run free.’ ”
Winslow was taking this hard. I felt sorry for him; I liked him. He managed a tight smile. “It’ll take more than this bastard to ruin our work. We won’t fold. We’ll have Tasha’s service here, in this church.”
“We were headed to pay our respects,” I said.
“They live over there. Building A.” He pointed toward the projects. “I guess you’ll find a warm reception, given that there’s some of your own.”
I looked at him, puzzled. “I’m sorry? What was that?”
“Didn’t you know, Lieutenant? Tasha Catchings’s uncle is a city cop.”
Chapter 10
I VISITED THE CATCHINGS’S apartment, paid my respects, then I headed back to the Hall. This whole thing was incredibly depressing.
“Mercer’s looking for you,” hollered Karen, our long-time civilian secretary, as I got into the office. “He sounds mad. Of course, he always sounds mad.”
I could imagine the folds under the chief’s jaw getting even deeper with the afternoon headline. In fact, the entire Hall was buzzing with the news that the La Salle Heights murder victim had been related to one of our own.
There were several other messages waiting for me on my desk. At the bottom of the pile I came across Claire’s name. Tasha Catchings’s autopsy should be finished by now. I wanted to hold off on Mercer until I had something concrete to report, so I called Claire.
Claire Washburn was the sharpest, brightest, most thorough M.E. the city ever had, notwithstanding the fact that she also happened to be my closest friend. Everyone associated with law enforcement knew it, and that she ran the department without a hitch while Chief Coroner Righetti, the mayor’s stiff-suited appointee, traveled around the country to forensic conferences working on his political résumé. You wanted something done in the M.E.’s office, you called Claire.
And when I needed someone to set me straight, make me laugh, or just be there to listen, that’s where I went, too.
“Where you been hiding, baby?” Claire greeted me with her always upbeat voice, which had the ring of polished brass.
“Normal routine.” I shrugged. “Staff appraisals, case write-ups… city-dividing, racially motivated homicides…”
“Just my region of expertise.” She chuckled. “I knew I’d be hearing from you. My spies tell me you’ve got yourself a bitch of a case out there.”
“Any of those spies maybe work for the Chronicle and drive a beat-up silver Mazda?”
“Or the D.A.’s office, and a BMW five-thirty-five. How the hell do you think information ever gets down here, anyway?”
“Well, here’s one, Claire. Turns out the dead little girl’s uncle is in uniform. He’s at Northern. And the poor kid ends up being a poster child for the La Salle Heights project in action. Top-of-the-line student, never once in trouble. Some justice, huh? This