A Killing in China Basin - Kirk Russell [60]
She slowed now to a steady jog and wondered what Grainer really knew about solving homicides. What could you know if you’d never worked a murder case? La Rosa’s face was flushed, her spine wet with sweat when she dropped to a walk. She figured to walk at least a mile to cool down. She liked this part of her workout. She could think better walking than running.
After several blocks she turned up a steep hill to loosen a cramp in her right calf. She lengthened her stride to try to stretch the muscle out and as she reached down to massage it saw a dark blue Volvo wagon slowing on the street behind her, probably looking for an address. At the top of the hill she figured to jog the last blocks home. She was ready for a shower. She didn’t feel good about the way she’d ducked out earlier and needed to call Raveneau.
At the corner the Volvo was still there coming up the hill slowly and the cramp in her calf was actually worse. Bad enough to where she limped and didn’t run as she turned right and started across the hill and toward home. Then the same Volvo came around the corner behind her, now with its high beams on but still moving slower than her, which wasn’t easy, which she didn’t like. What registered now was that she’d seen the same car earlier, an older model she associated with being a teenager, riding to soccer games and getting told how to play by somebody’s dad who’d never played himself.
She stopped and knelt, pretending to retie her shoelace, and saw the car had stopped, the driver’s face unreadable behind the glare of the headlights. But she couldn’t stay down. The cramp hurt too much and she stood and started limping forward, deciding to cross the street if the car moved again and didn’t pass her.
What it did was pull out and speed up quickly, and when she turned the car braked hard alongside her, the passenger window was down, a man’s arm rising and then a flash of light, a blow to her head. Her legs crumpled.
A witness later described the sharp, hard pop of the gun discharging and the woman, the runner, falling in a way that convinced them she was dead. The car sped away. The witness called 911 and ran to her.
FORTY-ONE
Raveneau got a call from communications command and drove straight to the hospital. He badged the officer guarding the door and walked in carrying his laptop.
‘Elizabeth?’ He took her hand and she opened her eyes.
‘You,’ she said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Man, my head and neck hurt.’ She touched her forehead then the pillow. ‘I hit the sidewalk.’ Her voice was slowed, groggy. She could hear herself. ‘I’m fine. I’m lucky, right?’
‘Very lucky.’
‘I know, I screwed up.’
‘You didn’t screw up.’
‘I’ve got some stitches.’
‘I heard.’
‘It grazed me, my skull.’
She closed her eyes again. She’d been unable to get to her feet afterwards. She felt blood streaming from her head, heard a man talking to her and faraway sirens as she lay on the sidewalk. She knew the man with her was trying to help, but she couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. She remembered the ride here and the doctor telling her how lucky she was as he stitched her up. She opened her eyes again, stared at Raveneau.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked.
The coverage had gone national. Raveneau listened to local radio on the way here. KCBS reported, ‘Police are looking for a male assailant who shot and wounded a San Francisco homicide inspector tonight. The suspect is believed to have fled in a blue Volvo station wagon with license plates beginning with the letters T and F. He is armed and dangerous and anyone spotting the vehicle should keep their distance and call this number . . .’
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I want to ask you a couple of questions.’
‘OK, sure, let’s go.’
Her face was very pale. She needed to just rest here in the dark. He knew that.
‘Are you sure the shooter was male?’
‘Ninety percent.’ She mustered. She opened her eyes and said, ‘Wearing a dark-colored mask, like one of those they have now for extreme cold. It covered his head down to his collar bone. Bulky