The 17th Suspect (Women's Murder Club 17)

“Talk to me,” he said.

“Martha needs a senior checkup,” I said.

“I’ll call the vet. What’s worrying you about the IAD meeting?”

“I’m nervous, Joe. Let’s face it. Stevens is going to try to ruin me. But I know what I saw. My intentions are damned good, and if that’s not enough, well, what else can I do?”

Julie ran out of her bedroom, entering the large living room, waving her arms and making sputtering, airplanelike noises. Joe tensed, ready to jump into action if she took a fall.

“Joooo-leee,” he called out. “Come to Daddy.”

She dipped her wings and course-corrected. The curly-haired single-engine aircraft flew to her daddy’s knees.

After she’d climbed into Joe’s lap, I said to him, “If the panel finds that I was out of line, the punishment phase is up to Jacobi. I saved his life once, don’t forget.”

“I know,” said Joe. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “You’ll do fine. I’m sure of it. Call me as soon as it’s over.”

“I will.”

I got up, kissed him, then bent to kiss my daughter, wondering how she’d adjust to the intrusion of another little attention-getter in the house. And what about Joe and me? How would a new child impact Joe’s hoped-for job, and what would it do to my own? Assuming I still had one.

I left the kitchen–living room–dining room and went to the bedroom closet. I hit the light switch and stared at my wardrobe. Next to my long red cocktail dress hung a raft of mostly white button-front shirts and a dozen pairs of blue, black, and khaki trousers. I had three blue blazers and one gray one in a dry cleaner’s bag, along with a pair of dark-gray slacks.

I went with the gray.

I put on makeup with an overly careful, possibly shaky hand, then drove to 850 Bryant, arriving at 8:40. I parked across the street, dodged traffic against the light, entered the Hall, and passed through security without a hitch.

The elevator whisked me to the fifth floor, and I didn’t run into anyone I knew. That was good. I wasn’t in a chatty mood.

I had rehearsed my complaint in my head, but when the elevator doors slid open on five, my mind blanked.

I no longer remembered even my opening line.

CHAPTER 64

THE DOUBLE DOORS to the IAD hearing room were wide open to the hallway.

I crossed the threshold and quickly got my bearings.

The white-painted room was no-frills. The overhead strip lighting was fluorescent. The California state flag and the Stars and Stripes flanked the long wooden table for the panel at the front of the room.

Hon was speaking to a man I didn’t know.

There were two front-facing tables at midpoint for the complainants, and a stenographer sat off to the side with her console. Neither Stevens nor my union rep nor Brady were there.

A row of folding chairs had been set up at the back of the room. Given the renowned secrecy of IAD, I wasn’t surprised that there was no gallery for press, curiosity seekers, or interested parties.

My phone buzzed.

I reached into my blazer pocket and checked the caller ID before answering. It was Carol Hannah, my union rep. I’d sent her an e-mail and left her a couple of messages but hadn’t heard back. Carol was a solid and feisty defender. It would be good to have her sitting next to me even if she didn’t say a word.

I took my phone to the rear of the room and faced the corner. In the privacy of my imaginary phone booth, I said, “Carol? Where are you?”

“On a steamer about ten miles off the coast of Norway. Since you asked.”

“What? No. Really?”

“Really. I want to see reindeer before they’re extinct. It’s still night here, though.”