15th Affair (Women's Murder Club 15)

“I’m on my way.”

Conklin had already left for the day. I asked Brenda to call off my ride while I phoned Mrs. Rose to say I’d be late. Then I zipped up my jacket and ran down the stairs.

Cindy had my attention for sure. Was the tipster solid? Would there really be a video of the kids in that room? And if so, would the video reveal their killer? Had Cindy cracked the case on four homicides? I was hoping. I guess I’m still an optimist after all these years.

Cindy was waiting for me in front of the Hall as traffic rushed and dusk fell. I got into her ’09 Honda Civic just two steps ahead of Traffic Control, who was about to shoo her away.

“Start talking,” I said as I buckled up. “Where are we going? You’ve got my undivided attention.”

The car lurched as Cindy put it in gear. “His code name is Jad,” she said. We were heading northeast on Bryant, Cindy turning her head every few words to pin me with her big blue eyes.

“‘

Jad’ was doing surveillance for somebody. I took it to be a government agency, but he wouldn’t say who. He was, however, emphatic that what he caught on tape could get him killed. I could feel him sweating over the phone.”

“And so why did he contact you?”

“Because in my copy I begged anyone with information as to the identities of John and Jane to get in touch with me, confidentially. He also said that what he knew was eating him up inside. His voice was cracking up, Linds. He was freaked out.”

“Did you tell him you were bringing me?”

“Well, what I said was that I wasn’t going to meet a stranger alone. That I was bringing my associate. Like Woodward and Bernstein. You know?”

“Oh, man.”

I was shaking my head. This wouldn’t be the first or even the fifth time Cindy had waded into a highly flammable situation because she was onto a big story.

“Linds, he said it was OK to bring you. And there’s more,” said my crime reporter friend. “Along with the video of those two kids, Jad also has footage of what could be Chan and Muller. Yeah, Lindsay. Really. Asian guy. Blond woman. I’m thinking, Oh, my God. It’s now or never. Jad could take off. This time tomorrow he could be on another continent.”

“We should be going in with a tac team, Cindy.”

“I agreed to keep this confidential. And I believe him. He’s going to show us the video. He wants to. He called me. Look, we’re meeting him in the parking lot at Washington and the Embarcadero. It’s wide open. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

I told her, “We’ll be sitting ducks.”

“Wait a minute. Didn’t you just outwit three armed desperados with nothing more than a quick draw on your stick shift?”

I laughed. “You have a way with words.”

“And that’s why they pay me the OK bucks.”

Cindy grinned at me and threaded her car through a narrow opening in traffic. She maintained maximum possible acceleration from Bryant to the Embarcadero, where she smoothly entered the lot right across from the Ferry Building. She took one of the empty spots facing the street and left the motor running.

She fished her phone out of her bag and made a call. “Jad? It’s Cindy. I’m here.”

There was a pause.

“The blue Civic. Front row. OK.”

Cindy clicked off.

“Our date with destiny,” said my friend. “He’s on the way.”

CHAPTER 72

AN OLD BLACK Lincoln with a noisy muffler took the looping turn off the Embarcadero, crossed the wide roadway, and nosed into the parking lot where Cindy and I sat waiting.

The Lincoln’s driver braked at the back of the asphalt, plates up against the chain-link fencing and partially hidden from our view by a staggered row of parked vehicles.