The 9th Judgment (Women's Murder Club 9)

“Yes, sir,” Sarah said, fumbling in the glove box, finding her wallet on top of the maps, hands slippery from nerves, credit cards shooting out of her fingers and onto the floor. Sarah picked up her driver’s license, dove back into the glove box to retrieve the registration card, and handed one after the other to the officer.

“Sir, did I do something wrong? Was I speeding?”

The officer shined his light on the documents and, saying he’d be back in a moment, returned to his car to run her name through the computer.

Cherry lights flashed in her mirror. Sarah’s only cogent thought was that the Morley burglary was the stupidest thing she’d ever done. She imagined the officer ordering her out of the car, telling her to put her hands on the hood. She saw how easily he would find Dorian Morley’s jewelry.

As time dragged on, she imagined other police cars coming, cops surrounding her, laughing at how she’d been caught red-handed. She imagined the interrogation that would go on until she confessed—which would be immediately, because there would be no explaining away the evidence.

The pain in Sarah’s ankle was excruciating, and along with it was a swooping dizziness that turned to nausea.

What would happen to her? What would happen to Heidi?

A beam hit her eyes; the officer had returned, one hand holding the flashlight, the other handing back her documentation.

“Your left taillight is busted,” he said. “You need to get that fixed right way.”

Sarah apologized, sounding ridiculously guilty to her own ears, saying she hadn’t realized the light was broken, promising she’d go to the auto shop—and then it was over. As the cruiser sailed past her, Sarah opened the car door and vomited into the street. Then she rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Thank you, God,” she said out loud.

Her hands were still shaking as she started up the car again and headed to Marina Boulevard. Skimming along the street, she turned her eyes to the Golden Gate Bridge, the chains of lights blazing. It was a sign, that necklace of lights, and Sarah’s optimism was reborn, this time as euphoria.

She hadn’t made any costly mistakes. She’d done her homework on the Morleys and had pulled off a first-class heist that brought her that much closer to her goal. And now she had a brilliant idea.

Along with getting her taillight fixed as soon as possible, she was going to call Maury Green’s widow. She’d make Mrs. Green an offer, a finder’s fee if she’d hook Sarah up with another fence.

And more thoughts came flooding in, those envelopes full of Dorian Morley’s everyday diamonds. She couldn’t wait to see what else she’d taken from the safe.

Chapter 50

SARAH OPENED THE door to the one-bedroom apartment she shared with her revolting, hair-trigger husband. She stood listening for a moment in the small foyer, and when she heard snoring, she stepped into the living room. “Terror” was slumped in his brown leather recliner, asleep in his wife beater and shorts, his plaid underwear not only showing but unsnapped and open.

She wrinkled her nose at the porn couple silently humping on the TV, then slipped past her husband and into the bedroom, where she closed the door and quietly threw the lock.

Only then did she feel that it was safe to draw a real breath. She jerked the curtains closed and flicked on the overhead light. Then she opened her duffel bag full of loot and spilled the bulging envelopes onto the bedspread.

Sarah’s breathing was shallow and her eyes were bright as she unsnapped each little packet and liberated the contents. Diamond necklaces spilled out like streams of faceted ice. She touched each of the jewel-encrusted bracelets and brooches and pendants and rings with the tips of her fingers, stunned by her audacity and at the same time mesmerized by each splendid work of art.

Dorian Morley’s taste was wonderful. The diamond necklaces were new but the packets of finely worked antiques seemed to be part of a personal collection. And so Sarah wondered if this treasure had been inherited or collected piece by piece by Dorian Morley herself.

And for the first time since she’d started stealing from the rich, Sarah knew that the woman who had owned these jewels was going to be grief-stricken when she discovered the loss.

This was not a good thought for a jewel thief, so she scrubbed it from her mind, reminding herself that the Morleys of this world had insurance and means, while she and Heidi had no fallback, no rescuers but themselves, and that each day they lived with their husbands was one of loathing and terrible risk.

Sarah returned the pieces to their packets and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser. She pushed the T-shirts and sweatpants aside, lifted the thin board of the false bottom, and deposited the tool b

ag.

Before she stowed the Morley jewels, Sarah had to see it one more time. She reached into the back right corner of the secret stash and felt for the little leather box shaped like a round-topped trunk.

The box fit perfectly in her closed hand. She opened the lid and stared at Casey Dowling’s wonderful ring. It glittered under the light as if it were alive.

That yellow stone. Wow. It was magnificent.

Chapter 51

CONKLIN MUTTERED TO me as he parked the squad car in front of the Tudor-style mansion on Russian Hill.