I halfway hoped she’d get her wish, but my more rational mind wanted to hear the story.
I wanted to know what Norma Johnson had done, to whom, and why. And then I wanted the State to try her, convict her, and kill her.
I stood over Norma Johnson, and I read her her rights.
“You have the right to remain silent, you disgusting coward,” I said. “Anything you say can and damned well will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you can find one slimy enough to defend you. If you can’t afford an attorney, the State of California will provide one for you. We do that even for scum like you. Do you understand your rights, Pet Girl?”
She smiled at me.
I grabbed her arms by the cuffs and jounced her, putting the strain on her popped shoulder, making her scream.
“I asked you, do you understand your rights?”
“Yes, yes!”
Hettrich said, “I’ve got her, Sergeant.” He brought her to her feet and hustled her out the door. I wanted to leave, too. But I had to see what was inside that pantry.
I had to know.
I walked over to the opening and stared at the metal shelves filling the narrow room. I could see the kraits slithering through the remnants of most of the tanks, every one of those snakes loaded with venom.
It was stunning to think what Norma Johnson’s intentions were in owning so many snakes. How many more people had she hoped to kill before she was caught?
What was in this sick woman’s mind?
I told a uniform to seal and lock the place, and then I left Pet Girl’s snake house. I ran toward the ambulance, got in just as the EMTs loaded my partner inside.
I sat next to Richie, took his good hand, and squeezed it.
“I’m not leaving you until you’re doing push-ups. Shooting hoops,” I said to my partner, my voice finally cracking into little pieces. “You’re going to be fine, Richie. You’re going to be perfect.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “But do me a favor, Linds. Pray for me anyway.”
Chapter 100
WHEN THE AMBULANCE DRIVER took a left, I knew we were going to a place I never wanted to see again.
Yuki’s mother had died at San Francisco Municipal Hospital.
I’d stalked those halls for days on end, hoping to trap a deranged “angel of death,” learning in the process that Municipal was geared toward high profits, not patient care.
I called up front to the driver, “General is closer than Municipal.”
“We’re busing the snakebite victim, aren’t we, Sergeant? Municipal’s got the antivenin coming in.”
I shut up and did what Conklin had asked. I prayed to God as I held his hand, and thought about what a fine person Richard Conklin was, how much we’d been through together, how lucky I’d been to have him as a friend and partner.
Traffic parted in front of us as the ambulance screamed up Pine, then jerked into the lot and jolted to a stop outside the emergency-room entrance.
Doors flew open and medics scrambled.
I ran beside Conklin’s gurney as he was rolled through the automatic doors. That awful hospital disinfectant smell smacked me in the face, and I felt a wave of panic.
Why here?
Of all places, why did we have to bring Richie here?
Then I saw Doc coming toward us.