3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

Every cop in San Francisco was looking for him, August Spies. And the laugh was, they were letting him in—right through the front door!

A chill cut through him. He clutched his briefcase tightly against his rumpled tuxedo. Inside was his speech, an analysis of the effect of invested foreign capital on the labor markets of the Third World. His life’s work, some might say. But what did anyone really know about him? Not a thing. Not even his name.

Up ahead, security agents dressed in tuxedos and gowns were poking through the pockets and purses of economists and ambassadors’ wives, the kind of self-important, self-involved functionaries who flocked to this sort of thing.

I could kill all of them, he was thinking. And why not? They came to carve up the world, to put their economic thumbprint on those who could not compete, or even fight back. Bloodsuckers, he thought. Ugly, despicable human beings. Everyone here deserves to die. Just like Lightower and Bengosian.

The line made its way past a cast of Rodin’s The Thinker. Another flutter of nerves rippled through his limbs. Finally, Danko presented his special VIP invitation to an attractive woman dressed in a black evening dress. Probably FBI. No doubt a Glock was strapped underneath her gown. Chicks with dicks, Danko thought.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, and checked his name against a list. “We apologize for any inconvenience, Professor Stanzer, but can I ask you to place your case through security?”

“Of course. It’s just my speech, though,” Danko said, handing her his briefcase like any nervous academic. He extended his arms while a security guard waved a metal-detector wand up and down his body.

The security man felt around his jacket. “What’s this?” he asked. Danko removed a small plastic canister. There was a pharmaceutical label on it and a prescription made out to him. The canister was another of Stephen Hardaway’s masterpieces. Poor dead Stephen. Poor Julia, Robert, and Michelle. Soldiers. Just like him.

“For my asthma,” Danko said. He coughed a little and pointed to his chest. “Proventil. Always need it before a speech. I even have a backup.”

The guard regarded it for a moment. This was good fun, actually. He and Stephen had perfected the canister. Who needed guns and bombs when all the terror in the world was right in the palm of his hand.

William would be proud!

“You can go inside, sir.” The guard finally waved Charles Danko ahead. “Have a good night.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Chapter 103

I GUNNED MY EXPLORER, careening through a red light on Ness heading toward Geary. The Palace of the Legion of Honor was all the way out at Lands End. Even without traffic, I was ten minutes away.

I punched in Molinari’s number. His cell phone wasn’t accepting.

I tried to get patched through to the Chief. One of his assistants answered and said he was out in the crowd. “The vice president is coming in the room at this very moment,” he said. “There he is.”

“Listen to me!” I shouted as I swerved, siren blaring, through parting traffic. “I want you to find Tracchio or Molinari, whomever you see first. Put this phone in their ear. This is a matter of national emergency. I don’t care who the hell they’re talking with! Go! Now!”

My eyes flashed to the clock on my dash. A bomb could go off at any time. All we had was a thirty-year-old likeness to identify Charles Danko. I wasn’t sure if I could pick him out myself.

A minute passed very slowly. Then a voice crackled back over my cell phone. Molinari. Finally.

“Joe,” I said into the phone, “just listen, please. Charles Danko’s there! Right now! He’s going by the name Jeffrey Stanzer. He’s a speaker at the conference. I’ll be there in about three minutes. Take him down, Joe!”

Quickly, we argued the pros and cons of emptying the Palace or making some kind of warning announcement using Stanzer’s name. Molinari decided against. The first sign of alarm, he might decide to set off whatever he was planning.

Finally I spun onto Thirty-fourth, into the park, then up the hill to the Legion of Honor. The park was banded by demonstrators. Barricades blocked the way.

Patrolmen were checking IDs. I lowered the driver’s window and held out my shield—pounding the horn as hard as I could.

I was finally able to maneuver through the narrow lane of stretch limos and police cars that led up to the main circle of the Palace. I ditched the Explorer in front of the arced, columned gate. Started t

o run. I kept bumping into Feds transmitting on radios—flashing my badge. “Let me through!”

At last I pushed my way inside the main building. The halls were packed—statesmen, dignitaries.

I spotted Molinari, giving orders into a handheld radio. I rushed up to him. “He’s here,” he said. “His name’s checked off on the guest list. He’s already inside.”

Chapter 104

THERE WERE AMBASSADORS, cabinet members, business leaders everywhere, chatting in crowds, sipping champagne. Any second a bomb could go off. The vice president was being moved to safety. But Charles Danko could be anywhere. What he had in mind, God only knew. We didn’t even know what the bastard looked like now!