“He brought me this bottle of wine. Fancy French first-growth. Nineteen sixty-five. He bought it the year I was born. Kept it all these years. How do you figure that? He never even knew if he’d ever see me again.”
“He knew he’d see you again,” Claire said with a smile. She sipped her sake. “You’re his beautiful daughter. He loves you.”
“So how’d you leave it, Lindsay?” Cindy asked.
“I guess you could say we agreed to a second date. Actually, I told him he could stay with me for a while.”
Cindy and Claire both blinked.
“We told you to loosen up and see him, Lindsay.” Cindy snorted. “Not ask him to share the rent.”
“What can I tell you? He was camped out on someone’s couch. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“It is, honey.” Claire smiled. “Here’s to you.”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “Here’s to Jill.”
“Yeah, here’s to Jill,” Cindy said, lifting her beer.
We all clinked. Then it was quiet for a moment or two.
“I don’t mean to change the subject,” Cindy said, “but you want to share where you are on the case?”
I nodded. “We’re looking into the Chimera names Warden Estes gave us. But today I came up with a new theory.”
“New theory?” Cindy wrinkled her brow.
I nodded. “Look, this guy’s a trained shooter. He’s made no mistakes. He’s been one step ahead of us on every move. He knows how we work.”
Cindy and Claire were listening. Not a word. I told them what Weiscz had said to me. An inside job…
“What if Chimera isn’t a crazy, racist killer from one of these radical groups?” I leaned forward. “What if he’s a cop?”
Chapter 66
IN A DARK BAR, Chimera sipped his Guinness. The best for the best, he thought.
Next to him, a white-haired man with a blotchy red, dry-as-parchment face was downing Tom Collinses, glancing up at the TV. The news was on. An insipid reporter was giving the latest on the Chimera case, getting it all wrong, insulting the public, insulting him.
He kept his eyes peeled across the street through the bar’s large window. He had followed the next victim here. This one he would relish. All those cops, chasing down the wrong leads. This kill would really set them on their heels.
“It’s not over,” he muttered under his breath. And don’t ever get the idea that I’m predictable. I’m not.
The drunk old-timer next to him gave him a nudge. “I think the bastard’s one of them,” he said.
“One of them?” Chimera asked. “Watch your elbows. And what the hell are you talking about?”
“Black as the ace of spades,” the old man said. “They’re combing through those hate groups. Ha, what a laugh. This is some sick jungle bunny minus one jar on the shelf. Probably plays in the NFL. Hey, Ray,” he called to the bartender. “Probably plays in the NFL…”
“What makes you say that?” Chimera asked, his eyes flicking across the street. He was curious about what his public was thinking. Maybe he ought to do more man-onthe-street interviews like this one.
“You think any motherfucker with a set of brains would leave clues like that?” the old man whispered conspiratorially.
“I think you’re jumping a little fast, old-timer.” Chimera finally grinned. “I think this killer’s pretty smart.”
“How smart can you be to be a fucking murderer?”
“Smart enough not to get caught,” Chimera said.