1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

Michael and Becky DeGeorge, who a moment ago had seemed so far away, came hurtling back with a crash.

I had so much to tell her, but the day had changed so subtly from what I had planned. I almost felt deceitful, withholding, filling her in on what had taken place in Napa yet leaving out the important development that was going on inside of me.

Claire took it in, digesting it all with that sharp mind of hers. She had consulted on several serial-homicide cases, both as a lead examiner and an expert witness.

An idea was rolling through my head. In my weakened condition, I didn’t relish the responsibility of running a media-intensive investigation into multiple homicides alone. What I came back with surprised even me.

“How’d you like to lend me some help?”

“Help?” Claire blinked with surprise. “How?”

“This thing is about to explode, Claire,” I said. “If there’s a bride and groom killer out there, the attention will be national. We all have an interest in this case. Maybe we could meet like this. The three of us…off the record.”

Claire looked at me warily. “You’re suggesting we do this on our own?”

“We’ve got the top guns of the M.E.’s office, Homicide, even the press, eye-deep in margaritas at this table.” The more I thought it out, the more I knew it could work.

We could reassemble whatever clues came out of the official investigation, share what we had, cut through the political cover-your-ass and the bureaucracy. Three women, who would get a kick out of showing up the male orthodoxy. More important, we shared a heartfelt empathy for the victims.

Suddenly, the idea seemed lit with brilliance.

Claire shook her head in an incredulous way.

“C’mon,” I pressed, “you don’t think it would work? You don’t think we’d be good at this?”

“That’s not it at all,” she replied. “It’s that I’ve known you for ten years, and never once, on anything, have I ever heard you ask for help.”

“Then surprise,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “’Cause I’m asking now.”

I tried to let her see that something was troubling me, something maybe larger than the case. That I wasn’t sure I could handle it. That I could use the help. That there was more to it.

Claire gradually broke into the slimmest acquiescent grin. “In margaritas veritas. I’m in.”

I beamed back, grateful, then turned to Cindy.

“How about you? You in?”

She stammered, “I-I have no idea what Sid Glass would say — but fuck him. I’m in.”

We clinked glasses.

The Women’s Murder Club was born.

Chapter 35

THE NEXT MORNING, I arrived at the office straight from an eight o’clock transfusion, feeling light-headed, slightly woozy. First thing I did was scan the morning Chronicle. To my relief, there was nothing on the front page about anything relating to the disappearance in Napa. Cindy had kept her word.

I noticed Raleigh coming out of Roth’s office. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his thick forearms.

He gave me a guarded smile — one that told me of his discomfort at my cutting a deal yesterday with Cindy. With a flick of his blue eyes, he motioned me outside to the corridor.

“We have to talk,” he said, as we huddled near the staircase.

“Listen, Raleigh,” I said. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. I thought it would buy us some time.”

His dark eyes smoldered. “Maybe you should tell me why she was worth compromising control of this case.”

I shrugged. “You see anything about Napa in the papers this morning?”