2nd Chance (Women's Murder Club 2)

Cappy feinted, and Evans jerked his hand off the table.

Then the big cop opened the can and placed it in front of him, grinning widely. “This all right, or would you prefer a glass?”

“See,” I assured him, “we can be nice. Truth is, we don’t give a shit about you. All you have to do is answer a few questions and you’ll be headed home, compliments of the SFPD. You never have to see us again. Or we can lock your three-time-loser ass on the tenth floor for a few days until we remember we got you here and notify the Vallejo police. And, when it comes to a third felony offense, we’ll see about just how much teeth we really have.”

Evans ran his hand across the bridge of his nose, dabbing at the blood. “Maybe I will take a swig of that soda, if you’re still offering.”

“Congratulations, son,” Jacobi said. “That’s the first thing you’ve done that makes sense since we set eyes on you.”

Chapter 38

I LAID OUT A BLACK-AND-WHITE surveillance photo of the Templars in front of Red’s startled face. “First thing we need to know is where can we find your buddies?”

Evans looked up grinning. “So that’s what this is all about?”

“C’mon, sharp-as-nails,” pressed Jacobi, “the lieutenant asked a question.”

One by one, I spread on the table three more photos showing various members.

Evans shook his head. “Never ran with those guys.”

The last photo I put down was a surveillance shot of him.

Cappy reached out, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, and raised the biker by the shirt, lifting him out of his seat. “Listen, codshit, you’re only lucky we’re not concerned here with what you sorry bunch of losers got off doing. So act smart and you’ll be outta here, and we can go on to what we do give a shit about.”

Evans shrugged. “Maybe I did run a bit with them. But no more. Club’s disbanded. Too much heat. I ain’t seen these guys around here in months. They split. You wanna find them, start with Five South.”

I looked at the two inspectors. As much as I doubted whether Evans would actually turn over on his buddies, I believed him.

“One more question,” I said. “A big one.” I laid down the photo of the biker with the chimera jacket. “What does this mean to you?”

Evans sniffed. “The dude’s got bogus taste in attire?”

Cappy leaned forward.

Evans recoiled. “It’s a symbol, man. Means he’s in the movement. A patriot.”

“A patriot?” I asked him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“An advocate of the white race, the self-determination of a free and orderly society.” He smiled at Cappy. “Present company excluded, of course. Course, none of this shit necessarily reflects my personal views.”

“Did this guy head off to the Sun Belt, too?” Jacobi asked.

“Him? Why? What do you think he’s done?”

“There he goes”—Cappy stood over him—“answering questions with questions again.”

“Look.” Evans swallowed. “The brother only hung with us a short while. I don’t even know his real name. Mac… McMillan, McArthur? What’d he do?”

I figured there was no reason not to tell him what we thought. “What’s the word about what happened in La Salle Heights?”

Red finally flinched. His pupils widened. All of a sudden, it was falling into place. “You think my old dudes lit up that church? This guy… Mac?”

“You know how we could talk to him?” I said.

Evans grinned. “That’s a tough order. Even for you.”

“Try us,” I said. “We’re resourceful.”