3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

There was a part of me that would like to have grabbed Lemouz by the lapels and shaken him. Instead, I pulled out the photo of the au pair on Wendy Raymore’s ID and a police artist’s sketch of the woman videotaped walking into the Clift Hotel with George Bengosian. “Do you know either of these women, Professor?”

Lemouz almost started to laugh. “Why would I want to help you? It’s the state who is the architect of this injustice, not these two women. Please tell me, who has committed the larger injustice? The two women suspects”—he threw the front page of the Chronicle across the desk at me—“or these sparkling examples of our system?”

I was staring at photos of Lightower and Bengosian.

“If these people are signaling the start of a war,” Lemouz laughed, “I say, let it unfold. What is the new phrase, Lieutenant?” He smiled. “The one Americans have embraced with all their moral imperative? Let’s roll.”

I picked up the pictures, closed my pad, and placed it back in my bag. I stood up, feeling tired and soiled. I walked out on the Lance Hart Professor of Romance Languages before I blew him up.

Chapter 34

I WAS STEAMING all the way back to the Hall thanks to Lemouz’s sanctimonious rantings, plus my frustration that we weren’t getting anywhere on these murders. I was still hot when I got to the office after six. I called Cindy and made a date to meet at Susie’s. Maybe we could get something accomplished over lobster quesadillas. I needed the girls on this.

As I hung up with Cindy, Warren Jacobi stepped into my office. “Yank Sing,” he said.

“Yank Sing?”

“It’s a better bet than quesadillas. Dim sum. Women always open up with Chinese. You should know that, LT. While you’re there, they say the chicken in salt and ginger caused the downfall of the Qin dynasty.

“Where you been?” He sat down. He had something for me. I knew that sly grin of his.

“Out wasting my time, in the People’s Republic. You got something, other than the restaurant review?”

“We got a hit on the Wendy Raymore APB,” he said, grinning.

That got my juices flowing.

“A Safeway across the bay called in. Night clerk thought he recognized the face. There’s a video on the way. He said she has red hair now and was wearing sunglasses. But she took them off for a second to count the cash, and he swears it’s her.”

“Where across the bay, Warren?”

“Harmon Avenue in Oakland.” I drew a little mental map, and we both came to the same realization. “Near the McDonald’s where little Caitlin was found.”

Geographically, it was starting to fit into place. “Get that photo to every storefront in the neighborhood.”

“Already done, LT.” Jacobi’s eyes had that little sparkle they got when he was holding something back.

“There been a lot of calls,” I said, cocking my head at Warren. “What makes you think this one’s real?”

He winked. “She was buying an asthma puffer.”

Chapter 35

CINDY, CLAIRE, AND I had finished most of our Coronas and a plate of wings by the time Jill arrived. She hung her coat and came up warily to the booth, the nerves easy to read in her thin smile.

“So,” she said, dumping her briefcase, and tossed herself next to Claire, “who wants to be first to prod?”

“No dissection,” I said. “Wings… and here…” I tilted what was left of a beer into her glass.

We all raised our glasses, Jill a little hesitantly. We had this moment of quiet, everybody trying to figure out just what was right to say. How many times had we met together before? At first, four women with tough jobs who had come together just to pool our resources, solve a crime.

“To friends,” Claire said. “Ones who will be there for one another. That means for anything, Jill.”

“I’d better drink this,” Jill said, her eyes starting to grow moist, “before I run my nose in it.”

Jill drained about a third of the glass in a deep swallow. She drew a breath. “Okay, no reason to beat around the bush, right? You all know?”

Everyone nodded.