3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

“The only counseling Steve needs is from a lawyer, during an arraignment.”

“Be my friend, Lindsay, remember…. Anyway, there are more important matters to discuss. What’s going on in this city?”

I told her about the message Cindy had received that morning, and how it ratcheted up the case. “You ever hear of an antiterrorism guy named Joe Molinari?”

Jill thought. “I remember a Joe Molinari who was a prosecutor back in New York. Top-notch investigator. Worked on the World Trade Center bombing. Not hard to look at, either. I think he went down to Washington in some capacity.”

“‘Some capacity’ means the Department of Homeland Security and my new point man on the case.”

“You could do worse,” Jill said. “Did I mention he wasn’t hard to look at?”

“Cut it out.” I blushed.

Jill cocked her head. “Normally you don’t go for the federal types.”

“’Cause most of them are just career guys looking to score a promotion on our sources and leads. But this Molinari seems like the real deal. Maybe you could do some groundwork for me….”

“You mean like what kind of litigator he is?” Jill smiled, cat-eyed. “Or whether he’s marrie

d? I think Lindsay’s a little taken with the special agent.”

“Deputy director.” I wrinkled my nose.

“Oh… the man’s done well.” Jill nodded approvingly. “I did say he was handsome, didn’t I?” She grinned again. We both laughed.

After a while, I took Jill’s hand. “I’m sorry I did what I did, Jill. It would kill me if I added to what you’re going through. I can’t promise to stay out, at least not completely. You’re our friend, Jill, and we’re worried sick for you. But I’ll give you my word… I won’t put a hit out on him. Not without running it by you first.”

“Deal.” Jill nodded. She squeezed my hand. “I know you’re worried for me, Lindsay. And, really, I love you for it. Just let me see it through my way. And leave the cuffs at home next time.”

“Deal.” I smiled.

Chapter 44

FOR A SWISS, Gerd Propp had acquired a lot of American tastes and habits. One of them was going after salmon. In his room at the Governor Hotel in Portland, Gerd excitedly laid out on the double bed the new Ex Officio fishing vest he had just acquired, along with some hi-tech lures and a gaff hook.

His job, as an economist with the OECD out of Geneva, might be thought by some as stiff and tedious work, but it did bring him to the States several times a year and had introduced him to men who shared the same passion for coho and chinook.

And that was where Gerd was headed tomorrow, under the guise of finalizing his speech before the G-8 gathering in San Francisco next week.

He put his arms through the brand-new fishing vest and regarded himself in the mirror. I actually look like a professional! As he adjusted his hat and puffed out his chest in his fancy vest, Gerd felt as energized and manly as a leading man in a Hollywood film.

There was a knock on the door. The valet, he assumed, since he had left word at the front desk to bring up a press for his suit.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see a young man not in a hotel uniform at all but in a black fleece jacket and a cap hiding part of his face.

“Herr Propp?” the young man asked.

“Yes?” Gerd pushed his glasses up on his nose. “What is it?”

Before he could utter another word, Gerd saw an arm shoot toward him. It caught him in the throat, knocking the air out of him. Then he was shoved back onto the floor, landing hard.

Gerd tried to shake his head clear. His glasses were no longer on his face. He felt the ooze of blood running from his nose. “My God, what is going on?”

The young man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. All of a sudden there was a dark metallic object in his hand. Gerd froze. His eyes were not too good, but there was no mistake. The intruder was holding a gun.

“You’re Gerhard Propp?” the young man asked. “Chief economist of the OECD in Geneva? Don’t try to deny it.”

“Yes,” Gerd muttered. “By what right do you barge in here and—”