3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

“I’m going to put you on with another officer,” I told her, “but before I do, I need to ask you one more thing.” A thought had crept into my head, going back to that first day. “Did your daughter have any breathing ailments?”

“Why, yes,” she said, pausing, “she always did have asthma, Lieutenant. Been carrying around a puffer since she was ten years old.”

I looked at Chin through the glass. “I think we just found Wendy Raymore.”

Chapter 95

CINDY THOMAS headed into work on the Market Street

bus, same as every morning, but that day with the gnawing premonition that something was going to break soon. One way or the other. August Spies had promised as much.

The MUNI was crowded this morning, standing room only. It took two stops for her even to find a seat. She took out her Chronicle as she did every morning and scanned page one. A shot of Mayor Fiske, flanked by Deputy Director Molinari and Tracchio. The G-8 meetings were still a go. Her story, on the possible link to Billy Danko, was the right-hand column above the fold.

A girl with cropped, dyed red hair in overalls and a crocheted sweater moved close by. Cindy looked up; something about her struck her as familiar. The girl had three earrings in her left ear and a barrette in the shape of a sixties peace symbol in her hair. Pretty, in a waiflike way.

Cindy kept one eye on the route, which she knew just from the stores on Market Street. The man next to her got up at Van Ness.

The girl in the overalls squeezed into the seat beside her. Cindy smiled and turned the page. More articles on the G-8 thing. The girl in the overalls seemed to be reading over her shoulder.

Then she met Cindy’s eyes. “They’re not going to stop, you know.”

Cindy smiled halfheartedly; conversation wasn’t something she needed before eight A.M. This time the girl wouldn’t let her gaze go.

“They’re not going to stop, Miss Thomas. I did try. I did like you said, and tried.”

Cindy froze. Everything inside her seemed to come to a stop.

She looked into the girl’s face. She was older than she had seemed—maybe mid-twenties. Cindy thought to ask how she knew her name, but then in that same instant, it all came clear.

This was the person she’d been talking to on the Internet. This was the girl who had a hand in killing Jill. Possibly, the au pair.

“Listen to me. I snuck out, they don’t know I’m here. Something terrible is going to happen,” the girl said. “At the G-8 meeting. Another bomb. Or worse. I don’t know exactly where, but it’s gonna be big, the biggest one. A lot of people will die. Now you try to stop it.”

Every muscle in Cindy’s body tensed. She didn’t know what she should do. Grab her, shout, stop the bus? Every law-enforcement agent in town was looking for this girl. But something held Cindy back. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Miss Thomas.” The girl touched Cindy’s arm. “I’m sorry about all of them, Eric, Caitlin. That lawyer, your friend. I know we’ve done some terrible things…. I wish I could undo them. I can’t.”

“You’ve got to turn yourself in.” Cindy stared at her. She glanced around, petrified that one of the other passengers would hear. “It’s over. They know who you are.”

“I have something for you.” The girl ignored her pleas. She pressed a folded-up piece of paper into Cindy’s hand. “I don’t know any way to stop it now. Except this. It’s better if I stay with them. Just in case the plans change.”

The bus came to a stop near the Metro Civic Center. Cindy unfolded the paper the girl had given her.

She read: 722 Seventh Street Berkeley.

“Oh my God,” Cindy gasped. The girl was telling her where they were hiding.

Suddenly the girl was standing up, heading for the exit. The rear door hissed open.

“You can’t go back there!” Cindy hollered.

The girl turned, but she kept walking.

“Wait!” she shouted. “Don’t go back there.”

The girl seemed surprised, and lost. She hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. “I need to do it this way.” Then she hurried off the bus.

Cindy leaped up as the doors closed, yanking the cord, shouting to the driver to open them again. It was an emergency! By the time she jumped out onto the platform, Michelle Fontieul had disappeared into the early-morning crowd.