The 6th Target (Women's Murder Club 6)

A MONTH LATER, Conklin and I were back in Alta Plaza Park, where it all began.

This time, we watched Henry Tyler come down the path toward us, his coat whipping around him in the wind. He reached out a hand to Conklin, gripping it hard, and then stretched his hand out to me.

“You’ve given us back our lives. I can’t find words to thank you enough.”

Tyler called out to his wife and to the little girl playing on a hexagonal construction, some new kind of jungle gym. Face brightening in surprise, Madison dropped down from the bars and ran toward us.

Henry Tyler swung his daughter up into his arms. Madison leaned over her father’s shoulder and put an arm around my neck and Rich’s, gathering us into a three-way hug.

“You’re my favorite people,” she said.

I was still smiling when Henry Tyler put Madison down and said to us, his face radiant, “We’re all so grateful. Me, Liz, Maddy — we’re your friends for life.”

My eyes watered up a bit.

It was an excellent day to be a cop.

As Richie and I took the path back toward the car, we talked about the hell we have to go through to solve a case — the drudgery, the up close contact with killers and druggies, the false leads.

“And then,” I said, “a case turns out like this and it’s such a high.”

Rich stopped walking, put his hand on my arm. “Let’s stop here for a minute,” he said.

I sat on one of the broad steps that had been warmed by the sun, and Rich got down beside me. I could see that there was something on his mind.

“Lindsay, I know you think I have a crush on you,” he said, “but it’s more than that. Believe me.”

For the first time it hurt to look into Rich Conklin’s handsome face. Thoughts of our grappling in a hotel in LA still made me squirm with embarrassment.

“Will you give us a chance?” he said. “Let me take you out to dinner. I’m not going to put any moves on you, Lindsay. I just want us to . . . ah . . .”

Rich read the feelings on my face and stopped talking. He shook his head, finally saying, “I’m going to shut up now.”

I reached out and covered his hand with mine.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. . . . Forget it, Lindsay. Forget I said anything, okay?” He tried to smile, almost pulled it off. “I’ll deal with this in therapy for a few years.”

“You’re in therapy?”

“Would that help? No.” He laughed. “I’m just, look, you know how I feel about you. That’s almost enough.”

It was a tough ride back to the Hall. Conversation was strained until we got a call to respond to a report of a dead body in the Tenderloin. We worked the case together past quitting time and into the next shift. And it was good, as if we’d been partners for years.

At just after nine p.m., I told Rich I’d see him in the morning. I’d just unlocked my car door when my cell phone rang.

“What now?” I muttered.

There was a crackle of static, then a deep, resonant voice came out of that phone, turning night back into day.

“I know not to surprise an armed police officer on her doorstep, Blondie. So . . . fair warning. I’m going to be in town this weekend. I have news. And I really want to see you.”

Chapter 126

MY DOORBELL RANG AT HOME.

I stabbed the intercom button, said, “I’m coming,” and jogged down my stairs. Martha’s dog sitter, Karen Triebel, was outside the front door. I gave her a hug and bent to enfold Sweet Martha in my arms.