The 9th Judgment (Women's Murder Club 9) - Page 43
“You want me to keep the phone on and wear it facing out so that it sends streaming video to you.”
“Good girl. Hesitate to follow my directions, screw with me in any way, and I’ll hang up. After that, I’ll kill a few more people, and their deaths will be on you.”
“Hey, what if I lose service?” I asked.
“I’ll call you back. Make sure the line is available. Don’t try any stupid phone tricks, Judy.”
“What should I call you?”
“Call me ‘sir.’ Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now hang the phone around your neck and do a little pirouette so I can see who’s with you.”
I turned on my heel, panning the office.
“I recognize Tyler. Who’s the other guy?”
“That’s Rich in ad sales.”
“Turn on the speakerphone,” the killer said.
I located the speaker button and turned it on.
“Rich, do not follow Judy. That goes for you, too, Tyler. And it goes without saying, if I see cops, anything that makes me think that Judy is being followed, I’ll hang up. Game over. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Point the camera at yourself, Judy.”
There was a pause. Longer than I expected. Then the killer’s voice was back.
“Nice rack, Judy. And let’s hope you’re a smart blonde. Now connect the headset to the phone and put in the earbuds. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, sweet stuff, take the elevator down to the street. When you get to the corner of Mission and Fifth, I’ll give you instructions.”
“I can hardly wait,” I muttered.
“You’re coming in loud and clear,” the killer said with an edge in his voice. “I’m warning you again, Judy. This is a lucky break for the city. Don’t screw it up.”
Chapter 60
THE PHONE HANGING from my neck felt like an explosive charge. The Lipstick Killer could see everything I saw, hear what I was hearing and saying, and if that vile, crude psychopath became unhappy, he’d cut down more innocent lives.
We’d been warned.
I walked out of the Chronicle Building into a dull gray afternoon. I took in the shoppers and the yellow-light runners, and wondered if the Lipstick Killer recognized the unmarked cars on Fifth and Mission. I saw Jacobi and Brady, Lemke and Samuels and Chi.
By now, Conklin had put out the word that I was the go-between and working undercover. Still, to prevent a shout-out, I caught Jacobi
’s eye and, being careful to keep my hand away from the lens, pointed two fingers to my eyes and then to the phone, signaling to Jacobi that I was being watched.
That’s when I glimpsed Cindy. Her eyes were huge, and she was hanging back against the wall of the Chronicle Building, looking at me as though I were heading for the guillotine. I was suffused with love for her. I wanted to hug her, but I winked instead, holding up crossed fingers.
She squeezed out a smile.
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