11th Hour (Women's Murder Club 11)

“Sure. Happy to. I was putting my groceries into the trunk of my car when I heard the shots. I looked around, but I didn’t know where the shots came from,” Nathan told us. “My head was inside the trunk when the gun went off, you know? Plus a lot of cars were coming and going. It was crazy noisy.”

“What happened then, Mr. Nathan?” I asked.

“Then I saw the body,” Nathan said, spreading his fingers, framing his face with his hands. “I ran over to him, but the guy wasn’t breathing. He was absolutely dead. I didn’t touch him, okay? There was no point.”

“Sure, I understand. Please go on.”

“My phone was also dead, so I waved down this guy in an SUV and asked him to call the cops. He did it, and then he drove off.”

Conklin and I had the same thought at the same moment. The so-called cop who had stopped the drug dealers on Schwerin had been driving an SUV.

Conklin launched into his trademark rapid-fire interrogation with a smile.

“The guy in the SUV,” Conklin said. “What did he look like?”

“What did he look like? Jeez. I don’t know. Regular guy.”

“Black? White? Hispanic?”

“White.”

“Young? Old? Fat? Skinny?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Hair color?”

“I was on the far side of the car. He was in shadow.”

“Okay, Mr. Nathan. What about the SUV?”

“It was black, I think. No, it was definitely black.”

“American make? Foreign?”

“I have no idea. Look,” Nathan said, getting steamed. “There were bullets flying around. I’m supposed to notice what kind of car the guy with the phone was driving? Listen, I’ve gotta get home. My wife is sick with worry. Plus we got people coming over. I just ran out for some groceries.”

I took Nathan’s contact information, gave him my card.

My partner and I went back to view the body, stood off to the side as the CSU van rolled up and techs piled out onto the parking lot.

I said to Conklin, “Look at how close the shooter gets to the vics. Chaz Smith. Those guys in the BMW the other night. Now Mr. Fernandez, dope dealer to Potrero Hill. This shooter knows these guys. He’s organized. He’s a perfectionist.”

“And most of all, he’s insane,” said Conklin. “He’s taken out five people this week, for a total of eight, Lindsay.

“And Brady thinks Warren Jacobi is capable of this?”

“Here comes Brady now.”

Chapter 57

BRADY’S CAR BRAKED with a squeal only yards from the barrier tape. Lieutenants Brady and Meile boiled out of the vehicle, both of them agitated and demanding to be briefed.

Brady said, “What have we got?”

“Raoul Fernandez,” I said, pointing to the deceased. “Meth dealer, former convict. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

“Witnesses?”