15th Affair (Women's Murder Club 15)

“Thought you’d like to know.”

CHAPTER 48

I CALLED OUT to Brady as he broke from the doorway.

“Lieu, I need a minute.”

He turned, saying, “A minute’s all I’ve got. They’re waiting for me upstairs.”

He shut the door and joined Conklin and me at the table, moving the paper and the sugar canister aside to make room for his massive arms. Then he looked at me as if to say Well, what is it?

I thought about what Conklin had said, that if I told Brady about the beatdown, he was going to take me out of the game. But now I had to tell him everything. I took a breath and got started.

“There are some Asian guys dogging me,” I said, “four of them, and I’ve never gotten a good look at any of them. Night before last, I was roughed up on the street—”

Brady got up, opened the door, and shouted across the room to our steady and uncomplaining squad assistant, Brenda, “Tell Jacobi I’m running late.”

When he came back, he was glaring at me. He looked conflicted—furious and worried. He was checking out the scrape on the side of my jaw, which I’d somewhat covered with makeup, and my blackening eyes.

“How bad?”

“I’m good. I went to the ER. I’m bruised, but no broken bones, no internal injuries, no concussion. They kept me overnight and released me in the morning.”

Now he let me have it.

“You got beaten by four guys and you didn’t tell me? What’s wrong with you, Boxer? Don’t you think knowing that would impact decisions I have to make? Do not ever, ever keep intel away from me again. And watch your ass. Do not work alone. Understand?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Really.”

“What did these guys want?”

“I cannot figure it out. One of them shouted at me. Heavy accent. It sounded like ‘Do you know Chan?’ And maybe ‘Who you work for?’ I can’t swear to that, Brady. But they did

n’t kill me and they could have. I never got in a punch.”

Conklin was crossing and recrossing his legs, sighing, his body language conveying frustration and maybe suffering along with me.

Brady said, “Tell me all of it.”

I had to do it. I told him there might have been as many as four incidents: the confrontation at the ME’s office, the body slam at the NTSB meeting, then the beatdown outside my apartment building, and yesterday’s cross-country steeplechase in and around Monterey—which might or might not have anything to do with the other three incidents.

“We never got a look at the driver,” Conklin said. “But the point is, Lindsay, you have been harassed and assaulted.”

“Could you ID these guys?” Brady asked.

“Maybe I could identify the man who confronted me outside Claire’s office, but otherwise, their faces are a blur.”

“Tell me what happened outside the ME’s office.”

“That guy wanted to see his son. I took it to mean that his son had been on the plane. Brady, he couldn’t have known if his son was with Claire or at Metro or still on the highway.

“I gave him a phone number. He didn’t like that. Maybe everything that followed was payback for that. That’s speculation. What do you think?”

Brady said, “I want you to go home. No argument. Keep your gun with you. You want to speak to someone? A shrink?”

I shook my head. I could feel the marbles inside my skull rolling from ear to ear.

“Call me if you see these guys again. Even if you think you do.”