The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(17)

Tyler would believe her. She had 100 percent credibility.

Rich called, “Cindy, put some music on, okay? Something chill.”

“I’m eyeball-deep in righteous indignation,” she called back, “and I gotta let it work its way out. Which maybe I can do if you come in and talk to me.”

“Music,” said Rich. “I’m bringing beers.”

Cindy riffled through the stack of CDs, found one by Metallica that fit her mood. She cued up “Fade to Black,” pressed Play, jacked up the sound, and threw herself onto Richie’s old blue couch. She put her bare feet up on the coffee table and exhaled.

Rich came in with a couple of bottles of Anchor Steam, saying over the discordant noise, “We don’t need a salad. Beans. Corn. Hops. We’re good. So tell me from the beginning.”

He lowered the volume, sat down next to Cindy, handed her a cold one, and put his arm around her shoulders. She tipped her head back and guzzled half the bottle.

Rich gave her a squeeze. “Speak.”

“He told me not to hold up the story—”

“McGowan?”

“Yes. McGowan. I told him it was just a temporary hold. That I would get inside dope from police sources if I just let the cops do their job without warning off the shooters.”

“Right thing to say and do,” said Rich.

“And because Lindsay asked me to, I sat on it. The story leaked. The connection between the hits was the story. Somehow I was scooped.”

“I hear you, Cindy.”

“That’s McGowan. A snake. A traitor.”

“Okay,” said Rich. “I’m going to ask you some questions.”

She sighed loudly.

“How do you know it was McGowan who squealed?”

“Because, Richie, a writer who used to be at the LA Sun Times broke the story. McGowan worked there until a couple months ago.”

“Speculation. What else?”

“No one connected Roccio to the Barons. Or Jennings and Peavey, for that matter.”

“You sure? Because I spoke with the primary on the Roccio case this morning, and Lindsay and I linked up the timing of the shootings for him.”

“You did?” she said tersely. “Why?”

“Seriously? We’re working a double homicide. We talk to other cops. Here’s my point. You have a suspicion, but you don’t have proof.”

“Oh, crap.”

“We’ll try to make it up to you, Cin. Go sit at the table. Take your beer.”

Cindy was relieved that she hadn’t told Tyler that McGowan had leaked her story. Richie was right. She didn’t have actual evidence.

Still, she had a gut feeling that she was right about McGowan. And she was going to harbor that feeling, massage it, and polish it until she could prove it.





CHAPTER 28





JOE WALKED ALONGSIDE Dave, who was pushing his wheelchair through rows of grapevines.

“I work in these fields,” Dave Channing told Joe.

“Really? I thought you were Mr. Inside.”

“I’m multitalented,” Dave said, forcing a smile. Joe recognized that smile, same as when he broke his wrist at practice, same as when Carolyn Kinney broke up with him and he said, “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I do the books, but I also prune, tie up the vines, harvest the grapes. See the clouds? Mare’s tails and mackerel scales. It’s going to rain tomorrow. We need the rain.”

Joe felt as though his coat were weighed down with stones. Did Dave’s belief that Ray had been murdered make any sense at all? Or was that his grief talking? He didn’t know how or if he could help his friend.

The two men stopped at the top of the field and looked down at the two stone houses and the winery across a country road from the vineyard.

“Stick with me,” said Dave, taking the lead, setting a downhill course for a stone patio outside the winery. Joe took a seat on a bench with a view, and when both he and Dave were settled, Joe said, “Tell me all of it.”

Dave took a deep breath and said, “We lived next door to each other for the last twenty-five years. Started our day together with morning coffee and ended with dinner in the restaurant kitchen when we were done for the day. I never got tired of being with my father. He had a big personality, you know? A lot of love.”

Joe nodded and said, “Tell me again what happened.”

“He fell down, just dropped in the restaurant. I called the ambulance and I rode with him to the hospital. His friend Dr. Alex Murray said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s stable, but I want to keep him for a few days.’ Joe, you saw him after we had lunch on Friday. He had spunk, remember?”

“I sure do.”

“So then on Saturday they put Dad on the list for a scan on Monday, but Murray said Dad needed to be monitored. His aneurysm could rupture, but worst case it was treatable by open-chest surgery. Then Monday morning my father was dead. His heart stopped. Why?”

“What did Dr. Murray say?”

“He said he was sorry. This happens.”

Dave dropped his head into his hands and said, “Oh, God.”

Joe put his hand on his friend’s arm.

“I’m so sorry, Dave.”