The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(63)

Headline: POLICE SKIRMISH AT THE SLEEP WELL MOTEL.

Copy: “Anonymous sources close to the SFPD tell the Chronicle that one of the snipers suspected of murdering ten or more people in five cities in under two weeks’ time attracted the attention of two SFPD officers today at the Sleep Well Motel in Portola.

“The suspect, who has not yet been positively identified, was staying at the Sleep Well when the police engaged him. We can’t know what he was thinking, but when challenged, the suspect tried to flee. Again, when stopped, the suspect hurled a motel employee down a stairway into the police officers, seriously injuring one of them, and then stole a police vehicle.”

Moving now into the body of the piece, Cindy wrote: “It’s been said that the suspect is highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat and cutting-edge weaponry. Anonymous sources close to the SFPD have told the Chronicle that the subject is a former Navy SEAL.”

Cindy filled in the background of this elite branch of the military, who were experts in combat diving and land warfare, having trained for five years in weapons and demolition, patrolling and marksmanship and fast rope rappelling, culminating in advanced levels of tactical training.

She noted that the SEALs had come into their own in 1944 during the D-day landings, and highlighted their work in Vietnam, Grenada, Desert Shield and Desert Storm, and the killing of Osama bin Laden.

“If there are active or retired Navy SEALs in this coordinated ‘war on drugs,’” Cindy wrote, “it would explain the precision targeting and the long-distance accuracy of the killings in the early morning.”

She was ready to wind up the story and stopped to consider the kicker. She would love a quote, and Rich had been at the scene. If he even said “No comment” on the record, it would be better than no quote at all.

She called him again, begging the ringing phone, “Come on, Richie. Please pick up.”

And her call went to voice mail.

It was quarter to six. Looking through her glass wall, she caught McGowan’s eye. She put up a hand so that he didn’t barge in, and she sent him a text.

I need another moment.

She lowered her head and fired herself up to write an emotional finale:

“When the first five sniper victims were killed, it was difficult to see a pattern in the shootings or the victims themselves: a celebrity couple, a dentist taking his young son to school, a store owner on his way to work, a professional baseball player in the twilight of his career. It made no sense—until it did. The shootings were not ran dom. There was a connection between them. The victims were all involved in dealing drugs.

“Popular opinion was polarized but over the last few days has become weighted in favor of the shooters, cheering them on. One of the shooters, self-identified as Kill Shot, sent an email to this reporter’s crime blog, announcing the urgent need for a ‘new war on drugs.’ That the civilian law-and-order approach had failed to stop the sale of drugs, and that, in fact, more people were dying from drug abuse every year.

“It gives this writer no pleasure to report to the Chronicle’s readers that this past week two police officers were killed by sniper vigilantes. This afternoon the unnamed subject of this article disarmed two police officers, and, as reported, they were injured, one of them seriously.

“We call for an end to this vigilante activity.

“It’s unlawful, it’s dangerous to innocent citizens, and since guilt had not been proven in a court of law, all of these snipers’ victims were not guilty.

“It’s time for voters and those of us with the power of the pen to take a stand against this criminal movement.”

Cindy checked the time. Five to six. No time to double-check it, but that’s why she was sending the article to McGowan. She watched as he read it on his screen, and while he did that, she texted Tyler. I’m just doing a quick polish, she wrote. I need thirty seconds.

McGowan knocked on her door.

“Well,” she said. “What do you think, Jeb?”

“In three words? It’s. Not. News.”

Cindy said, “Well, I guess we’ll see if Henry agrees.”

She attached the Sleep Well Motel story to an email and sent it to Tyler. She turned her back on McGowan and listened to her scanner while she waited, and then her computer pinged. She looked and was elated to see that it was the return mail from Tyler. She couldn’t open it fast enough.

Tyler wrote, “It’s thin. Wait until the SEAL/shooter, if that’s what he is, is in custody. Or until you get a new interview with Kill Shot. Have McGowan keep going with the victim profiles that are confirmed by police.”

McGowan held the elevator door for her.

“What did he say?”

Cindy showed him her fist, then rotated it and pointed her thumb down.

The elevator door opened and they got out.

“See you tomorrow,” Cindy said.

She didn’t wait for a reply.





CHAPTER 92





I LOVE WHAT I do, but these past weeks making me wish I’d become a schoolteacher, like my mom wanted me to be.

After the Sleep Well Motel witness roundup and the transfer of Randi Barkley to her cozy unjail, I’d collaborated with Conklin on a seven-page report for the brass. Following that, we’d gone to Zuckerberg San Francisco General to check in on Nardone and Healy, as well as Bettina Sennick, the motel housekeeper.