20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(54)

I dialed down the noise, rotated my bad ankle, and looked out the car window, ignoring the kicking and cage rattling from the back seat. Anderson was freaking out, but he was cuffed. The doors were locked, and no one had been shot or maimed.

An hour later we were back at the Hall.

I washed up and iced my face, and after Anderson was booked, he was brought to Interview 2 in an orange jumpsuit. He didn’t ask for anything, not a cold drink or a phone call or even a lawyer. Good. Jacobi and I were experienced working together, and we gave Anderson a thorough three-hour interrogation with tape rolling.

Since Anderson punched me, I was throbbing all over. Maybe I just wanted it all to be done with, but I believed Anderson’s story. He had no independent knowledge of the Barons’ drug involvement, but he’d seen the news. His story was short and bitter. He had loved Ramona when they were in high school. And he hated Paul. He put his head down on the table and cried.

“Lock me up,” he said. “I deserve it. There’s no other place I want to be.”

By then we knew that Anderson didn’t own a gun, had never been in the military, had no priors or outstanding warrants. He didn’t even have a computer, owing to the iffy wireless service in the area. He wasn’t one of the Moving Targets shooters, but we were keeping him in lockup while Greeley got a lawyer and pressed charges.

As a guard took Anderson to holding, he said to me, “I’m sorry about … hitting you. I’m sorry for what I did.”

“Tell it to the judge,” said Jacobi.

Back at my desk, I slumped down in my chair and said to Conklin, “It’s still Saturday, right?”

My partner grinned at me. “Want to go out to dinner with me and Cindy?”

“Thanks, but no. I have a date.”





CHAPTER 80





MY DAUGHTER SCREAMED and ran into her room when she saw me.

Martha made quite a racket, too, took a stance outside Julie’s door until my little girl let her in. And poor Gloria Rose stood by, wringing her hands.

“What happened? Lindsay, what happened?”

I put my gun away and peered into the hallway mirror. I looked worse than I’d thought. My swollen lower lip was split, and one of my front teeth was chipped. Dark-blue circles had come up around my eyes, and I was starting to worry about my knuckles. I couldn’t straighten my hand.

I said to Mrs. Rose, “I had to break up a brawl. I’m fine. If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start to feel sorry for myself.”

“I’ll get some ice. Be right back.”

“Gloria, I’m going to look like a beauty queen again by this time next week.”

She was supposed to laugh, but our good family friend and nanny nodded and said, “Sit down, Lindsay. Pull your hair away from your face, so I can see if you need stitches.”

“Make that ice pack for the road,” I said.

“That’s why God made sandwich bags.”

I sat down like she’d told me, and I let her clean my face with alcohol, hardly screaming at all, but enough that Julie crept out to see what the ruckus was all about.

“What happened, Mommy?”

“It’s a long story, honey. But the bad guy’s in jail.”

“Ohhhhhh. And he’ll never get out?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. He flipped out. Hurt some people. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Do you want to go to the park?”

“And bring home noodles for dinner?”

“I’ll have to ask Daddy what he wants, but I’m sure we can find a couple of noodles for you.”

“A couple?”

Mrs. Rose led me to the sink, unwrapped and washed my knuckles. While I told her what a good person she was, she poured alcohol over my right hand, telling me that I needed to take a nap.

“Don’t take offense, but you look like you crawled out of a dumpster. This was a nice suit, but you’d never know it.”

She showed me the rip under the armhole, the grass stains on the elbows, the bloody lapels.

“This is what I get for wearing heels. Let me up, Gloria. Martha? You want to go to the park?”

Did she ever. I told her and Julie to give me a minute and repeated to my darling daughter’s nanny, “I have to get into jeans, okay? And spend some time with Jules. I need it. She needs it, too.”

“You’ve got a point,” she said. “Go change. Put on some lace-up boots. You’re limping.”

A bit later, while we still had late-afternoon sunlight, I hugged Gloria Rose good-bye. I leashed my good old border collie and helped Julie on with a jacket, and we took a leisurely three-block walk to Mountain Lake Park.

It would have been a great idea but for the phone. Brady called. After I briefed him, Conklin called to make sure I was okay.

The park was busy. New rules were now posted about keeping dogs on leashes and not feeding the ducks. Not a problem for Martha in her old age. She was more of a flock herder than a duck fetcher. I found a seat on a bench where I could see everything. Julie and Martha lay down in the grass, and Julie told Martha a story involving bad men and her big, strong mother.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and then Chi called, a methodical man with a list of witnesses, two of them who said I’d thrown the first punch.