Part 13 (1/2)
”Linds?”
”Jackson Brady? You're kidding me. Say you're joking.” Brady? You're kidding me. Say you're joking.”
”I really like him, Linds. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
I'd thought there was nothing Yuki couldn't tell me, but I'd been wrong. This news had shaken me. And I didn't know how to tell my good friend why I felt stricken to my bones.
”Lindsay, will you please say something?”
”There's no good way to say this. I checked Brady out when he joined the squad,” I said. ”He's married married, Yuki. Did Brady tell you that he's married?”
Book Two
LIES, LIES, AND MORE LIES.
Chapter 43.
THAT SUNDAY was all mine.
I had ordered eggs and hash browns at Louis', a greasy spoon on Point Lobos Avenue. It was a great barn of a place, built in 1937 on a cliff overlooking the ocean. True, Louis' drew tourists, but it was still a local hangout, especially in the early morning.
The day was still too young for tourists, so Louis' was full of regulars, mostly runners and walkers from the coastal trail at Lands End, now relaxing and reading papers at the counter. n.o.body was bothering anyone.
I sighed with contentment.
From my seat in a booth, I had a view of the Sutro Baths at Lands End and I could also see my parking spot in front of Louis' and Martha in the driver's seat of my Explorer. Before coming here, we'd made a stop at Crissy Field so that Martha could run on a sandy beach and swim in the surf of the bay.
”Careful, the plate's not,” the waitress said, setting down my breakfast. She refilled my chunky brown mug with fresh-brewed Colombian java.
”Thanks. It looks perfect,” I said.
My cell phone rang, just as I picked up my fork. Why was I so G.o.dd.a.m.ned popular? I looked at my phone, but didn't recognize the name on the caller ID. Who was W. Steihl?
Should I take the call? Or should I let it go to voice mail?
I flipped a quarter and smacked it on the back of my hand. I took a peek.
”Boxer,” I said with a sigh into the phone.
”Sergeant Boxer, this is Wilhelmina Steihl. w.i.l.l.y. I met you the other day at Brighton?”
Now, I remembered her. w.i.l.l.y Steihl was one of Avis Richardson's school friends. She had s.h.i.+ny black hair to her shoulders and steel-rimmed gla.s.ses, and she wore bright red lipstick.
I also remembered how hesitant she was to talk to Rich and me a few days ago, but from the sound of her voice, she had something urgent to tell me now.
”I couldn't say anything when you were here,” w.i.l.l.y Steihl said to me. ”People would have figured out that I was the rat.”
”Let's not worry about being a rat,” I said. ”Rats can be heroes, too. Do you know where we can find Avis's baby?”
”No, no, I don't know that. I'm a friend of Larry Foster? He said I should call you. Are you near a computer?”
”No, but my phone is pretty slick. What should I look up?”
”I want to show you some pictures. On Facebook. But I don't want to give you my pa.s.sword.”
The kid was worrying about a pa.s.sword - something she could change in a couple of keystrokes - but I didn't want to go b.a.l.l.s to the wall with her. w.i.l.l.y was a minor. She didn't have to talk to me at all.
”What if I meet you at your dorm?” I said. I signaled to the waitress to bring me my check.
”Not there. I don't want anyone to see me talking to you,” w.i.l.l.y said.
I stifled a groan and told her I'd meet her at the entrance to 850 Bryant in an hour.
”I'll be there,” w.i.l.l.y told me.
Was she going to help me find Avis's baby? Or was this going to be another lead to nowhere?
I put a ten and a fiver on top of the check and left Louis' still hungry.
Chapter 44.
IT WAS JUST ABOUT TEN and an overcast sixty-four degrees when I rolled the window down a few inches for Martha and left my car in the lot across from the Hall.
w.i.l.l.y Steihl was not outside the large granite cube where I worked, so I waited on the corner, tapping my foot as traffic breezed by at a steady clip even for a Sunday.
Ten minutes later, a cab draw up curbside and I opened the door for young w.i.l.l.y Steihl. She said hi and, keeping a good six feet between us, followed me through the double gla.s.s doors into the red-marbled lobby of the Hall of Justice.
w.i.l.l.y took off her belt, put it in a tote, and went through the scanners at the entrance. I badged security and took the girl with black hair, black clothes, and a bite-me expression up to the squad room, where the swing s.h.i.+ft was at work.
I asked Sergeant Bob Nardone if I could use my desk, and he said, ”Sure, Boxer. And I should do what? Work on my air computer?”
”Get up, Nardone. Heat up your coffee. Take a break. We won't be long.”
I commandeered the desk chair, and w.i.l.l.y Steihl stood beside me as I logged on to my account. Then I gave the girl my chair so she could enter her information on my computer.
She hunched over the keyboard as she typed in her pa.s.sword and ID, saying, ”Give me a second, okay? I'm opening the folder I was telling you about.”