Deadeye (31 page)

There was no plan. Just a desire to get away. And Highway 101 seemed like the perfect choice. It led her north through Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, and Santa Maria. And there were smaller towns, too . . . Places like Pismo Beach, Los Osos, and Cambria. All of which were located next to the ocean, where she could take beach walks and get her feet wet.

The days were easy. But no matter how good the view from a particular restaurant might be, dinners were lonely affairs, often shared with a book, while lovers chatted at neighboring tables. Then it was off to whatever hotel she was staying at, where she was careful to avoid watching TV lest the real world find her.

But, eventually, the long string of sun-drenched days came to an end, and it was time to return. Rather than go back the way she had come, Lee chose to point the Road King east. Then, when the road intersected I-5, she turned south.

Traffic was every bit as bad as she expected it to be. But thanks to the bike, she could weave in and out of traffic. A tactic she disapproved of when other people did it.

It was getting late by the time Lee got home and found the note that had been shoved under the door. She felt a sense of foreboding as she opened it. “Cassandra, I tried your phone, but it went to voice mail, and your mailbox is full. Please contact me right away. Sean.”

Jenkins never called her Cassandra, never slipped notes under her door, and never said “please.” So Lee dug her phone out of a pocket, turned it on, and made the call. Even though it was past quitting time—Jenkins answered right away. “This is Jenkins.”

“This is Lee. I just got home. You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yeah,” Jenkins replied. “I do. I was about to leave. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure . . . Where?”

“I'll meet you at the 911 in twenty minutes or so.”

The 911 was owned and operated by an ex-cop and a popular spot for law-enforcement officers to hang out after work. “I'll see you there,” Lee said.

“Good,” Jenkins replied. Then the line went dead.

Lee hurried to shower and put on some fresh clothes. It seemed natural to slip the pistol harness on and clip the new Smith & Wesson to her belt.

Then she left, mounted the Harley, and rode it to the 911. The parking lot was full, but the attendant knew her and was willing to squeeze the bike in.

Lee thanked him and went in through a side door. The bar was more than half-full, very noisy, and decorated with all manner of police memorabilia. That included an old squad car that sat at the very center of the huge room with lights flashing. And Lee knew that back on the west wall, in among hundreds of photos, was a picture of her father.

The proprietor's name was Ed Murphy. He had a bulbous nose, two chins, and a hearty manner. “Well, look who's here! Good to see you, Cassandra . . . Chief Jenkins is in cell nine.”

Lee thanked him and exchanged greetings with people she knew as she made her way back to the booth with the number 9 spray painted onto it. Like all the other “cells,” it was surrounded by wire mesh on three sides.

Jenkins saw her coming and smiled. “How was the vacation? Good I hope.” There was something forced about the way he said it, and Lee felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach. “Don't bullshit me, boss,” Lee said as she slid onto the bench across from him. “You could give a shit about my vacation.”

Jenkins made a face. “Sorry . . . It's hard, that's all.”

Lee frowned. “
What's
hard? Did something happen to Omo?”

“No, not so far as I know.”

“What then?”

“It's McGinty . . . He was murdered.”

“
Murdered?
When?”

“A few days ago.”

“Shit! Do we have a suspect?”

“Yes,” Jenkins answered soberly. “We do. The chief's head and torso were found next to the Hollywood Freeway. There was a note in his shirt pocket. Plus a photo. Here's a copy of both.”

Jenkins pushed a piece of paper across the table. When Lee looked at it, she recognized the block printing right away. “TO DETECTIVE LEE: WELCOME HOME. THE BONEBREAKER.” And below that was a copy of the Alma Kimble photo. X's had been drawn through both of the police officers. Lee felt something akin to ice water trickle into her veins. The Bonebreaker had returned—and he was ready to dance.

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