11th hour

Chapter 72

I parked the Explorer behind Brady’s unmarked sedan on the north side of Ivy, a one-way residential street in Hayes Valley dotted with trees and lined with ordinary single and multifamily houses built so close together there was no space between them.

Jacobi’s brown, shingled house was at the far end of the block, and although he had a garage that took up the ground floor, his black Hyundai SUV was parked on the street.

Jacobi had a black SUV — like half the law enforcement officers in California.

Brady and Conklin got out of the unmarked and Conklin got into the Explorer beside me.

Brady stooped down by the window, said, “We’ve had a team on him all day. He came in about an hour ago. Lights went on. He’s probably in for the night.”

“I take it you didn’t catch him killing anyone?”

Brady ignored my tone. “You and Conklin do four hours. Narcotics will spell you at eleven. If he leaves the house, call me.”

“Yes, sir.”

I watched Brady get into his car, then I pulled out my phone, saw three messages from Joe, and ignored them. I arranged dog-sitting for Martha, then leaned back.

I must have sighed. “So you ready to tell me what’s going on, Linds? I’m not going to leave you alone until you spill.”

My mind was still in high gear, boosted by my surging hormones and the whole crappy day.

“Have you cheated on Cindy?” I asked him.

His mouth fell open and he stared at me, a look of shock and disappointment on his face I hadn’t seen in all the years I’d known him.

“Why would you ask me that? Is that what she thinks? Did Cindy say that to you?”

“No. So, have you, Rich?”

“No. Hell no. Seriously, is this what you’ve been thinking? Is this what’s got you all jammed up?”

Conklin’s gaze left me, went past me and through my window, but his shocked expression didn’t change. I heard a hard rapping on the glass.

I swung my head, saw Jacobi’s face right there. He was scowling. He knew that we weren’t parked on his street by accident.

He signaled to me to roll down my window, and I did it.

All I could get out of my mouth was “Jacobi” before he lit into me, lit into us both.

“How nice of you to visit. You are visiting, right, Boxer? You too, Conklin. My old friends, stopping by to see how I’m getting along?”

“It’s a stakeout,” I said miserably.

“You’re tailing me.”

I dropped my head. I was ashamed and mortified. Jacobi gripped the window frame and shook it as if he were rattling bars on a cage.

“You think I’m that Revenge shooter? Is that it, Boxer? I don’t hear from you for weeks, months, then, suddenly, ‘Can you help me with my cases, Warren?’

“I don’t know how many thousands of hours I worked with both of you,” he spat. “Put my life in your hands and vice versa.” He looked at me, then at Conklin, then turned his hooded eyes back to me.

“You turn my stomach, both of you.”

“Jacobi, I’m sorry. Wait!”

“That’s Chief. Chief Jacobi.” He turned away, stalked off with his wooden gait. The silence in the car rang like a bell.

Conklin said, “I’m going after him.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I called Brady.

“Is Jacobi leaving the house?” he asked me.

“Brady, he made us. He made us and he called us out.”