Womans Murder Club 3 - 3rd Degree

Chapter 62

I BOLTED UP, confused but also afraid. It didn't make sense. “She said she had a trial, Claire. I'm sure of it.”

“She did have a trial, Lindsay. She just didn't show. They've been looking for her all day.”

I pressed my back against the headboard. When I thought about the possibility of Jill bagging work, not calling in, it didn't fly.

“That's not Jill,” I said.

“No,” Claire answered, “that's not Jill at all.”

Suddenly I was worried. “Claire, do you know what's going on? What happened with Steve?”

Claire answered, “No. What are you saying?”

“Stay where you are,” I said.

I hung up the phone and sat there for a second. “I'm sorry, Joe, I gotta go.”

A few minutes later I was driving at full speed down Twenty-third over to Castro. I ran through the possibilities: Jill was depressed. She needed some space. She'd gone to her parents'. Any of them could be true. But Jill would never - never - not show up for court.

I finally pulled up in front of her town house on Buena Vista Park. The first thing I noticed was Jill's sapphire blue 535 still in the driveway.

Claire was waiting on the landing and we hugged. “She doesn't answer,” she said. “I rang the bell, banged on the door.”

I looked around, didn't see anyone. “I hate to do this.” Then I broke a pane in the front door and reached inside. I was thinking that Steve could have gotten inside, too - easily.

Immediately, the alarm sounded. I knew the code, 63442, Jill's state employee number. I punched it in, trying to make up my mind if the alarm being armed was a good sign.

I flicked on a light. I called, “Jill?”

Then I heard Otis barking. The brown lab ran from inside the kitchen.

“Hey, boy.” I patted his back. He seemed happy to see a familiar face. “Where's Mommy?” I asked. I knew one thing. Jill would never leave him. Steve maybe, but not Otis.

“Jill... Steve?” I called around the house. “It's Lindsay. And Claire.”

Jill had just re-done the place in the past year. Patterned couches, melon-colored walls, a tufted leather ottoman for a coffee table. The house was dark and silent. We checked around the familiar rooms. No reply. No Jill.

Claire exhaled and said, “This is really starting to give me the creeps.”

I nodded and squeezed her shoulder. "Me too.

“C'mon,” I said to Claire, “I'm going up to check upstairs. We're going to check.”

Climbing the stairs, I couldn't put aside the thought of a crazed Steve charging out of some room like in some teenage horror movie. “Jill...Steve?” I called out again. I tugged at my gun just in case.

Still no answer. The master bedroom lights were off. The big four-poster bed was made. Jill's toiletries and makeup in the bathroom.

When I last spoke with her she was going to bed. I was about to go back into the hallway when I saw it.

Jill's briefcase.

Jill didn't go anywhere without her “traveling office.” It was a running joke. She didn't go to the beach without her goddamn work.

I took a cloth and held it by the strap, loosely. I met Claire back in the hallway. She'd checked the other rooms. “Noth-ing...”

“I don't like this, Claire. Her car's in the driveway.” My eyes drifted to her case. “This...She slept here, Claire. But she never left for work.”