3rd Degree

Chapter 68

THINKING BACK, I remember only flashes of what hap-pened next. I know I stood there, unable to comprehend what I was seeing: Jill's beautiful face, lifeless now. Her eyes staring forward, clear, almost serene. “Oh no, no...,” I repeated over and over.

I know my legs gave out, and someone held me. Claire's voice, cracking: “Oh my God, Lindsay...”

I couldn't take my eyes off Jill's face. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. I reached out and touched her hand. She still had her wedding ring on.

I heard Cindy start to cry, and saw Claire holding her. I kept repeating over and over, This can't be Jill. What does she have to do with August Spies?

Then things fell into a daze. I kept reminding myself, It's a crime scene, Lindsay, a homicide scene. I wanted to be strong for Claire and Cindy, for all the cops around. I asked, “Did anyone see how she got here?” I looked around. “I want the area canvassed. Someone could've seen a vehicle.”

Molinari tried to pull me away, but I shook him off. I had to look around, find something. There was always some-thing, some mistake they had made. You assholes, August Spies... You scum.

Suddenly Jacobi was there. And Cappy. Even Tracchio. My homicide team. “Let us handle it,” Cappy said. Finally, I just let them take charge.

I was beginning to understand that this was real. These emergency lights, they weren't in my head. Jill was dead. She'd been killed, not by Steve but by August Spies.

I watched them take her away. My friend. Jill...I watched Claire help place her into the morgue van and send it off, sirens blaring. Joe Molinari comforted me as best he could, but then he had to return to the Hall.

Then as the crime scene quieted down, Claire, Cindy, and I sat on the steps of an adjoining building in the light rain. Not a word passed between us. My brain echoed with ques-tions I couldn't answer: Why? How does this fit? It's a different case! How can Jill be connected?

How long we sat on those steps I don't know. The haze of urgent voices, flashing lights. Cindy weeping, Claire holding her. Me too stunned to even speak, my fists clenched, turn-ing the question over and over. Why?

A thought kept creeping into my head. If only I had gone to Jill's that night. None of this might have been....

Suddenly a ringing broke the silence. Cindy's cell. She answered, her voice tremulous. “Yes?” Cindy drew a breath. “I'm at the scene.”

It was her Metro desk.

In a halting voice, she gave details of what had taken place. “Yes, it looks like it is part of the terror campaign. The third victim...” She described the location, the e-mail she had received at the paper, the time.

Then Cindy stopped. I could see tears glazing her eyes. She bit her lip, as if she was afraid to let the words out. “Yes, the victim's been identified. Her name is Bernhardt... Jill.” She spelled it letter by letter.

She tried to say something else, but the words caught in her throat. Claire reached for her. Cindy sucked in a breath, wiped her eyes. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Ms. Bernhardt was Chief Assistant District Attorney of the City of San Fran-cisco....”

Then, in a whisper, “She was also my friend.”