Womans Murder Club 3 - 3rd Degree

Chapter 38

BACK AT MY DESK, there was a message from Chief Trac-chio waiting for me, and one from Jill.

“And the Chronicle's waiting for you,” my secretary Brenda called.

“The Chronicle?”

I looked up and saw Cindy, sitting knock-kneed on a stack of files outside my office. She pulled herself up as I approached, but I just didn't have the time for her.

“Cindy, I can't meet right now. I'm sorry. There's a briefing scheduled -”

“No,” she cut in, stopping me, “I have something to show you, Lindsay. This takes precedence.”

“Is everything all right?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

We shut the door to my office behind us, and Cindy re-moved a piece of paper from her knapsack. It looked like e-mail.

“Sit down,” she said. She put the page in front of me and sat next to me. “Read.”

One look at Cindy's eyes and I knew this wasn't good.

“It came in my morning e-mail,” she explained. “I'm listed on the Chronicle website. I don't know who it's from. Or why they sent it to me. It's just that I'm a little freaked right now.”

I started to read. Don't ask how we got your name or why we're contacting you.... The more I read, the worse it got. We are prepared to kill one prominent bloodsucking pig every three days.... I looked up.

“Keep reading,” Cindy said.

I looked back down and read the rest of the page. I was trying to decide if it was real. I reached the bottom, and knew that it was.

August Spies.

My chest was building up pressure. Suddenly, it was clear where all this was headed. They were holding the city hostage. This was a statement of terror. The G-8. Their target. It was scheduled for the tenth - in nine days. The finance ministers of the top industrial states around the world would be in San Francisco.

“Who knows about this?” I asked.

“You and me,” Cindy said. “And them.”

“They want you to publish their demands,” I said. “They want to use the Chronicle as a soapbox.” I was thinking of all the possible scenarios. “This is gonna make Tracchio shit.”

The countdown had already started. Every three days. Today was Thursday. I knew this e-mail had to be turned over. And once I did, I knew it would no longer be my case. But there was something I needed to do first.

“We can try and trace the address,” Cindy said. “I know a hacker -”

“It won't lead anywhere,” I said. “Think,” I pressed her. “Why did they contact you? There are plenty of other reporters at the Chronicle. There's got to be a good reason.”

“Maybe because my byline's on the story. Maybe because I have roots in Berkeley. But that was ten years ago, Lindsay.”

“Could it be someone from back then? Someone you knew? That asshole Lemouz?”

We looked at each other. “What do you want me to do?” Cindy finally asked.

“I don't know....” They had made contact. I knew killers enough to know that when they want a dialogue with you, when there's anything you can do to put off the next grisly act, you talk.

“I think I want you to answer it,” I said.