Backfire

42

Judge Sherlock’s home

Pacific Heights

Tuesday morning

Judge Corman Sherlock said to his son-in-law the next morning across the breakfast table, “You’re frustrated, Dillon, and no wonder, after last night. How about I give you my membership card for the Pacific Heights Club over on Union Street and you get a good workout? I can call Mr. Eddie, he’s usually there, and he’s been looking forward to mixing it up with you. He outweighs you by a good twenty pounds, all of it muscle. Even though he’s older than you, he’s one tough bald bugger.”

Savich hated to say no; he couldn’t think of anything he needed more than a sweaty hard workout. He shook his head. “I’ve got to take a rain check with Mr. Eddie. Lacey and I have to get over to the hospital as soon as we can. Cindy Cahill’s awake, more or less, and this is our first chance to talk to her.”

Five minutes later, after Sean had demolished a bowl of Cheerios and started to rag on his grandmother about the visit to the zoo she’d promised him, even though the zoo wasn’t open yet, Sherlock started up their rental car for the ride across town to San Francisco General Hospital.

Savich booted up MAX as they drove toward Market Street. “Cheney is already working on getting a sketch of Xu from Lin Mei. He said he’d have it out to Hammersmith about now, but it doesn’t look like he’s posted it yet. I wonder how Cindy will react to it.”

“I only hope she’ll be able to talk to us,” Sherlock said. “Cheney said she wasn’t doing well.”

“If she can, I know in my gut that now she’ll tell us everything she knows about Xu, since he tried to have her killed.”

He sat back for a moment, closed his eyes. “Until Xu murdered Milo Siles, and his game plan became clear, it was a nightmare trying to predict him. Sometimes he was controlled and logical, sometimes not. What he pulled off last night was an act of desperation, beyond his control. He was lucky it worked out as well as it did.”

Sherlock turned onto 101 South. “Ripping up an elevator ceiling, throwing down a smoke bomb, and firing down on a bunch of marshals and Ramsey sure wasn’t a logical, controlled act. I still can’t figure that one out.”

“I can’t, either. It’s so over-the-top and out of character for him. Why was he so desperate to kill Ramsey in such a crazy way? Bottom line, he’s a spy, probably has been for quite a while, and a spy’s first watchword, it would seem to me, is discretion. He buried Mickey O’Rourke in a spot no one would ever find, just bad luck for him that those kids were there.

“But then he murdered Milo Siles and Pixie McCray in broad daylight when he could easily have been spotted. He’s all over the place.”

Sherlock said, “I think with Milo it boiled down to eliminating anyone who could hurt him as fast as possible so he can get out of Dodge. It was desperation, like you said. I think if he’d thought he had a choice, he’d have waited until he could get Milo alone, bury him deep, like he did Mickey O’Rourke. I’ll tell you, Dillon, it gives me a headache.”

Savich grinned at her. “I’m hoping Xu is deluded enough or desperate enough to make a try to kill Cindy in the ICU. I doubled her guard. She’s as well covered as Ramsey. If Xu shows up, we’ll get him, no doubt in my mind.”

“You know he’s got to try. The last thing he wants is for her to talk to us, and he’s got to know she would talk, since he tried to have her killed.”

“Ah, here comes the sketch.”

Sherlock looked over at MAX’s screen at the man’s face. “Not very distinctive, is he? Not a single Asian facial characteristic except maybe for the thick black hair. Green eyes, and a thin, longish face. What age would you say, about thirty-five?”

Savich said, “Yeah, that’s about right.” He stared at the man and found himself wondering how Xu had hooked up with the Chinese government, and why he’d become a traitor to his country of birth. Does he feel more Chinese than American? Or is it all about money? Savich knew neither was the whole of it. Fact was, though, Xu was a psychopath who happened to be half Chinese and had found a perfect fit getting paid to do what he took pleasure in.