First to Die

Chapter 121

SIXTH… MARKET… TAYLOR… the streets shot by, the top hat on the roof of Chris Raleigh's car flashing wildly. EHis. Hyde. We shot up Larkin, climbing through the lights, then rocked over the bumps as we careened over Nob Hill. In a matter of minutes, we arrived in Russian Hill. Joanna lived on the top floor of a town house on the corner of Filbert and Hyde. We were no longer waiting to flush her out. Jenks was loose; he had probably homed in on her. Now it was a matter of preventing more killing. We slowed, cut the lights as we wove through the quiet, hilly streets. The house had been unguarded for maybe fifteen minutes. I didn't know if Joanna was up there. Or where the hell Jenks was. Chris pulled to the curb. We checked our guns and decided how to proceed. Then I saw a sight that tore the breath from my lungs. Chris saw it, too. "Christ, he's here." From a narrow alley two houses away, a man in a beard and baggy sport coat emerged. He looked both ways as he hit the street, then he made his way down the block. It was Jenks. Raleigh pulled out his gun and reached for the door. I looked closer in disbelief, grabbed onto him. "Wait. Look again, Chris." We both gaped in amazement. He had the same look: the short reddish-gray hair, the same unmistakable beard. But it wasn't Jenks. The figure was thinner, fairer; the hair was slicked back, hiding a longer length, not cut short. I could see that much. It was a woman. "That's Joanna," I said. "Where's Jenks?" Chris grunted. "This just keeps getting creepier." We watched the figure slink down the block as a frenzy of possibilities ran through my mind. This was creepy. "I'll follow her," said Chris. "You go upstairs. Make sure it's her, Lindsay. I'll radio for support. Go on, Lindsay. Go." The next moment, I was out of the car, crossing the street toward Joanna's apartment. Chris eased the Taurus down the block. I pushed random buttons until a woman's angry voice replied. I identified myself, and a gray-haired woman emerged from the apartment next to the front door. She announced that she was the landlady. I badged her, got her to locate a key pronto. Then I told her to get back in her apartment. I had my gun out, took off the safety. A film of hot sweat was building up on my face and neck. I reached Joanna's apartment on the third floor. My heart was pounding. Careful, Lindsay, a voice inside me said, then came a cautioning chill. Could Nicholas Jenks be here? I had certainly entered enough hostile environments during my police career. None worse than this. I inserted the key, turned, and when the lock caught, pushed the door with my foot. It swung open… revealing the bright, stylishly decorated apartment of Joanna Wade. "Anyone here?" I shouted. No one answered. There was no one in the living room. Same for the dining room, kitchen. A coffee mug in the sink. The Chronicle out and folded to the Datebook section. No sign that I was in the home of a psycho. That bothered me. I moved on. Magazines- Food and Wine, San Francisco- on the coffee table. A few yoga posture books. In the bedroom, the bed, unmade. The entire place had a relaxed, unforbidding feel. Joanna Wade lived like any ordinary woman. She read, had coffee in her kitchen, taught exercise, paid her bills. Killers were preoccupied with their victims. This didn't make sense. I turned into the master bath. "Oh, damn it!" The case had made a last, irrevocable turn. On the floor, in her workout tights, was Joanna Wade. She was leaned against the tub looking at me, but not really -actually, she was still looking at her killer. Her eyes were wide and terrified. He had used a knife. Jenfes? If not him, then who? "Oh, Christ," I gasped. My head was spinning and it hurt. I hurried over to her, but there was nothing I could do. Everything had twisted again. I knelt over the dead woman as a final, shuddering thought filled my mind: If it wasn't Joanna, who was Chris following?