Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance

Chapter 80

WELL, THAT SUCKED. Stirring up bad memories for Rusty Coombs made me feel terrible. Even Jacobi agreed.

We made it back to the office about four. We'd driven all the way down to Palo Alto just to run into another dead end.

What fun.

There was a phone message waiting for me. I called Cindy back immediately. “There's a rumor floating around that you've narrowed on a suspect,” she said. “Truth or dare?”

“We have a name, Cindy, but I can't tell you anything. We just want to bring him in for questioning.”

“So there's no warrant?”

“Cindy... not just yet.”

“I'm not talking about a story, Lindsay. He went after our friend. Remember? If I can help... ”

“I got a hundred cops working on it, Cindy. Some of us have even handled an investigation or two before. Please, trust me.”

“But if you haven't brought him in, then you haven't found him, right?”

“Or maybe we haven't made the case yet. And Cindy, that's not for print.”

“This is me talking, Linds. Claire, too. And Jill. We're in this case, Lindsay. All of us.”

She was right. Unlike any other homicide case I had worked, this one seemed to be growing more and more personal. why was that? I didn't have Coombs and I could use the help. As long as he stayed free, anything could happen.

"I do need your help. Go through your old files, Cindy.

You just didn't go back far enough.“ She paused, then sucked in a breath. ”You were right, weren't you? The guy's a cop."

“You can't go with that, sweetie. And if you did, you'd be wrong. But it's damned close.”

I felt her analyzing, and also biting her tongue. “We're still going to meet, aren't we?”

I smiled. “Yeah, we're going to meet. We're a team. More than ever.”

I was about to pack it in for the night when a call buzzed through to my line. I was sitting around thinking that Tom Keating had been lying. That he'd spoken to Coombs. But until we put out a warrant, Keating could hold back all he wanted.

To my utter surprise, it was his wife on the line. I almost dropped the phone.

“My husband's a stubborn man, Lieutenant,” she began, clearly nervous. “But he wore the uniform with pride. I've never asked him to account for anything. And I won't start -now. But I can't sit back. Frank Coombs killed that boy And if he's done something else, I refuse to wake up every morning for the rest of my life knowing I abetted a murderer.”

“It would be better for everybody, Mrs. Keating, if your husband told us what he knows.” “I don't know what he knows,” she said, “and I believe him when he says he hasn't spoken to Coombs in some time. But he wasn't telling the whole truth, Lieutenant.”

“Then why don't you start.”

She hesitated. “Coombs did come by here. Once. Maybe two months ago.”

“Do you know where he is?” My blood started to rush.

“No,” she answered. “But I did take a message from him. For Tom. I still have the number.”

I fumbled for a pen.

She read me the number. 434-9117. “I'm pretty sure it was some kind of boarding house or hotel.”

“Thank you, Helen.” I was about to hang up when she said, "There's one more thing... When my husband said he lent Coombs a hand, he wasn't telling the whole story. Tom did give him some money.

He also let him rummage through some old things in our storage locker.“ ”What sort of things?" I asked.

“His old department things. Maybe an old uniform, and a badge.”

That's what Coombs had been looking for in his ex-wife's house. His old police uniforms. My mind clicked. Maybe that's how he got so close to Chipman and Mercer.

“That's all?” I asked.

“No,” Helen Keating said. "Tom kept guns down there.

Coombs took those, too."