Second Chance

Chapter 93

BY THE END OF THE DAY, Frank Coombs's description was in the hands of every cop in the city. This was personal.

We all wanted to bring him down.

Coombs had no belongings, no real money, no network that we knew of. By all reckoning, we should have him soon.

I asked the girls to get together in Jill's office after everyone else had left. When I arrived, they were cheerful and smiling, probably thinking about congratulating me. The newspapers had Coombs's picture on the front page. He looked like a killer.

I sank down on the leather couch next to Claire.

“Something's wrong,” she said. “I don't think we want to hear this.”

I nodded. “I need to talk about something.”

As they listened, I described my experience of the night before. The real version. How tailing Coombs had been risky and impulsive, though I hadn't had any real choice. How I had gotten trapped. How when I was sure there was no hope, my father had rescued me.

“Jesus, Lindsay.” Jill's jaw hung incredulously. “Will you please try to be more careful...?”

“I know.” I said.

Claire shook her head. “You said to me the other day, I don't know what I would do without you, and you go off taking a risk like that. Don't you think it works the same for us? You're like a sister. Please stop trying to be a hero.”

“A cowboy,” Jill said.

“Cowgirl,” Cindy chimed.

“A couple of seconds either way” I smiled “and you guys would be out on a membership drive about now.”

They sat staring at me, somber and serious. Then a ripple of laughter snaked its way around the room. The thought of losing my girls, or them losing me, made what I had done seem all the more insane. Now it was funny.

“Thank God for Marty!” Jill exclaimed.

“Yeah, good old Marty.” I sighed. “My dad.”

ambivalence, Jill leaned forward. “He didn't hit anyone, did he?”

I took a breath. “Coombs. Maybe someone else.” “Was there blood at the scene?” asked Claire.

“We've been over the house. It was rented to this small-time punk who's disappeared. There was evidence of blood in the driveway.”

They stared back in silence. Then Jill said, “So how'd you leave it, Lindsay? With the department?”

I shook my head. “I didn't. I kept my father out of it.”

“Jesus, Lindsay,” Jill shot back, “your dad may have shot one. He stuck his nose into a police situation and fired his gun.”

I looked at her.

“Jill, he saved my life. I can't just turn him in.”

“But you're taking a huge risk. For what? His gun is properly licensed. He was your father, and he was following you. He saved you. There's no crime in that.”

“Truth is” - I swallowed - “I'm not sure he was following me.”

Jill shot me a hard look. She wheeled her chair closer.

“You want to run that by me again?”

“I'm not sure he was following me,” I said.

“Then why the hell was he there?” Cindy shook her head.

All their eyes fell on me.

Piece by piece, I laid out the exchange with my father in the car after the shooting. How after I confronted him, my father had admitted to being a material witness twenty years ago in Bay View. “He was there with Coombs.” “Oh, shit,” Jill said with blank eyes. “Oh Jesus, Lindsay.”

“That's why he came back,” I said. “All those uplifting conversations about reconnecting with his little girl. His little Buttercup. Coombs was threatening him. He came back to face him down.” “That may be,” said Claire, reaching out for my hand, “but he was threatening him with you. He came back to protect you, too.”

Jill leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Lindsay this may not be about protecting your dad from getting involved. He may have known Coombs was killing people and not come forward.”

I met her eyes. “These past weeks, having him back in my life, it was like, all of a sudden I could put aside the things he had done, the hurt he caused, and he was just a person, who made some mistakes but who was funny and needing, and who seemed happy to be with me. When I was little, I dreamed of something like this happening, my dad coming back.” “Don't give up on him yet,” Claire said.

Cindy asked, “So if you don't think your father came back for you, Lindsay, what is he protecting?”

“I don't know.” I looked around the room, my eyes stopping at every face. “That's the big question.”

Jill got up, went over to the credenza behind her desk, and hoisted up a large cardboard box file. On the front was marked, “Case File 237654A. State of California vs. Francis C. Coombs.” “I don't know either,” she said, patting it. “But I'll bet the answer's somewhere in here.”