Second Chance

Chapter 33

“IT WAS HIM, LINDSAY, WASN'T IT?”

Cindy was on the phone. It was after eleven. I was trying to pull my wits together at the end of an insane, horrible night. I had just come in from taking Martha on a late walk.

All I wanted was to take a hot shower and wash the image of Art Davidson's body out of my mind.

“You have to tell me. It was the same guy. Chimera. Wasn't it?”

I threw myself onto my bed. “We don't know. There was nothing at the scene.”

“You know, Lindsay. I know you know. We both know it was him.”

I just wanted her to let me be and curl up in my bed. “I don't know,” I said wearily. “It could be.”

“What caliber was the gun? Did it match Catchings?”

“Please, Cindy, don't try to play detective on me. I knew the guy. His partner said it was his kid's seventh birthday. He had five children.”

“I'm sorry, Lindsay,” Cindy finally came back in a softer, gentler voice. “It's just that it's like the first murder, Lindsay. The shot that no one else could make.”

We sat awhile on the phone without talking. She was right. I knew she was right. Then Cindy said, “You've got another one, don't you, Lindsay?”

I didn't answer, but I knew what she meant.

“Another pattern killer. A cold-blooded marksman. And he's targeting blacks.”

“Not just blacks.” I sighed.

“Not just blacks...?” Cindy hesitated, then she came back in a rush. “The Oakland crime reporter got a rumor out of Homicide there. About the Chipman widow. Her husband was a cop. First Tasha's uncle. Then her. Now Davidson makes three. Oh, Jesus, Lindsay.”

“This stays with us,” I insisted. “Please, Cindy, I need to sleep now. You don't realize how hard this is for us.”

“Let us help, Lindsay. All of us. We want to help you.”

“I will, Cindy. I need your help. I need all of your help.”