Second Chance

Chapter 48

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I drove out to Ingleside Heights to talk with Chief Mercer's wife. I felt I needed to do it myself. A line of cars was already stretched along the street around the chief's home. A relative answered the door and told me Mrs. Mercer was upstairs with family.

I stood around, checking out faces I recognized gathered in the living room. After a few minutes, Eunice Mercer came down the stairs. She was accompanied by a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman who turned out to be her sister. She recognized me and walked my way.

“I'm so sorry. I can't believe it,” I said, squeezing her hand first, then hugging her.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you've just gone through this yourself.”

“I promise you, I know how tough this is. But I need to ask you a few questions,” I finally said to her.

She nodded, and her sister floated back among the guests.

Eunice Mercer took me into a private den.

I asked her many of the same questions I had put forth to the relatives of other victims. Had anyone recently threatened her husband? Calls to the house? Anyone suspicious lately watching the house?

She shook her head no. “Earl said this was the only place where he actually felt like he lived in the city, not just ran the police force.”

I changed tack. “You ever come across the name Art Davidson before this week?”

Eunice Mercer's face went blank. “You think Earl was killed by the same man who did these other horrible things?”

I took her hand. “I think these murders were all committed by the same man.”

She massaged her brow. “Lindsay, nothing makes sense to me right now. Earl's murder. That book.” “Book...?” I asked.

“Yes. Earl always read car magazines. He had this dream, when he retired... this old GTO he kept in a cousin's garage. He always said he was gonna tear it down and build it up from scratch. But that book he had stuffed in his jacket... ”

“What book?” I was squinting at her hard.

“A young doctor at the hospital returned it to me, along with his wallet and keys. I never knew he had such an interest in that sort of thing. Those old myths--”

Suddenly my pulse was racing. “Can you show me what you're talking about?” “Of course,” Eunice Mercer said. “It's over here.” She left the den and in a minute came back. She handed me a paperback copy of a book every school kid reads. Mythology; by Edith Hamilton.

It was an old dog-eared copy, looked as if it had been leafed through a thousand times. I rifled through the pages and spotted nothing.

I ran down the table of contents. Then I saw it. Halfway down, page 141. It was underlined. Bellerophon Kills the Chimera.

Bellerophon... Billy Reffon.

My heart clenched. It was the name he'd used on the 911 call about Art Davidson. He had called himself Billy Reffon.

I flipped to page 141. It was there. With an illustration.

The lion rearing. The goat's body. The serpent's tail.

Chimera.

The bastard was telling us he had killed Chief Mercer.

A surge rippled through me. There was something else on the page. A sharp, edgy script, a few words, scrawled above the illustration in ink:

More to come... justice will be served.