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“Yes. It’s exactly like that.”
“Personal feelings aside,” Brady said, “I should write you up for that. It was procedurally unsafe, to say the least. What if you’d gotten shot? What if you’d shot someone? And now Joe does the same dumb-ass thing? Are you running some sort of private police department out of your garage? Don’t you have enough work to do, Boxer?”
That was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer, but I flushed down to my toes. It was humiliating to have Brady kick my ass. Factually, Joe was in the clear. He was nobody, as far as the SFPD was concerned. He hadn’t messed up a case against Hubbell. But now it was official and I had to color strictly within the lines.
I waited a second or two, then said, “Lieutenant, while Hubbell had Joe cuffed and confined, he confessed to killing five people. I’m going to try to get him to say that again.”
Brady tipped so far back in his chair, I thought it would go over. He put his hands over his eyes and threw a sigh so deep and so long, I actually felt sorry for him.
He said, “Get Wang and Michaels. Strichler is their case. They should be in the interrogation. No mistakes, Lindsay. Video everything. From this point on, do it strictly by the book.”
“I get it. And I’m sorry, Brady. I’ll make it up to you.”
CHAPTER 88
HUBBELL HAD BEEN processed and was slouching in a small gray chair at a matching metal table in the small gray room we call Interview 2. Inspectors Michaels, Wang, and I took seats at the table, and Joe stood outside the two-way mirror with Brady. Brady wore a mic so that he could wirelessly fire comments and questions directly into my ear.
I was up to speed on Hubbell’s arrest for raping Tina Strichler twenty-five years before and his sterling record of good behavior while incarcerated at Pelican Bay and, later, at Corcoran. Hubbell’s personally inked “star map” of his homicides was now spread out on the table.
He’d even thoughtfully provided a key to the murders on the back of it: names, locations, and the date of each.
Wang and Michaels were there to watch and share in the glory—if there was any glory—and I would be happy to hand off this serial killer collar to them.
I formally introduced myself to Hubbell, introduced him to the other cops in the room, and told him I appreciated his coming in to talk to us. I said that without a trace of sarcasm.
But still, he laughed.
“That was a hell of an escort I got.”
“First-class treatment, Mr. Hubbell. Nothing but the best for you. You’re kind of a superstar, aren’t you?”
He laughed again. Oh, man. He was enjoying himself.
“Mr. Hubbell, you’ve told us that you killed five women in locations you’ve starred on your map of San Francisco. This is that map, right?”
Hubbell said, “You mind getting me something to drink?”
Wang took Hubbell’s order. “What can I get you?”
“Got any Mountain Dew?”
“One frosty-cold Mountain Dew coming right up.”
I was sitting directly across the table from Hubbell, and after he slugged down his soda, I said, “Are we ready now?”
“I have one other request.”
I said sweetly, “Tell me.”
“I want to go back to Pelican Bay. If you promise me that, I’ll tell you every single thing.”
“Why Pelican Bay?”
“I want to go home.”
Brady spoke in my ear. “Tell him that your CO gives you his word, and that we’ll get a commitment from the DA in the morning.”
I repeated that to Hubbell. I expected him to say, “Well, I guess this can wait until I hear from the DA.”
