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Because he had definitely earned it.
CHAPTER 65
MY PHONE ALARM buzzed, and for a long moment I didn’t have the will to get out of bed.
But the choice was taken out of my hands. Martha gave me a sloppy facial, Julie cranked up the first notes of her fullthroated cry, and if I didn’t move fast, I was going to be late for work.
I sprang from my cocoon and went straight for Julie’s room. Once I had her in my arms, Mrs. Rose arrived, and together we launched the morning routine of food for little girl, dog walk, and caffeine with plenty of sugar for me. As Mrs. Rose ran the dishwasher, I checked the TV news.
Elise Antonelli, Connor Grant’s attorney, was giving a press conference outside San Francisco General, and her client, who was bruised, bandaged, and deadpan, was standing beside her.
Antonelli was saying, “On behalf of my client, we are filing a complaint against Sergeant Lindsay Boxer with the Internal Affairs Bureau of the San Francisco Police Department. IAB is charged with investigating crimes against citizens or other police officers.
“In the case of Sergeant Boxer, we are claiming unlawfu
l violation of personal liberty, which means false imprisonment.
“We are further claiming that she lied about my client, resulting in his criminal prosecution for twenty-five murders. My client was tried and found not guilty on all counts by his jury, but the publicity generated by this trial resulted in several near-fatal attacks on Mr. Grant’s life.”
Elise Antonelli put up a hand to block reporters’ questions.
“In a conversation with the mayor this morning, we have been assured that Sergeant Boxer will be thoroughly investigated, and if found in the wrong, she will be separated from—that is, fired by—the SFPD.”
The press could no longer be constrained. Questions were fired from all sides, but I’d stopped listening. Antonelli’s public statement that I was being investigated was too damned real and sent me into some kind of shock. I stared at the tube, openmouthed, fingers tingling, specks floating in front of my eyes.
Mrs. Rose called in from the kitchen, “What did she say?”
I shut off the TV and brought Mrs. Rose into the loop on the beating of Connor Grant and how I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to hurt somebody.
“He’s an opportunist, and that’s the very kindest thing I can say about him,” I told her. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.”
She gave me a look that was both hard and questioning. She knew me well. She knew that I was worried sick.
A half hour later, wearing my imaginary cloak of invisibility, I entered the Hall through the back door and ran up the stairs. Brenda, our squad assistant, snagged me the moment I stepped into the bull pen. “You’re very popular,” she said, handing me a list of one-on-one meetings she’d scheduled for me with Brady, Jacobi, Nash, who is our new head of PR, and Len Parisi. There was also a note from Parisi reading, “Don’t speak with anyone but your union rep and the people on the list.”
My rep?
I was scared. I had done nothing wrong. But what if I was somehow found responsible for violating Grant’s rights? What then? My resources were finite. Joe wasn’t working. And after a dismissal for cause, I might never be able to work as a cop again.
I dropped into my desk chair, and I didn’t care that he wasn’t on Parisi’s approved list, I told Conklin all about it. After that I went to my meetings with the brass and I called Joe. We talked for over an hour from my seat in the fire stairs.
By the time Claire called to ask if I was free for dinner with Cindy and Yuki, I was ripping mad.
I said to Claire, “God, yes to dinner. Connor Grant killed twenty-five people and he’s going after me? I want to see all of you, really bad.”
CHAPTER 66
AFTER WORK I drove to Susie’s Café, our longtime Women’s Murder Club HQ. I arrived first, commandeered “our” booth in the back room, and ordered a pitcher of brew.
Yuki and Cindy arrived next, slid into the seat across from me. Cindy said, “Oh, my God, Lindsay, what is the story with Grant filing a complaint against you?”
Yuki poured Cindy a beer, saying, “You’re a touch wired, Cin. Not another word until you drink this down.”
“Oh, no. You’re going to torture me with beer?”
Yuki laughed, which lifted my mood and had a similar effect on of the six or seven people within range of her melodious chortle. Cindy looked pleased to get such a big laugh on her small joke, and I refilled my glass. I wasn’t yet laughing. I wasn’t sure beer could help me.
About then Claire arrived like a stiff breeze, knocking silverware to the floor as she edged between other tables and ours. She apologized, bent to retrieve a spoon, and knocked into another table, scattering more silverware. Our waitress skidded to a halt, balancing full dishes of pulled pork as Yuki scrambled to help Claire in that narrow aisle. Oh, man, everyone was laughing at our clumsy gang.
