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BY THE TIME I’d returned to the squad room, Blackout’s video with Cindy had been forwarded to police captains and homicide lieutenants up and down the state of California and beyond. A major network was broadcasting a live breaking news report with the familiar anchor looking authoritatively into the camera’s eye. He said,“Best-selling author and crime reporter Cindy Thomas has been abducted.Do you know this man? Have you seen Cindy? Call this number.”
According to Brady, Clapper had uploaded the execution videos and the latest one of Cindy, added our notes, and sent the package to the local FBI section chief, Craig Steinmetz. I knew Craig through Joe. He was first-class.
I was buoyed by the energy of our squad, the determination to bring my dear friend home. At just after midnight, Brady thanked the day shift and said he’d see them in the morning. He called Rich and me into his office and turned on the desk light, motioned for us to sit down.
“Lindsay, you feel that you can objectively work this case?”
“Absolutely, Brady. I’m all in.”
He said, “I’ve spoken to Warden Hauser. You and I have an early morning date with Evan Burke. Rich, I know you want to be on this case, but I’m using my best judgment here. You’re too personally involved, gotta be. But I need you to manage the department while I’m out with Lindsay tomorrow. Coordinate between me and this crew and I promise to keep you looped in. Okay?”
Rich nodded his agreement, but he was scowling. I knew that for him to step off the case as it involved Cindy was killing him. It had been five hours since Blackout had emailed me the video of him dragging Cindy behind him, stopping to rip off her gag, giving her direct orders.“As long as you talk about Burke, you stay alive.”
Had she talked?
Rich and I left the Hall together. I asked if he wanted to come home with me, kick it all around with Joe.
“I need to go home,” he said. “Thanks, Lindsay.”
I walked with Rich to his car parked in the All-Day parking lot across from 850 Bryant and watched him drive off. He was going home to an empty house, an empty bed. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I got into my car and called Joe.
He stayed on the line with me as I drove home.
CHAPTER 68
AT SEVENTHEnext morning, Brady phoned me from the street. I geared up, kissed Julie and her stuffed cow toy, put my arms around Joe, and pressed my cheek to his chest. He gave me a long strong hug and told me not to be alone with Burke for even a second. I promised. He kissed me goodbye.
I jogged down the stairs and ducked into the passenger seat of the white late-model SFPD SUV parked in front of our building. Brady told me to buckle up. He looked tired, which partly explained the two coffee containers in the cup holders and the bag of donuts on the console between us. This would be my second cup, but the caffeine and sugar would rev my engine. The radio was squawking out calls to and from dispatch. I dialed down the volume and opened my container of heavily sugared black Colombian.
It was thirty miles to San Quentin and I barely noticed the scenic wonders of the bay, the bridge, the sea pounding the shoreline. Light rain was falling as we boarded the LarkspurFerry, and within moments the rain picked up with a blast of wind, stirring up a strong chop on the bay.
Brady and I sat in a middle row, loosely scripting this hoped-for meeting with Burke. We had no other leads and the outcome couldn’t be predicted. Burke could refuse to see us or rush to see us; play ball or refuse to leave his cell. We knew Burke was a master manipulator. A god in his own mind. A monster in ours.
I checked in with Richie before we reached shore.
His voice was hoarse. He told me he’d been on the phone with his parents and sibs in the hours after midnight.
I asked, “Did you sleep?”
He said, “Something like sleep. Somewhere between comatose and being hooked up to a car battery.”
“Aw, geez, Rich.”
Alvarez joined the call. She said, “I dreamed.”
“Of shooting Burke?”
“You, too?”
Brady was on his phone, looking out over the bay as we closed in on the wharf. I took a mirror from my handbag, applied concealer under my eyes, and finger-combed my wind-whipped hair. And I thought about Cindy. I remembered my trip with her to Phoenix two days ago. The flippy jersey dress that she’d worn. How she’d laughed. How much she’d enjoyed the applause. I remembered our dinner at the airport, getting the plane that night. How happy I’d felt getting Cindy safely the hell out of town.
Brady came over and joined me.
He said, “Yuki’s on jury watch today.”
“I know. I didn’t tell her about Cindy. I didn’t want to throw her off her game.”
