The 9th Judgment

We were working the Dowling case because Jacobi had been absolutely clear when he said, "Dowling trumps Benton. Dowling trumps everything." Because Casey Dowling was a high-profile victim and the Bentons were not.

I told Jacobi that the lunatic killer who'd left a message in the Bentons' RAV4 made me feel like I'd put my finger in a live electric socket. That I was sure their killer was signaling a pattern in the making. That Conklin and I should be on the Benton case now, full-time.

Jacobi showed me his palms. What do you want from me? No manpower. No budget. I want to keep my job. Do what I tell you.

Conklin looked fresh, his brown eyes sparkling in the gloom of the bull pen, his shining brown hair falling across his forehead as we studied Stolen Property's case notes on Hello Kitty and scoured crime scene photos of the Dowlings' master bedroom.

I was uploading Clapper's footage of the scene when Cindy Thomas blew through the gates and headed toward Conklin and me.

"Look at this!" she shouted, her blond bedspring curls bouncing, blue lightning flashing in her eyes.

She was waving the Oakland Tribune, the smaller, foxier tabloid that competes with the Chronicle. The headline read, "Hello Kitty Kills." Because Cindy had named this cat burglar and had reported on his heists, she considered him hers.

"Everyone's on my story now," she said, swiveling her fierce gaze from me to Conklin and back to me again. "Give me a break, please. I need something that the Trib doesn't have."

"We've got nothing," I said. "Wish we did."

"Rich?" she said to my partner.

Cindy is four years younger than I, more a little sister to me than my actual little sister. I love her, and even though she fights me, she also uses her keen intuition and bulldog tenacity to help me solve homicides. That's in the plus column.

Cindy pulled over a chair, triangulating me and Conklin. It was a neat visual metaphor, and I didn't like it.

"Why would Hello Kitty kill Casey Dowling?" she asked. "Kitty has never been violent. Why would he even be carrying a gun when armed robbery would get him life?"

"We're working the case, Cindy," I said. "Jeez. We haven't stopped. I got all of two hours in the rack last night-"

"Rich?" Cindy cocked her head like a little yellow bird.

"Exactly what Lindsay said. We've got nothing. No prints. No gun. No witnesses."

"Usual deal," Cindy said. She batted her eyelashes at Conklin and gave him her best come-hither stare. "Off the record."

Conklin waited a beat, then said, "What if Casey knew the intruder?"

Cindy leaped up, hugged Conklin around the neck, kissed him on the mouth, and then flew out of the squad room.

"BYE, CINDY," I called after her.

Conklin laughed.

Chapter 19

"I'M GOING TO see Claire," I told my partner.

"Stay in touch," he said.

I ran down three flights and worked my way through the Hall's crowded lobby, out the back door, and down the breezeway to the medical examiner's office.

I found Claire in the autopsy suite. She was wearing a floral shower cap and an apron over her XXL scrubs-still carrying some poundage from her pregnancy on her size-sixteen frame. I called out to her, and she looked up from the body of Barbara Ann Benton, who was lying eviscerated on the table.

"You just missed Cindy," Claire said, putting Barbara Ann's liver onto a scale.

"No, I didn't. She stormed the squad room. Got Conklin into a lip-lock. Promised him favors in exchange for a headline, and he lapped it up. What'd she get out of you?"

"Breaking news. Casey Dowling was shot to death. Cindy has the best job, doesn't she? She can focus on her one and only story and still have time to get it on with Inspector Hottie."

"Anything interesting on Barbara Ann Benton?" I asked, staring into the dead woman's abdominal cavity, hoping to head off a sore subject. To be precise, it was hard keeping Cindy out of confidential police business-and I wasn't sleeping with her.

"No postmortem surprises," said Claire. "Mrs. Benton took two slugs. Either one of them could have killed her, but the shot to the chest is the cause of death."

"And the baby?"

"Cause of death, a nine millimeter through the temporal lobe. Calling it a homicide. That's signed, stamped, and official. The slugs are at the lab."

Claire asked her assistant to finish with Barbara Ann, then stripped off her gloves and mask and walked me out of the autopsy suite and into her office. She took the swivel chair, and I slumped into the seat across from her desk. She pulled two bottles of water out of the fridge and handed one to me.

Claire has a picture on her desk, and I turned it around so I could scrutinize the four of us on the front steps of the Hall of Justice. There was Yuki, all suited up, her dark hair parted in the middle, falling in two glossy wings to her chin; Cindy was grinning, her slightly overlapping front teeth drawing attention to how pretty she really is; and then there was Claire, buxom and beautiful in her midforties.