Page 11

CHAPTER 9

brADY SAID, “TERRIBLE news about Jacobi, Lindsay. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, thanked him, and pulled out the chair across from my boss. I propped my feet against the front of his desk and leaned my chair onto its hind legs. The chair creaked. Brady moved piles of papers out of my way. I wanted to be present, but my mind was swamped with too many images. This had been my office once, and it had also been Jacobi’s. Brady slid a pack of tissues toward me and I leaned forward again to take it.

“Jacobi’s murder is job one,” he said.

I nodded and took my hand back so I could pat my eyes dry with the tissues.

Brady said, “Talk to me.”

I told Brady about Jacobi’s gruesome death, my assessment that he had been unaware of his killer coming up behind him, and that “Jacobi was carrying a piece in his waistband, but he didn’t pull it.”

Brady made notes as I talked, broke a pencil or two, and looked sadder than I’d ever seen him.

“You have pictures?”

I opened my phone’s picture library, found the photos of Jacobi’s dead body, and handed the phone over to Brady, saying, “See here. He was stabbed multiple times. And this slash across his neck …”

“His carotid,” said Brady. He gave a deep sigh. “That … That took him out fast.”

Brady swore as he scrolled through the horrific images and then he had questions. Did I know any Jacobi haters? Why was Jacobi wearing a bird-watcher’s outfit? Did I have any ideas that could shed light on the motive for his murder?

I answered, “I don’t know.” “I have no idea.” “I don’t frickin’ know.”

Brady said, “So, Boxer. We have nothing to go on.”

“We have one measly clue. Maybe. CSIs found a matchbook nearby from a bar called Julio’s. It’s a hole-in-the-wall on Valencia Street. I’ve never been inside.”

I took back my phone and showed Brady pictures of the matchbook and read aloud the “I said. You dead” inscription inside.

“If that’s from the killer, he’s a narcissistic psycho,” Brady said.

I could only nod. “The matchbook is at the lab. I’ll have Alvarez and Conklin check out Julio’s as soon as the bar opens.”

My phone pinged with a text. I glanced at the message and typed, brB . Then I said to Brady, “Claire’s doing Jacobi’s postmortem now. She told me you said this case is mine. Right?”

I was prepared for a flat no, Brady changing his mind and deciding that I was too close to the victim.

But he surprised me, saying, “You and Conklin take the lead on Jacobi. I’ll put Cappy and Chi on this, too. They’ll report to you, Boxer. Grab up a task force and I’ll head it.”

I needed no convincing. I returned the side chair to its upright position and was preparing to leave Brady’s office when his phone rang.

He picked up and held up a finger to me, meaning Wait. He said into the phone, “Say again, Gene.”

As he asked his caller for details, I worked out who Brady was talking with. It had to be Crime Scene Unit director Eugene Hallows. While I wondered what was being said, Brady grabbed his yellow pad and a pencil and quickly wrote down what looked like an address.

He said, “I’ve got it, Gene.” Then he pounded the receiver down on the console hook and said to me, “That was Hallows. He says there’s another dead body near the park.”

“No! Where? Who?”

“A woman was killed in her apartment, a couple blocks from the park. Hallows is on his way over there. Get that task force together, Boxer. I want to brief Clapper before the close of day.”