Page 111

CHAPTER 109

LORRAINE O’DEA STOOD by our table at Susie’s and commented that we all looked like hell. “Except you, Claire.”

Claire laughed and Cindy joined in.

The bottomless pitcher of beer was on the table, along with the frosted mugs and corn chips. Yuki, Cindy, and Claire ordered. I was too preoccupied and just told Lorraine, “I’ll have whatever Claire’s having.”

“Are you sure?” she asked me.

“Not quite. Claire, what did you order?”

“Chicken gizzards in jalapeno sauce.”

Yuki said, “Lorraine, in your own words, what did Dr. Washburn order for her main course? Remember, you’re under oath.”

Lorraine looked at her order pad, flipped over one page, and said, “Dr. Washburn ordered steak fajitas. What now, Sergeant Boxer?”

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

There was more welcome laughter. None of us had laughed in a while.

Cindy said, “Lindsay. The table is yours. We all want to know. Correction, we all need to know.”

“I wish I could tell you. I’ve been told that no one knows where or how Joe is, or when or if he’s coming home. He hasn’t called, and of course he doesn’t have a phone. I’m not giving up on Joe, nor is the FBI.”

“Ohhh, Lindsay.” Claire put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed me tight. I leaned into her hug while looking into Cindy’s and Yuki’s sad eyes.

More questions came at me, all caring but unanswerable. I cut it short by taking a nice long swallow of beer, and then I said, “Let’s hear from Yuki.”

As if she were jumping into the deep end of a cold pool, Yuki told us how just when the trial got going, a helicopter had landed on the roof, and caved it in.

The story had been dominating the news, and still, Yuki detailing for us her eyewitness impressions terrified me. To what extent had this bloody mayhem traumatized her and what effect might that have over time? At least, she said, they were lucky there were so few people in the makeshift courtroom—the body count was limited to the cartel members, including Esteban Dario Garza, and two prison guards. Yuki admitted to having been grazed by a bullet to the right thigh, Nick Gaines had then gotten her out of the “shooting gallery,” and the mark of the bullet looked like a comet trail. Or a locomotive.

“I may get my first tattoo to embellish whatever scar it leaves.”

Cindy asked, “Why a locomotive?”

“It’s weird, Cindy. After the helicopter crashed through the roof, I heard this song, coming from the wreckage. It was about a train and being stuck in Folsom Prison … I can’t shake it out of my head.”

Claire asked, “You mean that old Johnny Cash song, ‘Folsom Prison Blues’? What, they were playing that in the cockpit like they thought they were in Apocalypse Now or something?” She shook her head and muttered, “Sick freaks.”

Yuki said, “Dario’s father, Santiago Garza, was one of the guys who came in the chopper. When I looked around, I saw him holding on to his dead son, absolutely stricken with grief.” She continued: “Speaking of Tiago Garza, that bastard, he spoke to Brady once he was booked. And he wanted to talk about making a deal!

“No surprise. Although he’s one of the worst of the worst—I have to tell you—he confessed. He’s the one who stabbed Jacobi in the back. Yes—him! Why? Garza says Jacobi was shadowing him, so he returned the favor. Garza had heard about ‘I said. You dead,’ and had written that on the matchbook to throw the cops off. But he wasn’t done yet.”

Yuki stopped talking for a moment. Long enough to swallow down some beer and take a breath, and then she picked up where she’d left off. She told us how Garza had also confessed to killing Frances Robinson, the all-star romance writer, for no reason at all. And how he’d also killed the Orlofskys.

Yuki said, “But he had a reason for killing the judge, even though it was sick and twisted. It was to help his son. He told all of this to Brady, and he didn’t want a lawyer. Said he just wants to die. That life is meaningless without his boy. And he told Brady, ‘Dario was a great kid.’”

We all groaned, and Yuki said, “Your turn, Cindy.”

Cindy was still chasing the “I said. You dead” story. She twiddled her fork and said, “Let’s hear from Claire. Claire?”

“What? Why, Cindy? We all know you have a story to tell.”

“It’s not wrapped up yet,” Cindy said. “I don’t want to blow this true-crime drama before its time.”

Claire booed and hissed and laughed at Cindy, who was laughing, too. Then Claire said, “All righty. I’m not afraid to blow the punch line.” And then she sighed. “Gene Hallows called me today, seeing as I was the only person around. He said that you sent a table fork to the lab for testing, Lindsay. Brett Palmer’s fork.”

“True. I wrapped it in a cloth napkin and filched it while Cindy and I were having breakfast with him. What came back?”

“Well, Hallows said there was a match between Palmer’s DNA on the fork and DNA found on Caroline Ford, our dumpster victim. Palmer’s DNA was all around her mouth and on some of her clothes. It’s a match to Brett Palmer, no doubt about it.”

It was another link in the chain, but I was done. I hailed Lorraine and asked for my check. I leaned in and kissed all the ladies’ cheeks—and surprised the hell out of Lorraine when I kissed hers, too.

I half hoped that my husband would be waiting to surprise me outside the café, but there was no Joe. It was a starless night, and when I remembered where I’d parked my car, rain was coming down.