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CHAPTER 5

CLAIRE CLEARED HER throat, then ran the facts.

“Time of death, approximately two, two and a half hours ago, so, say 6 something a.m. The killer surprised him from behind and knew how to use a blade.”

Einhorn said, “Plus a matchbook we found in the ferns over there.”

“Let me see.”

CSI Dugan opened her kit and held up a small, clear plastic evidence bag containing a matchbook with JULIO ’ S printed on the cover. I recognized the design. It matched the look of the sign belonging to a dark hole of a bar on Valencia Street at the edge of the Mission District. I’d driven past it but never been inside.

“Don’t know if it belonged to the victim or it’s been there for days. But either way, it’s interesting,” Dugan said. “Look at the writing inside.”

I managed to open the matchbook without removing it from the evidence bag and saw that someone had used a ballpoint pen to inscribe a message in block lettering on the inside cover. I could just make out the words: I SAID. YOU DEAD.

What? What the hell does that mean?

I handed the bagged matchbook back to Dugan and addressed the people around me. “‘I said. You dead.’ We’re assuming this was left here by the killer. Is the killer bragging? Fulfilling a prophecy? Has anyone heard this statement before?”

There were no ideas at that moment, but we were just getting started.

I edged out of the scene to let the CSIs and the Forensics unit do their work as ME’s team raised the tape, hefted Jacobi’s body onto a gurney, and rolled it toward the van.

I walked like a zombie to my squad car. I turned it on, released the brake, backed up, then headed east on Nancy Pelosi Drive and toward the Hall of Justice.

At a stoplight, my mind was flooded with fresh images of Jacobi’s lifeless, bloodied body, the horrible sight of his head half sawn off by a strong hand with a killing knife. Tears spilled and I didn’t try to stop them. Warren Jacobi had been a great cop as well as my mentor, partner, and friend to the end.

That made his murder personal.