“Why don’t you start by telling us where you were four nights ago,” I started in. “Friday? Around eleven o’clock.”
“Why don’t you kiss my ass.” Coombs sneered. “You want to play games, let’s play. I was either at the ballet or the opening of that new art exhibition. I can’t recall. My schedule’s too full these days.”
“Simplify it for us,” Cappy snapped.
“Sure. Yeah. Actually, I was with friends.”
“These friends,” Jacobi cut in. “They have names, phone numbers? I’m sure they’d be happy to vouch for you.”
“Why?” Coombs’s mouth puckered into a slight grin. “You got someone who says I was somewhere else?”
“I guess what I was thinking”—I met his eyes—“was when was the last time you made it out to Bay View? Your old stomping grou
nds? Maybe I should say your choking grounds.”
Coombs glared. I could tell he wanted to wrap his hands around my neck.
“So he does read the papers,” Cappy chortled.
The ex-con continued to glare. “What the fuck, Inspector, you think I’m some rookie whose knees start to shake when you wag your dick at him? Sure, I read the papers. You assholes can’t solve your case so you come up here and shake my bush for old times. You’ve got zip on me, otherwise you wouldn’t be lap dancing in my face and we’d be having this talk down at the Hall. You think I killed all those dingo bastards, then lock me up. Otherwise, oh, look at the time.… My Town Car’s waiting. Are we done?”
I wanted to take him by the throat and smack his smug face against the wall. But Coombs was right. We couldn’t take him in. Not with what we had. “There are a few questions you’re going to have to answer, Mr. Coombs. You’ll have to answer why three people are dead who had a connection to your murder charge twenty years ago. You’ll have to answer what you were doing on the nights they were killed.”
The veins on Coombs’s forehead started to bulge. Then he calmed, and curled his lips into a smile. “You must be up here, Lieutenant, ’cause you’ve got some eyewitness that can place me at one of the murder scenes.”
I stared at his face without answering.
“Or my prints all over some weapon? Or fibers from this rug, right, or my clothing? You just came up here to let me turn myself in with dignity?”
I stood there inches from Chimera, watching his arrogant grin. “You think, just because you affirmative action flunkies come up here and look tough at me, I’m gonna shove up my ass and say, ‘Hey, stick it here….’It gives me a real kick seeing those assholes drop one by one. You took my life away. You want to make me sweat, Lieutenant, then pretend you’re real cops. Find something that will stick.”
I stood there staring into those cold, haughty eyes. I wanted to take him down so bad. I was tempted. “Consider yourself a murder suspect, Mr. Coombs. You know the routine. Don’t leave town. We’ll be back to see you soon.”
I nodded at Cappy and Jacobi. We moved toward the door.
“One more thing.” I turned back with a grin of my own. “Just so you know… From Claire Washburn… Lean a little to the left, huh, asshole?”
Chapter 85
I WAS TOTALLY WIRED after work. There was just no way I could go home and unwind.
I headed down Brannan toward Potrero, my mind replaying the gut-stabbing interview with Coombs. He was taunting us, laughing in our faces, knowing we couldn’t bring him in.
I knew who Chimera was… but I couldn’t touch him.
I stopped at a light, not wanting to go home but not knowing where else to go. Cindy had a date; Jill and Claire were home with their husbands; I probably could have had a date if I made myself the least bit available.
I thought about calling Claire, but my cell phone was down—I needed to recharge the damn battery. I wanted to do something—the urgency was ripping through me.
If I could only get into Coombs’s hotel room… I felt torn between heading home and possibly making the biggest mistake of my career. My rational voice said, Lindsay, go home, get him tomorrow…. He’s going to mess up soon.
The pounding in my heart said, Uh-uh, baby… stay on him.
Rattle the fucker.
I swung my Explorer onto Seventh and headed for the Tenderloin district. It was almost nine o’clock.
My car seemed to drive itself to the William Simon. My chest felt tight and pressurized. Pete Worth and Ted Morelli had night watch, and as I pulled up, I spotted them in a blue Acura. They had orders, if Coombs left, to follow and radio in. Earlier that day, Coombs had sauntered out, strolled conspicuously around the block, and finally settled in a coffee shop to read the paper. He knew he was being watched.