Lindsay laughed. Then she promptly told her to shut up and informed her friend that she was going back to bed.
They exchanged love-yous and hung up, and then Cindy picked up where she left off with her chores. It was funny how, even though she had known Martha forever, she felt her feelings toward the fluffy dog had deepened while taking care of her. This doggy was changing from just a typical cute dog to a close friend.
Cindy had been fighting Richie on the subject of having kids for a couple of years now. She wasn’t ready for them. Yet he’d been ready since before he’d even met Cindy. At one point, the two of them had actually broken up over this very issue. Thank God they had been able to get past their differences and get back together.
Even though Cindy hadn’t changed her position.
Still, being responsible for this old dog made Cindy think she might have some tiny maternal instinct inside her after all.
She threw the wet towels into the wash, left her shoes in the bathtub, and found a pair of Lindsay’s sneakers in her closet. They were big, but they almost fit her. Then she dried her hair, and when her blond curls had sprung back into shape, she located a trench coat with a belt in the back of Lindsay’s closet. She tried it on and decided it would work well enough.
Before she left the apartment, she called the girls and put them on a conference call.
“Lunch, anyone?”
Claire and Yuki were both in.
Chapter 17
Claire stripped off her gown, mask, and gloves. She told her crew that she was going out for a quick lunch and that she would be back in an hour.
MacBain’s, the bar and grill down the street from the Hall, was named for a heroic captain of the SFPD who was now deceased. His daughter, Sydney, owned the local watering hole. It specialized in a five-dollar burger-and-fries lunch and was generally packed from twelve noon to midnight with Hall of Justice workers.
Claire, Lindsay, and Yuki were card-carrying customers.
Cindy didn’t work at the Hall but had her own card. It said Press on it, and Sydney MacBain was happy to have her business.
At a quarter past noon, the line of customers was trailing out the door, of course. Claire joined it and was greeted moments later by Yuki. The two friends grabbed each other into a big hug.
Yuki had just returned to the DA’s office after a year of doing pro bono defense work and was charged up to be putting bad guys away. She had just lost a case of national and global proportions, and was eager to put it behind her by diving into the next one. And Claire had no doubt that her friend would do a phenomenal job on it.
Yuki said, “Tell me all about this woman who apparently came back from the dead in your morgue.”
“I can only tell you because she’s alive,” said Claire. “And because Cindy isn’t here.”
Yuki drew an X over the breast pocket of her suit jacket with a finger, swearing to keep the secret.
So Claire told her. “The subject, who shall remain nameless, was found naked under the naked body of a man who was not her husband. He’d taken a few plugs to the back and one to the arm, and she had been shot a couple times, too. She appeared to be dead, but in fact was cataleptic.”
“Is that like catatonic?”
Claire laughed. “Not at all.”
Just then, there was a tap on Claire’s shoulder.
She turned and was standing face-to-face with Cindy Thomas, the crime reporter. Her springy blond hair bounced and shook as she said, “Don’t give me that off-the-record crap. I swear not to run anything until you say it’s okay. Okay?”
Yuki said, “I feel like I’ve heard this pitch before.”
The three friends threw their heads back as they laughed. Then the line moved forward and a table opened up inside. When they were settled at their table and had ordered their burgers and sparkling water, Claire told her friends the rest of the information that she knew about the case.
“The unnamed female’s outfit was collected from the hotel room and is with my team, currently undergoing testing. It’s a two-piece Givenchy suit, a black button-down shirt, evening slacks, and high-heeled sandals. Also, she had very expensive undergarments. The kind that I can only afford in my dreams.”
Cindy said to Claire, “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Then she turned to Yuki and said, “So, here’s the rest of it—as I was able to figure out.” She cracked a sly grin.
“This naked man who was found lying on top of this unnamed female. Let’s call her, well, let’s call her, Joan—”
Claire shook her head and sighed.
The food arrived at the table, and after the ladies took a few bites, Cindy went on. “The naked man was shot dead and Joan was also hit by a couple of slugs. She appeared to be dead. Stone-cold dead. But she was not. And based on the very expensive undergarments and the nakedness, it seems like she went to the hotel with recreation in mind.”
Yuki said, “So are there any other theories besides the obvious? Do we know for certain that she was having an affair with the John Doe?”
Cindy said, “When I met her, she was just regaining consciousness. She told us that she had completely lost her memory.”
“And it could be true,” Claire told her friends. “She was out of it for six hours, at least. The refrigeration saved her life, but that’s not to say she didn’t lose a few memories. She needs a neurological workup and I hope she gets one.”
“Or she could be lying,” said Yuki. “You say she knew her name but not what happened to her in that hotel room? That’s pretty convenient, if you ask me.”
Cindy put down her burger and pointed a French fry at her friend before she dipped it into a puddle of ketchup. “If you met her and talked with her, you’d believe her, Yuki.”
“I’m a human lie detector,” Yuki said sweetly. “I’ll bet if I met her, I still wouldn’t believe her. I’m pretty sure she’s a very charming and skillful liar.”
Claire sighed, looked down at her watch, and said, “I have time for a quick coffee if you do.”
When she glanced back up at Cindy’s face, she could tell that her friend had disappeared down a road of deep thought.
No doubt she was working on a story headlined “Dead Woman Walking.”
Chapter 18
Rich Conklin was at his desk in the squad room. He was doing a background check on the deceased, since he now had his name.
Samuel J. Alton had a negligible record. Twenty years before, when he was seventeen, he had been busted for selling pot at a beach party in LA. He’d pled guilty to the misdemeanor, got six months’ probation, and paid a fine. It seemed he’d learned his lesson, though, because after that he hadn’t gotten so much as a parking ticket.
But Sam Alton wasn’t exactly a model citizen, because once a month he came to town, stayed at the Warwick, and apparently spent time with a very wealthy woman who had a home in an exclusive part of town. That woman always booked a room for the two of them. She also happened to have a husband. And he’d had a wife and kids.
Had last weekend’s tryst gotten Sam Alton killed?