figured that sometime we would discuss where our relationship was headed, but I hadn’t expected it today.
How could I live in DC?
I saw my startled look register on his face.
“Okay, hang on. There’s another way to look at this,” he said.
Joe began to tell me some of what I already knew: that the Port of Los Angeles is the entry point for all of the cargo containers coming by ship from Hong Kong, the largest container port in the world.
Then he told me the Homeland Security viewpoint.
“There’s an honest-to-God fear that terrorists could smuggle a nuke — say from North Korea — by way of a container coming from Hong Kong into LA,” Joe said. “And the chance that we’d detect such a device, at present, is practically nil.
“We don’t yet have effective systems in place. I see an opportunity to help secure the port. I think I could do important work out here.”
The ferry engines ground into reverse with a roar, and the bulky wooden ship coasted into dock. Suddenly we were in the center of a shoving mob, moving us down the gangway. Talking was impossible as our handhold was broken apart and strangers seeped between us.
Joe’s Town Car was waiting beyond the docks, gleaming and black. He held open the door for me and asked the driver to take us to the lot where I’d parked my car.
“I know it’s a lot to think about,” he said.
“Joe, I want to talk more about this. I hate that you’re leaving. I really hate it, especially this time.”
“Me, too, Linds. We’ll find a way.”
The Town Car stopped in the parking lot, and we both got out. I leaned against the sun-heated flank of my old Explorer.
I felt tears coming into my eyes as we embraced, exchanged “I love yous” and wishes for a safe trip home.
We hugged and kissed again.
It had been another beautiful day added to our scrapbook of special memories. I could still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, the sting of salt against my whisker-burned cheeks.
I could still feel him, as if he were right there beside me.
But Joe was gone.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Part Three
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
IN SEARCH OF CAR GIRLS
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 46
I CAME BACK TO THE SQUAD ROOM after lunch with Cindy, feeling several pairs of eyes tracking me as I passed the desks on my way to my office. I was thinking that a week had passed since Caddy Girl’s picture had been posted in the Chronicle, and now Jag Girl’s photo would be running beside it.
It was infuriating that we were still hoping for tips from the public.
Where were the leads?
Why was there so little evidence?
What the hell were we overlooking? How were we messing up?
I waved Jacobi and Conklin into my glass cube and closed the door, hung my jacket up. Conklin sprawled in the chair, his long legs spanning the length of my desk, while Jacobi parked, as usual, on the edge of my credenza.
I told Jacobi and Conklin that I’d put the photo of Jag Girl out to the press and asked if they had anything new.
“My partner’s got something for you, Boxer.” Jacobi isn’t prone to smiling, but I thought I saw a spark of pride light up his stony eyes.
“Yeah, we’ve got sorta good news,” said Conklin as he sat up straight in the chair.
“Any kind of news is good news on this case.”
“We got the DNA back on Caddy Girl’s rape kit.”
“Excellent. What do we know?”
“We got a cold hit, Lou,” Conklin said.
My rising hopes crashed.
A cold hit is a little bit of not much to go on. In this case, there was a matching DNA profile in the database — but the donor’s ID was unknown.
Conklin spread the computer printout on my desk, spun it so it faced me. Then he took me through it, slowly, patiently, the way I took my bosses through detail they were too thick to get.
“This sample came from the sexual assault kit of a white female who was killed in LA two years ago,” Conklin said.
How could I live in DC?
I saw my startled look register on his face.
“Okay, hang on. There’s another way to look at this,” he said.
Joe began to tell me some of what I already knew: that the Port of Los Angeles is the entry point for all of the cargo containers coming by ship from Hong Kong, the largest container port in the world.
Then he told me the Homeland Security viewpoint.
“There’s an honest-to-God fear that terrorists could smuggle a nuke — say from North Korea — by way of a container coming from Hong Kong into LA,” Joe said. “And the chance that we’d detect such a device, at present, is practically nil.
“We don’t yet have effective systems in place. I see an opportunity to help secure the port. I think I could do important work out here.”
The ferry engines ground into reverse with a roar, and the bulky wooden ship coasted into dock. Suddenly we were in the center of a shoving mob, moving us down the gangway. Talking was impossible as our handhold was broken apart and strangers seeped between us.
Joe’s Town Car was waiting beyond the docks, gleaming and black. He held open the door for me and asked the driver to take us to the lot where I’d parked my car.
“I know it’s a lot to think about,” he said.
“Joe, I want to talk more about this. I hate that you’re leaving. I really hate it, especially this time.”
“Me, too, Linds. We’ll find a way.”
The Town Car stopped in the parking lot, and we both got out. I leaned against the sun-heated flank of my old Explorer.
I felt tears coming into my eyes as we embraced, exchanged “I love yous” and wishes for a safe trip home.
We hugged and kissed again.
It had been another beautiful day added to our scrapbook of special memories. I could still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, the sting of salt against my whisker-burned cheeks.
I could still feel him, as if he were right there beside me.
But Joe was gone.
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Part Three
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
IN SEARCH OF CAR GIRLS
Womans Murder Club 5 - The 5th Horseman
Chapter 46
I CAME BACK TO THE SQUAD ROOM after lunch with Cindy, feeling several pairs of eyes tracking me as I passed the desks on my way to my office. I was thinking that a week had passed since Caddy Girl’s picture had been posted in the Chronicle, and now Jag Girl’s photo would be running beside it.
It was infuriating that we were still hoping for tips from the public.
Where were the leads?
Why was there so little evidence?
What the hell were we overlooking? How were we messing up?
I waved Jacobi and Conklin into my glass cube and closed the door, hung my jacket up. Conklin sprawled in the chair, his long legs spanning the length of my desk, while Jacobi parked, as usual, on the edge of my credenza.
I told Jacobi and Conklin that I’d put the photo of Jag Girl out to the press and asked if they had anything new.
“My partner’s got something for you, Boxer.” Jacobi isn’t prone to smiling, but I thought I saw a spark of pride light up his stony eyes.
“Yeah, we’ve got sorta good news,” said Conklin as he sat up straight in the chair.
“Any kind of news is good news on this case.”
“We got the DNA back on Caddy Girl’s rape kit.”
“Excellent. What do we know?”
“We got a cold hit, Lou,” Conklin said.
My rising hopes crashed.
A cold hit is a little bit of not much to go on. In this case, there was a matching DNA profile in the database — but the donor’s ID was unknown.
Conklin spread the computer printout on my desk, spun it so it faced me. Then he took me through it, slowly, patiently, the way I took my bosses through detail they were too thick to get.
“This sample came from the sexual assault kit of a white female who was killed in LA two years ago,” Conklin said.
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