It was signed Mala Sangre.
Kingfisher’s cartel.
This had been their test for what? For shutting down our video surveillance? For sending out threatening messages? For disabling our electronic locks inside the jail? For smuggling bombs into the Hall?
It would have been a laughable threat if Kingfisher hadn’t killed two people from the confines of his windowless cell. How had he pulled that off? What else could he do?
I called Cat. She said, “Lindsay, she’s fine. She was in sleepy land when the phone rang.”
I heard Julie crying and Joe’s voice in the background saying, “Julie-Bug, I’m here.”
“Sorry. Sorry,” I said. “I’ll call you in the morning. Thanks for everything, Cat.”
I called
Jacobi. His voice was steady. I liked that.
“I was just going to call you,” he said. “The bomb was stuck under the lip of the sign-in desk. It was small, but if it had gone off during the daytime…” After a pause Jacobi began again. “Hounds and the bomb squad are going through the building. The trial is postponed until further notice.”
“Good,” I said. But I didn’t feel good. It felt like anything could happen. That Kingfisher was in charge of it all.
My intercom buzzed. It was half past one.
Cerrutti, my designated security guard, said, “Sergeant, Dr. Washburn is here.”
Tears of relief filled my eyes and no one had to see them. I buzzed my friend in.
Chapter 25
Claire came through my door bringing hope, love, warmth, and the scent of tea roses. All good things.
She said, “I have to crash here, Lindsay. I drove to the office. It’s closed off from both the street and the back door to the Hall. It’s too late to drive all the way home.”
I hugged her. I needed that hug and I thought she did, too. I pointed her to Joe’s big chair, with the best view of the TV. On-screen now, a live report from Bryant Street.
Wind whipped through the reporter’s hair, turning her scarf into a pennant, making her microphone crackle.
She squinted at the camera and said, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the mayor’s office and can confirm reports that there are no fatalities from the bomb. The prisoner, Jorge Sierra, also known as Kingfisher, remains locked in his cell.
“The mayor has also confirmed that Sierra’s trial has been postponed until the Hall is cleared. If you work at 850 Bryant, please check our website to see if your office is open.”
When the segment ended, Claire talked to me about the chaos outside the Hall. She couldn’t get to her computer and she needed to reach her staff.
Yuki called at two. “You’re watching?”
“Yes. Is Brady with you?”
“No,” she said. “But three cruisers are outside our apartment building. And I have a gun. Nothing like this has ever happened around a trial in San Francisco. Protesters? Yes. Bombs? No.”
I asked her, “Do you know Kingfisher’s new attorney?”
“Jake Penney. I don’t know him. But this I do know. He’s got balls.”
Claire made soup from leftovers and defrosted a pound cake. I unscrewed a bottle of chilled cheap Chardonnay. Claire took off her shoes and reclined in the chair. I gave her a pair of socks and we settled into half a night of TV together.
I must have slept for a few minutes, because I woke to my cell phone buzzing on the floor beside the sofa.
Who was it now? Joe? Cat? Jacobi?