“What’s he done, anyway? My mother said you guys are from Homicide. We know what’s in the news. Everyone knows what’s going on up there. Whatever he did before, he paid his time, didn’t he? You can’t believe just because he made some mistakes twenty years ago he’s responsible for these terrible crimes?”
“We wouldn’t have driven all the way down unless it was important,” Jacobi said.
The football player shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. He seemed to be a likable kid, cooperative. He rubbed his hands together. “He came here once. When he first got out. I had written him a couple of times in jail. I met with him in town. I didn’t want anybody to see him.”
“What did he say to you?” I asked.
“I think all he wanted was to clear his own conscience. And know what my mother thought of him. Never once did he say, ‘Hey, great job, Rusty. Look at you. You did good.’ Or, ‘Hey, I follow your games….’ He was more interested in knowing if my mom had thrown out some of his old things.”
“What sort of things?” I asked. What would be so important that he would drive all the way here and confront his son?
“Police things,” Rusty Coombs said and shook his head. “Maybe his guns.”
I smiled sympathetically. I knew what it was like to look at your father with something less than admiration. “He give you any idea where he might go?”
Rusty Coombs shook his head. He looked like he might tear up. “I’m not Frank Coombs, Inspectors. I may have his name, I may even have to live with what he did, but I’m not him. Please leave our family alone. Please.”
Chapter 80
WELL, THAT SUCKED. Stirring up bad memories for Rusty Coombs made me feel terrible. Even Jacobi agreed.
We made it back to the office about four. We’d driven all the way down to Palo Alto just to run into another dead end. What fun.
There was a phone message waiting for me. I called Cindy back immediately. “There’s a rumor floating around that you’ve narrowed on a suspect,” she said. “Truth or dare?”
“We have a name, Cindy, but I can’t tell you anything. We just want to bring him in for questioning.”
“So there’s no warrant?”
“Cindy… not just yet.”
“I’m not talking about a story, Lindsay. He went after our friend. Remember? If I can help…”
“I got a hundred cops working on it, Cindy. Some of us have even handled an investigation or two before. Please, trust me.”
“But if you haven’t brought him in, then you haven’t found him, right?”
“Or maybe we haven’t made the case yet. And Cindy, that’s not for print.”
“This is me talking, Linds. Claire, too. And Jill. We’re in this case, Lindsay. All of us.”
She was right. Unlike any other homicide case I had worked, this one seemed to be growing more and more personal. Why was that? I didn’t have Coombs and I could use the help. As long as he stayed free, anything could happen.
“I do need your help. Go through your old files, Cindy. You just didn’t go back far enough.”
She paused, then sucked in a breath. “You were right, weren’t you? The guy’s a cop.”
“You can’t go with that, sweetie. And if you did, you’d be wrong. But it’s damned close.”
I felt her analyzing, and also biting her tongue. “We’re still going to meet, aren’t we?”
I smiled. “Yeah, we’re going to meet. We’re a team. More than ever.”
I was about to pack it in for the night when a call buzzed through to my line. I was sitting around thinking that Tom Keating had been lying. That he’d spoken to Coombs. But until we put out a warrant, Keating could hold back all he wanted.
To my utter surprise, it was his wife on the line. I almost dropped the phone.
“My husband’s a stubborn man, Lieutenant,” she began, clearly nervous. “But he wore the uniform with pride. I’ve never asked him to account for anything. And I won’t start now. But I can’t sit back. Frank Coombs killed that boy. And if he’s done something else, I refuse to wake up every morning for the rest of my life knowing I abetted a murderer.”