Page 25 of 25 Alive

“Our friendship was formed in a patrol car. We talked about why we had become cops, mistakes we had made, and what we were expected to do in our jobs and how that work made us better and stronger people.

“We talked about what it meant to be a good cop. And looking out at all the dark uniforms filling this church, I know that we’ve all experienced the feeling of being called to thisway of life. Your senses become so sharp, they’re superpowers. You see things before they happen. You’d step in front of a loaded gun to save a partner, or a bystander, or a victim cornered behind the cleaning supplies in a grocery store.

“But of all the time Jacobi and I spent together, one time that wasn’t on the job stands out and will never be forgotten.

“Joe Molinari and I were getting married, and my father wasn’t there.”

I stopped, steadying myself, wanting to phrase it to just tell the important parts, to not dwell on my father at all.

I said, “I was dressed in my wedding gown. My dear friends, my maids of honor, were all there, too. Joe was in the wings, waiting to join with me in what the future held for us. Though I knew better than to count on my father, I’d still hoped he would show up. He’d told my sister, Cat, that he was coming to the wedding, so I’d assumed he would be there to walk me down the aisle.

“He wasn’t.

“Dr. Claire Washburn offered to give me away, but it was Yuki Castellano who came up with the idea to ask Warren Jacobi to stand in for my father. She asked Jacobi to walk me down the aisle, and my God, he did it. He set the pace and put his hand on mine and handed me off to our minister. And Joe and I got married in a gazebo overlooking Half Moon Bay.

“Unlike my actual father, Jacobi was always there. And not only for me but also for every recruit and colleague. He was there for those who’d lost their way because of a bad bust, or a trial that didn’t end in a conviction, or any of the many disappointments that arise when a person runs up againstsomething too big to handle alone and needs a good friend, a wise soul. A hero.”

I paused and looked over at Muriel. “Jacobi … How can I say this? He radiated happiness when he and Muriel fell in love. And seeing how happy that made my dear friend made me radiate happiness, too. Muriel, I’m so, so sorry that we lost him.”

I pictured Jacobi’s terrible wounds, his bleeding body curled into a fetal tuck by the Lily Pond in Golden Gate Park. I wanted to say,Muriel, we’ll find out who did this, I swear we will. But even as I was gripped by the impulse, I kept that part to myself. Instead, I said this:

“Joseph Campbell once wrote, ‘A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.’

“Muriel, Jacobi was a hero. In every way. And our memories of him will live on in all of us who knew him.”

CHAPTER40

AFTER THE CHURCH service, we followed Jacobi’s casket to the cemetery, where a few more speeches and prayers were delivered. We were walking toward Claire’s car at the end of Cypress Avenue at the conclusion of a wrenching day of tears, eulogies, and long good-byes when an SUV markedSAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLEpulled up alongside us.

The driver buzzed down his window and said to Cindy, “Ms. Thomas? Mr. Tyler asked me to give you a lift back to the newsroom.”

Cindy said, “Lindsay, can you come with me? I have business to discuss with you.”

Transportation got sorted out in the street. Cindy and I got into theChronicle’s SUV. I’d catch a ride back to the Hall later. She and I and Yuki and Claire made a plan for us all to meet at Susie’s Café for dinner tonight.

This day of loss and grief was complicated by a car accident on the freeway. When we cleared the tangle, Claire’sEscalade was only two cars behind us. Cindy and I could count on a good ten minutes of private time ahead of us.

Cindy lowered her voice and said, “Breaking news from Verne, Nevada.”

And she got right into what she’d learned from her meeting with homicide detective Steven Wilson about the murder of twenty-year-old Sadie Witt.

Cindy said, “After Herman Witt was arrested and locked up, waiting for sentencing, he had his quarter-million-dollar family home legally transferred to Sadie. No strings attached. Yeah. An act of contrition. But weeks after he’d transferred the deed to Sadie, she was murdered.”

“First, I want to say, Cindy, good catch. Based on what you’ve told me, all three victims came into money, but none of it was taken from them. It’s like someone coming into sudden wealth just angers this psycho killer. Does that make sense?”

Cindy said, “So, you think the wealth factor is a blinking red light that somehow attracts this killer?”

“Let’s say that’s right, Cindy. But how? And why? The killer gets nothing from his killings except a brief moment of infamy—in the media. Is that reason enough?”

Cindy said, “That could be way more than reason enough. He gets attention, big time. I mean, maybe he works in an office, doing spreadsheets, which goes unnoticed. This big idea occurs to him.I could kill people because I say so. Now he’s building a legacy …”

“Okay. I get that,” I said. “So, how does he choose his targets? How? People come into windfalls—by inheritance or a big cash settlement in a divorce. Jacobi got a million-dollar settlement. That could explain why he was targeted. Theflashing red light theory only works if there’s publicity, right? You said the Witt story was in the local paper? On the paper’s website?”

Cindy said, “Yes to both. Wilson showed the story to me. But, Linds, unlike the letter in theNew York Flash,which we thought was probably written by the killer, Sadie Witt’s murder was followed and written up by a reporter from theVerne Morning Newsfrom beginning to end. The details were all there: times, dates, cause and manner of death. Except for whodunit—”

“Right. The paper ran the whole deal.”

I said, “So, if I’m getting this right, Sadie Witt was murdered before Jacobi and Robinson.”

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