Page 6 of 25 Alive

CINDY’S PHONE BUZZED with an incoming call. She grabbed it, hoping it was Richie calling her back. But no. It was a reporter from theExaminerwho had also read the letter in theFlashand was asking her for a comment.

“I have nothing, Sarah. Just what you have.”

“How about a quote about how you miss him or something?”

“Take care, Sarah. I’ve gotta go.”

There was a tap on Cindy’s wall. She saw Phil Balshi standing outside her office. He signaled that he wanted to come in, and didn’t wait for an okay.

Once inside, he said, “Something big just broke. Warren Jacobi was found dead this morning.”

“It’s a rumor,” Cindy said.

“Oh. I see. No corroboration from SFPD?”

“Right, Phil, it’sgossipuntil or if Clapper verifies this. Sit on it, okay?”

As Balshi returned to his desk, Cindy sent a text to Jacobi.She hoped he’d answer, then after they laughed, they’d track down the bastard who’d made up this garbage. When Jacobi didn’t reply immediately, Cindy stared out the window into the city room for ten minutes, then texted him again. There was still no reply, so she tried her good friend Lindsay, Richie’s SFPD partner. No answer from her, either. She tried her husband again, typingURGENTin all caps. And when shestillgot no reply, she phoned Frank Barto at the SFPD.

Barto’s job was to keep the police blotter, an ongoing, constantly updated record of all incidents phoned in by police officers, citizens filing complaints, and witnesses reporting crimes.

He picked up on the second ring and said, “Make this quick, Cindy. I’m taking incoming.”

Cindy said, “Frank, d’you have a murder in Golden Gate Park?”

Barto told Cindy, “Uhhh. Can’t say. A call came into dispatch a few hours ago about a potential victim in the park,” he said. “I notified Sergeant Nardone. This is between us, Cindy. Do not quote me.”

Cindy pressed Barto for more details, but he dug in his heels and claimed not to have the victim’s name. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with you.”

“Frank. Just tell me this. Was he or she with the SFPD?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Cindy’s stomach dropped as Barto continued. “Remember, Cindy. Leave me out of this. I like my job.”

“Thanks, Frank. Don’t worry. You’ve told me nothing.”

“Use your wiles,” Barto said. “I’m hanging up.”

Barto had given her an unquotable hint, but it was verification enough for her. Jacobi was dead.

Cindy spun her chair around so that she was no longer facing her window onto the newsroom. Then she bent over and cried into her hands.

CHAPTER9

BRADY SAID, “TERRIBLE news about Jacobi, Lindsay. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, thanked him, and pulled out the chair across from my boss. I propped my feet against the front of his desk and leaned my chair onto its hind legs. The chair creaked. Brady moved piles of papers out of my way. I wanted to be present, but my mind was swamped with too many images. This had been my office once, and it had also been Jacobi’s. Brady slid a pack of tissues toward me and I leaned forward again to take it.

“Jacobi’s murder is job one,” he said.

I nodded and took my hand back so I could pat my eyes dry with the tissues.

Brady said, “Talk to me.”

I told Brady about Jacobi’s gruesome death, my assessment that he had been unaware of his killer coming up behind him, and that “Jacobi was carrying a piece in his waistband, but he didn’t pull it.”

Brady made notes as I talked, broke a pencil or two, and looked sadder than I’d ever seen him.

“You have pictures?”

---