Page 66 of 25 Alive

Bao picked up one of the enlarged photos in both hands and said, “The guy these officers are talking to … Can we get these images even more enlarged?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I walked to the far end of the war room, where Swanson’s desk had been pushed against the wall, drawers facing into the room. I opened a drawer, rummaged around in a litter of pens and bulldog clips and whatnot, and found what I was looking for. I marched back to the conference table and positioned the magnifying glass over the photo, moved it in and out for a couple of seconds. Then I ID’d the person talking to Randall and Bernardi.

“That’s Warren Jacobi.”

CHAPTER100

ONCE THE MEETING broke up, I said to Bao, “Follow me. They make good lunch across the street.”

MacBain’s is a homey bar and grill, a favorite of cops and other workers at the Hall of Justice, and named after a police captain from back when my father was on the job. Bao and I were shown to a table for two, the only table in the niche under the sweeping staircase to the second floor. When my favorite waitress, Sydney, came to take our order, we kept it simple. Tomato soup. Grilled cheese. Iced tea for two.

I asked Bao how she was holding up, and she said, “I used to smoke three packs of cigs a day. I quit ten years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, Cameron. Since Mexico, I’ve hungered for the smell and taste of tobacco. But that’s not what you want to know …”

“What’s your brand? There’s a newsstand on the corner.”

“Thanks, but no. I know better than to play chicken with an addiction.”

I smiled at Bao’s comeback, but she looked glum, and I wasright there with her. She said, “I’m glad to spend time with you, Lindsay. How are you?”

My thoughts were still spinning, and I told her so. I was afraid for Joe. I missed him terribly and had no assurances from anyone that he was okay now or that I would ever see him again.

“I want to know everything, Bao. I want to know about what’s being called the ‘big shoot-out.’ Was Joe injured? What was your sense of the overall situation? Where do you think Joe is now?”

Our lunch came, and when we were alone again, Bao told me about the attack on their car.

Bao said, “I was freaking terrified. ‘Shoot-out’ doesn’t begin to describe five minutes that felt like opening the doors to hell.” She looked at me. “It was totally unexpected. I was driving. We were armed, of course, and this gang T-boned our car on the passenger side, rear compartment. We didn’t see them until it happened.”

Bao continued: “After the crash I told Joe to get under the dash. He could fire to the rear and be protected by the seat back. I was in a better position to return fire on the driver’s side, so I kept firing until three of the shooters were dead. The fourth started running up the road, and I drove past him and then braked hard and kicked open my car door. He slammed into it. He’s got broken ribs, but he’s alive. He’s talking.

“Joe was standing with me,” Bao said, “after I knocked down the fourth guy with the car door and again when the cops put me in an ambulance. He wasn’t injured. Maybe dazed, but I think he was fine.”

Bao stopped talking, sniffled into a handkerchief. And that got me going, too. I grabbed a table napkin and buried my face in it.

I heard Bao saying, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

I took the napkin off my face and put my hand on her arm. I said, “Bao, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“I want to,” she said.

I kept my hand on Bao’s arm. She hadn’t been home to see her son and her husband. She was waiting here for news, orders, perhaps a warrant to appear in a Mexican court.

She said, “Joe got me sent to a hospital for my protection and then he went to jail to await a hearing on the gangsters I killed.”

Her face sagged. “I feel heartsick for him. And for you. I don’t know if the police are guarding him or are being paid off to take long dinner breaks. That’s all I know, Lindsay. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Bao. You were heroic.”

She said, “To what end? I don’t have words to express how I feel, Lindsay. Joe is a great colleague and a great friend. And now he’s in a jail cell, totally vulnerable. Steinmetz says he’s working on it, but he won’t let me bring a battalion of troops to go get Joe back.”

I said, “Call Steinmetz and demand that he tells you whatever news he has.”

Bao made the call, and we pressed our heads together. The phone was between our ears when Steinmetz got on the line.

“Bao. We’re working on getting Joe out of there. There are terms. We’re trying to meet them. Don’t ask me anything else. Do you want to go back home to DC? If so, go. You can be excused from the task force. Take some time off. I’ll call you when I have news. That’s my advice. Trust me. And take care of yourself.”

And then all we heard was a dial tone. Steinmetz had gone.

---