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coffee. The only coffee shop open at this time of morning is the one in the Holiday Inn acrossPacific
Highway . I figure he ll either be looking in that direction or watching for me to come out of the office and
head to my car. In any case, it s either make a break for it now or be trapped here until the occupant of
this office shows up and starts yelling.
Not much of a choice.
I put my head down and venture around the corner. TheFairlane is parked in front of the Ferry Landing,
maybe half a block away. Bradley is leaning against the trunk, looking out at the water. I turn my back
and stagger stoop-shouldered toward the bushes that line the pedestrian walkway. If by chance he does
glance this way, he ll see anosteoporotic woman, clad in a filthy, torn and patched leather coat, stumbling
with intoxicated resolve toward the bushes.A homeless woman. And that will render me invisible to
anyone not wanting to risk being touched or asked for a handout.
I ve seen it a hundred times.
I make it to the bushes and beyond to the parking lot where my cab sits waiting. The driver, a dark
haired, olive hued Hispanic eyes me when he watches me approach. But I pull my purse out from under
my coat and flash a couple of twenties at him. The uncertainty vanishes.
Where to? he asks in perfect English.
I almost do a double take and ask him to repeat. But I pull myself together and tell him to take me to
SDPD Headquarters.
That brings a smile. Ah. You re undercover.
I snicker. Somethinglike that.
I relax back onto the seat. I m rehearsing what I m going to tell Williams and how I m going to spin the
fact that I ve had the computer all this time.
Bradley s phone conversation.
It brings me straight up in the seat.
He mentioned the computer.
How could he know about that?
The question barely crosses my mind before others follow it. What did he mean when he said Frey was
just the excuse? And what doesn t Donovan suspect?
The implications make my head swim. By the time we pull up in front of police headquarters, I m so
anxious to run this by Williams that I forget to remove the coat and wig. The sergeant behind the desk
actually holds up a warning hand to stop me when I approach.
Whoa, there, ma am, he says. What can I do for you?
I look at the nametag on his shirt pocket. Sergeant Harvey, I m here to see Chief Williams.
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He s a good-looking black guy with short clipped hair and wide shoulders, but he s looking at me like
he s not sure whether to try to placate me or haul my ass out of the building. Chief Williams is not here
yet, ma am, he says.
I know he s here, I snap back. He comes in every morning at six. Call him. Tell him it s Anna Strong.
He ll see me.
Sergeant Harvey hesitates. He s probably thinking he should frisk me before turning away for the brief
moment it would take to make a call. I try to make the decision easier for him. I remove the sunglasses
and shrug out of the coat. As I do, his hand travels to the gun on his hip, but his eyes never leave my
face. He watches carefully as I let the coat drop to the floor. I m wearing the same outfit from yesterday,
jeans and a short-cropped cotton sweater that falls to just below my waist. The sweater is not form
fitting, but it s tight enough that if I were carrying a gun, it would certainly show. I raise the cuffs on my
jeans. No ankle holsters.
To go any further, I tell him, I require a red light and music.
That almost brings a smile. His shoulders relax and he reaches for the phone. But he s watching me, and
I have no doubt he d have his gun out in a heartbeat if I made any quick moves.
I don t.
He speaks quietly into the receiver. I can hear him, though, and it appears Williams has answered the
phone himself. Sergeant Harvey starts to give a brief description and I remember the wig. I pull it off and
run a finger through my hair. He amends the description. That seems to do it. He replaces the receiver
and gives me a code for the elevator.
The Chief is waiting for you.
I gather up my things, head up, and put a lock on my thoughts. I want to be careful what I reveal.At least
at first.
Williams is waiting when the elevator door opens. He s looking at the coat. You need a better tailor,
he says. That coat almost got you arrested for vagrancy.
He turns and heads for his office. The enticing smell of fresh brewed coffee greets us at the door. He
doesn t seem to be probing my head, nor is his manner anything other than mildly curious.
I eye the pot enthusiastically. Any chance I can have a cup of that?
He looks at me, a quizzical half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and makes a go-ahead motion
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