I braced my arms on the back of the pew, aiming my gun and waiting for a chance.
“It’s nothing against you,” Sebastian repeated. “I’d rather it was your detective friend. She knows too much.”
Linnea struggled more wildly. She seemed to have forgotten help was there. “You’re crazy! You’re a crazy old bastard!”
I heard a sound in the vestibule. The police.
Sebastian heard it too.
His head cocked, and he hooked his left arm around Linnea. He jammed the gun to her temple and stood, dragging her up with him.
If I shot now, his reflex would put a bullet through her head.
“Who’s there?” Sebastian shouted. “Who’s out there?”
All was still.
Linnea’s frantic eyes pleaded with mine.
I got up and stood in the aisle, feeling absurdly like the little girl who had played pantomime games with her at long ago birthday parties.
Not yet.
I held up my hands.
When I nod...
I mouthed the words. Nodded emphatically.
You...
Pointed to her.
Go limp.
Mimicked a faint.
Went through the whole charade once more.
Comprehension in Linnea’s eyes.
Sebastian standing, head up like an animal in the forest.
“I know someone’s here. Who are you?”
I knelt, once more clasping my gun in both hands, arms braced on the back of the pew. The police presence in the vestibule felt heavy behind me, but no one came to my aid.
Steadying the gun, I took a last look at Linnea.
She nodded, ever so slightly.
Ready.
I took a breath. Waited a few seconds. Nodded.
Linnea went limp.
Sebastian’s gun was deflected upward.
I fired.
The shot split the silence, and Sebastian fell, taking Linnea with him.
I stood, jamming the gun in my bag, and ran to help my friend. She rolled off the altar and burrowed into my arms. The church was suddenly filled with uniformed officers.
I couldn’t look at Sebastian, but I sensed he was dead. Taking no chances, I’d aimed to kill.
Keeping my arms around Linnea, I led her up the aisle. At the top, Greg waited, an odd mixture of pride and anxiety on his face. Linnea stumbled and sobbed, but I held on tight. When we met Greg, he opened his arms and encircled us both. I clung to him and Linnea, safe in the knowledge that I’d won my battle against the death of friendship — twice.
25
I glanced at my watch and then at the door of the airport bar.
Greg said, “Jesus Christ, Sharon. Linnea’s only been gone four minutes. It probably takes that long even to find the ladies’ room.”
I frowned. “If you’re that unconcerned about her, how come you know it’s been exactly four minutes?”
He smiled and covered my hand with his. “Take it easy.”
“I just want to get her on that plane.”
His fingers tightened on mine.
I sipped my wine and stared out the window at a 747 lumbering by. It had been a rough two days, what with the publicity and untangling of red tape. Even though half a dozen cops had witnessed my justifiable homicide, there still had been plenty of red tape.
“Greg,” I said after a moment, “I think it’s time I moved.”
“Maybe.”
“The building absolutely drips gloom. The neighborhood too. Sebastian’s dead. Mr. Moe hung himself.” I shuddered, remembering the newspaper descriptions of the grocer’s body hanging in his stockroom. “Clemente got shot resisting arrest here at the airport, and they don’t know whether he’ll be paralyzed or not.”
“And Neverman’s a two-time loser,” Greg added, “which means he’ll get out on parole, screw up again, and be in a third time for good.”
“All in a few days’ work,” I said bitterly.
Greg squeezed my hand. “Goes with the territory.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Nor I.” He paused. “At least you can afford to move if you want. The check from Circle Wharf and Warehouse was very generous.”
John Hood had delivered it in person yesterday. “Yes, but I hate to spend it on movers.”
“Well, think about it.”
“What I’d rather spend it on is a vacation...”
Linnea reentered the bar, her hair smoothed and lipstick freshened. She sat down at the table and sipped at her Perrier with lime.
Apparently she noted my approving glance at her drink, because she said, “Yeah. I want to be sober when I see my kids.”
“I’ll bet they’ll be glad you’re back.”
“They sure will. They need a mother and a home of their own. The latter may take some time.”
Greg asked, “What do you plan to do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Once upon a time I was a damned good newswoman. I might approach the TV station I used to work for about a job.”
“What do you think your chances are?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, given the job market.”
I said, “You know, San Francisco’s a good town for women in broadcasting. If it doesn’t work out in San Diego, you could always come up and stay with me while you interview the local stations.”
Linnea grinned. “It takes a certain amount of courage to extend that invitation, given what I did to your life these past few weeks. I appreciate it.”
“Well,” Greg said, “no one ever accused Sharon of being without courage. Common sense, maybe.”
I glared. “I caught your killer, didn’t I?”
“And almost got Linnea killed.”
“But she wasn’t, was she?”
“You’re lucky you still have a license.”
“You’re lucky you still have a badge!”
“The only reason that was ever in jeopardy is because I listened to you.”
“Stop fighting!” Linnea ordered.
The corner of Greg’s mouth twitched. “Sharon, will we ever exist in harmony?”
“I’m not sure I want to. Arguing with you is a challenge.”
“Speaking of challenges,” Linnea said, “I want to know how you figured out Sebastian was the killer. You said you knew it was him when you called the cops and asked for quiet assistance, but how?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I had some clues. Clemente had told me that blind people can do almost anything sighted people can, given the proper training. Sebastian had received plenty of that. The killer had to know Anya had a gun in her table in order to take it. Sebastian had heard Gus joke with Anya about it. And Sebastian himself tipped me to an important fact.”
“Which was?”
“He said he could get around places he knew perfectly well with the aid of his cane. The places he knew included the Blind Center, the streets and alleys of the neighborhood, and my apartment building.”
“Ah hah.” Linnea nodded.
“I only wish I’d listened more carefully — and sooner,” I added.
“You put it together in enough time.” Greg looked at his watch. “Your flight’s about to leave, Linnea.”
We passed through the security check and walked down the concourse in silence. At the gate, Linnea hugged us and then hurried toward the plane, as if afraid she’d change her mind. Greg and I leaned on the railing watching the other passengers board.
“Well, papoose,” he said, “what now?”
“Now?”
“With us.”
I glanced at him. His face was serious, without any trace of his characteristic mockery.
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
“It takes time for two people like us to build a relationship.”
“That it does.”
“I’m willing to wait, but in the meantime...” He fished in his trenchcoat pocket and tossed an object at me.