Brody Law: The Bridge / The District / The Wharf / The Hill

He slapped the log book. “You’re a lifesaver, Marie.”

He jogged up two flights of stairs and paused at the fire door, pulling out his phone. He typed in a quick text to Elise, and she responded immediately that everything was fine.

Blowing out a long breath, he pulled open the door and crossed the hall to the homicide division. When he got to his desk, he shoved Curtis off the edge. “Go sit on your own desk.”

Curtis waved a piece of paper in the air. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I had in my hand.”

“A first-class ticket to paradise? ’Cuz that’s what I need about now.” Two first-class tickets to paradise.

“Almost as good.” He slapped the paper on Sean’s desk. “Patterson ran the numbers from the note through a few computer programs and came up with coordinates.”

“Coordinates for a location?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t just stand there with that annoying grin on your face. Where’s the location?”

“Golden Gate Bridge.”

Sean swore and dropped into his chair. “Not possible. He’s not going to commit a murder at the bridge—too many cameras.”

“He dumped a body there.”

“He was obviously aware of the cameras.” Sean kicked his feet onto his desk and crossed his arms behind his head. “He kept out of their range. He’s not going to kill at the bridge.”

Curtis tugged on his ear. “Then why put down those coordinates in the message? If you’re right, he told us he was going to kill two people on today’s date. Makes sense he’d tell us where.”

“He’s toying with us. Don’t expect logic from him or any real clues to his actions.”

“You know more about that than I do.” Curtis parked his cup on the blotter on Sean’s desk and put a finger to his lips. “Did you catch Lopez’s report on TV last night?”

“What of it?” Sean smiled through clenched teeth.

Curtis blinked and glanced over his shoulder. “The brass doesn’t want the detective to become the story.”

“Duh. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I’m just telling you to watch your back, bro.” Curtis scurried off, his hands wrapped around his third mug of coffee for the day.

With the blood pounding against his temples, Sean tapped his keyboard to bring his computer to life. That was the second warning that he’d been issued this morning by well-meaning friends. How many not-so-well-meaning friends were out there spreading rumors and gossip?

When the search engine glowed brightly from the computer screen, Sean typed in the name Marie had given him earlier. He swiveled the monitor to the left, dragging it closer to the edge of the desk. If the brass could see what he was doing right now, they wouldn’t be too thrilled about this, either.

It would be easier to use the police database to look up Dr. Patrick, but Sean didn’t want to leave any kind of trail of his activities. He’d have to get his info like everyone else. A few papers Dr. Patrick had written about posttraumatic stress disorder popped up in the results, as well his attendance at a charitable organization’s fund-raiser several years ago, but Sean couldn’t get a line on a current location or phone number. Maybe he’d moved after his retirement.

His phone buzzed and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Elise’s name on the display. “Everything okay?”

“Besides the fact that two of my students decided it was a good idea to color off the paper and onto the desktop, everything’s good. Any news about that third set of numbers?”

“Longitude and latitude coordinates for the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Elise sucked in some air. “That’s the where.”

“It could’ve been if it were any other location, but the bridge? He can’t think he’s going to get away with murder on the bridge with the cameras up there.”

“You have a point, but he avoided the cameras before when he dumped Katie’s body.”

“I think he’s just messing with us...me.”

“He seems to know your past, for sure.” She coughed as the sound of kids floated over the line. “Did you get the name of the therapist?”

“Dr. James Patrick.” He tapped his screen as if she could see it. “Just doing a search on him now but not having much luck. I could do better if I used my department resources and connections, but I don’t want to go there right now.”

She paused. “The department wouldn’t be happy about you digging around in this stuff?”

He lowered his voice. “Apparently, they’re already ticked off about Ray Lopez’s report last night on the news.”

“That’s not your fault. You didn’t ask him to dredge up ancient history.”

The passion in her voice made his lip twitch—as if she were advocating for one of her kindergarteners. It had been a long time since he’d had an advocate.

“I can’t change the past. Lopez has a right to delve into any story he wants. That’s his job.”

“I don’t like reporters, never have.”

“Is that because they made the runaway bride a three-day wonder back in Deer Loop, Montana?”

“It was longer than three days—must’ve been a slow week for news.”

“Isn’t every week a slow week for news in Deer Loop?”

She laughed and the noise over the line grew louder. “The bell just rang. I have to go back to class. Talk to you later?”

“Sure. Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

Sean held the phone to his ear a minute longer, listening to silence. It felt good to have someone in his corner—not that his brothers weren’t. But they were younger when tragedy struck the family. It hadn’t impacted them as much as him, and he’d wanted it that way.

After Mom had descended into a haze of booze and prescription drugs, he’d taken it upon himself to shield and protect his younger brothers.

Now, apparently, Elise had taken it upon herself to protect him. Not that there was much she could do, but yeah, it felt good.

He didn’t want to start getting used to it.

* * *

ELISE SLASHED A red crayon across the neon green construction paper. “I will owe you big-time if you can find him for me.”