The First Law by John T. Lescroart

Author:John T. Lescroart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thrillers, Legal, Fiction, Mystery, Police Procedural, General, Thriller, Suspense, Mystery & Detective
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2004-07-15T03:59:55+00:00

Holiday called Michelle at her apartment from the Ark. She had a restaurant review for a place on Chestnut Street and they’d been planning to go there together for lunch, but now that wasn’t going to happen. He told her that Clint still hadn’t shown up and he was going to have to pull a double shift. He’d see her tonight, late, after he got off. He wondered, since the restaurant was near his own duplex, if she’d mind swinging by his place for a clean shirt or two and some underwear. He might be pulling back-to-backs at the bar and he could be with her sooner tonight if she could save him the long walk or bus ride home. He’d lost the last car he’d owned at a poker game, then found he didn’t need a car for his normal life, anyway, since he lived all of it within such a relatively small radius. Most days he walked to work—Chestnut to Taylor or Mason, then all the way down to O’Farrell wasn’t even two miles and the hills gave him some badly needed exercise.

So after lunch, sometime between 2:00 and 3:00, Michelle found herself climbing the stairs to his flat. He’d lived in the same upper duplex on Casa Street in the Marina for over fifteen years, had bought it with Emma, lived there with her for their three years together. In a fit of fiscal probity during Emma’s pregnancy, the young couple had actually bought mortgage insurance and because of that, after her death, the place was now paid off. It still had ghosts for him, evidently, and he spent as little time there as possible, although he had told her that he recognized the necessity of holding on to it. He could never afford to rent a similar, or even a far less desirable, place. It was just something he possessed, like his bar. Part of his life.

There had been three newspapers in the little area at the foot of the stairs, and Michelle was carrying them as she got to the upper landing and noticed that his door was open. She pushed at it gingerly and it gave another few inches. Inside, she heard unmistakable sounds of movement and male voices.

“Hello!” she sang out. “Is anybody home?”

The voices ceased. Footsteps approached. The door opened all the way. A well-dressed, clean-cut black man stood in front of her, scowling. “Can I help you?”

“Is John home?” she asked. “Who are you?”

The man pulled out his wallet and showed her his identification. Another man, this one white, appeared in the hall behind him. “Inspector Lincoln Russell. My partner, Dan Cuneo. We’re with homicide.”

“Homicide?” She backed away a step. “Is John okay?”

“That would be John Holiday? Yes, ma’am, as far as we know.”

“All right, but then what are you doing here?”

“We’re searching his apartment.” Inspector Russell reached into his coat pocket and produced a piece of paper. “We have a warrant.”

The other man came forward. “While we’re getting to know each other, can I please see some identification?”

“From me?”

“Yes, ma’am.

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