The tips had led nowhere, and months later, when there’d been no calls from a kidnapper, and no trace of Michael had surfaced, terror attacks, wildfires, politics, and new violent crimes pushed the Michael Campion story off the front page.
The case was still open, but everyone assumed the worst. That a kidnapping had gone terribly wrong. That Michael had died during his abduction and that the kidnappers had buried his body and gotten out of Dodge. The citizens of San Francisco mourned along with Michael’s famous and beloved family, and while the public would never forget him, they put the book of his life aside.
Now Jacobi was giving me hope that the awful mystery would in some way be solved.
“Michael’s body has been found?” I asked him.
“Naw, but we’ve got a credible lead. Finally.”
I pressed the phone hard against my ear, ghost stories and the first annual getaway of the Women’s Murder Club forgotten.
Jacobi was saying, “If you want in on this, Boxer, meet me at the Hall -”
“I can be there in an hour.”
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