Catherine Coulter
Eleventh Hour
TO PHYLLIS GRANN
YOU ARE A TREMENDOUS PUBLISHING TALENT.
THANK YOU FOR TWELVE INCREDIBLE YEARS.
CATHERINE COULTER
I would like to thank Producer and Assistant Director John Isabeau for his relentless pursuit on my behalf to see my FBI books made into films. When everything finally comes together, it will be because of his efforts.
Thank you, John, you’re the best.
I would like to thank Inspector Sherman Ackerson and Spokesman Dewayne Tully for showing me around the main cop shop on Bryant Street (the San Francisco Hall of Justice), and answering every question.
I would like to thank Dr. Boyd Stephens, San Francisco medical examiner, who graciously showed me his facilities and answered all my questions, even the gruesome ones.
ONE
SAN FRANCISCONick sat quietly in the midnight gloom of the nave, hunched forward, her head in her arms resting on the pew in front of her. She was here because Father Michael Joseph had begged her to come, had begged her to let him help her. The least she could do was talk to him, couldn’t she? She’d wanted to come late, when everyone else was already home asleep, when the streets were empty, and he’d agreed, even smiled at her. He was a fine man, kind and loving toward his fellow man and toward God.
Would she wait? She sighed at the thought. She’d given her word, he’d made her give her word, known somehow that it would keep her here. She watched him walk over to the confessional, watched with surprise as his step suddenly lagged, and he paused a moment, his hand reaching for the small handle on the confessional door. He didn’t want to open that door, she thought, staring at him. He didn’t want to go in. Then, at last, he seemed to straighten, opened the door and stepped inside.