Erasing Memory (31 page)

Williams was trying to pry the dog off his wrist, which was bleeding—another stain to deal with—when the blond tapped him on the shoulder.

“Leave lady alone, Sambo.” The blond’s back was to MacNeice and Swetsky as they approached.

“Sambo? Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to, white boy?”

“Leave lady.” The blond reached out to grab William’s shirt front.

“I’ll tell you what, motherfucker—get your hand off me, and after I deal with this rat-dog, you and I will have some special fucking time together.”

The F-bomb in all its glory was too much for the old lady, who hit the deck beside the bench. Her pink wrist was still tethered to the dog by its leash, and the dog was still locked on Williams’s wrist, its little legs clawing at the air.

“You kill lady, Sambo.”

“That’s it.” Williams whipped his right arm forward as if throwing a pass downfield. The dog became airborne—till it reached the end of the red leather leash and lurched to a halt in mid-air. The old lady’s arm flopped for a moment, then it and the dog fell to the ground, after which neither moved.

As Williams crouched to check on the woman, he was hit on the side of the head by a wooden baton and knocked to the sidewalk, then kicked in the ribs. Before the blond could launch a second kick, Swetsky wrapped his arms around him.

MacNeice stepped quietly into the shop.

“About time,” Williams said as he got up on all fours.

“Mister, I’ve got you,” Swetsky managed to say to the struggling blond. “Now just settle down, ya hear me?”

“Fuck you.” The blond leaned forward, lifting Swetsky’s feet and impressive bulk off the ground, then pushed back with such force that he hit the brick wall of the building with a crack that knocked the wind out of him. But Swetsky hung on, and tightened the bear hug.

Williams was all the way up now. The blond swung Swetsky towards him, causing Williams to back up.

“That’s one crazy fucker you got there, Swets. Do you wanna keep dancing with him, or how do you wanna handle this?”

“Tackle the fucker!” Swetsky shouted.

Squaring himself, Williams launched forward in a perfect football lunge, slamming into the two men at knee height. All three flew into the window, which exploded inwards. The impact knocked Williams off the two bigger men, who were now draped over the window frame. He landed on his back in the shop and sat up, just as a large section of glass broke free from its caulking ten feet above and sliced into the blond’s stomach, leaving a giant triangle sticking out of him. Swetsky was still holding tight.

MacNeice was at the door to the office when the window blew in. He turned towards the noise, then hit the floor when the distinctive
ping
of a silencer sent a bullet whizzing past his head. Glass and ceramic statuary and vases blew apart, as did the window on the other side of the front door. MacNeice rolled clear and sat up against the bookshelves. More shots struck the heavy table in front of the three downed men; its antique veneer splintered and flew about.

MacNeice drew his weapon and got to his feet. As he turned towards the office, he saw a long tubular silver barrel extending from the doorway—a custom-made weapon, as menacing and powerful as it was strange.

“Uri? Uri!” Moving further into the shop, the driver didn’t notice MacNeice standing against the back wall.

“Put the weapon down. Drop it now,” he said.

The driver didn’t move, nor did he lower the weapon. He looked over his shoulder and saw MacNeice with the pistol pointed at his head, but kept moving forward towards the storefront.

“Last time—put the weapon down.” MacNeice stepped forward with both hands on the pistol to steady himself.

The driver looked down to see the blond trying to pry the glass wedge out of his stomach, his eyes raised pleadingly towards his comrade. He was trying to say something but seemed to have no wind left in him. Swetsky was still beneath him, and the driver recognized him from the parking lot.

The driver looked back at MacNeice, then over at Williams, who was leaning against the door frame struggling to get his gun out. The driver slowly shifted his weapon towards Williams’s head.

“Put the weapon down now,” MacNeice said.

The driver looked at Uri, then back at MacNeice before turning again to Williams. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, a gunshot from outside the shop snapped his head back. Hair and brain tissue hit the bookcase, and he fell back, dropping the weapon.

Williams looked at MacNeice. MacNeice said, “Wasn’t me.”

Aziz came into view, her arms outstretched and her Glock still at the ready.

“Where’s Petrescu?” MacNeice asked.

“I don’t know. Nobody came out the side door.”

MacNeice turned towards the office. “Williams, come with me. Aziz, make sure Swetsky’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” Swetsky managed to say. He had finally crawled out from under the blond and was sitting against the wall picking glass out of his bleeding hands.

“I’m coming with you, Mac,” Aziz said.

MacNeice went through the door, followed by Aziz and Williams. Petrescu wasn’t there. They opened the closet and bathroom doors—nothing. The filing cabinets were all open, as was a wall safe. There were papers and books on the floor.

“The Range Rover. Come on, we’ve been distracted by these two.” MacNeice opened the side door, but the black SUV was gone. They went back inside the shop.

“Swetsky, you okay?”

“I’m fine. This guy ain’t doin’ so good, though.” The blond’s breathing was shallow and his eyes glassy. Several sirens could be heard in the distance.

Looking at the blood streaming from Swetsky’s hands, MacNeice said, “Give Williams your keys. You stay and handle this. You okay with that?”

“No problem.” Swetsky found himself a chair, brushed it off and sat down. “Messed this place up pretty bad.” He threw the keys to Williams.

“It could have been a lot worse,” Williams said. He put his right fist on his chest over his heart, then pointed at Swetsky.

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, get outta here.”

People were gathering on the other side of street. Maybe it was because the dog was licking the rouge off her cheek, but the old lady woke up just as MacNeice and Aziz came out of the shop, followed by Williams. She was about to scream again when MacNeice said, “He’s a police officer, ma’am, and a very good one. Do you need any assistance? Can we help you up?”

She shook her head, and as Williams walked by, she stared at him. He smiled and said, “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

When they got to the Chevy, MacNeice said to Williams, “You take the international airport, we’ll take Dundurn.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Aziz asked as they drove away.

“Knew what?”

“That the old lady would freak out when she saw Williams.”

“I figured it was fifty-fifty, and that either way, it would work to our advantage.” MacNeice switched on the radio.
“Give me your position, Williams.”

“Just turning onto the Queen E. No sign of him so far.”

“When you get to Pearson, go to Departures. There’s no place for him to return the Rover there, so he’ll likely dump it outside. We’re fifteen minutes away from Dundurn Regional. If you see the vehicle on the way, stay back, call immediately and we’ll come to you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put your shoulder harness on,” MacNeice said as he hung up. “We’re going to do some driving.” MacNeice took the cherry from under the dash, put it on the roof and switched his headlights to flashing. He gathered speed and began weaving through the traffic.

He glanced over at her. She was looking out the window to the right.

She felt his gaze and said, “I thought you were hit, Mac. I couldn’t see you from the corner, but I saw Williams and that guy pointing the gun at his head. I didn’t think about it; I just took aim and fired.”

“That was impressive shooting, Aziz. How about now? Are you feeling steady?”

“I think I am … but I may be in shock. I’ve never shot anyone before.”

“We’ve been playing catch-up all through this case, always arriving after the fact. Now Petrescu’s on the run and we don’t know how he’ll respond to that.”

“What are you getting at?” She looked over at him.

“He’s not a man to get his hands bloody. But he sacrificed both those men, and now he has to deal with us on his own. I need to know that you’re steady, Fiza. There’s no shame if you’re not—I just need to know.”

“I’m a little shaky, but my adrenalin’s pumping.… I’ll deal with the repercussions later.”

“Right. He’s got perhaps eight to ten minutes on us. We can reel him in before he reaches the airport.”

“And if we don’t?”

“He’ll be among hundreds of people, and that could get ugly. Alert airport security.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Tell them we’ve received a bomb threat for both airports and they should take the necessary precautions. Let Williams know you’ve done that, then call the DC and tell him. Use my cellphone.” He took it out and handed it across to her.

B
OTH LANES OF THE ACCESS ROAD
to the regional airport were fairly busy. MacNeice hit the outside shoulder, raising a cloud of dust. He sped past the vehicles, watching the adjacent lanes for the Range Rover. A quarter-mile from the terminal, he spotted it on the inside lane, several cars ahead. He stopped, but not quickly enough—the Range Rover suddenly pulled out of line and across the shoulder onto the grass, where it halted for a moment.

“Call Williams. Tell him to turn around—we’ve found him.”

Aziz called and then quickly stepped out of the Chevy. She slammed the palm of her hand on the window of a Lincoln town car that had stopped in the confusion and motioned to the driver to pull out of line and onto the shoulder. “Do it now!” Then she ran to the inside lane and waved at a frightened woman approaching in a Toyota to pull out of line onto the opposite shoulder. The woman hesitated until Aziz ran up and bashed on the hood. “Now move!”

With a gap opened up across the two lanes, she held up both hands to the vehicles beyond and motioned for MacNeice to drive through. After he got across the road, he stopped, and Aziz got in the car and did up her seatbelt.

The Range Rover was skidding along the grassy slope, trying to make it up to the highway again. MacNeice pursued it from above, using the gravel shoulder for traction as both vehicles raced towards a culvert less than a hundred yards ahead. Suddenly the SUV swung to the right, heading for the chain-link fence that separated the highway from the airport. On the tarmac a commuter plane was slowly taxiing away from the terminal.

“He’s going to try to crash the fence,” MacNeice said.

The black SUV tore down to the bottom of the slope and up the other side, hitting the fence with force. The shock of the impact rippled down the line of fencing and bent the two supporting poles, but they didn’t give way. The Range Rover’s front end was suspended on the mesh, its back end tearing at the sod and kicking up dirt as the engine screamed and the wheels spun.

MacNeice brought the Chevy to a stop to the left of the Range Rover. He couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but stepping out of the Chevy, he pointed his handgun at the driver’s side, moving slowly forward. Aziz got out and ran to cover the other side.

“It’s over!” MacNeice shouted, not certain he could be heard above the racing engine and screaming tires, which were digging deeper into the dirt. “Shut it down!”

Suddenly the brake lights came on and the wheels stopped spinning as the engine returned to idle.

“Get out of the truck, Gregori,” MacNeice ordered. The door didn’t open.

As if he’d thought of a new strategy, the engine came to life again. The gearbox clanked as the Range Rover rocked violently forward and then backwards.

“Aziz! Stay clear.” Once she’d moved out of the way, MacNeice shot out the driver’s-side rear and front tires and motioned to her to do the same. The engine continued to howl, the wheels spinning on their rims, the vehicle rocking harmlessly back and forth. And then it stopped, the motor dying.

For a moment the sound of a birdcall filled the void.
Red-winged blackbird
, MacNeice thought,
trying to chase these intruders away from its nest
.

Holding his weapon before him, he approached the driver’s door. “Open the door, Petrescu.”

Moments passed, and then the window slid down to reveal Gregori leaning back against the headrest, something classical playing on the radio, so softly that MacNeice couldn’t make it out.

“I have no weapon, Detective. Join me in the car, please. I wish to make a statement.” The dark glass window closed again.

Motioning to Aziz, MacNeice said, “Get the recorder from the glove compartment and bring it over to the passenger’s side. Call off the bomb scare and get the airport police and an ambulance out here fast.”

Aziz ran to the Chevy, its headlights and cherry top still flashing.

Keeping his gun trained on the driver, MacNeice opened the passenger door and stepped into the Range Rover.

“I told you, I’m not armed. You don’t need that.”

“No offence, but I like to take precautions when I’m arresting a suspect on murder charges.” He listened for a moment to the music. “Beethoven—Piano Concerto number one.”

“Just so. MacNeice, I have approximately nine and a half minutes left. I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“What do you mean?”

He held up a small steel cylinder and handed it to MacNeice. “There was a capsule in here. I created it for just such an occasion. Check the pockets of my bodyguards and you’ll find two more. It takes about ten minutes, depending on your stress level.”

“Why did you kill your sister?” MacNeice heard a tap on his window and rolled it down. Aziz handed him the recorder, silently mouthing,
It’s on
. He set it on the black leather dashboard.

“Hello, Detective Aziz,” Petrescu said. “I’m sorry we don’t have more time to chat about the Old Country.”

“Your sister?” MacNeice asked.

Petrescu rolled his head towards him. “She was not my sister. I never knew her. She was an orphan.”