Friction (6 page)

“
Was
it justified?”

“I had identified myself as a law officer and ordered him to put down the weapon. He not only refused, he fired two shots at a uniformed officer, and he probably would have gone on firing if those SWAT officers hadn’t stopped him. No, judge, it went down the way it had to. It’s just…”

He thought back on those fateful moments. although measured in time by mere seconds, it had been a history-changing, life-ending event. He’d been there. He’d witnessed the whole thing. Yet he still didn’t understand why that young man had placed himself in such a near-perfect situation to get killed.

His consternation must have been apparent, because the judge’s expression invited him to share what was on his mind, and before he knew he was going to, he did. “I wish I could have had a few more seconds with him, you know? Maybe I could have talked him into putting down the pistol. Or I could have convinced the deputy to back away and let me handle it. Or—”

“Or you could have been killed.”

That statement snapped him back into the present, and to her, and to the reason he’d come here in the first place. “Right. I could have been killed. Which makes me sorry I went after him in the first place. But I did. And because I did, I’m in the big thick middle of it, and I don’t want to be. I’ve been through a mess like this once before.” He paused for emphasis. “As you well know.”

She looked down at the floor. “It’s an unfortunate circumstance for you, and I’m sorry over it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re all torn up.”

Hearing in his tone that he meant just the opposite, she raised her head and looked at him. “Why do you doubt it?”

“Because my being gung-ho today gives you the perfect out.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do.” He advanced on her a step. “If you had to rule on my petition right now, this second, would you award me custody of Georgia?”

She parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out.

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a snicker. “After today, you can deny me custody of my little girl and walk away with a clear conscience.”

His conclusion angered her. “After this,” she said, passing her hand back and forth between the two of them, “I won’t even be deciding your case. I’ll have to recuse myself and give it over to another judge.”

“Even better. You can wash your hands of the whole thing.” He made a show of dusting his hands. “While I will have to start all over with a new judge. More therapy, probably. More bullshit, definitely. And more time without Georgia.”

“Which is no fault of mine,” she said, raising her voice to match the level of his.
“You
were the one who dictated all that inconvenience to yourself when you showed up at my back door.”

She was right, of course, but he’d be damned before conceding. “Okay, since you’re out of it, you can tell me what your decision would have been.”

“I told you before—”

“That you don’t know.”

“That’s right.”

“Like hell you don’t. While you were flipping through my ‘file,’ pretending to ponder your decision, you already knew what you were going to say. Right?
Right
?
”

“I don’t know what my decision would have been, and how dare you come here demanding to know.”

“I’m demanding it because I’ve been put on notice by my father-in-law.”

That brought her up short. She paused long enough to take several quick breaths. “Notice?”

“Joe told me tonight that he plans to fight my petition in earnest. He’s proclaimed us enemies. We’re no longer—How did you put it? ‘Amicable’? Screw that. It’s gloves off. War officially declared. If that’s the way he wants to play it, fine. But I want to know from you if I’m going to be wasting my time—to say nothing of attorney’s fees—engaging in a battle that I’ve already lost.”

“I’m sure he was just overwrought.”

“Jet jockey Joe? Un-huh. He doesn’t get overwrought.”

“He would today. Mr. Hunt, anything said in the aftermath of what we experienced this afternoon should be tempered—”

“Dammit, I hate that.”

“What?”

“You talking to me like you’re sitting behind a podium, robe zipped up, a goddamn gavel in hand. Tell me straight out, no fancy talk, no legalese. Just one person to another. Were you going to rule in favor of them or me?”

“We’ll discuss it—”

“Now! Now is when we’re going to discuss it. Was I gonna win or lose?”

“I can’t—”

“
Tell me!
”

“Stop bullying me!”

Her voice cracked on her shout, and it shocked him into silence.

“You weren’t the only one affected today,” she cried out in that same creaky voice. “I’m sorry for your situation. Truly, I am. I’m sorry that my kind, genial, and well-meaning bailiff, who you knew since you were a kid and winked at you, died protecting me. I’m sorry that your mother-in-law can’t stop crying. I’m sorry that I don’t know what prompted that man to do what he did, and if his motive has some connection to me, I’m even sorrier about that.”

She leaned back against the counter and used both fists to wipe tears off her cheeks. Then she opened her hands and stared down at her palms. “I’m also sorry that I can’t stop shaking, and that I seriously considered sleeping with the light on tonight, showing a cowardly streak I didn’t even know I had.”

Choking up entirely, she paused to swallow several times, taking hard gulps of air. “But the man in the mask was horrifying, and it was awful to see Chet die, and—” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

“Aw
shit
,” Crawford muttered. He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and left her to wallow in several moments of heavy crying. Finally, he said, “Hey. Don’t do that.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“No I can’t. I was so afraid. Not just for me, but for…for…”

“Come on now, stop crying.”

“—for all of us. He was so—”

“Scary. I know. I was scared, too.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Hell I wasn’t.”

She continued to cry into her hands.

“Try not to think about it anymore, okay?”

She nodded but she didn’t stop weeping.

Removing his hands from his pockets, he pulled a paper napkin from the holder on the dining table. “Here. Wipe your eyes.” She didn’t see the napkin he extended her, so he walked over and gently nudged her arm. “Use this.”

Blindly she groped for the napkin with one hand, then held it against her eyes. But her crying didn’t abate; in fact, the wracking sobs increased.

Uncomfortable with the situation, Crawford shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Come on now. This isn’t helping anything. Get it together.”

“I’m trying. I can’t.”

“Everything’s okay.” He moved a step closer and lightly placed his hands on her shoulders. Patting them, he said, “It’s all right.”

“I know, but—”

“You’re safe. We’re all safe. Hear me?
Safe
.”

His soothing words must have reached her because a few seconds later, her neck went boneless, and her head dropped forward. She hiccupped into the damp napkin, used it to blot her eyes and wipe her nose, then lowered her hands from her face. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem. Better now?”

She nodded and when she did, her forehead brushed against his chest and then rested there. His hands stilled on her shoulders, then moved to encircle her neck, his fingertips gently kneading the back of it. She set her hands at his waist and leaned into him. A deep inhale caused her whole body to shudder.

“Shh.” He hugged her closer and sent his fingers up into her hair until he was cupping the back of her head in his hand. His other slid down her back and began stroking her spine. On one downward trip, it slid past the small of her back and settled on the curve of her hip. And stayed there.

Suddenly neither of them was breathing.

After what seemed an endless time of absolute stillness, she tilted her head up.

Crawford looked down into her brimming green eyes and thought,
Oh fuck.

C
rawford growled into his cell phone, “Yeah?”

“It’s Neal Lester. I need to talk to you.”

Crawford pried open his eyes only wide enough to read the clock on his nightstand and was surprised to see that it was after ten. “About what?”

“Were you asleep?”

“That’s what you called to ask me?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

Crawford rolled onto his back and placed his forearm over his eyes. “I had a rough night. That happens after seeing two men gunned down. I’m funny that way.”

All of yesterday’s events came crashing into his mind. The last in that pileup of disturbing recollections was of him having carnal knowledge of Judge Holly Spencer.

He pressed his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets and stifled a groan.
Christ.

Neal asked, “How soon can you be up and dressed?”

“Depends. Why?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

An instant later Crawford was holding a dead phone. Swearing, he struggled to sit up and swung his feet to the floor, propped his elbows on his knees, and held his face in his hands as he prayed that he had only dreamed that erotic interlude with Her Honor. But then memories of it began to crystallize, taking on shape, sound, and substance.

Her. Him. Ignition. Blast-off.

His doorbell pealed. He dropped his hands between his knees. “You have
got
to be kidding me.” The bell rang again. He pulled on his underwear and stamped through his house to the front door, jerked it open, scowled.

“I was parked at the curb when I called.” Neal hitched his thumb over his shoulder at the unmarked sedan. “May I come in?”

Crawford turned his back and stalked away, but left the door standing open. Neal asked, “Where are you going?”

“To pee.”

Crawford didn’t look back, leaving his unwelcome guest to his own devices. He used the toilet and splashed cold water on his face. He picked up yesterday’s jeans from off the floor beside the bed where he’d shucked them in the wee hours. He was still buttoning up when he reentered the living room.

Neal had closed the door but had remained standing just in front of it. In stark contrast to Crawford’s rumpled appearance, he was a paragon of neatness—hair carefully parted, clothes wrinkle-free, shoes shined, so closely shaven, his face reflected light.

Crawford said, “Kitchen’s this way.”

By the time Neal joined him, he had the coffeemaker’s water tank filled and was scooping grounds into the filter. Rudely, he asked, “What, Neal?”

“The ME said if we want to view the body before he performs the autopsy, we’d better get over there.”

Crawford’s hands were momentarily arrested in motion, then he dumped the last scoopful of grounds, clicked the filter basket into place, and punched the start button on the machine. Only then did he turn around. He gave Neal a once over. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You don’t look like a man who’s lost his mind. But I think you must have. You spent hours last night doing everything you possibly could to piss me off, then you show up this morning and pretend we’re partners? Get out of my house.”

Neal’s mouth formed a thin, grim line that barely moved as he said, “It wasn’t my idea to bring you in. The request came from the chief himself.”

“If he wants a Ranger, have him call the Tyler office, see who’s available. I requested a few days off, and my major said I could take all the time I needed.”

“I know, but the chief said—”

“You got the perp. All that’s left to do is ID him, and you don’t need me for that. I’m going back to bed. Or maybe I’ll go for a long run or a swim. I’ll clip my toenails. The one thing I’m
not
doing is accompanying you to the morgue to look at your dead guy.”

“I figured you would say that.”

“You figured right.”

“Hear me out before you refuse.”

“I already refused.”

“The chief thought maybe you’d recognize Rodriguez if you got a better look at him.”

“He was a total stranger to me until our standoff on the roof. I didn’t recognize him yesterday. I won’t today. Bye.”

“The chief says it won’t hurt for you to look at him again.”

“Won’t help, either.”

“We won’t know that for certain until you do. You didn’t see Rodriguez close up. If you do, it might joggle a memory.”

“It won’t. And I’ve got other things to do.”

Actually, he didn’t. He had an outing with Georgia planned for later this afternoon, but until then, he was at loose ends. But under any circumstances, he wanted nothing to do with an investigation under Neal Lester’s direction. If the local PD wanted the Texas Rangers’ help, they could get another one. The sooner he distanced himself from yesterday’s incident—incident
s
—the better.

However, true to form, Neal was taking his job as the police chief’s messenger boy seriously. He remained standing in the center of the kitchen, looking pained but stubbornly duty-bound. Crawford turned away to take a mug from the cabinet. “Want coffee?’

After an abrupt
no thanks
, Neal said, “We’ve been unable to confirm that Rodriguez is his real name.”

“That’s a problem, all right.”

“His prints weren’t flagged.”

“No priors, then.”

“No. But he had a fake ID. No green card, work visa, nothing like that in his wallet. He had less than thirty dollars cash, no credit cards. No cell phone. In this day and age, it’s practically unheard of not to have a cell phone.”

“Unless you’re someone who doesn’t want to be captured by police with one in your possession.”

“You said you didn’t think he spoke English very well.”

“That was only a guess. He might have been fluent and was just pretending not to understand me. Maybe he was so jumpy that his knowledge of
inglés
deserted him. A man trying to pull off such a boneheaded stunt wouldn’t be thinking clearly or intelligently.”

“Why do you think it was a boneheaded stunt?”

Crawford cocked his eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“Of course I do. But I’d like to hear why you think so.”

“You haven’t got that much time.”

“Look, be an asshole. That’s what I expect from you. I’m not here because I want to be. Believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you, Neal. You look downright constipated.”

“But as long as I was sent on this errand, you could give me something to take back to the chief.”

Crawford was about to tell him that he didn’t care if he had only his dick in his hand when he returned to the chief, but the coffeemaker was just now beginning to burble. As long as he had to wait on it, he thought,
What the hell
, and decided to air something that had been puzzling him.

“The guy has just gunned down a man in front of witnesses.”

“Right.”

“He’s fleeing the scene of a capital crime.”

“Right.”

“Why go to the roof?”

“Because two law enforcement agencies are located on the building’s first floor.” The matching annexes for the PD and sheriff’s office were connected to the first floor of the courthouse, extending back from each side of it to form a large letter U.

Crawford said, “Even so, going down is a much better option than the roof, where there’s only one means of escape. And another thing, he lights up a smoke.”

“Camel unfiltered.” Neal shrugged. “He needed a jolt of nicotine.”

“No doubt, but…I don’t know.” Crawford idly scratched his bare chest and turned his head to gaze out the window above the sink. It looked like rain. He might have to change what he had planned for Georgia that afternoon.

“What else?” Neal probed.

“The guy virtually guaranteed that he would be either captured or killed. Those were his only two options.”

“Suicide.”

“Also after which he would be dead.”

“What are you getting at?” Neal asked.

“Why the costume?” Musing out loud, he elaborated. “If escape was all but impossible, if he was doomed to wind up either in handcuffs or a body bag, why bother with the disguise?”

“For the scare factor?”

“Possibly,” Crawford murmured. “If so, it worked.”

His thoughts shifted back to Judge Spencer’s meltdown. For hours, she had managed to delay her reaction to the fright she’d experienced in the courtroom. She’d contained it well until his bullying, as she’d called it, had cracked her restraint. Emotions had burst out of her and the overflow had been unstoppable.

His attempt to comfort her had been awkward because, up till then, they’d never touched, not even to shake hands. Then, from that tentative, consoling pat, they had proceeded at warp speed to desperate, clutching, grinding fucking.

“You with me?”

Crawford cleared his throat and turned back to Neal. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you sleepwalking?”

“No, I was just mulling over what you were saying.”

“Which part?”

Neal posed the question like a snotty know-it-all, which was the way he’d been as a kid, and the way Crawford continued to regard him. “Look, sergeant, if you don’t like the way I’m conducting the conversation, feel free to get the hell out of my house.”

Neal stood his ground. “I repeat. None of the government agencies in the courthouse—city, state, or federal—had an appointment scheduled with a Jorge Rodriguez. He had no outstanding traffic ticket to pay. No tax bills.”

“Maybe he was there to get married.”

Neal didn’t so much as blink at the quip, much less smile.

“Think before you rule it out, Neal. JP’s office is on the fifth floor. Some men will go to great lengths to avoid tying the knot.”

Although badgering the detective felt good, Crawford’s heart wasn’t really in it. He was remembering the purpose with which Rodriguez strode toward the judge’s podium. “He was there to kill.” He looked at Neal and stated with unqualified conviction, “I don’t know who he was, or why he went about it so stupidly and suicidally, but he meant to kill.”

The coffeemaker hissed and spat one last time. Crawford filled his mug and leaned against the counter, sipping thoughtfully. Though he told himself to shut up about the incident and to tell Neal to go take a flying leap, he heard himself ask, “You get him on security camera coming in?”

“He entered through the main entrance at one forty-one. Here’s something interesting. He wasn’t carrying anything.”

Dammit, that was interesting. “No gym bag, sack, backpack?”

Neal shook his head. “So either he’d stashed his costume on a previous visit in preparation for yesterday, or he was wearing the painter’s garb under his street clothes.”

“No way,” Crawford said. “He didn’t have time to switch back into street clothes after leaving the painter’s stuff in a pile. He would have gone out onto the roof wearing very little or in the buff.”

“Damn. You’re right.” Neal thought it over. “I suppose the cap, gloves, shoe covers, and mask could’ve been stashed in his pockets when he entered the building.”

“Maybe,” Crawford said, but he wasn’t convinced of that. “Anything else?”

Neal shook his head. “Once through the door, he got lost in the shuffle, one of many flowing into the building around that time. Prospective jurors.”

“Yeah,” Crawford said. “I was waiting at the end of the hall for our two o’clock court time. All of sudden the fourth floor corridor was crawling with people.”

“The jurors were on their way to Judge Mason’s court, two doors down from Judge Spencer’s. Rape case with extenuating circumstances. Both attorneys had asked for a large jury pool from which to select.”

“Must have been fifty, sixty of them,” Crawford recalled. “Most came up on the atrium stairs instead of using the elevators.”

“Rodriguez could have blended, then easily slipped into that closet unnoticed. Cameras on the roof got him coming out that door at two twenty-eight. No disguise, but he’s carrying the pistol, which he set on the wall at the edge.”

The security cameras had verified the sequence of events as Crawford remembered and had related them in his statement, but they failed to enlighten him as to Rodriguez’s purpose. In fact, when Neal finished talking through it, Crawford was left with even more gnawing questions. It was second nature for him to want to plug up the holes of missing information.

But mentally he slammed shut the door on his curiosity.

“Answers will come with a positive ID,” he said. “In the meantime, you’ll have to keep playing the guessing game.” He raised a toast with his mug. “Good luck.”

“The chief wants—”

“No.”

“He’s cleared it with your major lieutenant in Houston.”

“I’ll talk to him and unclear it. Which should make you happy. We wouldn’t be simpatico changing a flat tire together. Wasn’t it you, just last night, who took issue with my tactics?”

“I was out of line.”

Crawford snuffled over the detective’s stilted apology. “Never mind, Neal. My feelings aren’t hurt. I don’t give a shit what you think of me.”

“Then I won’t play diplomat here. I don’t like you or your Dirty Harry brand of cop. But,” he said, taking a breath, “it’s not up to me, and others hold you in high esteem.”

Crawford knew what it had cost the guy to say that. He almost felt sorry for him. But he remained unmoved. “Thank the chief for the vote of confidence, but you’ll ID Rodriguez without me. If you feel like you need another Ranger—”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“You were the only person on the roof with this guy, the only one who exchanged words with him.”

“You have everything in my statement, including my admission that I responded instinctively, and, as you were quick to point out, I did so without weighing the consequences of such a rash action. Which I now regret.”

He could tell Neal was shocked to hear him say that.

“Not for the reason you think,” Crawford said. “I took the correct action. I stand by that. I regret it for an entirely selfish reason.”

“Want to share?”

He saw no reason not to. “Charging after that gunman has almost certainly scotched my chances of getting Georgia back. At the next hearing, my father-in-law is going to remind the judge of my reckless disregard for my own safety. What judge is going to entrust a little girl’s future to Dirty Harry?”