Magic Line (6 page)

‘How, though?' Sarah said.

‘How what?'

‘How'd the third man stand behind the man with the assault rifle and get shot two seconds sooner? Which he would have to do to end up on the bottom.'

‘Good question.' Delaney was chewing two or three sticks of gum methodically the way he usually did at a crime scene, like it was part of his job and he had to do it as well as he possibly could. ‘But I suppose there were bullets flying all around, hmmm?' Scanning the room, blinking, he said, ‘Where's his weapon, by the way?'

‘Whose? Oh, the third man? I don't know, must be here somewhere.' Sarah looked under the highboy, under the chair.

‘Any chance it's still on him?' He was looking at her. ‘You did pat him down, didn't you, when you put him on the gurney?'

‘Of course I patted him down. Best I could while we were loading – the paramedic giving me a bad time, insisting I quit fooling around so he could save the man's life.'

‘Well, they're paid to hurry,' Ollie said.

‘Yeah. So I had to hurry, too – but he didn't have a gun in any of the usual places. Guarantee it.'

‘You check his waistband in the back?'

‘Sure.'

‘And his crotch, they got those damn things now—'

‘Boss, he was the bottom man in a pile of bodies when I found him. Out cold. How could he put a gun in his underwear?'

‘So you didn't.' He was chewing faster, staring at her.

‘They were all dead, OK; I was looking at a pile of dead guys?' Sarah's voice had turned high and anxious. ‘Then suddenly the bottom one was awake and all any of us could think of was getting him to a hospital fast.'

‘I understand that,' Delaney said. ‘But now I'm thinking about what you keep saying.'

‘About what?'

‘That there was something funny about his position; you can't understand how he ended up under the other man.'

‘That's not all that's funny here,' Barney said, breaking in between the two tense detectives, all goodwill and muscle. ‘Come on, let me show you.' He was stuck being the tour guide; he wanted to finish the tour and get back to his regular shift.

Dusky light poured in when he opened the drape on the back wall and showed Delaney the open window. They followed him outside and stood around Delaney while he frowned at the glass circles and the cutting tool. Then Barney told him about the running man he'd seen on the way here, and how he'd shot a few seconds of video and taken his photograph instead of stopping because his orders were to get here fast, officer needs assistance.

Delaney kept shaking his head and blinking. He was getting too much puzzling information all at once, Sarah saw. His mind was still on the ex-dead-guy's missing gun. This window with holes cut out of it didn't seem to fit the rest of the crime. As for the running man, she could see him thinking,
Isn't he the least of our worries?
‘You pretty sure you got his picture?'

‘I got something. Might be a little blurred.'

‘Take it down to the backup van and get Woody to put it up on the video screen there. See if he can clear it up enough to see what you got.'

‘Now,' Delaney said when he was gone, ‘Let's see what's in the garage.'

Sarah had found a key ring in the bald man's pocket, but the shiny black SUV was unlocked. Delaney walked around to the driver's door. Sarah pulled open the rear door on the passenger's side and yelped.

‘
What?
' Delaney yanked his door open. They both stared, then laughed, embarrassed.

‘He looked real,' Sarah said, ‘for a minute.'

‘What the hell?'

‘It's a balloon. An inflatable man. Extra security, maybe, for the drug runs?'

‘Jeez, hat and all. Yeah, with these smoked windows, I guess – Sarah, what's the matter?' She had her fists pressed hard against her temples, face screwed into a knot.

‘Whether I can prove it or not, I know that man's position was wrong,' she said. ‘The one we sent to the hospital? And why was he wearing gloves? Boss, I think I should call that rescue crew and tell them—'

She was still opening her phone when his rang. He said, ‘Yes, Blake.' Sarah folded her phone and listened, feeling her heart constrict. Then Delaney said, ‘
What?
' His eyes closed to slits during a longish story that he punctuated with short questions. Sarah watched as his face turn paler and stonier.

When he folded up the phone he told her the bad news quickly. The man whose life they had tried to save had attacked the crew of the rescue vehicle and escaped. The officer-escort was in the hospital.

‘I need to go talk to that officer,' Sarah said. ‘Right away. Did you say his name's Fitzgerald?'

‘John Fitzgerald, yes. You got your recorder? That phone take good pictures?' As usual, Delaney was concentrating on the job at hand, not wasting time with blame.

He didn't need to – Sarah felt rotten enough without a reprimand. She'd had a hand in an incident that was going to go into the record as a screw-up. First Zimmy, then her – two experienced officers had both misjudged what they were looking at.
How did he fool us like that?
Their mistake had already caused all this trouble and would almost certainly cause more down the road. For the department, maybe – that was the part that stung like a hornet.
I can take all the hard work, but I hate being wrong.

The very last of the sunset rimmed the western mountains with crimson as she drove away from the yard. They were near enough to the south edge of town to get whiffs of the cooling desert – creosote, dust and smoke – and now that traffic had slowed she could hear mourning doves and a distant coyote. Evening brought moments of sweet repose – though not, of course, for homicide detectives who had just screwed up.

No use holding a wake over it, Delaney would say. Mistakes happen. Own up to it, deal with it, move on.

Easy for you to say.
Only it wasn't – Delaney might take heat for her error in judgment; he was responsible for the job his crew turned in.
Damn.
Driving toward the hospital, her gut burned with shame.
I should never have let that Blake kid rush me.
One part of her mind was already playing the scene over, being shrewd Sarah Burke this time, saying,
Wait a minute
,
I need to see his underwear and get those boots off before you take him away
. Making everybody wait while she patted every inch of that little sneak down, stripped him bare.
Found his weapon
– maybe even –
is it possible
that dirty little sneak got away with a pile of money too?

No. I'd have felt—

Finally – the hospital.
Need a parking spot close to the . . . there's one.

She badged the desk attendant, said she needed to speak to Officer Fitzgerald, asked for his room number and met the frozen indifference of a male clerk so young he thought thirty-five-year-old women were edging into their quaint phase.

‘Just have a seat there, Detective,' he said, sliding a glance past her ear. ‘I'll see if he can have visitors.' Sarah fixed him in a stolid stare and stood where she was, rehearsing the two quick stages by which her request would turn insistent and then threatening if this pushy upstart decided to make her wait.

Luckily he was just showing his chops, not really looking for a fight. He showed a lot more respect after he got an instant OK from the guard upstairs. She squeezed into an almost-full elevator and got an aide to help her negotiate the maze upstairs.

Fitzgerald was propped up on pillows with a big bandage on his broken nose. He had sedative in him and was getting glassy-eyed, but rallied when she asked if he could talk.

‘Oh, shur.' He sounded like the first day of a massive head cold. ‘Lucky to hab a dose to worry aboud.' He looked sheepish. ‘Feel so dumb ledden that li'l shit ged the jump on me.'

‘Join the club, John,' Sarah said. ‘He fooled me, too.'

‘You can call me Fitz – most people do.'

‘OK, Fitz. I won't ask you to smile.' She took his picture and showed him she was pushing the start button on her recorder. He wasn't startled. Street cops recorded almost everything they did now, wary of a public that could go from please-help-me to sue-your-ass in a blink. ‘Start at the beginning, will you?' she asked him. ‘You left in the ambulance with the prisoner and the rescue crew—'

Fitzgerald touched his rapidly darkening eye bruises and winced. ‘Yeah, the driver was floor-boarding it, we had this supposedly dying man on board. Patient's eyes were closed, he wasn't breathing that I could see. The paramedic, his name was Blake, was setting up the IV and having trouble because the vehicle sways a lot. He's kind of a perfectionist, I guess, seemed very anxious to get everything right.'

‘Got kind of a high-stress job, I guess,' Sarah said.

‘He should try mine. Anyway, he said help me, hold his arm like this so I can get the needle in – and I leaned over the gurney. I'm hanging onto the overhead support with one hand, see, we both are, because we're screaming around corners on one wheel . . . then like lightning, that supposedly dead guy hit me in the face with something hard.'

‘How? We had him strapped on that gurney—'

‘I know. And we covered him with a blanket, but Blake had pulled both his arms out, looking for the best vein for an IV . . . the weird thing is, that victim had blood all over him, he looked completely wasted, but when he went into action, holy shit he was strong. He threw me right across that gurney into Blake. Knocked him down, and he and I got wedged together in that tiny space with me on top, bleeding on him like a stuck pig from my broken nose.'

‘I hope they got it set nice and straight,' Sarah said.

‘Right. So I can be the straight-nosed asshole who let the prisoner get away.'

‘Oh, please – I feel bad enough.'

‘Why should you feel bad? You didn't have anything to do with what happened to me.'

‘I let that faker fool me into thinking he was dead. Then when he seemed to wake up a little I just assumed he was terribly hurt and rushed him off to the hospital.'

‘Well, for what it's worth I thought he was a goner myself. I could swear he never even breathed till he threw me into Blake.'

Fitzgerald was looking pretty gone himself. And a nurse was there with another shot, saying, ‘Detective, this patient needs to rest now.'

Sarah raised one hand, fending her off. ‘One minute. Fitz, tell me what happened after he attacked you. Then you can sleep.'

‘He jumped off that gurney while Blake and I were still on the floor. Slid right out of those straps, slid open the little window in front and jumped into the front passenger seat. Then from what I could hear it sounded like he was pointing a gun at the driver.'

‘Did you see where he got the gun from?'

‘No. I never saw the gun at all but he must have had one because he told the driver, “Stop right now or I'll blow your head off.” The driver's screaming, “I'm in four lanes of traffic, gimme a minute.” But that crazy guy just said, “Get over right now or I'll kill you.” I'm still wound around Blake, he's yelling at me to get off him – like I was lying on him for the fun of it, jeez.'

‘Blake got pretty excited, huh?'

‘Well, we were both a little crazy, I guess. I had so much blood in my eyes, running down my face – I never knew before what blood
tastes
like. Rusty metal, yuck. I couldn't see anything, and we were still going like a bat – I thought we were all going to die, any minute. But that driver – he really should get a medal. He kept his lights and siren going and bullied his way out of traffic and into a . . . a ramp or something—'

‘Where?'

‘Not sure. We'd just turned off Campbell, I think, onto Elm – we were almost to UMC. That is where I am, isn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘OK, so soon as the rig stopped that nut job forced the driver out and yelled, ‘Take off your shirt!' Surprised the poor driver so much he just did as he was told. And that guy I thought was all but dead, he grabbed that shirt and ran off like a deer, right through traffic! He was nowhere in sight when the driver climbed back in the cab.'

Fitz started to laugh, stopped quickly and said, ‘Ow, hurts to laugh!' He touched his bandage gingerly, wincing. Then one careful snicker forced its way out. ‘The driver said, “That dirty pup took my shirt!” Like
that
was the worst thing that happened!

‘My face hurt so much . . . I think I yelled something. Then I passed out. I must have fallen on the floor again – my elbows hurt like hell now. When I woke up I was here. I don't know where the rescue crew is.'

‘Headed back to the firehouse, telling Delaney all about it on the phone. Boy, are they happy campers now.'

‘Detective,' the nurse said, ‘please.'

‘Nurse Bell.' Standing up, reading off her name plate, Sarah got right into Nurse Bell's pretty dimpled face and enjoyed, for three vibrating seconds, the impulse to let the whole day's shit run down on this tidy person. Threaten her with obstruction of justice, contributing to . . . something. Teach a little respect for the law in here.

Luckily some well-trained synapses fired in her brain, reminding her she had work to do and no energy to waste on folly. ‘I am conducting a homicide investigation,' she said, doing her best to sound like Moses handing down stone tablets. ‘The answers I'm getting are urgently needed or I wouldn't have come over here. Leave me alone and I will finish quickly.'

Nurse Bell's face froze over. She took one step back from the bed and turned to the door, her clean hands gripping the little tray with the water glass and the hypodermic in its sheath. Her expression as she walked out said,
You are on my turf now and we will see about this.