by Jamie Craig
“No, you’re not. You want something. Otherwise, you would’ve already turned it over.”
“I told you what I wanted. I want you to do the right thing. That means dropping the charges against Hector and releasing him before he wastes one more day in jail. That means coming clean about Tana Mayfield and Johnny Fender. Fixing this before it gets completely out of hand.”
“If you’re here, I’d suggest things might be already out of hand.”
“No, all it suggests is that I’m close enough to the various pieces of this puzzle to understand what it all means. You can stop this before everybody else figures it out, too.”
Horan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Scott knew how to read him. Like now. The man was weighing his options, not that he had many. Scott just had to wait him out.
“I think this might be a discussion better served elsewhere.” Horan picked up his phone, his eyes never leaving Scott’s. “Lynette, get Griswold to step in for me in court this morning. I’m going to be delayed.”
Scott waited for Horan to hang up before asking, “Elsewhere? I think your office is serving the discussion just fine.”
Ignoring Scott’s mild protest, Horan pushed his chair back and opened his top drawer. “Not if you have something you need to show me. Which will be the only way Young sees the light of day again.”
Scott’s mouth went dry. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Horan to go this far. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. “I don’t have anything to show you if I don’t have your word first.”
“I don’t make promises without some kind of guarantee.” His wrist snapped up, the keys he’d pulled out of his desk jingling against his palm. “Are you willing to gamble Hector’s life away because I’m simply being reasonable? You’re the one who came to me, remember.”
Scott smoothly rose to his feet, his face set in a calm mask. Horan clearly expected Scott to take him to wherever he was holding whatever Horan was searching for. The fact that he did not know the answer to either of those questions was immaterial when compared to the fact that he did not know what Horan would do to him if he discovered Scott had been bluffing this whole time.
“No, I’m not willing to gamble Hector’s life away. I want to make sure he sleeps in his own bed tonight.”
Horan’s smile was cold and dry. “Ah, now there are those windmills I was expecting from you. Glad you haven’t let me down, Scott.” He brushed past Scott without a backward glance, fully expecting him to follow.
Scott knew he wasn’t going to extract any sort of promise from Horan, but a promise wouldn’t do him as much good as a confession would. He had to keep Horan talking while they were going…Shit, where are we going to go?
He stayed a step behind Horan, following him respectfully through the Hall of Justice. He knew enough of Tana Mayfield to know she had a very limited life. By all accounts, the only time she wasn’t at the opera house, she was at Woodson, or at home. Horan’s men had already torn her apartment apart, and Woodson was clean. That only left one place.
Chapter 18
The insistent ring of his phone tugged Duke from an unexpectedly heavy sleep, his misshapen dreams lumbering away with all the reluctance he had in waking. He almost sighed happily when the ringing stopped, but seconds later, it started again, driving his eyelids open as he twisted to reach for it on his nightstand.
He immediately groaned. Damn it. He’d forgotten about the stitches. That explained his difficulty waking, too. Drugs always wreaked havoc with his system.
The phone stopped and started a third time by the time he reached it. The name on the screen woke him up the rest of the way.
“What is it, Finch?” He glanced over at the other side of the bed, noting the absence of Scott’s clothing. “Don’t tell me you lost him already.”
“No, sir.” The line sounded hollow. Finch was in his car. “I did exactly what you told me to. I followed you after you left the hospital, but when Mr. Scott never left your house last night, I set up a stakeout across the street. But you never told me anything about following DA Horan.”
Ice water ran through his veins. “What? What are you talking about?”
“DA Horan. I’m following his car right now.”
“Why are you following him?”
“Because Mr. Scott is with him.”
No, no, no. What the hell were you thinking, James? Duke stood and went straight to his closet, yanking the door open to get to some clean clothes. “Tell me how you got from outside my house to behind Horan.”
“Mr. Scott left this morning at six twenty-seven. He went to an apartment building and came out in different clothes, so I’m guessing that was his place. Then, he went to the Hall of Justice. I didn’t follow him in, because, well, it’s the Hall of Justice. He came back out eighteen minutes later with DA Horan, walked with him to his car, and got into it with him. I called you as soon as I got into traffic behind them.”
He yanked on a pair of pants. “Where are you headed?”
“Considering it’s the DA? It looks like they’re going to City Hall.”
City Hall. That was reasonable. Scott might have had a previously scheduled meeting with Horan. It could be about any number of things.
But City Hall was right next to the ballet company and the opera house. And knowing how Scott had responded to finding out about Horan’s involvement, Duke suspected this had been an impromptu meeting at best.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “I’m going to call you back as soon as I’m in my car, and you can give me an update on where they are.”
“Do I get out and follow them on foot?”
“Only if they actually go to City Hall.”
“Where else would they go?”
If you only knew. “Just do what I tell you, Finch. And if they stop before I call you back, let me know ASAP.”
He dressed in record time, years of swift changes finally feeling worth it. With his weapon firmly strapped to his shoulder, he grabbed his coat, phone, and keys and headed for the door. He deliberately ignored the painkillers. He needed to be as sharp as possible to deal with Scott and Horan.
He rang Finch before he’d started his engine. “Where are you?”
“Just crossing Market.”
Shit, they’re almost there. Duke slapped on the siren and doubled his speed. “Stay on the line. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Is something wrong, detective? You don’t sound like you usually do.”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it because of the DA?” Clearly, Finch didn’t believe him, which, under other circumstances, would have reassured Duke that he’d chosen the right man. Right now, he just wanted Finch to drop it. “You don’t think the DA’s in danger, too, just because he’s with Mr. Scott, do you?”
Duke hadn’t actually considered Scott being in any danger at all at the moment, except to say something foolish and blow any chance they had of nailing Horan to the wall. But now that Finch mentioned it, he wondered if he was being a little naïve. He was pretty sure Horan was responsible for ordering the first hit on Scott, even if he didn’t have the proof. He was the only one to have the kind of power necessary to pull as many strings as he did. And if Scott had jumped the gun, why would Horan ever let him walk away? Horan was prepared to put Young behind bars for murders he didn’t commit. He’d likely been responsible in one way or another for Tana’s death, for whatever it was of his that she had. It wasn’t just that information like this could kill his career, no matter how many connections he had. It was that he’d already demonstrated a lack of control in ridding himself of obstacles in his way.
Scott excelled at getting in the way.
There was always the chance he was wrong, of course. It was entirely likely that Tana Mayfield was the corrupt one in this little play, and Horan had been executing his job in trying to obtain necessary evidence. But Duke’s gut said that was wrong.
Scott’s gut had said the same thing.
And enough of th
e known facts supported their instincts.
“The DA is the danger,” Duke said. He extinguished his twinge of guilt at involving the cadet even more than he already had. Now was not the time. “And I don’t think they’re going to City Hall.”
“Where else would they be going?”
“The opera house. Or the ballet school across the street.”
“Why?”
“I wish I knew. But I want you prepared for a worst case scenario.”
The sounds of traffic filled the line. He’d give Finch all the time he wanted to digest, just as long as he didn’t do something foolish like call in reinforcements.
“They’re pulling into a parking structure, sir. What do you want me to do?”
Duke checked his speed and the road ahead. It was going to take him another ten minutes to get there, at the very least. He wasn’t as concerned as he’d been about losing them, but if Finch let them out of his sight, there was no telling what Horan might try pulling.
“I changed my mind. Follow them on foot. Do you have your weapon?”
“Yes, but—”
“No, buts. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Even if killed him.
* * * *
They reached the opera house much sooner than Scott expected. It was almost ridiculous. Horan was a powerful man, but he couldn’t bend the very fabric of space and time. He couldn’t make morning San Francisco traffic bow to his whims. Scott had thought they would have a good thirty minutes, if not forty-five. But everything had gone exactly right for Horan, and exactly wrong for Scott, and they parked near City Hall in what must have been record time. Scott still didn’t have his story straight. He didn’t know what Horan would do when he realized that Scott was bluffing the whole time.
He didn’t want to find out, either.
Horan got out of the car without a word and pressed a button on his keyring that noiselessly opened the trunk. After he pulled out a soft black leather laptop bag, he slammed the trunk shut again, the noise echoing against the concrete walls of the parking structure.
“Well?” he said, when Scott didn’t move. “Lead the way.”
Scott wasn’t sure what happened. Just two hours earlier, it had seemed like a good idea to confront Horan. What else was he going to do? Go to his best buddies, the police? Maybe really try to tell the state bar that one of the most popular, well-respected district attorneys in California was guilty of ethics violations without a hint of evidence? He knew that Horan would trip himself up, but he had hoped it would happen sooner than this.
But he insisted on bringing his laptop case. Did that mean he was looking for something computer related? Some sort of disc or thumb drive? That wasn’t much to work with, but it was better than the nothing he had before.
Scott kept his steps slow and even, wishing that Horan would at least walk at his side. He hated the feeling of the man at his back, but the one advantage to this position was Horan couldn’t read his expression. The opera house loomed in front of him, and there, across the street, was the ballet school. Duke had visited the school yesterday. Tana had worked in the school’s office. That was the most logical place to go.
When they crossed the street, Horan finally closed the distance. “How did you figure out where it was?”
“Process of elimination. Where else would she hide it? Her place was clean, so I started on top of the list of possibilities and worked my way down.”
“Did Young tell you it was here?”
“No,” Scott snapped, his temper rising to the surface before he could dampen it. “The only reason Young is involved in this at all is…” He paused, reconsidering making a straightforward accusation of murder. “Because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“He seems to have a bad habit of that.”
“No, he never denied his earlier charges. But didn’t it occur to you that anybody with a brain would see that Hector doesn’t even match the likely profile of a murderer?”
“I’m sure that’s what Johnny Fender thought, too.”
“You’re going to stick with that ridiculous story to the bitter end, huh?”
Horan smiled as they came to a stop in front of the closed front door. “I think the end is much sooner than you realize, Mr. Scott.”
Scott hoped it would be much sooner than he realized. With a little luck, Duke would already be on his way. Unless it never occurred to Finch to contact Duke? The thought made him feel a little bit sick.
As he opened the door, a gust of cold air sent a shiver down his spine. Goose bumps dotted his arm and neck, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach didn’t go away. In fact, it only intensified. He was in the middle of fucking things up, and would probably finish the job if Duke didn’t get there.
“It’s in the office,” he said, his words not betraying his tumult of emotion.
“Of course, it is.”
Horan paused in the foyer, resting his case on a long, low table that adorned the wall. His back blocked the view, but Scott saw well enough to note Horan opening the bag and pulling out a slim laptop. His attention honed in on the computer. He’d guessed right, then. That knowledge, however, wasn’t quite as fulfilling as he’d hoped.
“I suppose I should thank you for doing the job for me.” Horan turned back to him, leaving the laptop and case on the table. In his hand was a Smith and Wesson .38, aimed straight at Scott’s chest. “But you’re not quite done yet.”
“What? You’re going to shoot me?” Scott smiled with all the bravado he could muster. “You think nobody here will notice?”
“For one thing, nobody’s here yet. Classes aren’t in session, and rehearsals won’t start until later. But it doesn’t matter, because you and I will be long gone before anybody arrives anyway.” He nodded toward a closed door behind Scott. “Go on. Get it.”
Scott knew he could overpower the other man. He did work out on a regular basis, and Horan was quite a few years older than him. On the other hand, he wasn’t Superman. Even he couldn’t deflect bullets.
“Yeah,” he murmured, pushing the door open. “Let’s get it.”
* * * *
Duke parked illegally around the corner, leaving the siren in place to stave off any potential protests, and scanned the area. The streets were already starting to fill with people on their way to work, heads down, focusing inward. There was no sign of Scott or Horan, but Finch’s last message, terse and anxious, had indicated they’d gone inside.
As much as he’d hated making the call, Duke told Finch to wait to enter. Scott hadn’t appeared to be under duress, and the only item in either man’s hand was a laptop case. Duke was praying that any immediate danger would happen elsewhere.
His phone vibrated against his hip when he rounded the corner. Duke paused and tapped the connection on his earpiece, frowning as he looked around for Finch. “Do not tell me you went inside,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Duke?” It wasn’t Finch. Captain Sager’s concerned voice filled the line. “What are you doing on the job? You just got shot. You’re supposed to be home, recuperating, or at the very most, tied to your desk doing paperwork.”
Damn it. This was the last thing he needed right now.
With one last sweep in search of Finch, Duke stopped and stepped closer to the building, out of the way of pedestrians with his back to the sidewalk. “I’m fine, sir. I’m just doing some follow-up on Mayfield. Nothing strenuous.”
“You answered and thought I was someone else. Someone who you thought might be disobeying an order. What kind of follow-up are you conducting?”
He couldn’t tell Sager. He had no idea how deeply involved he was. As far as he knew, Horan had called Sager specifically to make sure Duke stayed far, far away from whatever he and Scott were doing inside. Lying to Sager was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his entire career.
“Interviews with people at the ballet company. Regarding her work there.”
“Her work? Not her dancing.”
“That’s good. Make sure you look at everything, even if something looks untouchable, understand?”
His chest tightened. “Something, or someone, sir?”
A door closed in the background. “If you’re asking that question, you already know the answer.”
He did. The question remained, though, why was Sager pushing him in that direction? “I’ll make sure.”
Good,” Sager repeated. “Now, we need to talk.”
“I can’t. Maybe this afternoon—”
“Is too late. There are things you and I need to discuss, Owen.” His tone reverted back to the warm concern that had started the call, but it was the use of Duke’s first name that really caught his attention. “Look, I won’t keep you from your interviews for long. Find someplace secure you and I can meet for coffee near the opera house. I can be down there in half an hour.”
Duke’s mind raced. “You don’t want me to come into the office?”
“No, this conversation is for our ears only. It’s overdue.”
“What’s it about?”
Sager sighed. “If I was free to talk about that, I would have you come in, now wouldn’t I? Look. I’m on my way. I’ll call once I’m parked to find out where you are.”
The line went dead. Duke swore under his breath as he pocketed his phone again. He didn’t need the deadline. He needed to find James. But the fact that Sager seemed determined to talk about something suggested maybe everything wasn’t quite as cut and dry as he’d originally thought. That leant him hope.
Hope renewed his focus.
He approached the front of the building with casual caution, wondering yet again where Finch had gotten himself off to. It would have been nice to have back-up, but if Finch was going to wimp out and run, Duke wasn’t going to hold it against him. He was still green. He hadn’t signed up for problems with the DA. The fact that he was likely protecting his future career was understandable, if not necessarily honorable.
The door opened easily. Compared to the morning light, the interior was gloomy and cold, getting even more so when Duke closed the door silently behind him. It took a few moments of rapid blinking for his sight to adjust, but he didn’t need to see details to hear the faint voices emanating from off the front hall.