As they walked into Hamilton Park, the wind blew in gusts and the air was sticky.
“It’s going to rain soon, so let’s find him fast,” Ted said. They didn’t see anyone else. As the wind picked up, Jack kept turning his face toward the sky, waiting for rain.
They reached the bench where Jack and Chandler had seen the homeless guy the other night, but he wasn’t there. Then they headed to bench thirteen. He wasn’t there either.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ted asked. “The light is working.”
Jack looked up. “They must have fixed it. But it’s the right place.”
His father took off his glasses and wiped them. “Let’s try the shelter. He probably went before—”
“Evening,” said a voice. Jack and his father jumped as the homeless man walked toward them out of the darkness. “Didn’t see me, did ya?”
“Nope.” Ted popped the end of the word and his eyebrows lowered. “That’s why we jumped.”
The man grinned. “Murray Pratt.”
“Nice to meet you. Ted Stratton. This is my son, Jack.” He reached out to shake Murray’s hand, but then thought better of it.
Jack spoke as calmly as his pounding heart would allow. “Murray, you remember me? We talked a few nights ago. You said that a smart-ass broke your light, is that right?”
“He sure did.” Murray nodded emphatically.
“So you spoke with him?” Jack held his breath.
“Not really. He walked over and started throwing rocks at my light. I asked him what the hell he was doing and he told me to get lost. I told him that that’s where I sleep, and you know what he said? ‘No one wants to sleep with the lights on.’ Then he broke my light.”
“What did he look like? Was he white? Black?” Jack asked.
“A white guy. Big. Taller than you. Light-brown hair.”
“It wasn’t Vlad or any of the other homeless guys around here?”
“Nope.”
“Would you recognize him again if you saw him?” Jack asked.
“I think so,” Murray said.
“Would you be able to tell the police what you just told us?” Ted asked.
Murray shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked nervous. “I don’t know.”
“It would be a big help to a lot of people. I’d be personally grateful and—”
“How grateful? Money grateful?”
“Possibly.” Ted smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you dinner. All you have to do is tell the police what you just told me.”
“Really?” Murray eyed him suspiciously.
“Really.” Jack’s dad raised his hand in promise.
“Deal,” Murray said.
A rumble of thunder echoed through the park.
Ted shrugged. “No time like the present. How about the Waffle House near the police station?”
“I love waffles.”
“Right after you talk to the cops,” Jack added.
As the three of them headed back to the car, Murray kept talking about what he wanted to order. Jack’s dad just kept nodding and saying, “That sounds good, Murray. Get that.”
When they rounded the top of a hill, Murray pulled up short.
“Everything all right?” Ted asked.
The color had drained from Murray’s face. “No. You know…I can’t.”
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked.
“No.” Murray took a step back. “Snitches get stitches,” he muttered.
“You’re not snitching,” Ted said. “This man murdered—”
“What?” Murray looked back and forth between Jack and his father as if they might grab him. “I thought he just broke the light! You think he’s a killer?” He took another step back. “I didn’t see nothin’.”
“Murray, you could already be in danger.” Ted stepped closer. “If that man realizes that you could identify him—”
“I’m not identifyin’ nobody.”
“The police can protect you.”
“Get away from me!” Murray spun on his heel and hurried away.
Jack started after him, but his father grabbed his arm. “Let him go.”
“But he knows. He saw the guy!”
“I’ll talk to Clark.”
“But what if Murray chickens out? He knows, Dad. He saw him.”
“And right now he’s scared. We can’t drag him to the police station.”
“I can.”
His father shook his head. “You can’t legally. After everything that’s happened, you still think you can bust in and save the day? I don’t know what to do with you.” He started back to the car.
“So we’re just going to let him walk away? What about Jay? What about Stacy?”
“Jack, you’re really trying my patience.” He reached for his phone and made a face. “Shoot, I left my phone on the hall table. We’ll go home and I’ll call Clark. That’s final.”
As Jack stood there, fuming, the first drops of rain fell. He glared at the sky. “I hate this cursed day,” he grumbled, and stomped toward the car.
They walked in silence. By the time they crested a hill and the parking lot came into view, wind was whipping, shaking the nearby trees. Then something caught Jack’s eye.
“Damn.”
His dad frowned. “Don’t swear.”
Jack pointed at the silver Toyota parked in the far corner. “That’s Michael Shaw’s car.”
His dad stopped walking. “Are you sure?”
“First car I ever tailed. I’ll never forget what it looks like.”
Ted stared across the parking lot. “Why would he be here now?”
Jack scanned the park. “Dad, why else? He’s here for Murray. He knows Murray saw him break that light. Murray’s in trouble.”
Ted frowned in thought. “Even if you’re right…why wait until now? If Shaw wanted to hurt Murray, he could have done it anytime.”
“Because I stirred things up,” Jack said. “When Shaw thought he was safe, killing Murray wasn’t worth the risk. But Vargas brought him in again today and questioned him. Because of the GPS. It made Shaw scared. Now he’s trying to cover his tracks.”
“We need to get the police.”
“There’s no time.” Jack walked back into the park.
“What? No.” His dad grabbed Jack’s arm. “Haven’t you learned anything? We need to get the police.”
“But Murray’s out there. And Shaw might be with him already.”
“Shaw could have a gun! Jack…are you going to risk your life for Murray?”
Jack felt the warm glow of adrenaline sweep through his system. “I have to, Dad.” He stepped backward. “You need to go get the police.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m faster. I’ll run back to the bench.”
“We go together.”
They started running, but before they were halfway, Ted was huffing and had to slow down.
“Dad, let me go on ahead. Trust me.”
His dad stopped and placed his hands on his hips. He ground his teeth in frustration. “If you see Shaw, run. Do you promise me?”
Jack nodded.
“Go.”
He was already gone, pushing against the wind, the rain stinging his eyes. At the top of the next hill, he saw the bench. He raced down the hill, skidded to a stop, and peered through the thick rain. No one was in sight.
Jack cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Murray! Murray!”
The storm howled in response.
Jack ran down a side path, calling for Murray, but after a few minutes, he decided to start back toward his dad. Maybe he’d find Murray on the way. They could search together…
From the direction where he had left his dad came a voice, cutting right through the wind and rain: “Stop right there!” Jack had never heard his father sound so commanding.
His feet flew over the slick pavement. At the top of the hill, he froze.
Below him, his father was standing on t
he grass just off the path, his legs planted shoulder-width apart. Michael Shaw stood about fifteen feet away, with something in his hand, a cane or a thick branch? In a heap at Shaw’s feet, rain pelting his matted hair and filthy rags, lay Murray, not moving.
“Stop hitting him and step back, now,” Ted ordered in his sternest teacher voice.
Shaw straightened up.
“Move away from him!” Ted walked forward. “Just back away. We can work this out.”
Shaw looked dazed.
In a flash of lightning, Jack saw the gleam of what Shaw held in his right hand. A tire iron.
Shaw started toward Ted.
“Dad! Look out!” Jack skittered down the wet grass.
Ted took a step forward, fists raised.
It was a lopsided matchup: the hulking man, wielding a heavy tool, versus the short, stocky scholar.
Shaw screamed in rage and charged.
Jack’s hands clawed the air as he raced forward.
Shaw swung. The tire iron swept toward Jack’s father’s head.
Jack dove between the two men. Jack’s back took most of the impact. The base of his skull took the rest. His momentum carried him into Shaw and his weight drove the man back, but Shaw remained on his feet while Jack collapsed to the ground.
The rain sparkled and the world spun. Jack tasted the tang of metal in his mouth—blood.
Shaw stared down at Jack in disbelief. His lips pulled back so far all his teeth showed. “You!” he shrieked. Gripping the tire iron in both hands, he raised it high over Jack.
Ted slammed into Shaw’s ribs and threw all his weight into it, at last toppling the bigger man. Shaw’s feet slid out from under him on the wet grass and he tumbled backward, dropping the tire iron. The two men rolled, and Ted, summoning up All-State high school wrestling skills from twenty-five years ago, came out on top and firmly pinned one of Shaw’s arms to the ground with his knee.
But Shaw’s other hand was free, and he was the stronger of the two. Jack, on hands and knees, fighting to get breath back into his lungs, watched Shaw take a swing. His first blow glanced harmlessly off Ted’s shoulder.
The second broke Ted’s glasses on his face, the frame slicing into the skin above his right eye. Then an uppercut caught Ted under the chin and knocked his head back. He fell off Shaw and onto his side.
By now, Jack had managed to stand, and so had Murray. Blood ran down the side of Murray’s face and into his beard. He locked eyes with Jack for a split second, then turned and fled over the hill, his rags flapping against his arms and legs.
Jack looked at his father through blurred eyes. Shaw’s huge hands circled his throat. For the first time ever, Jack saw terror in his dad’s eyes.
“Run, Jack!” his father ordered.
Jack processed the order to run, but he was still dizzy from the blow to the head. He stumbled and crashed back down to the ground, helpless, and saw Shaw leaning all his weight forward, trying to crush his father’s throat. Ted’s fingers clawed at Shaw’s grip. His face was turning blue as Jack watched in horror.
Do something!
Jack rose to his feet, using his own rage to push himself up. “Shaw!” he bellowed. He still had a voice. Jack tried to put at least a tire iron’s weight into it. “Let him go.”
His father’s back arched, and his eyes bulged in his head.
A shrill, ear-piercing whistle cut through the storm. A red baseball hat bobbed over the horizon. Again and again the whistle shrieked, closer and closer.
Robyn dashed over the hill, blowing her whistle for all she was worth.
“Shut up!” Shaw released Jack’s father and stood up.
But Jack’s father didn’t move.
“It’s over, Shaw. Give up,” Jack said. “You murdered your wife! The police know everything. The phone app. The broken light.”
The ghost of a shadow flickered in Shaw’s eyes. He put both of his hands over his ears and stumbled backward, walking away and shaking his head like he was trying to drive the memory back to the darkness.
Robyn ran up beside Jack, who had reached Ted’s side. Her whistle quieted. Tears poured down her face. She was furiously huffing, but the only sound coming out was a strained wheeze.
Jack was trying to keep one eye on Shaw and one on his father, who still wasn’t moving. Robyn was kneeling at his side and watching him closely, holding his hand and wiping the blood off from where the glasses had cut him.
“The police are on the way.”
Shaw’s eyes fixed on the tire iron lying in the grass. He marched over and picked it up.
“Michael. Stop,” croaked a hoarse voice. Jack’s father. “Please, stop.”
Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Thank God, he’s alive.
Michael Shaw looked bad, like he hadn’t slept in days. He appraised Jack’s father, then eyed Jack and Robyn. Jack realized he was trying to figure out whether he could finish them all off—and he’d still have to track down Murray too.
Shaw raised the tire iron over his head.
Jack’s vision blurred, but he tried to focus on the large blur in front of him. He balled his right hand into a fist.
One punch.
He might have one good punch left in him. One good punch might buy them a few more minutes; Robyn could run and get the police… He instructed his left shoulder, the only good one at this point, to cock back and was just about to release the safety off his fist—
“Here! Over here!”
Everyone turned to look. Alex Hernandez stood atop the hill near the road, his black hair streaming around him, his arm pointing at Shaw. Murray flapped down the hill with him, followed by a policeman in full orange rain gear and heavy boots, sweeping his flashlight over the group.
Ted, Jack, Robyn, Alex, and Murray all pointed at Shaw from different directions.
The cop drew his gun, keeping the flashlight on Shaw.
“Freeze! Hands where I can see them!”
Jack managed a faint smile.
Sweeter words he’d never heard.
32
Like Your Old Man
Jack lost track of how long he was in the emergency room, where he’d been poked, pricked, X-rayed, and prodded. Now he waited in one of the visitor’s chairs in a small examination room, itching to find out how his father was.
A doctor walked in and introduced herself. They shook hands and she quickly scanned his chart.
“How’s my dad?” Jack asked.
“He’s fine. He’ll have a sore throat for a few days, and a sore body. We stitched up a cut on his face. It’s mainly in his eyebrow, the scar shouldn’t be too noticeable. He’s getting dressed and will be with you in a minute—”
Jack’s dad hurried into the room, still putting on his shirt. The left side of his face was bandaged; his right eye had a deep black circle under it and was swollen shut. Jack cringed when he saw the bruises around his throat.
They hugged, and then Jack’s dad turned back to the doctor. “You said nothing’s broken?” he asked hoarsely.
She smiled. “Young bones. He’s got a nasty bump on his head and a dislocated shoulder. You’ll both need to take it easy for a little while. I’ll leave instructions with the nurse.”
She lost the smile and cleared her throat. “There’s a detective outside who wants to speak with you. You can use this room.”
After the doctor left, Detective Clark walked in. He looked at Jack’s father and shook his head. “This is what I get for assuming at least one of you could be a responsible adult?”
Ted scoffed, “Don’t be so dramatic, Derrick.”
Clark brushed his gray hair back and his scowl darkened. “Dramatic? You both almost got beaten to death by a murderer with a tire iron and I’m being dramatic?”
“It’s my fault,” said Jack.
“No, it isn’t,” the older men said at once.
Ted continued. “I’m responsible. And there’s a very good reason for my actions.”
Clark crossed his arms an
d waited, but Jack was beginning to think that he wasn’t really all that mad at them.
Ted cleared his throat, and rasped, “Jack realized there was a possible witness.”
“Murray Pratt?”
“Yes, Murray. I decided that before speaking with you, I should go and warn him that his life was in danger.”
“It’s the ‘before speaking with me’ part that I have a problem with, Ted.”
“Seriously, Derrick? What was I going to do—tell you some homeless man in Hamilton Park ‘might have seen something’?”
“Yes.”
Jack’s dad huffed. “You can’t work off that. You need facts. Something more concrete.”
“No. We would have canvassed the park again, asked different questions. It’s standard procedure.”
“Well, I thought—and Jack thought,” he added loyally, “Murray’s life was in immediate danger…and that it was the right thing to do.”
Jack jumped in. “And then, when things got hairy, Dad realized he didn’t have his phone on him.”
Clark looked back and forth between Jack and his father. His gaze stopped on Jack. “Now I know where you get it, kid. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Jack smiled at Ted.
Clark’s harsh face softened. “You did save Murray’s life.”
Jack replied, “Well, if it wasn’t for Murray getting help, and Alex getting the police…”
“You were right about Michael Shaw, too. He killed his wife, and then lost it. Paranoid as hell. I don’t think he’s slept since he killed her.”
“He confessed?”
“Yes. To everything. After we confronted him with the evidence, he gave us every detail. I personally think it was you who drove him over the edge.” He winked at Jack.
Jack’s dad laughed. “Jack can have that effect on people.”
Clark leaned against the wall. “During his confession, Shaw kept talking about this guy who was following him around, showing up at his house, shadowing him and his mistress. He thinks you’re some avenging spirit sent to torment him for killing his wife. Then we pulled him in for the GPS, and I guess that was the last straw.”
“How come Liberty Rental didn’t have a record of him renting a car, or of the GPS being stolen?” Jack asked.
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 76