“He’s dead?” Gavin squeezed the phone so hard he heard the plastic creaking. “What kind of crash was he in?”
“He drove into the broadside of a bus with a big pickup—hard. Sent it into a deli. Fortunately there were only two passengers and the deli was closed. He put the bus driver and the two passengers in the hospital, but nothing serious.”
Nothing serious? “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Well, we couldn’t find any ID, so we won’t know for certain until the prints come in.”
“No ID? Does he have a tattoo?”
“Hmm. Don’t know that.”
“Can you ask someone?”
“Hold on.”
Gavin held for what seemed like an eternity. Another pickup truck, he thought. Hitting the side of the bus also reminded him of Garrity’s crash.
Maloney finally returned. “Nobody remembers seeing anything, but they weren’t looking.”
Gavin cursed. “Where is he?”
“The morgue.”
“Okay, call the F.M.I. and get him to tell whoever’s down there I’m coming in for an ID.”
“Now?”
“I’m on my way,” Gavin said and hung up.
Back in the living room, Katz had found the overstuffed chair.
“What’s going on, Pierce? And don’t tell me you don’t know,” he said.
“Later, Katz. That was headquarters. They’ve got Krogan.”
“Seriously?” Katz said.
“He’s dead.”
Katz paused. “Well, what else is new? He’s been doing that for over five thousand years.”
“You have no idea, Katz. I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, keep her out.”
41
Foregoing the formalities of the front entrance, Gavin hurried down the vehicle ramp to the lower level of the Nassau County Medical Examiners building. As expected, the large steel door was open, a parked ambulance van in its bay.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked an attendant who intercepted Gavin as he rounded the van. The lanky man wore green sanitaries and had his reddish-brown hair tied back in a ponytail.
Gavin showed his shield. “Detective Pierce. I’m here about the vehicular homicide that arrived this morning. A big guy?”
The attendant nodded. “That was fast. I just got the call you were coming. He’s still on the gurney. Follow me.”
Gavin followed the young man into the building. He had seen about every violent act and consequence there was to see on the street and had no problem digesting his food after a particularly gruesome day. But the clinical atmosphere of this place and the people who worked here was something he had never gotten used to. The attendants did nothing to help that perception, even purposely enhanced it with what Gavin perceived as an exaggerated nonchalance whenever visitors like himself toured.
The attendant pushed open a glass door marked “Autopsy.” Once inside, Gavin’s eyes were immediately drawn to a white sheet covering a large mass that was still on the ambulance gurney, just as the attendant had said.
“Any tattoos?” Gavin asked, as the attendant circled to the other side of the dead body.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I remember seeing something on one of his shoulders.”
Gavin’s heart raced as the attendant peeled the sheet completely off. The forehead had a deep, open gash that ran diagonally from left eyeball to blond hairline. The face looked similar enough to the sketch to work, and his size fit the testimony of the bartender from the Seahorse Tavern.
“The tattoo?” Gavin asked.
“Right here,” the attendant said.
Gavin hurried around the table. Ever since he had heard Krogan’s name he had wanted to see it attached to a dead man. Now, after the impossible reaction Karianne had had to the name Sabah, he didn’t know what he wanted.
“I’ve seen better,” the attendant said as they stared at a snarling tiger head with blood on its teeth. Compared to the tattoo Gavin had expected to see, this one looked like a harmless kitten with milk on its whiskers. He wasn’t sure of much these days, but he was sure of one thing: this wasn’t Krogan.
GAVIN WAS ONLY TWO MILES from Karianne’s when his beeper sounded again. Of all days to have forgotten his cell phone. He thought of waiting to use the phone back at Karianne’s—until he saw the number. He recognized it as the hospital’s, although he didn’t know the extension after the number. Maybe Amy needed him. He needed a phone and he needed it now.
At the next intersection he saw a pay phone at the corner gas station. He drove in and jumped out of the car, ramming a quarter into the machine and dialing.
“Community Hospital.”
“Extension two-five-seven.”
“Thank you.”
“Hello?” said a voice Gavin recognized.
“Chris?”
“Gav! You owe me ten bucks. I called your house and no answer. I knew you couldn’t do it.”
Gavin sighed in relief to hear Chris’s voice. “I’ll give you twenty. I thought you were going home to watch the game.”
“Ah, they said I need a couple more days. At least I get to see the game here. It’s a great game, too. It’s halftime and the Bears are up ten to three. Boy, I’d give anything to be there right now.”
“You sound like Karianne,” Gavin said, more relaxed. “She had a ticket and lost it in the crash somehow. I think it was right on the fifty, too.”
Chris laughed. “Yeah, Krogan probably stole it. He’s probably enjoying himself at the game right now. The camera will catch him and the creep will wave to us on TV.”
Gavin didn’t laugh. He mind was turning over a sudden, horrible thought: Krogan would look at football as a human demolition derby. Karianne had not been able to find her ticket. She thought she might have lost it at the Seahorse, and the bartender had said she offered it to him, but he never took it. She would have been too drunk to realize or remember if Krogan took it.
A moment later Gavin was screeching out of the gas station, the phone receiver left dangling from the cord, Chris still talking.
42
Gavin had the gas pedal crushed and a small red flasher blazing on his dashboard. Top speed in the Tiger was around 140, but the stock brakes were undersized and would fail at that speed, so he tried to keep it under 120.
Everything he had picked up over the last couple of days with Katz and Buck told him Krogan was at the game. He had to get there before the game ended. Chris said it was halftime. Giants Stadium was an hour away in New Jersey. The game would be over in about an hour and a half. He wanted to call for backup, but he couldn’t chance Krogan being shot. He wasn’t sure how he would handle him, either, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He turned the radio on to the game, noting in frustration that the Bears had scored another touchdown. Unlike Chris, he didn’t care which team won the game; he just didn’t want the game to be a blowout. If Krogan got bored with a lopsided rout, he might leave—or try to create a little excitement on his own.
AS GAVIN APPROACHED the parking area to Giants Stadium, he pulled the plug on the flasher, fearful the Goodyear blimp would spot him and televise his approach. The thought was highly unlikely, but he didn’t care. He had never been to the stadium before and was not about to get sloppy now if he could help it.
He was surprised at the number of people still in the parking lot. The game was inside, yet the parking lot was full of tailgate parties with televisions and radios tuned in to the game.
He was about to turn the flasher back on when he considered that might draw the crowd rather than disperse it. Instead, he shifted into reverse so hard the gears ground, then floored the gas. The Tiger raced backward with a high-pitched whine. He spun the steering wheel and bumped onto a sidewalk, then screeched to a stop.
In an instant, he was dashing across the spacious parking lot, threading through tailgate parties and impromptu touch-football games. And barbecue smoke; there seemed to be enough rising into the air to whet the appe
tites of the blimp crew. Open coolers filled with ice and beer became hurdles for him as he searched for the straightest line to the entrance.
At the entrance gate he waved his shield to the confused but obliging faces of the stadium staff. Taking the steps two and three at a time, he headed for the second level by the fifty yard line where Karianne had said her seat was. As he ran through the concession corridor he saw the passageways to seating were listed by sections, not yard lines. Which one should he take? He ran through one of them.
All at once he was one of eighty thousand people. The game was in progress and he was even with the twenty. He approximated the distance to the fifty, then disappeared back into the corridor, his navy blue T-shirt soaked with sweat.
The next time he emerged into the sunlight, he was at the fifty. Gasping for air, he leaned over with his hands on his thighs and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. When he straightened up he saw nothing but the back of heads. He hoped Krogan’s big, blond hairdo would stand out among the crowd.
He made several sweeping scans before looking at the scoreboard to see how much time was left. The fourth quarter had just started. The Bears were still two touchdowns ahead, but the Giants had the ball. From the sound of the crowd, they weren’t having much success moving it.
Where was he? Someone Krogan’s size shouldn’t be too hard to find, even in a crowd like this. Gavin started slowly down the center aisle, looking more carefully at each row. How could he not be here? He felt like arresting everyone for not being Krogan.
He walked down a little farther, then turned his back to the game. Maybe he would see the face in the sketch—the face he imagined even in his sleep, often riddled with bullet holes.
“Excuse me,” said a husky voice from behind.
Gavin spun quickly.
“Easy,” said a heavy, balding man with a black beard.
Gavin sighed and stepped aside. He walked the rest of the way down to the balcony railing, turning to pan slowly across the heads below him in the first tier, although he knew that wasn’t where Karianne’s seat was. An out-of-bounds tackle at the fifty caught his attention. An official threw a flag and several cameramen were helped off the ground. A penalty was announced for unnecessary roughness and another official marched off the damage against the Giants. The football players scrambled back into their respective huddles near midfield. On the other side of the field, the Bears’ coaches were applauding the call.
The other side… Gavin suddenly flushed hotly with adrenaline. He was an idiot. His eyes immediately scanned the second level, but it was too far away. He was turning to run up the aisle when he noticed a nearby woman with stadium binoculars.
“Miss,” he yelled as he pulled his shield from his back pocket and held it out. “I need those binoculars. Seriously! It’s urgent.”
At first she looked at him like he had to be kidding, but apparently thought better of it and passed them over. Without a thank you, he grabbed the glasses up and shot his gaze back to the other side, traveling quickly from one face to another. Right to left, bottom to top, one row, then another, then another.
He got to the top of the section, moved to the other side of the center aisle, and started again at the bottom. No… no… no… no… Wait! Go back! He froze in place, unable to blink, as blood rushed into his face. It was him. It was him! The object of his rage was sitting stoically in sharp contrast to the smaller, more animated, fans surrounding him—the sketch come to life. He looked as big as anyone on the field.
“Here,” Gavin said, handing off the binoculars, then sprinted up the steep center aisle and into the curved corridor. He had him. He definitely had him.
“Hey, there’s no running in here,” a security cop yelled as Gavin flew by. “I said stop!”
Gavin couldn’t have slowed even if he wanted to. The adrenaline flowing through his veins was more than he had ever experienced. He expected the guard, who was still yelling, would radio his troops and try to intercept him. Good. The more help the better. Besides, Gavin didn’t have any handcuffs with him, and they probably did.
He was amazed at Krogan’s gall. To steal Karianne’s ticket and then show up in her seat. He must have thought she’d died in the crash. Or was it possible he just didn’t care? Whatever, Gavin would show him just how big a mistake he had made.
Ahead, two security guards stepped into the corridor. Calling his name to warn them, Gavin reached into his back pocket and pulled out his shield. Seeing it, they made no move to resist him.
“Come on,” he yelled, waving them to follow. He called over his shoulder for one of them to radio the police and tell them the Ghost Driver was at Giants Stadium. One guard dropped back. Gavin suddenly wanted all the help he could get. And in a place like this, he wasn’t afraid of armed help. He figured the chances of a fellow cop actually firing a shot off in Giants Stadium with seventy or eighty thousand people around was slim. He would finally have Krogan, and he would have him alive.
By the time he got to the other side of the fifty yard line six more guards had joined him. He was breathing so hard he could speak to them only between gasps.
“The Ghost Driver,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “You know who I’m talking about?”
They all affirmed with nods.
“He’s down in the first row.” Gavin reached down to his ankle holster and pulled out his gun, then stuffed it into the front of his jeans and let his T-shirt fall over it. “I’m going down to introduce myself. I want half of you to go down the next aisle so he can’t run. The other half of you can follow me. Wait until I’m halfway there.”
Gavin was glad they all agreed because he was going with or without them. He hurried halfway down, then slowed himself. The killer was easy to see as long as the fans around him stayed in their seats. He stepped into the second row and politely excused his way through, hoping nobody would complain and draw attention to his location.
Krogan was so close he could practically smell him. The big man wore an olive-drab tank top, and Gavin’s racing heart picked up when he saw the lettering tattooed across the back of the man’s shoulders. The shirt covered half the height of the lettering, but there was no mistaking the word it spelled: Krogan.
Moving slowly up behind him, Gavin touched the gun barrel to the back of Krogan’s head, to the sudden consternation of those around him, and spoke the words he’d longed to say: “The game’s over, Krogan, or whatever your real name is. You’re under arrest.”
Fans quickly exited from the first three rows and the guards rushed to fill the vacuum, surrounding Gavin and Krogan but allowing Gavin to make all the moves.
Surprisingly calm, Krogan looked over his shoulder. Gavin stared in the deep, freaky, empty gaze. Was he even human? Gavin didn’t care. Whoever or whatever he had, he had him.
“Turn your ugly face back around and stay where you are or I’ll take your head off,” Gavin said, then motioned with his left hand to one of the guards for his handcuffs. His need was quickly satisfied as cold steel slapped into his palm.
“Hit him!” Krogan yelled toward the field. “Take him down.”
Gavin couldn’t believe it. Krogan was being arrested for multiple murders and he was more concerned with the Giants’ inability to cope with the Bears’ running game.
“Okay, Krogan. Real slow, put your left hand behind your head,” Gavin said, pressing the gun harder against his neck.
“Here,” Krogan said, raising his right hand. “I’d rather wear them on this hand. The nice watch that electric man gave me is on my left.”
Gavin remembered the tanned outline he had seen on the dead utility man’s wrist. Krogan’s arrogance was astounding.
“You unbelievable scum,” Gavin said, snapping a cuff on his right hand.
“Now I’ll miss the end of the game,” Krogan growled.
“Shut up and put your other hand behind your head or you’ll miss the rest of your life!”
Krogan suddenly stood up and turned arou
nd. Gavin followed him up with the gun, for the first time looking his foe full in the face. Krogan’s defiant smile was eerily reminiscent of Karianne’s smile before she collapsed. The similarity was chilling.
“I’ll tell you when to get up. Turn back around and put your hands behind your back.”
“You’re the detective that newsboy said to get in touch with, aren’t you?” Krogan said, his smile widening. He snatched the handcuff away from Gavin’s hand and closed it on his own right wrist, next to the other circlet. “I always wanted a bracelet like this,” he said in mock admiration.
Gavin wished he had real cops with him. He couldn’t expect these stadium employees to do anything more than look threatening. And Krogan was acting anything but threatened.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, not really knowing what else to say.
“You mean now I’m in more trouble?” Krogan laughed. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” He laughed louder. “Go ahead— shoot.”
Gavin felt helpless. He finally had Krogan trapped, but he could do little more. He wanted to shoot him, at least in the leg to force cooperation, but to discharge a firearm in a stadium full of people was something he would save for a last resort. Besides, he couldn’t get out of his mind what Buck had told him. After what had happened earlier with Karianne, he was now confused. Could it be possible the one he was after was really inside this giant? Was that why Krogan was so at ease with a gun staring him in the face? Gavin had never seen anything like it.
Just then, the radio on a security guard’s belt came on, announcing the police had arrived at the gate. Thank God, Gavin thought. “Looks like I won’t have to shoot you after all.”
“Your friends have come to play?” Krogan mocked. “Good.”
“You won’t be wearing that smirk for long. Today’s payday, Krogan. And you’ve run up quite a tab,” Gavin said. Spontaneously, he added, “And we’ve got just the cell for you. One you’ll be in for the rest of your life. And I’ll make sure it’s a long, safe, lonely life. Compliments of Sabah.”
Driven Page 25