by Jonas Saul
Parkman ignored Waller’s question. “When you picked up Sarah at her hotel, where were you taking her yesterday?”
Waller stopped moving at the cupboards, a coffee cup in his hand.
“What?”
“I asked, when you picked Sarah up at her hotel, where were you taking her?”
Waller poured coffee in his cup. “I was bringing her here, to the station.”
“Bullshit.”
Waller spun around to face him. “What are you suggesting, Parkman?”
“Suggesting?” Parkman shook his head. “Nothing. Asking? Everything.”
“There’s nothing to ask and nothing to talk about. I made an arrangement with Sarah to bring her in so we could take her statement. I need to find out who killed my officers. Someone has to pay. We’ve got cops coming from all over North America for the funerals. I will have someone in custody before those officers arrive.”
“What arrangement did you make with Sarah? No one I’ve talked to at HQ knew you were picking her up. I saw the security footage from the mall. It was clear to me that Sarah was running for her life as much as your officers. The murderers were easy to see. Why smear Sarah’s name with the media as a person of interest, like she’s a suspect, when she’s done nothing wrong?”
A surge of heat rose above Waller’s neck. He wondered how red his face was getting.
“I’ll agree that it looks like they were after her. Anyone watching the footage would’ve seen that.”
“Right. So why is she a suspect?” Parkman asked.
“I have to do whatever I can to get answers. Sarah Roberts is a person of interest. We still don’t have her statement, and now she has committed another offense by stealing my weapon.”
“So getting the whole city after her was the answer? And, by your own admission, you were knocked out when your gun went missing. No one can verify who took your weapon. It could’ve been one of the men who helped you out of your vehicle.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Waller said. He walked to the table and looked down at Parkman. “If those white-faced guys were after her, she would know why. She was our best lead to finding them. My men want answers. Someone has to pay for what happened to the officers who were only supposed to handle the exchange of a sex offender. Do I have to remind you that we were there under false pretenses? We were unprepared. Sarah Roberts is a hero among many for her ability to help people. Why didn’t she help my men?”
“We’ll have to ask her. But, remember, she’s not God. She’s not all-knowing. And about your men, I of all people understand that. We do need answers.”
Waller moved away from Parkman, afraid he might jam the toothpick into his mouth. “So why the cross-examination here? Why piss in my coffee this morning?” Waller took his first sip of coffee by the door.
“Because something isn’t adding up and until it does, I can’t trust Sarah’s safety with you or any of your officers.”
“I saw those guys last night. We’ve nabbed the one who calls himself Brother Thomas, and we had men raid Brother Simon’s apartment last night, where we just missed them. We’re onto them. It’s only a matter of time before we nab ’em.”
Parkman raised his nose to smell the air. “Can you smell that?” he asked.
“No, what?”
“Bullshit. I smell bullshit.”
“Fuck you, Parkman. You can leave anytime. Go back to the States where you belong.” Waller stepped through the door.
“Yeah, sure, okay. Since I’m the only one Sarah trusts, that would be the right move. I’ll just tell her when she calls in again that you ordered me out. That’ll endear her to you.”
Waller stopped. He stepped back through the door. “What is up with you? Stick around then. I don’t fucking care. Just stay out of my way.”
“Where were you taking her, Detective Waller? Tell me and we’ll continue working together. Lie to me and I keep Sarah from you. You’ll never see her or talk to her. When this is over, she’ll turn up in the States somewhere, a long way from here. Come on, you’ve read about her exploits. You don’t think she can just disappear? Her sister can outwit any of you.”
Waller thought about it for a moment. He checked behind him, saw no one was coming, and stepped back into the lunchroom. He sat at one of the tables, placed his coffee in front of him.
He met Parkman’s gaze. “We almost nailed the trace of the phone Sarah was using when she called you.”
Parkman nodded.
“And we called in a specialist to educate us on the condition of the ugly one.”
Parkman nodded again. “You’re a good cop with a good record. I expect nothing less. You’ll cover all the bases. What’s that got to do with Sarah?”
Waller lowered his head but didn’t take his eyes off Parkman. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
“I’m listening.”
“When Hank Frommer approached us, he had an official from his Embassy here in Toronto coordinate the meet in the Allandale Centre. We were informed that the trade was Sarah for a man named Rod Howley.”
“I’m aware of this. And Rod was supposedly a sex offender, yada yada. None of it’s true. But go on.”
“The file we were given informed us on who Sarah was too.”
Parkman leaned closer. “And …”
“It was my team going in there. The file said that if anything went wrong, it was because Sarah had set it up.”
“How could that be?” Parkman asked, with obvious disbelief. “She was their virtual prisoner. They staged her death and brought her parents up for the funeral.”
Waller shook his head. “We pulled the DNA from the car accident. I called her parents.”
“You?”
Waller nodded. “Then the U.S. government guys call and say that she faked her death. It’s all part of the international immigration scam that she busted back in Hungary and Italy—”
“What? You have got to be kidding.”
Waller sipped his coffee. “Let me finish. We were told.” He stopped to correct himself. “I was told that Sarah was wanted on murder charges, a list of other indictable offenses and such. We were informed that she hates cops and wanted to see them executed for what happened to her sister. Hank Frommer personally sat down with me and told me if the Allandale Centre exchange goes wrong, then look at Sarah. She orchestrated the whole thing. She even threatened Hank’s wife. He had the notes in Sarah’s handwriting to prove it.” Waller took a large swallow of his coffee then set the cup down hard. “Can you see why we’re all a little pissed at Sarah? She did this. Her actions, whatever they were, set this in motion and now I have a lot of dead cops and no one in custody.”
“That whole story is a fabrication. Sarah was in custody herself. Hank kidnapped her. Those notes are what Sarah does. She channels her sister—”
Waller stood abruptly. “Yeah, right, fortune-telling again. Next you’re going to tell me there are angels and a God.” Waller shook his head. “No, Parkman. You’re talking to an atheist. There is nothing beyond this shit piece of hell we call earth. There is no God and no afterlife. No one channels shit from some long-lost sister.” He was shouting now. “Once everyone gets that and stops making Sarah into some national fucking psychic celebrity, everything will get back to normal.”
Parkman stood. “You are the wrong cop to be working this case. Arrange for someone else to go after Sarah Roberts. Transfer out.”
Waller surprised himself by throwing his coffee cup across the lunchroom. It hit the wall a foot above the sink and shattered.
“Why is that?” he shouted, stepped closer to Parkman and looked down as he towered at least a foot over him. “Tell me. Because she’s a little girl running around my city causing accidents and getting my officers killed?”
Parkman didn’t back away. He stepped closer until his chest touched Waller’s.
“No. Because for you it’s personal. You’ve already got it in your head she’s guilty. She hates cops and you’re the reason.
Cops like you fuck it up for the rest of us. If you get in her way, the accident last night will seem like a vacation to what she will plan for you.”
“Are you threatening a fellow officer?”
“Vivian listens. Vivian plans. Sarah executes. Nothing touches or gets near Sarah without Vivian’s okay. That’s why, even after you got her last night, you lost her. Re-examining that scenario, all I see was a convenient way for Vivian to give Sarah a weapon and embarrass you in the process.”
Outside the lunchroom door, officers gathered, curious about the shouting and the coffee cup shattering. Waller pointed at them. “Watch yourself, Parkman. One more word and I’ll have my men arrest you. Then you won’t be any help to your precious Sarah.”
“Arrest me on what charge?”
“Uttering death threats to a peace officer. I will hold you for twenty-four hours.” He smiled. “I’m sure this thing will be over by then.”
“I’m so sick of all the shit Sarah has to go through when all she wants to do is help people. Why does she always have to be the victim?” He shook his head and looked down at the floor. “Fuck you, Waller, fuck you.”
Parkman sat down in the same seat he’d occupied a moment before. Waller briefly contemplated arresting him, keeping him out of the loop, but didn’t want to deal with the paperwork when he needed to focus on nailing Sarah Roberts and her white-faced friends.
“Stay out of my way, Parkman, or this ends badly for you and Sarah. Don’t leave this building. If I see you downtown, or anywhere near Sarah until this is over, I’ll consider you a hostile, colluding with a suspect. Things’ll go south fast.”
Waller pushed past the onlookers, ran downstairs and left the building. He got on his cell phone and organized uniforms to double up the foot patrol in the Yonge, Jarvis and Church Street areas. He wanted everyone on the lookout for Sarah. Wherever she was, the white-faced goons were too. He felt lucky. Today he would get her and he wasn’t going to count on any celestial help.
Sarah Roberts would pay for what she did to his platoon, and he was just the man to exact that revenge.
Chapter 24
Sarah checked the time and saw that it was almost noon. She must have been exhausted to have slept that long. Aaron would be back anytime soon and she didn’t want to be there when he returned.
She threw water on her face and made up the cot. She grabbed Waller’s gun, the cell phone with the cracked screen and left the dojo through the back door as it locked behind her.
Goodbye, Aaron.
They had a beautiful time together, but she didn’t need a protector. Just because they slept together once didn’t automatically slot him in the role of protector. She had to fight her own battles. She knew it was more about protecting him, though. She couldn’t allow him to get close or be close because he could get hurt and she didn’t want that on her conscience. The Rapturites didn’t care who got in their way.
She walked south on Jarvis, her attention on her surroundings, watching for either the white-faced thugs or a yoga studio. It was like looking for the exit signs in an airplane so if something went wrong, she would know which way to run. As soon as she saw a Rapturite, she didn’t want to have to find a yoga studio. It might be too late.
She contemplated putting the cell phone battery back in, but worried that it would give her position away if they were still trying to track her. It had a purpose to serve when she was ready.
Cars whizzed by, pedestrians crowded the street. She walked around the people, hoping she remembered some of the moves Aaron had taught her when the time came. It was the easy moves that came to mind. Snapping out of a wrist grab or twisting out of a two-handed grab around the collar. She thought she’d be able to get out of headlock a lot easier too. But none of that mattered if a needle entered her when she wasn’t looking.
Panic pitted her stomach, her legs weak. How could she think that she could take these guys on by herself? All they had to do was get close enough to touch her and she would die.
“This is crazy,” she whispered.
She looked around, wondering if someone heard her, then realized that she would probably fit right in with the eccentric people of the big city. She had passed street preachers, men with placards announcing the end of times, and bums talking to themselves. They had interesting conversations, but Sarah never stuck around long enough to hear everything.
Behind her, a young man in a baseball cap ducked behind a car. She stopped and stared, waiting for him to get to his feet.
Am I being followed?
The afternoon humidity added to the summer heat. It was probably only eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit, but it felt ninety-five. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her hands clammy.
She watched, but the young man didn’t reappear. Waller’s gun in her waistband comforted her as she approached the car. Two women in their mid-twenties walked by just as she made it to the parked car. She hopped around the edge, but the area was empty.
What the hell? I saw him …
She scanned the area, but he was gone. Across the street, she thought she saw a man watching her through a bookstore window. She stared hard, but the man put something back on the shelf and walked away.
Am I losing my mind? Is the pressure getting to me?
She walked south on Jarvis again. At the next block, she turned right, then a left on Church Street. It was after lunch and she hadn’t eaten yet. She contemplated what she would eat, or if she would see the Rapturites before she had the chance. Maybe she should’ve eaten before she left Aaron’s dojo, even if she’d grabbed something to leave with. Thinking about the dojo brought her back to Aaron. She had tried to keep him out of her mind. Missing him, yearning for him could get her killed. She needed to stay focused and watch for the bad guys, but Aaron’s face pulled her back to him.
Maybe one day, maybe.
She had to finish this. She had to lead her followers into a yoga studio and let whatever is supposed to happen, happen. Then she would get on with her life. She would travel to the States and go to Dolan’s and Esmerelda’s funerals. She would visit her parents and then maybe it was time to go on the road. She would buy a motorcycle and travel. Drive from border to border, see the country and help people anonymously, just like she did in the beginning. Maybe she should start wearing her bandanna again.
And maybe she should write a book about her adventures. She could write a memoir, or a novel. Or a series of novels.
But who would want to read about my life?
She slowed by a coffee shop to look in the reflection of the glass. People moved up and down the street. Cars went by. She looked for anyone not moving, watching her.
Nothing.
A cop car cruised by slowly. She thought the driver watched her. She stared at the window, pretending to read the shop’s menu. The cruiser passed and she turned south again.
She watched for a yoga studio.
This is ridiculous. I feel so lost.
“Yoga studio, Vivian? Really?”
She kept walking, sure the white-faced assholes were close by.
Aaron texted Alex, telling him to give her more room. She almost made him by the car. Even though Sarah had briefly met Alex, Daniel, and Benjamin the night she walked into the dojo, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t recognize them if they got too close.
Aaron had arranged for his three instructors to meet him a block down from the dojo at eight that morning. He told them what Sarah was up against and that someone had killed two of her friends in the States. She was distraught and supposed to deal with these guys today. They had argued about her running into a yoga studio instead of a karate dojo or even a police station. But Sarah was headstrong, determined to follow her note exactly.
Aaron was headstrong too. After they had shared something together that Aaron hadn’t shared with anyone in many years, he was determined to watch her back today, whether she liked it or not. He had almost had a fling with a girl named Julie, a waitress from a local club in Toronto a year ag
o, after his sister died, but it had proved too painful. Painful because of the grief he had to deal with at the loss of his sister. She had worked at the same club as Julie. It was also painful physically. He was in physiotherapy at the time. Julie had drifted away, and Aaron had been officially single for the last nine months.
He wasn’t about to let Sarah get hurt, or worse.
Daniel texted that he had her going south on Church Street. Benjamin texted a moment later that he would relieve Daniel at the next corner. Alex said he would stay far back to avoid being seen. Aaron had to stay back the farthest, although she almost saw him in that bookstore. For a second, he was sure she saw right through his flimsy disguise of a stupid fake seventies mustache. After putting the book back on the shelf and turning around to walk away, Alex had texted him that Sarah had moved on.